Quest SMASH

by Joseph Lallo

  Erith was clearly not someone used to being cut off in mid-sentence. “Orion and Selene joined Goliath along with a few others,” she told him. Looking her in the eyes he saw a glimmer of empathy.

  Cyrus heard a snap next to him, and he was certain that Alaric had just broken at least one bone in his hand, which also answered Cyrus's earlier concern about innards. While Cy focused on the Ghost, he missed Goliath vetoing the proposal.

  Tolada took the speaking position once more, with less enthusiasm than before. “Does anyone else have any other business to bring forward?” He hesitated, waiting for anyone to say anything, looking around for comment.

  Erith piped up, “No other business. Let’s call this meeting quits and get out of here.” She turned to Cass. “Wasn’t that the best Alliance officer meeting ever? Not to mention the shortest. I wonder,” she said with her trademark sarcasm, “if those two factors are in any way linked?” A glare from Tolada did not seem to faze the dark elf.

  Alaric grasped the harness of his horse, and started toward the gates of the coliseum. He did not mount the horse, instead walking slowly as the other delegations saddled up and rode away after saying their goodbyes. Cyrus waved to Elisabeth, Cass and Erith before following his Guildmaster. The other delegations had outpaced them by the time they reached the gates, and Curatio had walked beside Alaric, with Cyrus following close behind until finally the Ghost exploded in a tirade unlike anything Cyrus had seen from him before.

  “It is absolutely unfathomable to me that these people can even consider us allies, then profit from our troubles. Vara was correct in her assessment: they are vultures!” He almost screamed the last word in frustration. “We put everything we have into growing and they act as though we're a sick relative; instead of them wishing us well they sneak into our bedroom and choke the life out of us so they can get their inheritance!”

  He paused for only a second before heading in another direction. “And did you hear Malpravus's proposition? Yes, we can all become one guild, when the guild’s name is Sanctuary, and yes we can all use our guildhall, when you all fill out applications and I kick into the gutter the ones of you I can’t stand!” He calmed after the last words flew out.

  Curatio, sensing that the worst was over, chimed in. “At least none of those measures passed. And in fairness, if Orion and the rest hadn’t gone to an Alliance guild, they would have gone somewhere else; somewhere that they would be of no benefit to anyone in the Alliance.”

  Alaric shook his head. “We need to be independent. No more Goliath, no more treachery, and no more diplomacy with people who are constantly making your blood boil. I have weathered this so-called Alliance,” he said, looking directly at Cyrus, “in order to provide opportunities to those in our guild that desire a challenge without leaving the home that we’ve built. Now,” he continued, almost snarling, “the allies that are supposed to share our best interests are compromising ours to advance their own agendas.”

  His gaze was powerful, and his words sent a rush of motivation through the warrior that would keep him moving for the next six months. “We face a grave threat, from a source unknown. Build our strength, get us powerful enough so that I can get us free of this wretched Alliance and convince our guildmates that we don’t need these vultures any longer.”

  Chapter 26

  “Burnt Offerings has inducted 1,152 people in the last month,” Niamh told the Council, reading from a roll of parchment. “Amarath's Raiders have 911 new members; Endeavor has added another 783.” The elf looked around the shocked faces at the table, biting her lip.

  “Holy Bellarum,” Cyrus breathed. “Where did they find that many people?”

  “The armies of the major cities and empires, from other guilds a step below them on the food chain, from mercenary companies – from anywhere they could. The short answer,” Niamh said with a look of grave disappointment, “is they did everything we were intending to do. I heard they even sent envoys to the troll homeland.”

  “This does not bode well for our impending recruitment drive,” Curatio said, eyes downcast.

  Vaste spoke up. “This changes nothing.”

  “I don't know about that,” Niamh said. “They've put out feelers in every major city in Arkaria, letting everyone know that they're looking for new members, that they're not necessarily worried about how well equipped these people are, and they've temporarily suspended their membership dues. They've captured a lot of potential candidates that might have been looking.”

  “True,” the troll said. “But we have something that they don't.”

  Alaric raised an eyebrow. “And what might that be?”

  Vaste leaned forward, eyes burning. “We only care about the content of their character, not how experienced or equipped they are. In short, when it comes to their effectiveness as a fighter, we have no minimum standard. They do.” He looked around the table. “Right?”

  Cyrus leaned forward. “It's true. They might have dropped equipment requirements, but they will still require at least two years of combat experience, whether in an army, in a guild, or somewhere else.”

  “Let me see if I understand this correctly,” Vara said. “You want to solve our strength problem – the problem we have with a lack of experienced candidates for our army – by recruiting inexperienced candidates for our army?” She rolled her eyes. “Brilliant. In fact, so brilliant I wonder how he,” she said, nodding in Cyrus's direction, “didn't come up with it first.”

  Cyrus let the remark pass. “I think Vaste might have a good idea here.”

  Vara froze. “Not that I think this will ever be a problem in your case, but I must insist that you don't breed,” she said to Cyrus.

  “Are you sure?” he replied, burying his annoyance in an ingratiating smile. “I think a few practice attempts at breeding would solve a great many of your attitude problems.”

  “Oh,” Vara said, “I think I'm going to be quite ill.”

  “If we could focus on the problem at hand?” Alaric appealed to them. “Cyrus, you were saying?”

  “Right,” the warrior said, “what Vaste says has merit for two reasons: first, we can train rookies. Second, Niamh said that those guilds – and I'm sure countless other guilds a step or two down the food chain from the big three – have been recruiting in every major city.” The warrior's eyes were alight. “But most of the people in Arkaria don't live in a major city.”

  Curatio nodded. “Most of the populace lives in towns, in the villages, on farms, and so on – which are usually not very close to a portal.”

  “Which means it takes longer to get to them,” Cyrus said. “We can go to them, to every village in the countryside and seek out people that might be looking for adventure, young and old – and we can train them ourselves. We won't get many magic users because of how the Leagues scoop them up to train them from childhood, but we can train anybody to use a sword or a bow or a dagger.”

  “We could build an effective army with warriors and rangers at the core,” Vaste said.

  “So, again,” Vara said, “your plan is to drag in any seamstress or pig farmer with visions of adventure and delusions of grandeur, give them a sword, and place them in the front lines of our continuing battle with the forces of evil and... what? Use their corpses as shields for those of us that can actually fight?”

  “Anyone can learn to fight if they want to learn badly enough,” Vaste said. “I say we give them a chance and see who among them wants to.”

  “It won't be easy,” Cyrus said. “But if we focus on finding people who do have, as Vara so eloquently put it,” he shot her a dazzling but fake smile, “'visions of adventure,' and show them some success, we'll find new recruits that we can grow with –”

  Niamh jumped in. “And we have enough equipment; the Armory is full. We could give them swords and armor without any difficulty; we have plenty of spares lying around that we aren't even using.”

  “These potential recruits,” Cyrus
said, “get a shot at adventure, something everyone dreams about, and we get new soldiers for our army.”

  “You mean a barely-trained rabble,” Vara said.

  “I'm impressed at your ability to constantly come up with creative insults and ways to criticize but never an idea to fix the problems we're dealing with,” Cyrus said. “Tell me, does your myopia extend to all areas of your life, or just your duties as Council member? Because that would explain why you're unable to see why no one likes you.”

  “Myopia? I see quite clearly, thank you,” Vara returned as the color left her face.

  “Please. You're so narrow-minded you could wear the finger of my gauntlet as a helm.”

  “That's no difficulty; your fingers are the size of sausages,” she stammered.

  “The better to... never mind.” Her eyes narrowed, as though she could sense the reply he'd discarded. “My point is, do you have anything to contribute that would help us or are you just here to piss on every idea we come up with?”

  The elf said nothing for a long moment. Her eyes remained narrowed, but she did not meet Cy's gaze.

  “As long as we emphasize,” Curatio spoke up, breaking the tension of the moment, “that honor is of paramount importance to us.” The elf looked around the table. “So long as we remember that, we'll be fine – forget it, and we are lost.”

  “I agree, Curatio,” Alaric said. “I would rather have ten honorable comrades at my side that don't know which direction to point their blade than a thousand skilled mercenaries that I can't trust to turn my back on.”

  A small sound followed as Vara cleared her throat. She had grown paler still since Cyrus's last insult, and when everyone turned to her at the sound, she nodded without meeting anyone's eyes. “Agreed. Honor above all else,” she said, her voice breaking ever so slightly.

  “Very well,” Alaric said. “We have an agreement about what must be done. Let us adjourn.”

  Alaric halted Cyrus as he began to head toward the door, and waited until the rest of the Council filed out. Vara was the last to leave, and cast a stricken look at the Ghost before she exited. She was still pale as she shut the door. Alaric Garaunt turned his full attention to Cyrus, who was waiting nervously for the Guildmaster's rebuke.

  “As the presumptive General you will need to spearhead this recruiting effort,” Alaric began without preamble. The knight looked up at the warrior, meeting his gaze with his one good eye. “I doubt you will be back for several months, if you're to go to all the far off places that other guilds won't.”

  Cyrus blinked. “Are you sending me because I'm the best person for the task at hand or are you trying to put some distance between myself and Vara?”

  Alaric leaned back in his chair, studying the warrior. “Your internecine squabbles do not concern me – at least not at their current level of intensity.” The paladin smiled ruefully. “Should they grow to be much more tempestuous, I may become concerned, but we are not quite at that juncture yet. No,” he finished, “I believe that when it comes to communicating the vision of the road we have ahead, both pitfalls and possibilities, you will be best for the job.”

  “Very well,” Cyrus nodded. After a moment's pause, he asked, “Has she always been this... difficult?”

  Alaric thought carefully for a moment before he answered. “Her skill with a sword is almost equal to her skill with her tongue – but the latter is sharper, I fear,” said Alaric. “In you she has finally found someone who will neither be intimidated by her forceful personality nor wear down from the constant sustained attack that she can muster.”

  The paladin cast a sidelong glance out the window, gazing at passing clouds. “Vara,” he said without expression, “is the closest I've seen to somebody embodying the essence of a storm.” The paladin held up his hands. “Do not read more into that than what I have said. She is very much like a daughter to me since the day I found her, wounded and on the verge of death.”

  “So that's why she dislikes me so much? Because I'm not intimidated by her and because I won't back down?” Cyrus chuckled.

  “No,” Alaric said with a smile. “You assume too much. I never said she disliked you.”

  “If that's what she does to people she likes,” Cyrus said, brow furrowed, “I don't want to know how she treats her enemies.”

  “Nor did I say she likes you,” the paladin continued. “Let us focus on the task at hand. It would be best for you to travel with another guild member and leave tonight.”

  “Here's your helm, what's your hurry?” Cyrus said with a touch of sarcasm. “Who should I take with me and where should I begin?”

  “For the next thirty days you should head north, stopping at every village along the way. I will send druids and wizards in advance of you, to give word that you will be coming, and to set up times that you will be there to meet with interested parties. In a little over a month you will be in Reikonos. From there I want you to head east to the dwarven capital of Fertiss, then south into the Gnomish Dominions. Go through the Mountains of Nartanis and along the northern edge of the Inculta Desert, seeing the people of the villages along that line.”

  The paladin stopped for a moment, considering. “That will take a further three months. Once you reach the village of Taymor, at the far western edge of the desert, on the shores of the Bay of Lost Souls, you will teleport to the oasis in the middle of the desert and you can visit the settlements of the tribes there before teleporting to the Elven Kingdom in the west. It will take you a month to make your way through the Kingdom properly.”

  “That...” Cyrus said without emotion, “...is an aggressive schedule.”

  “I will send aid to you throughout but it needs to be done and I know of no one better than you to carry out this mission,” the Ghost said. “As you leave these villages we will set up times for a druid or wizard to pick up potential candidates and bring them back to Sanctuary, where we will work with them in your absence on basic training and getting to know them and their character.”

  Cyrus frowned. “What's the hurry?”

  Alaric brought his hands together and steepled his fingers. “The news that Ferocis has been stolen from the titans, by itself, would be of no great concern. People steal things of value on a regular basis. However when two godly weapons are stolen and a third changes hands mysteriously in a short window of time I become concerned.”

  Cyrus's brow furrowed in concentration. “Let's say someone was stealing these weapons. What would they use them for?”

  Alaric was lost in thought for a moment. “They are weapons that bear immense power. The fraction of godhood that imbues each weapon would bring the wielder greater strength, speed, dexterity – mystical shielding to absorb damage they would take.” Alaric sighed. “In short, a fighter equipped with one of these weapons would be able to take on an army and emerge victorious if they were skilled in battle. If it were possible, I should like to put one of these weapons in your hands and turn you loose on the Goblin Imperium.”

  “If these weapons are that powerful, why didn't the titans or the goblins have their most skilled warriors wielding them?”

  “It is a double-edged sword, if you'll forgive the metaphor.” Alaric pulled his hands apart. “Yes, it increases the strength of the fighter using it, but should that person fall, the weapon can be lost and you would face a much worse foe.” Alaric sighed. “The fear that it would be used against them has kept the Scimitar of Air and the Spear of Water under very close guard by their respective kingdoms for a long time.” He shuddered. “I do not care to consider the consequences should someone retrieve all of these weapons.”

  “Why does it matter?” Cy asked, confused. “They've got one god's weapon; didn't you say that's enough to defeat an army?”

  “Yes,” Alaric said. “So far they have acquired three of six. Can you imagine they will stop halfway to getting them all?”

  “How many do you really need?”

  “It would depend on y
our ultimate goal. One would suffice for a loner; someone only looking out for him or herself. They would be able to win any duel they fought, commit any crime, escape from any lawful authority that decided to pursue them. But consider what you would be able to achieve with six superior fighters, each holding one of these weapons. If they fought together, as comrades, it is possible they could even conquer the world.”

  Cyrus shuddered at the thought of facing six skilled and nearly invincible combatants. “Where is the Scepter of Fire – Torris, I think it's called?”

  Alaric nodded. “That was last said to be possessed by the dragons in Hewat.” The Ghost smiled. “Any fool that would steal from a city of dragons is unlikely to survive the attempt.” Alaric turned his gaze to the window. “But not knowing the foe that we face makes that assumption rather foolish, doesn't it?”

  “What should we do?” A steely determination filled the warrior.

  Alaric turned back to Cyrus. “Our purpose remains unchanged. We are in no position to fight even a group of six that possess these weapons. They are imbued with the magic of the gods, and in order to face an enemy of this magnitude, we will need a true army. Your mission must begin as quickly as possible.”

  Cyrus nodded. As he turned to leave, he looked back. “You still didn't answer about who I should take with me.”

  The Guildmaster looked at him, face inscrutable. “I think it would be best to have different people with you throughout the journey. For the first leg, between here and Reikonos, I would suggest J'anda. It will make things go smoother in your efforts to recruit dark elves.”

  Cyrus nodded. “Then I will take J'anda, so long as he's willing.”

  “Before you go,” Alaric stopped him as he turned to leave, “I am certain you are fully capable of doing this. Are you certain you are willing? Because this will not be easy; it will tax you and only one who fully believes in the purpose of this mission will succeed in swaying others to our cause.”