The Sanctuary Series: Volume 03 - Champion

by Robert J. Crane

  Vara’s mother sent him a look of feigned sympathy. “Poor dear. This one seems a bit slow on the uptake. He must be hung like an ox if you keep him around in spite of his obvious intellectual deficiencies.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” The temperature of Vara’s voice fell a hundred degrees in her reply. “Can we come in or shall I just move along and come back to bury your corpses?”

  Her mother glared at her with great coldness. With reticence and a dramatic exhalation, she stepped aside. “Very well. But you’ll need to tie up your ox outside.”

  “Mother.” Vara’s tone was warning, bordering on hostile.

  “Fine. He can come in.” She turned and wandered down the hallway visible through the open door. “Mind the rug, dear. It’s new.”

  Vara wheeled around to him before entering. “Say nothing,” she told him. “She is looking for anything with which to skewer you.”

  “It’s like having a conversation with Malpravus, minus the civility.” Cyrus closed the door behind him. The interior of the house was beautifully furnished. To his left was a living room. The walls of the house were decorated with tapestries and paintings of all kinds. The one that caught his attention was hanging over the fireplace; a portrait of Vara as a girl.

  “Admiring the painting of my daughter?” Cyrus looked back down the hallway to see Vara’s mother staring him down.

  “Ah, yes,” he stammered back. “It’s lovely. It really captures the...” His voice trailed off as he stared at the unsmiling visage of a woman he’d known for years. “...the spirit of her.” He ignored the irritated eye roll from Vara.

  “She wouldn’t sit still for the damned thing, even though she was twelve, and she scowled the entire time.” An amused smile appeared on her face. “So when you say it captures her spirit, are you saying my Vara is disagreeable?”

  Cyrus pondered lying for a split second. To hell with politeness, he thought. She has yet to show me any. “Yes, she is,” he agreed. “Though I’m beginning to think she’s not half as uncivil as she would be naturally predisposed to be.”

  The older elven woman’s eyes narrowed and then her expression lightened for the first time since he’d met her. “Yes, she fights her nature, but I’ve told her a thousand times she should go with her instincts; after all, it takes less energy to let fly the barbs that she produces than it does to suppress them.” She looked him over with an appraising eye. “Perhaps you’re not as slow as I gave you credit for; but with a face like that, you’d still have to be well endowed for her to keep you around.”

  “Mother!” Vara’s shout crackled through the hallway. “He’s not...I’m not with him...I’m only...” Frustration rattled through her, causing her to clench her jaw shut. “He’s here to protect me; he’s not here as my...”

  “Paramour?” her mother offered after a few seconds. “Lover? Heart’s desire?” She laughed. “Nighttime plaything?”

  “There’s no need to be vulgar, Mother.”

  “No need, perhaps, but such desire to be crass is an impulse that I can scarce resist.” She led them down the hallway with an imperious wave of her hand. Vara followed, Cyrus a few steps behind, until they emerged in a modest kitchen with a rounded table big enough for a half dozen to eat in comfort. Vara’s mother looked to Cyrus. “I would offer you something to drink, but I’m fresh out of the traditional types of poison. I have some old cabbage I’ve been meaning to throw away—it likely won’t kill you, but I doubt you’ll see much outside of the privy for the next day or so.”

  Cyrus decided to let the remark pass. “We should get down to business.” He paused, realizing he hadn’t yet heard Vara’s mother’s name. “Uh...what should I call you...? Vara hasn’t called you by name; she keeps addressing you as Mother. I could call you Vara’s mother...or just Mother, I suppose...” Nerves took over and he could feel himself starting to ramble.

  She stared at him. “Do not dare refer to me as ‘Mother’ unless you wish to insult me, and before you do, I must warn you that I am a formidable wizard and able to strike you down with a single spell.” Vara cleared her throat, a look of supreme irritation on her face. Vara’s mother sighed, a sound of deepest disappointment. “Oh, very well. You may call me Chirenya.”

  Cyrus gritted his teeth. “If you know that there’s a threat to Vara’s life, then you must realize that these assassins could be after you as well?”

  Her mother circled to the table, where she pulled out a chair and levered herself into it with exaggerated effort, as though she were pretending to be old. “I assure you I am still possessed of all my faculties, and I understand that if there is a threat to my daughter that it could well make me a target.”

  “Listen.” Vara seated herself at the table next to her mother. “We need to get you and Father out of Termina.”

  “And if we don’t wish to go?”

  Vara blew air out of her lips noiselessly as she looked skyward. “I am appealing to your common sense and, if it exists, your love and trust for me, who has been responsible for quite a few...pleasant contributions to your lifestyle.” Chirenya looked around the room. “These assassins are very dangerous, and they have already killed one of our officers in an attempt to get to me. You are not safe. Please.” Her voice entered the range of a hushed whisper. “Let us get you out of here.”

  Chirenya avoided her daughter’s gaze. “If I could do as you ask, I would. But I cannot.”

  A hush fell over the table, broken by Vara. “Where is my father?”

  “He’s taken ill.” Chirenya’s eyes pivoted to her daughter. “He’s been bedridden for weeks. You’d know this,” her finger came up in an accusatory fashion, “if you came home more often.”

  Her words hung between them. Vara’s face was stone, unmoving. Her eyes focused on a point in the distance, beyond her mother’s shoulder. Vara’s hands fell to her lap, under the table, where her mother could not see, and Cyrus watched as the paladin clasped them together as she continued to stare ahead, one hand squeezing the other.

  Standing at the entrance to the hallway leading back to the front door, Cyrus froze, stiffening as he heard a noise behind him. There came the soft click of a lock being plied, then another squeak as the handle turned and the door opened.

  Chapter 13

  Before it was open, Cyrus was in motion, sword drawn and in hand. He could hear the scrape of Vara’s chair and the sound of her blade being jerked from its scabbard as he pounded toward the door. Praelior was extended, ready to strike, but he hesitated as the last rays of sunlight shone off a head of long blond hair that flowed over immaculate white robes, stitched with the runes that marked the woman as a healer.

  “Isabelle,” Cyrus said in acknowledgment, skidding to a halt and sheathing his sword, embarrassed.

  “Cyrus Davidon,” said the elven woman who stood before him. “I’d assumed that the General of Sanctuary cut an imposing figure in battle, but to see you charging affirms all my beliefs in that area and then some.” She shut the door, casting the hallway in shadow once more.

  Once his eyes adjusted, Cyrus saw her lips upturned, fine wrinkles at the corner of her eyes showing themselves. “If I’m that frightening, why are you laughing?”

  “It takes more than a hell bent warrior to scare an officer of Endeavor. But if I were, say, a member of the dark elven army? I’d be quaking in fear at your approach.”

  “Flattery won’t help you, dear,” Chirenya’s voice came from the kitchen. “Your sister is already rutting with him.”

  “I doubt that very much,” Isabelle muttered under her breath.

  “Mother! I am not...rutting...with anyone!”

  “Well, you should; it would eliminate some of that tension that contributes to the wrinkles on your forehead...you’re going to look older than I do soon.”

  Vara made her way to Cyrus’s shoulder. “What brings you home?”

  Isabelle unwrapped the delicate shawl from her neck. “Since Alaric sent a messenger warning me about the assassin
s, I’ve had a hundred or so of my guildmates encamped in the houses to the sides and back, keeping watch for trouble.”

  “Wait,” Cyrus said. “Endeavor has forces to either side and behind the house?” He turned to Vara and shrugged. “You can’t get any safer than that, short of having a detail here.”

  “Yes, I can only guess how marvelously that would turn out, based on your reaction to my eldest daughter coming to the door,” Chirenya shot at him from the far end of the hallway. “I assume that anyone who knocks on your door at night is lucky to survive the experience. Humans, such primitive creatures, especially the men—”

  “Mother,” Isabelle said. “Be polite. He’s your guest.”

  “He’s your sister’s guest,” Chirenya returned. “I would have just as soon had her tie him to the hitching post outside.” She turned to Cyrus. “You’re not going to endear yourself to me...”

  “Ever,” Vara said.

  Chirenya continued as if she had not heard. “...if you go charging about like a bloodthirsty troll at every person that passes through the neighborhood. The High Priestess of Vidara drops by, we have friends—”

  “Fancy that,” Isabelle said.

  Other than a frown directed at her eldest daughter, Chirenya was undeterred. “We are not leaving, not while Amiol is ill, and maybe not even were he well. This is our home and I will not retreat from it. If these assassins show up, I’ll be certain to send them in your general direction.” She waved her hand at Cyrus.

  “I wish to see Father,” Vara said.

  “He’s upstairs,” Chirenya said. “I will take you to him, if your sister will consent to watching the barbarian to make certain he doesn’t steal any of my fine silverware.” She lowered her voice as if she were speaking confidentially. “His kind don’t use utensils to eat, so they’re quite the novelty—”

  “Mother,” Vara snapped.

  “Oh, yes, very well,” Chirenya said with feigned exasperation before looking back to Cyrus. “Do not touch anything. That smell of yours, it gets on everything and you can’t get it out, no matter how hard you scrub...”

  “Or how hard your maid does, at least,” Isabelle said.

  Cyrus turned to Isabelle. “How close are your people?”

  She smiled. “Seconds away if anyone comes to the door. They only let you two in alive because I allowed it.”

  “Good.” He looked to Vara. “I’m going across the street to talk with our people. I’ll send Thad and a few others to loiter in the street while I’m gone.”

  “Oh, dear, that’s certain to depress the property values,” Chirenya muttered.

  Vara rolled her eyes. “I’ll come to you once I’ve seen Father.”

  “It would certainly be quieter than me coming back here.” Cyrus looked at Chirenya as he spoke.

  “But much less witty.” Chirenya leaned against the wall. “It’s no wonder you girls feel the need to engage in all these foolish invasions and conquests,” she told Vara as her daughters followed her around the corner. “There’s no one around to challenge your wits...”

  Seething, Cyrus walked to the door, pausing in the hallway to take his gauntlet off and rub his sweaty hand along the frame of a painting of a meadow. “Enjoy the smell of that, hag,” he muttered so low that it was almost inaudible.

  “I heard that,” came the shrill voice as he walked out the door. “Keep your hands off my things!”

  Cyrus let the door almost close before he replied. “Yes, Mother.”

  Chapter 14

  Cyrus strolled across the street, still steaming. He nodded at Thad and chucked a thumb at the street behind him. The warrior signaled to two other Sanctuary guildmates, who stood up from the steps and followed him into the street as Cy passed them. He walked up the steps as the door swung wide, revealing Vaste, his green skin flushed and an exaggerated grin on his face, displaying his large canines.

  “Hihi!” the troll said with over-the-top friendliness. “You must be our new neighbor.”

  “I am,” Cyrus said, “and it looks like I’m going to be in the neighborhood for quite some time.”

  “Damn. I hate this place.”

  “Who’s at the door?” J’anda’s head peeked around the corner of a nearby wall, no illusion hiding his dark elven heritage. “Oh, it’s you. I take it you met Vara’s mother?”

  “I did,” Cyrus confirmed.

  “And?” The enchanter looked at him with a half-smile, expectant.

  “She’s a real peach. One laced with arsenic, but still...a peach.”

  “Apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, eh?” J’anda’s half-smile had turned into a smirk.

  “Can you assholes stop talking in fruit metaphors?” Vaste’s brow was furrowed in annoyance. “You’re making me crave pie.”

  “Seen anything unusual since you’ve been here?” Cyrus looked past J’anda into the room. A half dozen bedrolls were spread out on the floor, and in front of the window stood two members of Sanctuary, watching the street.

  “Other than catching a glimpse of Vara’s mother changing her clothes, no,” Vaste replied.

  “Yeesh,” Cyrus replied with a cringe.

  “It’s okay,” the troll said. “She may be a few millenia old, but she’s still well put together.”

  “Don’t...ever...tell Vara what you just told me.”

  “Do I look stupid to you?” Vaste stared down at Cyrus. “I have no desire to stick my head into that barrel of flaming oil.” The troll sauntered over to a sofa and lowered himself onto it. “But isn’t it reassuring that if ever you break through Vara’s icy facade, even when you’re old and falling apart, she’ll still look as stunning and frightening as she does today? Hells, she’ll look like that long after you’re dead.”

  “Thanks for the morbid thought,” Cyrus sent a sour look at the healer. “But I’m not interested in—” He halted mid-sentence, catching a look shared between the troll and the dark elf.

  “Sure you’re not,” J’anda said without conviction.

  “Tell me,” Vaste began with practiced neutrality, “when you lie to yourself like that, does it sound true in your head? I mean...do you often provide escort for hundreds of miles to people in need?”

  “If there’s a threat of death, I would hope any of us would.” Cyrus buried the faint pang of guilt he felt at lying.

  “I see,” Vaste said with a nod. “And the fact that you’ve been in mad love with her for two years had no influence on your decision to go?”

  “I’m not here to talk about my feelings.” Annoyance welled up in Cyrus. “Vara’s father is ill and her mother is refusing to leave town.” He rubbed his nose. “I have my doubts that she’ll want to leave, knowing her mother won’t go.”

  J’anda’s eyebrows rose, alarm written on his soft features. “You need to convince her; staying here is suicide.”

  Cyrus looked across the room at the enchanter. “You’ve had experience convincing Vara to change her mind?”

  “This is not a good place to stand against assassins making a bid to kill her.”

  “He’s right,” Vaste said. “We’re too exposed.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Cyrus said. “Endeavor has taken over the houses on either side and the one out back; I don’t think you could get much safer than that.”

  “Agreed, but this is not a good spot for a fight,” J’anda said with a shrug. “They could come from either direction on the street or through the yards in back—”

  “Or they could drop down from a Gryphon,” Cyrus added with a disinterest born of fatigue, “smash into the basement with a rock giant...”

  J’anda and Vaste exchanged another look. “We, uh,” the troll began, “hadn’t even thought of most of those.”

  “Let’s hope the Hand of Fear shares your lack of imagination.”

  “Maybe we’ve wiped them all out?” Vaste said with a note of hope. “Or done such damage to their numbers that they won’t be able to mount an attack?”

  Cyrus s
ighed. “I’m not going to operate from that assumption—I mean, they had a half dozen assassins in a village in the middle of nowhere in the southern plains, on the chance that we were going to pass through on the way to Termina.” He shook his head. “No...more likely, they’ll come tonight, under cover of darkness, because if they’re watching, they know Vara is here now.”

  J’anda’s eyes darted to look out at the street. “How do you think they’ll do it?”

  “Hard to say.” Cyrus put his hands behind his head and leaned back. “You need to be ready to storm the house on a moment’s notice.”

  “My mother will love that,” Vara’s voice came from the entryway.

  Isabelle appeared at her side, glanced around the room and looked to Cyrus with a quizzical expression. “I don’t mean to criticize, but don’t you have more than two people?”

  “We’re so good, there’s no point in having more,” Vaste said.

  Cyrus leaned back into the padding of the couch. “How’s your father?”

  “Sleeping. I’ll speak to him when he wakes up.” Vara looked around the living room. “We should probably be heading back; Isabelle just wanted to see our operation.”

  “I have seen it, and I pronounce it very satisfactory,” Isabelle said. “If there is an attack, I have faith that you’ll all distinguish yourselves brilliantly, just as you have in building Sanctuary’s exemplary reputation over the last few years.” Warmth oozed out of her every word, Cyrus reflected, amazed at the contrast between her and her sister and their respective abilities to put people at ease or discomfort.

  “Wow, you’re inspiring,” Vaste said. “Can we trade Vara to Endeavor in exchange for you?” Ignoring the paladin’s withering glare, he went on. “She hasn’t said anything that nice to me in...uh...ever.”

  “Nor do I plan to,” Vara said with a glance toward Cyrus. “Come on then. We’re leaving.”

  Cyrus continued to sit on the couch until her words sunk in. “Wait, me?”

  Vara let out a deep sigh. “Yes, you. Mother has consented to letting you stay with us for added protection.”