“Did you not hear that explosion?” Isabelle asked. “It shook the building.”
Cyrus stood as he began to fasten his breastplate. “I felt...a tremor.” He looked at Vara, mortified. “I thought it was me.”
She ignored him. “Isabelle, did you get Mother—”
“Upstairs,” Isabelle said. “We need to signal your people and mine—”
Cyrus turned and grabbed the chair that he had been sitting in. Raising it above his head, he heaved it at the window, where it ripped the curtain from the wall and broke the glass, flying onto the street, shattering the calm of the evening.
From a few stories below Cyrus heard shouts of “Alarum!” and turned back to Vara, who was looking at him with annoyance.
“You could have just opened the window and shouted for help.”
He shrugged as he brushed past her, drawing his sword. “This was faster.”
“What was that?” Chirenya’s voice rang down the stairwell as Cyrus led Vara and Isabelle into the sitting room. “Ox, did you just destroy my home?”
“Only part of it. More to come.”
“Mother, get back in your bedroom and lock the door!” Vara shouted. “They’re coming!”
“Oh, all right!” Chirenya’s voice was fraught with tension. “But tell your ox that he’ll be paying for any of my possessions that he destroys!”
Cyrus stared at the landing below, watching for movement. He waited, focused until a flash running up the steps caught his eye just as a crash of breaking glass came from behind him on the second floor, followed by the sound of the door to the street splintering below.
He turned to see a half dozen black-clad bodies sliding in the windows behind him. Screaming could be heard on the floor above and Cyrus watched Vara rush the stairwell as the first of the assassins reached their floor from below. She lashed out with her sword, a massive, two-handed blade, raking it across the chest of the first assassin, causing him to fall backward and knock down the two that followed him.
Without waiting to see what happened next, Vara ran up the steps, Isabelle at her heels, sword thumping against the railing all the way up. Cyrus shot a quick look at the assassins piling up on the landing, shouts coming from below, and then glanced back to the ones that had broken through the second floor window and were advancing on him. With a muttered curse he turned and sprinted up the stairs, listening as havoc filled the house.
His metal boots clanked on every step. He flew up the stairs and burst through the bedroom door to find a bizarre sight.
The entire third floor was a large bedroom with windows that faced the street. Vara’s father lay on the bed, unconscious, blankets tucked around his body. Vara and Isabelle stood in front of him, eyes fixed on the space on the other side of the bed. An orange, flickering light filled the room.
Chirenya was holding five assassins at bay in the open space between the bed and the windows. Her hands clutched a smooth black staff with a red crystal mounted at the top. The elven woman’s blond hair was tucked behind her ears. With her back turned, Cyrus could not see her face, but as she gripped the staff it vomited bursts of fire, spheres of blazing flame spewing forth every half second, each flying with unfaltering speed at its target.
Five assassins had broken through the windows, all dressed in black attire with a cowl and mask to hide their features; something similar in spirit but far different in look than the assassins Cyrus had encountered thus far.
And every single one of them was screaming and on fire.
Cyrus stared at the spectacle of a lone elven woman defeating five skilled killers, then remembered that they were far from the only threats. He turned back to the door with a shout to Vara and Isabelle. “Coming up the stairs!” He positioned himself against the wall next to the door.
He led with Praelior, swinging as a blur of black came through the doorframe, his stroke catching the first assassin across the neck. The body dropped to the floor as the next entered, tripping on the corpse. With a step forward, Vara jabbed her sword through the second elf’s back, causing him to writhe and then go still.
Cyrus moved to block the door but something exploded in front of him, knocking him aside. Smoke filled his eyes and lungs and he began to cough as he fell to the ground. Tears beaded up at the corners of his eyes and he felt a burning as he tried to blink away the smoky heat. Something whipped through the air above him and he heard a cry of pain, even as he crawled on his hands and knees away from the sounds of battle behind him.
His shoulder bumped something heavy and yet soft. The bed, he thought, grasping at the edge and using it to lever himself up, still unable to see through the pain in his eyes. With a tingle, he felt a healing spell run over his face and the tears stopped.
Blinking away the wetness, he rose and saw Isabelle at the edge of a cloud of smoke, her hand extended to him. An assassin appeared from behind her but before Cyrus could shout a warning she turned and a light flashed from her hand, bright enough to blot out the entire room in a blast of white. After it faded, Cyrus blinked and saw Isabelle with a dagger in her hand and the assassin in her grip. The knife came down on his neck again and again, and her white robes were sprinkled with red.
Where’s Vara? Out of the cloud of smoke came a whirlwind of activity. Vara stumbled back, appearing at the edge of the billow, an assassin following. She was coughing, her sword extended with one hand while the other covered her mouth. The assassin raised his hands to strike a killing blow and before Cyrus could cross the distance between them, a tinkle of glass came from behind him while something whipped through the air, causing the assassin’s head to jerk. An arrow rested in his eye, and the elf tried to speak but nothing came out as his body twitched and succumbed to gravity.
The cloud of smoke had begun to clear and assassins were pouring through the door. Cyrus moved to engage them, positioning himself between them and Vara. He could see Isabelle in the corner of his eye, her dagger extended with one hand while she cast a healing spell on her sister with the other.
Cyrus watched two assassins move to strike him. He blocked the one closest with a careful stroke of his sword, but left himself exposed to the other while he did it. The second came at him with a gurkha; a medium sized blade the length of Cyrus’s forearm, the point dripping with a liquid that gleamed in the low light. He raised his right hand to block with the metal of his gauntlet and braced himself for the blow.
Another sound of air rushing heralded the arrival of another arrow, this one coming to rest in the assassin’s ear. A strangled screech was cut short and he toppled toward the bed as Cyrus pressed the attack on the remaining assassin, who was joined by another arrival through the door.
Cyrus met the newest assassin with a sideways kick as he slashed at the other, keeping him on the defensive with Praelior’s longer reach. The clangor of battle on the floors below was an uncertain quantity; he had no idea who was winning or even who was fighting—whether it was the assassins, Endeavor, Sanctuary or all three.
With another hard kick, Cyrus sent the assassin in the door backward and over the edge of the stairs. A scream was followed by a crashing noise of flesh on wood and then the sound of something breaking. He turned back to the assassin he had engaged with his sword to find him within reach.
Cyrus braced himself for the inevitable pain as the assassin brought his dagger up in a stabbing motion, aimed at the gap at the bottom of his breastplate. Cyrus pulled Praelior back in a motion that would strike little more than a glancing blow against his opponent’s unguarded throat. Fortunately, with Praelior, a glancing blow would do all the damage necessary to end the fight. But will it be in time? The instinct and concept flashed in Cyrus’s mind more than the actual words.
A sword blow struck the elf just inches before he landed the dagger at Cyrus’s belly, knocking the assassin’s arm aside. Vara’s blade punched through the assassin’s stomach, turning the leering look of triumph into one of exquisite agony and surprise as her blade ran him through at t
he same time Cyrus’s slipped across his neck. A choked, gurgling sound made its way out of the elf’s mouth as he dropped to the ground.
A thundering clamor filled the air as another three assassins entered the room. Their blades were sharp and their steps quiet as they unfolded in a line along the wall toward Vara’s father, prompting the paladin to move toward the one closest, her sword rising. As she cut in front of him, Cyrus could see her porcelain face twist with fury.
Her hand came up and a cry of unholy rage left her lips as the assassin closest to her father raised his dagger over the sleeping figure. A concussive blast of force rocked the room as her spell flung the offender into the wall; Cyrus heard the elf’s skull crack, and he slid to the floor leaving a smear of blood down the wall.
Cyrus swept forward, bringing Praelior down in a crosswise swipe that knocked the assassin closest to the door’s dagger aside as it cut him from his right shoulder to left hip and sent him spinning to the ground.
Cyrus turned his attention to the last of the assassins and watched as a gout of flame engulfed him, wrenching a scream from his lips as another arrow whipped through the window and hit him in the chest, causing him to fall to the floor, still on fire.
“All clear!” came a shouted voice from the stairwell. Heavy footfalls on the steps ended as Thad entered, his sword in hand. “Everyone all right?”
Cyrus looked around the bedroom. Vara was leaning over her father, her hand on his cheek, whispering while Isabelle leaned against the wall behind Cyrus, taking labored breaths.
Chirenya, on the other hand, peered at the body still on fire on the floor before pointing her staff at it. The flames were drawn up in a whirlwind and reabsorbed back into the crystal that crowned her weapon. “I’m quite all right, but tell your friend with the bow across the way to stop putting these killers out of their misery before I’m done with them.” She indicated the bodies of the assassins that had come through the windows. Each of them had an arrow through their torsos, their skin charred and blackened where it had been exposed.
“That was my wife,” Thad said with a grunt. He raised his hand in a wave across the street. Cyrus turned, and in the third floor of the house where the Sanctuary force had been staying, a familiar elven face stared back at him, barely visible in the moonlight.
Cyrus looked back to the assassins that Chirenya had dealt with and frowned. “I thought there were five of them. I count three bodies.”
“Oh, yes,” Chirenya said. “Two of them jumped out the window; I presume they were of a mind to end their suffering before I intended it.”
J’anda appeared at the door, flanked by several warriors that Cyrus did not recognize. He shot a look at Isabelle, who nodded at him. Her skin, by its nature, was not as pale as Vara’s—but she was drawn, her mouth in a grim line, and her complexion was white.
“Isabelle...?” Cyrus said in a hushed voice.
“I’m all right,” she said, each word forced. Her robes, normally pure, still bore the stains of blood from her actions during the fight. Except, Cyrus noted, one of the spots at her side seemed to be growing. “I might,” she conceded as she began to slip down the wall, “need a little help...”
He rushed to her, catching her before she fell. Cyrus lowered her to the ground as a call went down the stairs from one of the members of Endeavor, a shout for help. She stared up, her eyes fixed on his.
“Vara,” he called out. He looked up to see Chirenya swoop down beside him.
“Isabelle,” Chirenya said with a lightness he would not have imagined possible. “Dear, why don’t you heal yourself?”
The healer’s expression was pained, her hand gripping her side. Cyrus pulled up her robes to find the flesh punctured where a kidney would be on a human. “Magic’s not working.” She tilted her head to look at Cyrus, every word struggling to get out. “Black lace?”
He nodded and looked to Chirenya. “I don’t suppose you have any rotweed?”
Chirenya looked back at him with a scowl. “I don’t know what that is, but I would never have anything that sounds that foul under my roof.” She looked around, surveying the damage. “At least until you and your kind showed up.”
“That,” Cyrus replied, keeping his voice even for the benefit of Isabelle, who was staring at him with glassy eyes, “is what we need to counteract the effects of what she’s been poisoned with.”
“Didn’t know these...assassins...were using it.” Isabelle spoke through gritted teeth. “Endeavor has bloody tons of it.” She looked down at her hand, clutching at her wound. “I would have brought some.”
“Fear not,” came a deep voice from the door, “I have quite a bit.” Thad parted the crowd of Endeavor guild members to make way for Vaste, who was wearing a heavy cloak to hide his troll features. As he slipped the cowl back to reveal his green skin and overlarge teeth, Chirenya recoiled, using her body to shield her daughter.
“I will not have some...troll!...work Vidara-knows-what kind of ministrations on my daughter!”
“Then she’ll die,” Vara said, her voice leaden, standing over Cyrus’s shoulder. “Then you’ll have only one disappointment to call your own.”
“He’s one of the best,” Cyrus said, before he realized that it might have been more effective to denounce Vaste to Chirenya in order to get her to take his advice. Before he could try and rectify his perceived error, the stately elf removed herself from her position covering her daughter.
“Very well,” Chirenya said, pulling herself to her feet. “Fail me not in this, troll, or I shall—”
“Threaten me until I burst into flames, I’m sure,” Vaste said, thrusting his cloak into the arms of J’anda as he knelt at Isabelle’s side. The troll’s long, elegant green fingers reached to his belt, where they fiddled with a small leather pouch. Pulling from them a pinch of ground leaf, he held it above Isabelle so she could see it.
“Yes, yes,” the elven healer said, her head bobbing against the floor. “I know how this works. Just do it already.”
“As you say.” Vaste pressed his hand to her side.
Cringing as he recalled the agony of this particular treatment, Cyrus looked away as Vaste placed his hand against her side. He felt Isabelle beneath him, felt the muscles of her shoulder tauten where he held onto her. A grunt of pain escaped her lips, but no more than that. A few seconds later, it was over.
“I’ve cast the healing spell,” Vaste said. “I suspect she’ll be able to heal herself going forward until the hour is up, but I’ll stay here just in case.” He turned to look at Chirenya, who was standing by the broken windows, staring out into the street.
“Hm?” She turned to look back at Vaste, her expression now haggard. “Yes, that will be fine, thank you.”
“Vara?” Cyrus called out to the paladin, who was sitting on the bed next to her father. Her hands were holding his, but her eyes were closed as if she had fallen asleep sitting up. “We need to leave. This place is not safe.”
“Not safe?” Thad looked around in wonder. “We just routed at least thirty assassins.”
“How did they get in?” Cyrus looked to Thad, who shrugged.
“Most came from the cellar,” J’anda spoke up from the door. “There’s a hole into the house next door.”
Cyrus wheeled around, turning to Isabelle. “I thought your people garrisoned the houses on either side?” She looked back at him, drained, but a look of puzzlement on her face.
“The assassins killed all the members of Endeavor in that house an hour or more ago, before they began the operation,” J’anda replied. “There’s twenty or thirty bodies over there. Most of them died in their sleep. The assassins must have figured trying to approach on the street or the backyard was too problematic, since we were watching this house, but...”
“No one was protecting the protectors,” Vaste said with a hint of irony. “So the assassins managed to wipe out a significant force from one of the most powerful guilds in Arkaria without raising an alarm.” The troll sh
ook his large head. “That’s quite an accomplishment. These are no amateurs we’re facing.”
“Vara,” Cyrus spoke again, approaching the paladin from behind. He laid a mailed fist on her shoulder, as gentle as he could. “We need to leave. It’s not safe. We need to get your parents out of here.” He looked up to see Chirenya staring at him, expression blank.
“No,” came a choked voice that he didn’t even recognize. Vara looked up at him, and a righteous anger lit her features and caused him to take a step back. “My father is dying, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to take him from his home for whatever time he has left.” Her jaw was set, her face steel. “We stay. To the end.”
Chapter 17
Cyrus watched her huddle close to her father, who was still unmoving. Whispers from the doorway caught his attention and a quick survey of the room revealed Chirenya now staring out the broken windows while Isabelle was still lying down, Vaste at her side.
“The Termina guard has arrived,” Chirenya said, her voice devoid of any emotion. Turning from the shattered glass, she looked to Cyrus. “Someone should speak to them. They don’t look kindly on battles in the streets.”
“Good thing we kept it in the house then,” Vaste said.
“I’ll go.” Cyrus felt numbness spread through him as he cast a final look at Vara. Her head lay against her father’s, her face buried in his cheek. He shot a look at Thad as he moved toward the stairs. “Keep an eye on her. In case anything happens, get her out of here.”
The human warrior bowed his head in a show of respect. “Will do.”
Cyrus brushed past the Endeavor members who stood guard at the entrance to the room, cramming the staircase with their bulky frames. All were roughly his size or larger; warriors, paladins, and even the occasional dark knight. He pondered the differential between them and the warriors he trained in Sanctuary—on average they were a foot shorter in height and weighed considerably less.
Sanctuary’s rangers were miniscule by comparison—few of them were League trained and almost all were smaller by a considerable margin than those he saw from Endeavor. The frame that would pass for a warrior in Sanctuary was small for a ranger in Endeavor.
The Sanctuary Series: Volume 03 - Champion Page 11