The Sanctuary Series: Volume 03 - Champion

by Robert J. Crane

  As he approached the throne, Cyrus realized that attired as he was, there was no way to notice the King’s face. The monarch’s hands rested on a stave that bore enough gemstones to put the crown almost to shame, and every finger was adorned in rings. Cyrus led the procession of Sanctuary’s heroes with Vara, Fortin and Longwell and the rest forming ranks behind them. He had watched Alaric break away at the back of the room, finding a place to stand near the doors.

  Cyrus brought the formation to a rest at the base of the steps that led up to the monarch, where the Minister of Protocol gestured. Banners matching the King’s robes hung from above, bearing heraldry of different units of the Elven army. He looked until he saw that the one hanging directly above the King was of the Termina Guard—a city by a river against a light blue background. It seemed to be hanging lower than the others around it—in a place of honor.

  The ceremony was long, but touching. Each member of the force had their name called across the assemblage. Cyrus saw more than a few decorated members of the Termina Guard in the crowd at the back of the throne room, watching and cheering when appropriate.

  When the time came for the highest honors, J’anda was called before the King first, knelt and had a medal placed around his shoulders. The King whispered something in the dark elf’s ear that caused the enchanter to chuckle, then spoke in his loudest voice, “Arise, Sir J’anda the Cunning.”

  Erith was next, and dubbed Madam Erith the Pure-Hearted, which caused Cy to snicker and her to shoot a dirty look over her shoulder at him. Aisling was dubbed “the Crafty,” and Cyrus watched as the King whispered something to her and she whispered something back to him that caused the monarch to laugh out loud. “Gods, I hope she didn’t do to him what she does to me,” he said under his breath. Vara turned her head to glare at him.

  “Do you think the King feels a bit odd giving so many awards to dark elves when his Kingdom is at war with them?” Longwell’s voice was just below a whisper.

  Cyrus ignored Vara’s attempt to shush them. “He strikes me as the sort to be grateful for whatever help he can get.”

  Andren was called next before the King and pronounced “Sir Andren the Vigilant.” Except when he’s drinking, Cyrus thought. Vaste was the last of his group, and towered over the monarch by almost two feet. “You will be the first troll ever given this award,” King Danay pronounced.

  “I’m not surprised,” Vaste said. “It’s difficult to honor someone when you’ve been so busy killing them.”

  He knelt for the King to place the medal over his head and arose “Sir Vaste the Wry.” With an exaggerated smile and a long wave fit for a beauty queen, the troll made his way back to his place in the formation.

  “Now we award those who tended the front line of the bridges, who fought until Termina was empty of our people. They led this struggle with courage and skill, and are deserving of a great reward and even greater renown. Each shall receive land and the title of Lord—or Lady, in the case of the shelas’akur.” A rumble of applause made its way through the crowd and Danay stopped to acknowledge it. Cyrus looked to Vara, but she stared straight ahead, a little flush on her cheeks.

  “The first of these heroes is a warrior like no other. In the heart of battle, he held against all the forces that came against the Southbridge, and threw them back with no weapon but his own two hands. Come forward, Fortin of Sanctuary.” The rock giant moved toward the King, who flinched as Fortin dropped to a knee, causing a reverberation through the floor that forced the monarch back a step.

  “For his bravery, Lord Fortin shall be awarded a landhold of ten thousand acres in the foothills of the Heia Mountains,” the King said. “It is a territory filled with caves, rocks and scarcely a mile of arable land—per his request.” The King wore a subtle smile. “For this, you shall be known as Lord Fortin of Rockridge. Arise a Lord.”

  Fortin stood, dwarfing the King with his stature, and bowed once more before stepping back to the line. Longwell was called and stepped forward as the rock giant returned to their line. “Why not pick a spot of land that you could sell?” Cyrus asked in a low voice, once more disregarding the shushing noises coming from both Vara and Erdnim.

  “Because I wanted something to remind me of home—that could be my home, someday,” he replied in a gravelly rumble that sounded nothing like his usual timbre. It took Cyrus a moment to realize that the normally stoic rock giant might be crying—or at least his version of it.

  “Sir Samwen Longwell,” King Danay began, “a dragoon from a land we know not, defended the center span with tremendous effort, holding a third of the bridge from harm at his own peril. He did not flag, he did not fail, and he did it all without a word of complaint. Those who can wield a weapon as he did are few and valuable; those who do it with unquestioned honor and loyalty are worth more than a field of emeralds.” The King said the last with a smile, and a ripple of amazement ran through the assemblage. Vara gasped next to Cyrus, but when he made to ask her about it, she silenced him with a look.

  “To you, sir, I give ten thousand acres in the plains and meadows south of Pharesia, stretching from the sea inland. They lay in the sight of the Heia mountains, but are a green and fertile land, ripe for cultivation if you so desire.” He gave the dragoon a benevolent smile. “Rise, Lord Longwell of the Emerald Fields.” He rose and bowed once more to the King, who nodded his head in acknowledgment.

  Cyrus had a thought and turned to Vara. “If he awards this land, are we obligated to defend it?”

  She shot him an acidic look and finally broke her silence, her voice low. “No, and I doubt you’d need to, based on where he’s assigned it thus far—south of Pharesia is far from the war.”

  But not from the titans. Cyrus thought of the enormous, beastly inhabitants of the southern lands beyond the Heia mountains. Or the dragons, south of them. He shook away the thought. Neither has come in force over the mountains for millenia.

  “Vara...” the King called her forward. Her hair was down again and her armor was in perfect order once more, shining in the light of the throne room. “Lady Vara defended her homeland, rather than remaining neutral as her guild would have allowed her to do, and defended the Grand Span against all attackers from dusk until dawn. When the shelas’akur was born, it was expected that she would be our hope in a dark time and lead our people back to greatness, warding us from the dangers that assailed the spirit of our great Kingdom.

  “What was not foreseen was that she would choose to take up arms and protect the Kingdom from invaders as well. When one is born to great duty and honor, as she has been, it would be easy to shirk the concerns of the physical, to put aside the burden of sword and shield and consign oneself to an easier life. Instead, she took up the blade of honor as one of Vidara’s holy warriors, and fought to protect her homeland in a way that none of us could have expected from one so...exalted.” He gestured to her and she knelt.

  “There is a village to the north that sits on a crossroads of great importance. The Lord of that place was known to you, I believe, for a gift he gave in your youth. He died in the close of the year last, and left no heir behind. In times of peace, the crossing is a land of quiet fields and solemn woods, cool streams and pleasant weather. I pronounce you Lady Vara of Nalikh’akur. Rise.”

  Cyrus felt a slight, sharp exhalation as Vara rose and bowed her head to the King. She made her way back to them with stilted steps, dazed, a jumble of thoughts written upon her face. He waited until she was closer and then leaned toward her to whisper, “Isn’t that where...?”

  “Yes,” she said. “It is.”

  “Finally,” the King continued, “General Cyrus Davidon. Most guilds, headquartered far from the territories that are defended by elves and men, would not have dared to involve themselves in the defense of Termina. Guilds that make their home within the walls of our cities are understood to have a vested interest in protecting the homeland. Not so with a guild that finds themselves in disputed territory; for them, it might be more ex
pedient to remain uninvolved in the war and let it pass them by rather than expose their home and fellows to the harm that might befall them from hostilities.

  “But not this man. When all manner of ill swept into Termina, he did not use his wizards to flee from the fires of war. He took up arms and defended the Grand Span, holding it against impossible numbers until daybreak to provide our people a chance to flee for their lives and safety. Then he ordered a careful retreat so as to be certain that our civilians had made it safely from the city streets. That would have been far more than was called for by an army and a general that had already gone so far out of their way to assist us.

  “Not so for this warrior. He led his troops to cover and assist the evacuation of our own Termina Guard, allowing the remaining survivors to escape the city when otherwise they would have been killed. He stayed behind, planning to be the last man out of the city, when events beyond his control trapped him with a wounded companion. Yet he still managed to fight his way out, saving our beloved shelas’akur from certain death.”

  “Before I conclude our final award, let this be known. For the nine heroes I have recognized individually, each will receive one further reward. When the day comes that our armies retake Termina, each will be given a mansion on Ilanar Hill, to be maintained by the Kingdom in grateful thanks for their service, and so they may ever dwell among the citizens they saved and own a piece of what they fought so hard for.

  “Come forward, General Davidon.” The King’s eyes were fixed on him, and even through the robes, they made an impression, piercing him the way that Alaric’s did. Cyrus made his way in front of the King and hesitated before going to one knee. “For bravery and action above any that would be expected, I name you a Lord. The courage you have shown is worthy of more than any title I could give you. If I awarded you a holdfast in the Kingdom, I think it would be wasted on a man such as yourself.”

  He leaned in to Cyrus and spoke in a whisper. “Instead, I award you that which I think you will have more use for; but be aware it is not mine to freely give. It comes with strings that must eventually be severed for you to truly possess it.”

  Cy looked at him, confused, as the King went on. “Cyrus Davidon of Sanctuary. Your actions are beyond my ability to repay with a simple Lordship—though I award you that title. I cede and commit to your care a swath of land that has long been claimed by the Elven Kingdom, but today I renounce that claim. I give to you the Southern Plains of Perdamun, from the Waking Woods and the Bay of Lost Souls to the south fork and western bank of the river Perda north to Prehorta. I give them to you, in their entirety, and make them yours to defend.”

  He looked at Cyrus with compelling eyes, light but alive, searching through him. “Stand, Lord Davidon of Perdamun. Arise as the Warden of the Southern Plains.”

  Chapter 40

  The applause was deafening as Cyrus walked, stunned, back to his place in the line. What does that mean? It’s not as though the humans or the dark elves are going to just give up their claims to the southern Plains of Perdamun. He blinked. But if they did...that would be a hell of a gift. I’d damned near have my own kingdom. An empty title, he decided as he rejoined the line. Probably did it as a means to keep me from holding land in his Kingdom, he thought with a grim smile as the King concluded the ceremonies and the crowd began to disperse. But the words “Warden of the Southern Plains” continued to rattle around in his head as he followed the procession to the exit.

  “What a marvelous ceremony!” Erdnim’s voice was a high squeak. “Have you ever seen anything so magnificent?”

  “Not since I looked at my naked body in the full length mirror this morning,” Vaste said, drawing a look of horror from the Protocol Minister, who edged away from the troll’s smiling visage.

  “Lord Davidon,” a familiar voice came from behind him. He turned to find Endrenshan Odellan, clad in his finest, and still bearing the helm of the Termina Guard.

  “Odellan!” Cyrus moved to meet him, thrusting his hand out and seizing the guard captain’s. “I had heard you were to be exiled.”

  “Aye,” Odellan’s face was stern, not lively as it had been before. “I’ll be teleported out of the Kingdom at sundown; but they let me stay for the ceremony honoring my men—as well as for yours. I owe you my thanks—and my life.”

  “It should have been you up there,” Cyrus said, his voice louder than it had been a moment before, drawing offended looks from members of the Royal Court around them. “You should have gotten the biggest land award of all of us.”

  Odellan shrugged, his face gray. “It was not to be; my only regret is that I wasn’t able to fall in battle for my country and thus save one more of my soldiers to return home.”

  Cyrus leaned in closer to the Endrenshan. “If you had, it wouldn’t have saved a single one and likely would have cost you more.”

  Odellan’s mouth upturned. “It is kind of you to say so.”

  “What do you plan to do when you leave?” Cyrus studied the elf with rapt attention.

  “I don’t know.” Odellan’s face went slack. “I have considered going to Reikonos to pledge my sword to their defense; I’ve heard they are seeking volunteers,” he said with a shrug. “Or I could go to Fertiss to join the dwarven army. It’s more peaceful there, but I’m not sure I’d enjoy the quiet.”

  “Or you could apply to join Sanctuary,” Cyrus said, “and have all the adventure you could stand and get wealthy in the bargain.”

  The elf’s eyebrow rose. “I’ve wondered about that; if I’d be able to make it. If I had what it would take.”

  Cyrus brushed him off. “Doubtless. You’re a veteran officer that commanded the defense in one of the largest battles in the last twenty years. That’s more experience than our applicants usually have.”

  “Yes, but I commanded the forces that lost that battle.”

  “So did I,” Cyrus said, scoffing. “We were outnumbered twenty to one with no reinforcements; we weren’t expecting to win, just to fight long enough for your people to escape. That takes more than martial prowess, it requires tenacity and honor, and you have it—and that’s what we’re looking for in Sanctuary. Say the word, and you’re in. You can come with us when we leave.”

  Odellan froze in place. “Yes,” he rasped after a moment of quiet. “I’d be honored beyond belief.”

  “We’re fortunate to have a war hero such as yourself.” Cyrus clapped him on the back. “Get your things and return here; we’ll wait for you.”

  “If it’s all the same,” Odellan said, “I’d rather go out and see the city for the rest of the afternoon, and have the wizard the Kingdom assigned to transport me drop me off at the portal near your guildhall this evening.” His voice broke a little as he spoke. “I appreciate the kindness you’ve shown and your offer, but if I’m to leave my homeland forever, I’d like a little longer to say my farewells.”

  Who would I even say goodbye to back in Reikonos? Cyrus wondered. “I wouldn’t begrudge you that.”

  With a nod, Odellan left, striding through the crowds as another elf approached Cyrus, handed him a small scrap of parchment, bowed and left. Cy opened the paper and looked at the words scrawled within.

  Meet me in the eastern gardens under the northwest tree. We need to talk one last time before you leave. Bring Vara.—The Steward

  Cyrus frowned and crumpled the paper in his fist, making his way back to his allies. He eased up behind Vara, who was standing on the outside of a small circle of conversation that included Andren, Vaste and J’anda. She appeared disinterested, her eyes unfocused, staring into the distance. He rested a hand on her shoulder and she started, turning to him in surprise until he handed her the parchment. He watched her furrow her brow in concentration and then turn to Alaric, who was talking with of several members of the Royal Court.

  Cyrus turned to leave, but found Aisling barring his path. “I was worried after you didn’t show up at the Pharesia portal when we left Termina. I should have known you’d make it t
hrough somehow. Still—” her hand found his cheek and he felt the warmth of her as she pulled close—“you made me worry.” He tried to turn to look at Vara, but when he caught sight of her there was no emotion on her face; her expression was flat and she stared at him with dead eyes.

  “I have something for you when we get back to Sanctuary,” Aisling whispered. “Something just for you.”

  He pulled away from her, trying to hide his discomfort. “I’ll give you points for being less suggestive, but I don’t think I want it.”

  She laughed. “Oh, you will. It’s not what you think. Although...you’d want that too, if you knew what you were missing.” She gave him a wry grin, and without waiting for a response she bounded away, slipping into a group between Longwell and Erith, casting a mischievous look over her shoulder at him. He returned his gaze to Vara, who was unresponsive and followed him as he led the way out.

  “You don’t think this is some sort of trap?” She broke the uncomfortable silence as they exited through the steps on the north wing of the palace, crossing the road below, the one they had entered the palace by days before.

  “I don’t think so, but you never know.” He felt his hand drift to the hilt of Praelior, keeping it from swinging as much as it normally did when he walked. “I’m a little surprised the King felt a need to talk to us again after...” He let his words drift off.

  “After you insulted him?”

  “Among other things.” They followed the paths into the garden, heading toward the massive tree that stood above the palace on the northwest side of the grounds. The wending road was deceptively long, carrying them past walls that had flowers growing out of terraces, others where the vines had blooms as bright as any rose Cyrus had seen. So captivated was he that he didn’t realize that they hadn’t spoken since entering the gardens. He started to say something, but thought the better of it. She’s lost in her own thoughts; best I let her have this moment. It may be the last she has outside, under the sky, before we return to Sanctuary and she’s caged until we rid ourselves of these damned Hand of Fear creatures.