Sanctuary 5.5 - Fated in Darkness

by Robert J. Crane

  “Fine,” Cyrus said. The warrior looked like his fury had subsided. “We will leave it in your hands.”

  “That’s all I ask,” Terian said and tried going just a little farther to see if it would take. “Brother.”

  There was a long pause. “Brother,” Cyrus said, and to Terian’s ears it almost—almost—sounded like the voice of his predecessor, and in the moment before he began to plunge into the aftermath he’d planned, he felt a hard pang of regret knowing that he’d never hear Alaric say it to him again.

  51.

  Aisling

  She’d managed half of Genn’s request with some difficulty. She had the Red Destiny of Saekaj in her hand, the two guards left behind to defend it having giving her a hell of a fight considering she’d tried to bluff her way past. The young kid, he hadn’t been a problem. But there’d been a woman warrior at the door, too, and she’d had an ill-favored look that reminded Aisling of Sareea Scyros, that dark knight who followed Shrawn around on his leash. This woman, she hadn’t folded as easily as the kid, and now Aisling had a bloody lip and the female guard had considerably worse. But at least the guard was still breathing.

  The air was thick with the smell of walls destroyed and wood smashed to splinters as she crept into the throne room. Aisling found them where Genn had said they’d be, and she heard the muffled question without knowing who asked it. “How is she?”

  She heard the answer clearly, though, spoken by Curatio. “Drained. Though I am at a bit of a loss to explain how exactly this was performed.”

  “Using this,” she called out as she tossed the Red Destiny of Saekaj. It hit the wood floor and wobbled as it rolled across to where they stood, those officers of Sanctuary. It was surprisingly easy to part with the thing, as though years of her nightmares about it made it unpleasant to so much as hold.

  “Slattern,” Vara said, more than a little nonplussed. Her blond hair glowed in the torchlight, and she looked like an angry cat the way she held her body stiff and near-ready to strike.

  “What are you doing here?” Cyrus asked, his eyes tracking her as she stood in the shadows.

  “Heard the hubbub,” she lied. “Came running.”

  “Were you already here?” Cyrus asked, seeming to unconsciously draw closer to his elven paladin. Aisling watched the Sanctuary members move, especially that ranger, Martaina, angling to get a clear shot. Best to hold still for this; if he means to have me plugged with arrows, there’s not much I’m going to be able to do to stop it right now.

  “Does it matter?” Aisling asked, her eyes falling over the aged and crone-like form of the Goddess of Life. She looked frail and worn, just as Genn had said she would. “Take the Red Destiny. See if you can restore some of the souls to her. It might aid her recovery.”

  “Do you think a pretty bauble will make us forget what you’ve done?” Vara asked. She was a second away from drawing her weapon, if that.

  “Why would you forget it?” Aisling asked. “It’s not like I can.” In truth, she felt little remorse now that she saw Cyrus Davidon here, in front of her, seemingly unharmed. She’d smelled blood and black lace on her blade for what felt like months after Leaugarden, and it had barely registered as anything other than a prick of guilt occasionally in an otherwise occupied mind. I didn’t used to be this way.

  “Why?” Cyrus asked, and she realized that to him, this was the only question that mattered.

  “He took someone dear to me,” Aisling said. She poured her feeling out, letting it bubble up from the abyss in a way she wouldn’t have dared with Shrawn, not unless she needed to appease him. This was real, it was genuine, like heartbreak too hard to contain. She could have contained it, though, if she’d been of a mind to. It was more useful this way, though.

  Just like Genn had told her. Absolution, he said. Seek it. You’ll need it later.

  And who was she to argue with a god?

  “And you very nearly took one dear to me,” Vara said, all the accusation bearing down.

  “Did you just say …?” Cyrus asked, always the last to be in on a joke.

  “Hush,” Vara said sharply, admonishment always delivered after compliment. That is her way.

  “I could apologize, but I’ll be honest—” Aisling started.

  “For the first time ever?” Vara asked.

  “I didn’t mind beating you for him,” Aisling said. And using vicious truth as well as vicious lies? That’s my way. “Of all the things I was told to do, fighting with you over him was the sweetest, because you don’t normally lose. How did it feel?”

  “How will it feel when I kill you?” Vara asked.

  “Like nothing,” Aisling said, and she began to withdraw. Play the remorse again, now …

  “Wait,” Cyrus said. “Your … love? Your friend? What happened to them?”

  She froze, the shadows of the doorframe all around her, shrouding her. Norenn was still out there, where Genn had told her to go, waiting for her to finish this moment, this confrontation. “I don’t know.” Yet.

  “You can’t think you’re just going to walk out of here—” Vara said.

  “Let her go,” Cyrus said.

  “You cannot be serious,” Vara said, spitting irritation at him. “This is the second person who has attempted to kill you that you have let walk away in the last year. Any more and I will start to suspect that you truly do wish to die—”

  “You killed the one who tried to kill me,” Cyrus said, settling his eyes on his elf. You win, Vara. “She was no more than the hand of Yartraak, else she’d have finished the job. She certainly had the chance.”

  “Do you expect me to thank you?” Aisling asked. Because I would, if that’s what it took to get out of here. To get to my next appointment.

  “I’d say you’ve shown me your gratitude over the last year in every way I could possibly handle,” Cyrus said. He meant it to hurt her, but it was clumsy at best. I’ve been taunted by more vicious and skillful than you, Cyrus. You’re not that sort of man—purposefully cruel.

  And hopefully you never will be.

  With almost nothing else left to say, she listened to his last remark on the subject. “I don’t ever want to see you again.”

  As she drifted off into the shadows of Shrawn’s passage back to his manor, she let float a gentle reply, so quiet that she doubted anyone but the elf would hear her: “I promise you never will.”

  Because if you ever see me again after this, Cyrus, it won’t be as Aisling Nightwind, that much I can guarantee you.

  52.

  J’anda

  “Where is Dagonath Shrawn?” Terian asked, staring down the guards at the front entrance of Shrawn’s manor house. They were clad in the standard garb for those of their station, plate metal around the vital organs and looser chain at the arms and legs, giving them more mobility in a close fight. J’anda watched the scene of interrogation unfold under a portico that perfectly aped that of the Sovereign’s own mansion. Terian stared down the men standing between him and an answer on the current whereabouts of the most powerful man left in Saekaj.

  “He is not here at present, Lord Lepos,” the head guard said, hand hovering about his sword’s hilt. Terian had his own hand nowhere near his axe handle, J’anda realized, either because the dark knight did not suspect the direction this discussion was heading, or because he was unconcerned. “If you’d like, I can have him contact you as soon as he returns.”

  “I need to know where he is, right now,” Terian said, taut, still standing stiff without a hand on his weapon. This may turn out to be a bad decision on his part; preparation is always a good guest. “Either part with the information or move aside.”

  “He’s not here,” the guard said again, and now his hand drifted to his sword. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave—”

  “Are you kidding?” Terian asked. “The body of the Sovereign of Saekaj is in the street behind us!” He tilted to point at the main avenue just beyond the wall at their backs. “You idiot! Shra
wn is in charge, and we need to know where he is.”

  The guard shook slightly but drew his blade, holding it in front of him like a shield. “You won’t find him here.” The other two guards at his back drew their swords as well. “You will have to depart.”

  “Morons,” Terian said and murmured something before he waved a hand at the lead, who grabbed at his throat and let his sword clatter uselessly to the ground. “This is not a moment to quibble.” He stared at the other two, the subservients. “Where is Shrawn?”

  “We’ll die before telling you,” the first of them said. The second nodded agreement.

  “Well, duh,” Terian said and shook his head. His pointed helm shook with his motion, and the axe came out, striking the first of them across the blade of the sword as he brought it up. The second started to attack, but Terian spun and hit him squarely across the neck, chopping into the chainmail at his throat and ending his offensive with a gurgle. The threat at his back dealt with, the dark knight came back at the remaining guard and hacked at his sword, overpowering him until he was able to plant the blade firmly between the guard’s eyes. His work done, Terian drew back his blade and hefted it over his shoulder. “Can’t get an honest answer out of these people, I swear …”

  A clatter came from the street behind them, and J’anda looked back to see the Army of Sanctuary moving past outside the gate. They were on the march, toward the market square, most of the soldiers visible only as they clomped past the gap in the wall of the Shrawn estate where the gates yawned open. A rocky head bobbed past at the top of the wall, Fortin somewhere in the middle of the column. He turned and looked at them, and waved with the exaggerated enthusiasm of a child as he passed the manor.

  “Nice to know we have some friends left,” Terian said as he mopped up the blood splatter on his face with a handkerchief. He waved back at the rock giant, nodding politely with a tight smile as he did so.

  “I don’t know that you could call any of them friends of yours after what’s happened,” J’anda said, looking at the corpses before the door of the house.

  “What are you talking about?” Terian said, putting the handkerchief away. “Cyrus just called me brother. We’re clear.”

  J’anda cocked an eyebrow at him. “Do you expect you would be welcomed back to the halls of Sanctuary at this point, were you to want to return?”

  The dark knight’s face clouded over. “That’s … we don’t need to talk about that right now. We need to find Shrawn.” He turned and headed for the doors to the manor as though pushed along by a titan.

  “What are you aiming for at this point, Terian?” J’anda asked as the dark knight hefted his axe once more, clearly intent on smashing his way through the doors of the manor house.

  “I’m aiming to find Shrawn,” Terian said, lifting the axe, “and I’m aiming to separate his head from his shoulders. Once that’s done, we need to find a way to consolidate power in Saekaj, get everyone in a line, and get control of Yartraak and Malpravus’s undead army so we can get it the hell out of Reikonos—”

  “There is no one more committed than me to the idea of removing that particular torment from the human city,” J’anda said, trying to be the voice of reason as Terian brought down his axe with a hard blow on the wood of the front door, “but I think perhaps you are misguided in your approach. You are not thinking this through.”

  “I’m thinking just fine,” Terian said and brought the axe down again, cutting a massive gash in the ornate wood door. “Control is the name of the game, now, and we’re not going to achieve it unless we can get Shrawn out of the way.” He brought the weapon down again. The door shuddered under his assault but did not yield or break. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get about the business of ending this damned war—” He raised the axe to attack again when the door was thrown open suddenly, causing the dark knight to dodge aside to avoid being struck with it as it swung out.

  “For the sake of a—” Aisling said, standing framed in the rectangular outline of the door to Shrawn manor. She looked at Terian with irritation. “What are you doing, you idiot?”

  Terian, for his part, looked merely stunned, his axe back up, at the ready. “I’m … opening the door. What are you doing?”

  “It was unlocked, fool,” Aisling said, shaking her head as she rolled her eyes.

  “There is always another way,” J’anda said softly. “We have but to see it.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you what I see now,” Terian said, hefting the axe again, “I see a traitor to Sanctuary—”

  “That’s ironic, coming from you,” Aisling said.

  “Stop it, both of you,” J’anda said and watched as Terian lowered his axe. “Aisling, why are you here?”

  “I’m about to rescue a friend,” she said, looking at him sullenly. “You?”

  “Here to kill Shrawn,” Terian said, putting his axe back over his shoulder. “You want to stand in the way of that?”

  She laughed loudly. “I’d help you swing the axe if I wasn’t sure you’d still find a way to botch it.” Her face tightened, the lines around her eyes furrowing deep as rage came to the surface. “Shrawn’s mine.”

  “Step aside,” Terian said, his own countenance darkening. “He needs to die—”

  “At my hand, yes,” she said, a blade suddenly visible in hers, “but he’s not here in any case, so this argument is presently pointless.”

  “What’s your problem with Shrawn?” Terian asked, frowning.

  “Who do you think was pulling my puppet strings at Sanctuary?” she fired back as Terian nodded. “What’s your complaint?”

  “Mass murder,” Terian said. “Starving the poor. Butchery. I don’t know; there are scads of them. Pick one.”

  “Well, you’re not going to get anywhere swinging your axe about at me,” Aisling said, folding her arms over her chest but keeping her dagger visible.

  “We need to find him,” Terian said and started to push past her.

  “Don’t take my word for it?” Aisling said, spinning to look at him.

  “You’re in his house when I come knocking, so … no.”

  “You call that knocking?” She pointed at the axe.

  “It’s a euphemism,” Terian said, stalking through the foyer and opening a door under the stairs. “What’s the likelihood he’s hiding in here?”

  “Somewhat low, I would have to imagine,” J’anda said, looking at all the woodwork. “Unless he was particular confident of how things would shake out in a Saekaj without the Sovereign, I believe he would have been highly motivated to come rushing to Yartraak’s defense when Cyrus and Vara killed him just outside Shrawn’s own manor. He is a wizard of some skill and could doubtless have made a very great contribution to the battle, as it was.”

  “He might have been able to kill them both,” Aisling said, looking suspiciously at J’anda. “I’m actually surprised the Sovereign didn’t.”

  “I didn’t see the fight,” Terian said, stepping into the ballroom open under an archway to their left, “but it sounded like he didn’t use much in the way of spellcraft. Like he decided he wanted to beat Cyrus to death and worked hard to make that happen, failing merrily all the way until his head left his body.”

  Aisling made a face. “They cut off his head?”

  “Vara did, I think.”

  “Figures,” Aisling said, in disgust.

  Terian cracked a grin at her. “You’re not jealous of losing to her, are you?”

  “I’m only sorry I lacked the means to do the decapitating myself,” she said, smiling bitterly at him.

  Terian’s eyes swept the ballroom. “Well, he doesn’t appear to be hiding in this room. Only nine hundred thousand more to go, I assume—”

  “Shrawn’s not here at all,” came a voice from behind them, prompting J’anda to whirl. A woman stood there in a white gown, simple, covered in a traveling cloak and cowl that covered the top of her head. She stood with another man at her side, a healer by his vestments,
red dye coloring his goatee and long hair.

  “You’re Dahveed Thalless,” J’anda said with a shock of surprise. “Head of the Healer’s Union.” Another man, massive as a mountain, lumbered into the Shrawn estate behind him, followed by a druid drifting through the air a foot off the ground. “And … I have no idea who the rest of you are.”

  “J’anda,” Dahveed said with the smile that J’anda remembered from when they’d made acquaintance long ago, in the wars before he left in exile. He’d become reacquainted with the man in passing these last months in Saekaj, now that the healer was head of his guild. Dahveed pointed to the large warrior behind him. “This is Grinnd Urnocht.” He turned to the druid. “Bowe Sturrt.” His eyes glimmered as he went to the woman in the cowl. “And this is—”

  “Kahlee,” Terian said, surging past J’anda to wrap the woman up in a tight embrace, lifting her off the ground, careful of his spikes. He lifted his faceplate and kissed her, and, most surprisingly, she kissed him in return.

  Aisling sidled up to J’anda, footsteps so soft he did not hear her until she nudged him. “Who’s that?”

  “Terian’s wife, I believe,” J’anda answered, watching as the dark knight set his bride back on the ground in the quiet of the manor’s foyer.

  “Terian’s married?” Aisling’s voice run through with genuine surprise. “I guess there’s hope for Vaste, after all.”

  53.

  Aisling

  “This is all a very touching scene,” came a voice from the door, a dark knight shouldering his way through the small throng gathered there to stand ahead of the healer Dahveed, “but utterly pointless. What are you doing here?” His armor was angled, and his attention was directed at Terian.

  “I’m looking for Shrawn,” Terian said, placing himself just between his bride and the new arrival, ushering her behind his shoulder as though the man were some threat to her. “What are you doing here?”