The Sanctuary Series: Volume 02 - Avenger

by Robert J. Crane

  Malpravus waved his hand vaguely and cocked his head at an angle. “You may disperse now; go and form your armies, and we enter the portal in a few moments. I will address everyone before we go.” Turning, he swept away, seeming to glide across the ground.

  “So comforting to be given a clear idea of what we're going into,” Vaste muttered again.

  “Relax, big guy,” Elisabeth said in a soothing voice. “He'll tell us before we go charging in.”

  “I suspect he still won't have told us what we're facing by the end of the excursion,” Vaste replied.

  “Bah!” She dismissed him. “You're so negative.”

  The troll's eyebrows retreated up his massive and balding forehead. “And you're so trusting. Like a fluffy bunny just before the leopard eats it.”

  She gawked at Vaste. “You think he'd throw us into death?”

  The troll healer's jaw hardened. “If it benefited him in any way, great or small.”

  “That's not a good position for an officer of this Alliance to take.” Elisabeth's eyes were narrow, her lips pursed in clear disapproval.

  Vaste did not answer her. Fortunately, Erith broke the silence. “It's not a good position, but it's a safe one.” Elisabeth's gaze moved to her own guildmate in silent accusation. “Malpravus would sacrifice his own mother's soul in a flash if he thought he'd get a bronze piece out of it, Elisabeth.”

  Curatio spoke. “We have orders from our General to divide into armies.” Nods around the officer's circle greeted that assertion, and they broke.

  It took Cyrus ten minutes to divide Sanctuary's army. During training they had practiced breaking the army into smaller pieces. Moving them into the formations they had practiced allowed him to complete his reassignment before Goliath had begun theirs.

  He placed Cass in Curatio's army as the primary warrior, with Fortin as the secondary.

  “You have a rock giant?” Cass muttered. “What do you need me for?”

  “Human sacrifice.” Looking back he found Erith watching him from nearby and just behind her, Aisling. “What?”

  Erith looked at him with amusement. “Sorry. Still thinking of you boys wrestling it out.”

  He shook his head and turned to Aisling. “And you? Are you concerned about the invasion?”

  “Nah.” She looked at him, black eyes shining. “I'm concerned with afterward. Any plans?”

  Cyrus coughed. “After a successful expedition, there's a celebratory feast in the Great Hall that filters into the lounge afterward, with much drinking and merriment.”

  Erith watched Aisling with undisguised amusement as the blue skinned ranger slinked closer to Cyrus, her feet making no sound as she walked. Her hands rested on her hips, but almost seemed to caress upward along her sides, pushing her chest out. “What happens at those parties?”

  Cyrus's eyes widened and he looked at Erith in a moment of panic. She snorted, turned and walked away. “Like I said – a feast, then drinking and merriment.”

  She took another step closer. He took a step back. “I won't bite.” She giggled. “Until you ask me to.” Her eyes seemed to swallow his and he couldn't break away from her gaze. In a flash he was reminded of Ashan'agar, trying to bend his will. “Until you beg me to.” A seductive smile creased her lips and now she was close enough that he felt her breath.

  “Frankly, I'm more concerned with my gold at this point.”

  “I was just showing off before.” She reached out to him and he counter-stepped away again. “I would never steal from a guildmate, especially not one so...”

  “Stop,” he interrupted her, closing his eyes in a bid to break the rising tension between them. “I am an officer, you are an applicant. This is not right; it's...”

  “Wrong? Naughty?” she said before he could get another word out. He felt her brush against him, having taken full advantage of the second that he'd stopped to close the small distance between them. “Doesn't that give you a rush, knowing you could have your way with me?” There was nothing but mischief and desire in her eyes.

  “That's appalling,” he answered, but the words came out feeble. “What is it that so entices you about me?”

  She shrugged, still looking at him with her lips pursed just so, and he closed his eyes again for a second and let out a sigh. “Until you can answer, I'm not interested.” He turned on his heel to walk away.

  “Maybe I just like a man who doesn't cave to me in the first five minutes,” came her voice from behind him. He looked back. “Maybe I'm just looking for a man who can last longer than most.” She smiled again, and it was back to the suggestive look she had given him earlier.

  “Perhaps in the future, a serious answer,” he said as he turned, leaving her alone on the edge of Sanctuary's army.

  “May I have your attention?” Malpravus called out from the far end of the assemblage, magic boosting the volume of his speech to overcome the thousand voices talking in the clearing. “We will begin in moments, and I need to outline things so that we can move forward, comfortable in our roles and in this army.”

  He ticked off points on his bony fingers. “First, when you get separated from the army, do try not to panic. Screaming and thrashing about in the darkness will only hasten your death.”

  “I'm not comfortable with that role.” Vaste had eased next to Cyrus.

  “Second,” Malpravus continued, “some of you will die. I would estimate something on the order of fifty to seventy-five percent of you. These are acceptable losses,” he said, bringing a hush over the crowd. “We will of course endeavor to bring you back to life through the use of a healer's resurrection spell.”

  “My comfort is not growing,” Cyrus whispered to Vaste. “Why is my comfort not growing?”

  “I think it has something to do with the evil and treacherous General admitting that getting three out of four of us killed would be acceptable to him.”

  “Third,” the dark elf went on, “even if you are gifted with the eyes of an elf, or the magical equivalent, it is unlikely you will see more than a few feet in front of you. Be assured,” boomed Malpravus's voice from beneath the cowl of his cloak, “I know where we are going at all times.”

  “What if you die?” came a voice from the Sanctuary part of the crowd. A small rush of levity ran through the Goliath forces.

  Malpravus smiled, visible beneath the cowl as a wide, knowing grin that was bereft of any warmth. “You need not fear, for I am a master of death.”

  “If possible,” Vaste whispered, “that makes me feel less comfortable than the thought of leadership falling to Tolada.” Cyrus nodded in agreement.

  “My army will move first into the portal,” Malpravus concluded. ”All others, follow behind in order.”

  “Wait,” Cyrus said under his breath, with a certain amount of alarm. “Did I miss the part about what we're facing or what to do after we're into the portal?”

  “You did not,” Vaste assured him. “I believe that other than the comments, 'Many of you will die,' 'Try not to thrash about in the dark,' and 'I'm a necromancer, watch me play with your corpse,' there was no helpful instruction in his speech.”

  “Well, the 'try not to thrash about in the dark' bit could come in handy.”

  “I'm more worried about the 'many of you will die' part.”

  The armies of Goliath began a steady march forward, disappearing into the portal in neatly ordered rows. When the time came, Cyrus marshaled his army into formation and led them through into the twisted, distorted black veil of the passage to the Realm of Darkness – and watched all light fade away.

  Chapter 8

  When Cyrus emerged on the other side, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The only point of light visible to him was a lantern hanging from what looked like a lamppost, shedding a small amount of light on cobblestones below it. He took a deep breath that tasted of stale air and felt a sense of nervousness from the near-blindness of the dark cause a crawling sensation up his back. The background noise of the army a
round him was a low hum of conversation; from behind him were voices of alarm from those just entering the Realm and finding themselves unable to see.

  “What the hell?” Cyrus muttered as he continued to move forward toward the lamp, following the elements of Goliath's last army. He could hear the pads at the bottom of his plate boots landing on cobblestones.

  A sudden lightening filled his eyes, and he looked back to see Vaste, fingers twirling in the conclusion of a spell. “That help at all?” the troll asked.

  “A little. I think Yartraak is pretty serious about his Realm being in darkness. We might need a lantern.”

  “I've heard that the Realm of Darkness swallows all non-mystical light sources.” He pointed to Thad nearby, who was tinkering with a lamp. “Hey, warrior,” he called out.

  Thad looked up. “What?”

  “How's that working?”

  “It went out the minute we crossed over.”

  Cyrus looked at Vaste. “Any other ideas?”

  His brow furrowed in thought; an unnatural look for a troll. “Nyad!”

  The wizard broke through the crowd to come over to them, pale skin even more washed out in the lamplight. “Yes?” she asked, her tone meshing with the formal red robes that she wore. Nyad was royalty; the youngest daughter of the King of the Elves, yet Cyrus had seen her start blazing fires with a few words and a shake of her staff.

  “Start a fire; we need light,” Vaste suggested.

  She waved her hands in a series of gestures and pointed her staff into the distance. A jet of fire burst forth from it and shot fifteen feet before its arc carried it to the ground below. The light it put out flickered, illuminating the area around them. “I can cast a bigger flame,” she told them. “Just didn't want to waste the magical energy if it didn't work.”

  The flames continued to burn from her last spell for several minutes, illuminating the edge of the cobblestone road and revealing dead grass and sand at the roadside. The army of Sanctuary marched along in silence, still following the last of Goliath's forces. Cyrus walked at the fore of his group, struggling to see into the darkness.

  A tingle once more ran down his spine. He turned to say something to Vaste only to find the troll gone from his place in the formation. “Vaste?” Cyrus called out. There was no answer. He looked at Nyad. “Where's Vaste?”

  Nyad looked around. “I... I don't know, he was here a minute ago.”

  “Formation halt! Everyone check to your left and right,” he shouted. “See if anyone's missing.” Shouts filled the air around him.

  “We've got one missing here!”

  “A whole row missing in front of us!”

  “One here!”

  “Two here!”

  “Andren... is missing here,” Erith said.

  Cyrus craned his neck. There was a gap in the line where his old friend had been. His stomach dropped and a memory sprang to mind of a dark tunnel, with row after row of bodies, with one missing. “What is going on here?” he muttered.

  “We're in the middle of the Realm of Darkness, and we seem to be disappearing in ones and twos,” a voice answered him from behind. His head whipped around to find Aisling staring at him. “You asked,” she said with a shrug.

  “Sounds sinister when you put it like that,” Cyrus agreed. “I wonder if they wandered away from the formation in the darkness?”

  “You think they might wander back?” Nyad's face was lined with concern.

  “Sounds like going in circles,” Aisling said. “I don't like going around; I prefer going down –”

  Cyrus grunted. “Must you use everything for innuendo?”

  A grin split her blue face, all he could see in the darkness. “Yes.”

  “Where's Vara when I need her?” Cyrus shook his head.

  “What do you need Vara for?” Nyad replied from behind him. “Other than the obvious.”

  “Quiet, you,” he shot back with exaggerated menace. Nyad had been a constant thorn in his side in the matter of Vara, telling him to confess his feelings for her. He had thus far refused, not wishing to expose himself to that particular hell.

  There was a stir in front of them and his thoughts of Andren and the other missing souls receded. Screams echoed in the darkness, coming from the Goliath army in front of them. “Nyad,” Cyrus said in a low voice. “Illumination.”

  The wizard nodded and grabbed one of her fellows out of the line behind them. Setting themselves at the front corners of the Sanctuary line, they sent twin bursts of flame at an angle on either side of the army's formation. The fire was long and sustained, lighting the scene before them.

  Scattered movement filled their view as the Goliath army scattered in all directions, most surging backward in retreat, running right into Cyrus's lines. Faces frozen in terror passed him, breaking to either side of his army as they ran. In front of the remains of the Goliath army something else was moving, a shadow that seemed to absorb the light.

  Twisting, turning, a shade lit by the wizard's flame, it stood thrice the height of any of the mortals – and it struck down again as Cyrus watched, knocking bodies aside and causing screams of agony and pain as the firelight dimmed.

  “Hold the line!” a voice shouted above the retreating Goliath army. “Stand your ground and fight!” Carrack stood at the very back of the Goliath army that was breaking, hectoring them onward. The elf brought a hand down, slapping one of Goliath's retreating warriors and dragging another by the collar forward. He pushed the two of them forward and then took several steps back himself.

  “Carrack!” Cyrus called. “March with us and we'll help marshal your forces as we move forward!”

  The elven wizard watched the two men he had sent forward disappear into the carnage of the battle with the shadow. Sickening screams cut through the dark. “I don't think so,” he said with a shake of the head. “Best you go on without me.” A cockeyed smile twisted the wizard's lips. “I'd only slow you down.”

  Cyrus turned away from the Goliath officer, rage filling him at the blatant display of cowardice. “Nyad, keep the flames going! Sanctuary, move up and get ready to engage!”

  He charged, army at his back. The Goliath forces were broken, scattering to either side of the road, screams filling the air, all martial discipline forgotten. Carrack tipped a salute to Cyrus as the wizard shoved past a Goliath ranger who got in the way of his retreat, knocking the human into the dirt as he passed.

  Cyrus reached the last vestiges of the Goliath army's front line. The wizards cast fire as they advanced, providing a horrific view of the carnage that was befalling the Goliath army.

  Shadowed appendages swept down, shaped into blades and clubs, killing the Goliath guild members. Cyrus watched a dwarf impaled as he tried to run and a shadow slipped from the darkness and cut through him, black protrusion jutting from his chest. Inky blackness from the shadow spread from the wound, consuming the dwarf, covering him in a skin of darkness as he fell.

  It struck again as Cyrus closed to sword range. With a ferocious strike, it seemed to sweep down on Goliath's forces, knocking them out of the way of its advance as though it were a child kicking little dolls out of its path. The cries of Goliath's wounded filled his ears – the specter made no noise at all and would have been invisible if not for the firelight cast by the wizards behind him. He saw more of the fallen, all covered in the darkness, it sliding over them like an inky skin.

  He leaped forward to attack, sword raised, and brought it down on the specter. His sword swept through the darkness, making no contact with anything solid. Something moved in the specter and hit him in the breastplate, knocking him off his feet. He heard a cracking noise as he hit the cobblestone road and felt the wind knocked out of him.

  “I need a healer,” he rasped, trying to pick himself up off the road.

  “I've got you,” came Erith's voice from behind him.

  Cyrus vaulted to his feet after the mending spell knitted broken bones together within him. A shadowed appendage struck out at
him from the body of the creature, grazing him and leaving a shallow open wound along his side.

  “My daggers are having no effect!” Aisling shouted from behind the creature, her blades singing as she struck at it over and over again. She shrieked and narrowly avoided a strike by the specter that sent five members of Goliath sailing through the air, one of them in several pieces.

  Fire filled the air above Cyrus as one of the wizards cast a powerful flame spell. It burned a translucent blue and streaked through the air above him, wrapping itself around the specter. An otherworldly sound – a high pitched wailing – left the warrior in no doubt that the creature was vulnerable.

  “It's immune to physical attacks! Spell casters, blast this thing!” he ordered, dodging three of the dark appendages as they struck at him in rapid succession. “I'll keep it distracted!” Three prongs shot from the specter's amorphous body at him and each found their mark.

  The first one broke his jaw and knocked his helmet askew. The second landed against his ribcage, bruising him. The last was the worst by far, hitting him mid-thigh, breaking his femur and dropping him onto his already-broken jaw. He yelped in pain and rolled to his back. The specter extended above him, taller than even Fortin. It was engulfed in a series of flame spells from Sanctuary's druids and wizards. A few of Goliath's survivors were contributing their own spells to the fight, keeping the shadowy beast hemmed in by a circle of spell casters.

  It howled once more, buffeted between attacks from all directions. The flames pitched it left and then right as it tried to avoid that which was causing it such agony. It swelled like a balloon then shrank to a thin state, wriggling in the light of the flames. At last, it focused on the only other thing within the fires that encircled it: Cyrus.

  “Oh bugger,” he whispered through his broken jaw as the specter formed six appendages and drove them down one at a time. The first possessed a dull edge, an overlarge hammer, and he did not entirely avoid it, rolling as a searing pain engulfed his left arm from the elbow down, a crunching noise coming as it hit his wrist.