The Sanctuary Series: Volume 02 - Avenger

by Robert J. Crane

  Cyrus looked at Alaric, perplexed. “What, you think I'm going to insult him or challenge him to a fistfight?”

  Alaric's eye bored through the slit in his helmet. “Even if you were armed, I suspect it would end with an unfavorable outcome for you, my friend.”

  “Noted. I'll keep my rage to myself.”

  The chairman cleared his throat. “Would the representatives from Sanctuary please come forward?” he reiterated, a note of impatience in his voice.

  Alaric strode to the podium, Cyrus a few steps behind.

  “If you could identify yourselves, please...”

  Alaric did not remove his helmet. “I have spoken before this august body on numerous occasions. Must I identify myself?”

  “For the record,” the chairman added with an imperious hand motion.

  “I am Alaric Garaunt, Guildmaster of Sanctuary and this is one of my officers, Cyrus Davidon.”

  “Davidon?” The Chairman's eyes narrowed and he hesitated. “Very well. For the record the Council of Twelve stands in judgment of this matter, Chairman Pretnam Urides presiding.” The chairman raised his nose when he spoke his own name, as though catching an enjoyable scent on the air. “We are here to discuss the complicity of Sanctuary in the attacks on Confederation shipping in the Plains of Perdamun.”

  “Let me also state, for the record,” Alaric interrupted, “that Sanctuary has no complicity in said attacks.”

  “No admitted complicity,” Urides corrected.

  “No complicity,” Alaric said with quiet finality.

  “I see.” The chairman looked down at the desk in front of him. “In the last few months we have lost fifty-eight shipments, creating a total loss of 5.8 million gold pieces, counting the loss of slaves killed or missing in the attacks and not counting the loss of manpower from the deaths of the guards and traders.” His eyes raised and found Alaric and Cyrus standing below him. “That is a sizable number.”

  “To which number are you referring, the gold or the number of lives?” Alaric's voice contained just a hint of irony.

  Urides eyes narrowed as he regarded the Sanctuary Guildmaster. “Both.”

  “To say nothing of the losses to the Dark Elf Sovereignty and the Elven Kingdom,” Alaric added.

  “Their losses do not concern me,” Pretnam Urides said. “I am concerned with human affairs.”

  “I am afraid that the raiders of your convoys do not seem to share your narrow interest,” Alaric said with a trace of sarcasm.

  Urides ignored Alaric's comment. “We have seen your numbers grow in recent days, Alaric Garaunt. You have taken it upon yourself to go out into the world and drag people into your army that have never had a day of League training. You equip them with swords and bows, daggers and spears and call them warriors and rangers, even though their names have never been written on the rolls of the Wanderers' Brotherhood or the Society of Arms.”

  “I apologize,” Alaric said, stiffening. “I was not aware that swordplay had joined spell casting in becoming the sole province of the Leagues.”

  The small man's eyes peered down at the Ghost of Sanctuary. “Spell casting is a sacred power, and none but the Leagues have the ability and means to instruct in its subtle and magnificent craft.”

  “And now you make the same claim for those who use a blade?”

  “You border on heresy, Lord Garaunt.”

  “That would be a matter for the Leagues to decide, would it not?”

  A smile cracked Pretnam Urides lips for the first time since they entered the chamber. “Perhaps.” The smile faded. “Your army's growth is a matter of concern to all who have an interest in the Plains of Perdamun. What is your purpose in assembling this force?”

  Alaric's hands gripped the podium. “I did not realize as I assembled my guild that I needed to explain my intentions to this body. We do sit far outside your borders.”

  Urides's smile returned, and it gave Cyrus a moment of disquiet. “Those lands have been long in dispute between the elves and the dark elves, and it is likely that they will never come to resolution. For that reason, the Council of Twelve believes that establishing our stewardship of those territories will be necessary to bring about peace.”

  Alaric paused for a moment before leaning forward to speak. “I apologize, perhaps I misunderstood you. Did you just announce your intention to annex the Plains of Perdamun?”

  “By no means,” Urides said with a derisive laugh, as though the idea were absurd. “We intend to steward those lands to avoid armed conflict over incidents such as this. We have already mobilized an army for that purpose.” He removed the glasses and his eyes were beady without them. “The force in place will keep the peace by ensuring Sanctuary attacks no further human convoys and will protect our interests by removing any other threats to peace in the area.”

  “Meaning any other army that should cross into the southern plains,” Alaric said with a sigh.

  “We would also consider any large-scale movement by your army to be a hostile action and a threat to peace.” Urides’ smile had returned, almost taunting. “In addition, because of Sanctuary's role in the attacks and given the damages, we hereby levy a fine of 10 million gold pieces upon your guild, payable immediately, before any further commerce can be transacted between Sanctuary and any party in the Human Confederation.”

  “Is the Council of Twelve's treasury so empty that you would shake down parties innocent of any wrongdoing for gold?” Alaric asked with disgust.

  “So you'll not be making payment today?” Pretnam Urides said.

  “I will not.” Alaric's voice overflowed with revulsion.

  Urides head bobbed up and down in a nod. “Very well. It is ordered that every member of the guild Sanctuary shall be exiled from the Confederation until they make restitution in the amount of 10 million gold pieces. The accounts of said guild members at all banks in the Confederation shall be appropriated but not counted toward restitution.”

  Cyrus's eyes widened as Urides went on. “Any member of Sanctuary found in Confederation territory shall be arrested and executed for crimes against the state until the fine is paid. Any citizen who trades or does business with a member of Sanctuary shall be arrested and imprisoned for a term not less than fifty years.” He looked around at the rest of the Council of Twelve. “I think that covers it.”

  Dark clouds gathered around Alaric. “I presume the 'arrest and execution' clause of your judgment does not go into immediate effect.”

  Pretnam Urides took a breath and exhaled, pleasant expression filling his jowly face. “I think we can be a little generous here. We can give you ten minutes.” He leaned forward. “Our intention is not to kill any of your number, although we will if pressed. But you will make restitution for the losses of our convoys and for the loss of face we suffer from the rest of Arkaria. And let this stain upon your honor remain until then.”

  Alaric removed his hand from the edge of the podium and Cyrus could see an indentation pressed into the wood where the Ghost's gauntlet had rested. “Make no mistake, Councilor; you will never see a single piece of gold in restitution from Sanctuary because we have not committed this crime. You will, however, eat your words and your insults to our honor when we find the guilty parties.”

  “Very well, then.” Pretnam Urides dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “But don't set foot in my Confederation again without either 10 million gold or your 'guilty parties' and an overwhelming amount of evidence to back up your assertions.” The pleasant expression returned. “Until then, you are unwelcome here. Gentlemen... your ten minutes is ticking away.”

  Cyrus turned to leave, but Alaric was already moving. They entered the elevator and Alaric did not speak as they watched floor after floor go past. When they reached the first floor, Alaric ducked and jumped out of the elevator before it had stopped. He grasped his sword from the weapon's rack at the entryway and tossed Cyrus his short sword.

  Cyrus followed the Ghost outside, and as he looked back, five of t
he Citadel guards followed them as they walked toward the square. “How much time do we have left?” Cyrus asked as he caught up with the paladin.

  “Not much.” Tension was evident in the Ghost's voice.

  “Gentlemen, your time is up,” came a voice from behind them. Cyrus turned to see the guard that had taken their weapons in the Citadel tower, standing behind them with his sword drawn.

  Cyrus reached down to match the guard's motion but felt the pressure of Alaric's hand restrain his arm. “That won't be necessary.” Cyrus turned back and a blur of red behind Alaric caught his eye.

  “Hang on, boys,” Niamh said as she squeezed between them, wrapping her arms around them in a tight embrace. Cyrus felt a tingle through his body, something far different from the winds of druidic teleport, and then a burst of light as the streets of Reikonos disappeared from view.

  Chapter 15

  The foyer of Sanctuary appeared around them as the light of the spell faded. Niamh gave them both a squeeze and released her hold on them. “Nothing like ending your afternoon sandwiched between two big, strong men.”

  “Your timing was impeccable,” Cyrus said with a smile. “You just keep saving my ass.”

  “Should you keep eating at your current rate,” came Vara's icy voice from over his shoulder, “that will involve more and more heavy lifting.”

  Alaric's head whipsawed around to Vara. “Has there been any word yet from the others?”

  She shook her head. “I take it by your sudden appearance that things did not go well in Reikonos?”

  “They threatened to have us arrested and executed if we didn't pay a fine of 10 million gold,” Cyrus said. They were alone in the foyer; the rest of the guild were in the Great Hall for dinner.

  Silence filled the air, broken at last by Niamh. “Did you say 10 million?”

  “Yes,” Cyrus confirmed. “They threatened to do the same to any of our members found in human territory.”

  “I see,” Vara replied, face inscrutable. “And what did you do to precipitate these sanctions?”

  “Me?” Cyrus said with indignation, looking to Alaric for confirmation. The Ghost was absorbed in his own thoughts and not paying attention. “I surrendered my sword and didn't say anything!”

  “I sometimes find myself offended by your face,” Vara admitted. “Perhaps you should have surrendered that as well.”

  “This is not a joking matter, Vara.” Niamh's voice was stern, almost scolding.

  “If we can't laugh about this, we may end up crying about it,” Vara said.

  A flash to Cyrus's left surprised him, and he swiveled to find J'anda with Terian clinging to him.

  “You can let go now,” the enchanter mumbled. Terian unwrapped his arms and took a step back.

  “I take it your hearing did not go well?” Niamh eyed them with a glimmer of hope.

  “The Sovereign ordered our executions after demanding a fine of 5 million gold pieces,” Terian admitted.

  “That's not bad,” Cyrus told him. “Reikonos ordered Sanctuary to pay 10 million gold pieces.”

  “The 5 million is for personal betrayals committed by the two of us as well as any other dark elf members of the guild,” J'anda clarified. “The Sovereign has levied a 25 million gold piece fine against Sanctuary, and declared a death mark for all members.”

  “Until it's paid?” Cyrus shook his head.

  “No, he expects us to pay the 30 million and then submit to our deaths,” Terian said, face serious. “We barely got out alive. If it hadn't been for some quick thinking on J'anda's part we'd be dead.”

  Another flash of light brought Nyad and Curatio into focus. “I hope your meeting with the King went better than the rest went,” Niamh said.

  Nyad's face was pale. “We were expelled from the Kingdom and are required to pay a fine of 10 million gold to return.”

  “He's your father,” Cyrus commented. “Doesn't he believe you when you tell him that we weren't involved?”

  “He removed me from the line of succession,” she said in disbelief. “And disowned me.”

  “I'm sorry, what?” Cyrus looked to Curatio for explanation.

  “Nyad was next in line for the throne.” Curatio's mouth was turned down in a frown; one of the first times since Cyrus had met the usually chipper elf. “She's been removed and all members of Sanctuary are banished from the kingdom.”

  “Happy day for the next poor sod in line,” Vara muttered.

  Nyad turned to Vara, mouth hanging open, but could not muster a response.

  “Fool!” Alaric exploded, seemingly oblivious to the officers gathered around him. “He's engaging in a land grab against two of the oldest powers in Arkaria, believing the human army to be their equal or better.” Alaric shook his head. “They will disabuse him of that notion, but not before a considerable number die.”

  “I'm sorry, I must have missed the first part of that,” Vara said.

  “Pretnam Urides, the Chairman of the Council of Twelve, is planning something arrogant and foolish,” Alaric began.

  “As he is a human, I remain unsurprised,” Vara interjected. The squeak of a hinge filled the air as the front doors of Sanctuary opened.

  “He intends – what the blazes are you doing here?” Alaric's voice rose on the last few syllables and the assembled officers turned to find Malpravus, Carrack and Tolada standing in the entryway, flanked by Cass, Erith and Elisabeth. Erith in particular wore a more sour expression that was standard even for her.

  “I had assumed that with the difficulties you are experiencing, you might forget the Alliance officer meeting scheduled for today,” Malpravus said with his usual skeletal grin. “Then I had heard that your entire guild was to be forbidden to enter the city of Reikonos, so I contacted the Daring immediately to find a more... hospitable location for us to meet.”

  Malpravus continued, gliding across the foyer toward them, “Then I heard that you experienced a similar fate in the Elven Kingdom and the Sovereignty. So rather than meet in a gnomish city or some dwarven hole, I presumed we should meet here since it appears to be nearly the last place in Arkaria where you would be welcomed.” His fingers steepled in front of him and the Goliath Guildmaster's grin grew deeper. “You have been causing quite a stir, haven't you?”

  “You know we have had no involvement in the convoy attacks,” Alaric said, aggravation edging through the restraint in his voice.

  “Of course, old friend, I know you would protest to your last breath your lack of involvement in anything so foul as thieving attacks on wealthy convoys that pass by your door. It must be rather like starving, then seeing ripe plums hanging over your neighbor's fence. What is the harm in plucking just one... then another...” His voice trailed off, but the grin widened.

  “I don't hear a suggestion of our innocence anywhere in that statement,” Vaste muttered as he appeared behind Cyrus.

  “Probably thinking that if it were him in our shoes, he'd have been attacking the convoys long ago,” Cyrus replied, voice low.

  “Such uncharitable thoughts do not become you, dear boy,” Malpravus said, not turning from where he stood, fingers caressing a torchlight mounted to the wall. His fingers slipped along the stone almost as if he were touching a lover. “But it matters not; we have many things to discuss. Where shall we meet, Alaric? Your Council Chambers, perhaps?”

  “I think not,” the Ghost replied icily. “There is a room behind the Great Hall that will be adequate for our purposes.” Alaric turned and walked to the hallway that ran along the side of the Great Hall. Malpravus followed, gliding along with Carrack and Tolada in his wake and the Daring's officers a few paces behind them.

  Cyrus felt a hand on his shoulder and stopped to see Erith looking at him with concern. She pulled him down to an embrace, surprising him. “This is going to be bad,” she whispered in his ear. “Whatever happens, please try to remember that we are not all your enemy.” She pulled away from him and looked him in the eye, biting her lip, then turned and f
ollowed the rest of them down the hall.

  A sense of dread and curiosity filled Cyrus as they walked down the long corridor. Through the wall he could hear the sounds of merriment that always accompanied dinner. I wonder how happy they'll all be when they find out they can never go home again just because they're members of Sanctuary? I'm upset about it, and I don't even have any family left!

  He reached a turn in the hallway and watched Erith disappear into a door. Almost across from it stood Malpravus, standing before another door. His fingers reached out and touched it as he turned to look at Cyrus. “Such a lovely guildhall, dear boy.” He extended a hand toward the door that Erith had disappeared through. “After you, lad.”

  Cyrus watched the Goliath Guildmaster as he entered the room, a large chamber, bigger than the Council chambers upstairs, and laid out with tables along three sides. Malpravus followed behind him.

  Cyrus looked around the room, amazed. Niamh gestured for him to join them at the longest table. “I've never seen this room before,” he said.

  “We have realigning rooms,” she said as she took her seat.

  “What?”

  “They have enchantments that allow them to change based on what we need them for.”

  He shook his head in amazement. “I'm not well-versed in magic, but I've never heard of that.”

  “It's not common nowadays.”

  “What kind of spellcaster would even cast that spell?” he marveled.

  She shrugged. “I don't know, an enchanter?”

  “If we could begin?” Malpravus stood behind his table, taking command of the meeting. Cy shot a quick look at Alaric, whose arms were folded and whose face was unreadable under his helmet. “We have much to discuss. Instead of normal Alliance business, we find ourselves forced to deal with the difficulties of our members.”

  Cyrus looked around to find Cass unable to meet his eyes. Elisabeth stared straight ahead and Erith looked like she was ill. He locked onto Vara's face, which was already twisted with rage.

  “How did he already know about our exile?” Niamh hissed. “We only found out in the last thirty minutes!”