The Sanctuary Series: Volume 02 - Avenger

by Robert J. Crane

  They adjourned and Cyrus moved toward the door. Alaric stopped him once more. When the door closed, the Ghost spoke. “Find a target, quickly.”

  “I will.”

  “I know we are in the midst of a considerable crisis, but I must ask you – have your nightmares returned?” Alaric's voice was soft, understanding.

  “Yes,” Cyrus admitted. “And there's another element to them now. The word 'gezhvet'. I heard the goblins say it the night of the Enterra invasion. Do you know what it means?”

  “No.” Alaric shook his head. “But I believe Niamh told you we have a goblin applicant making his way to us in the next few days? I would suggest you ask him.”

  Cyrus blanched. “All right.”

  “Do not let revenge consume you now, my friend. It is a dangerous path, to obsess about vengeance when we are in the midst of a storm such as this. I need you to focus on helping us get through this.”

  The warrior looked down at his hands. “I can't stop thinking about that night in Enterra.” He brought his gaze up to meet Alaric's. “We're in bigger trouble than I've ever been in, and I can't get myself to stop having nightmares about something that happened over a year ago. You'd think I'd be having nightmares about things that are happening here and now.”

  Cyrus felt the pressure of Alaric's hand on his shoulder. “I know of the strong calling for vengeance that you feel. I have felt it myself, and it is natural to desire retribution for so strong a loss as the one you suffered. I would tell you to let it go, but I doubt I would heed those words were I in your position.” Alaric gave him a knowing look. “Instead, I caution you that vengeance will not bring you peace. Disassembling the goblin capital stone by stone will not silence the memory of your lost friend.”

  “I did not believe it would,” Cyrus said with a nod. “And although this vision haunts me at night, I worry less and less about it during the days. In a way,” he said with a tinge of guilt, “it's good that these nightmares are plaguing me or else I would forget Narstron – and the promise I made.”

  “We move on with our lives,” Alaric agreed. “It is not a betrayal to their memory if we do not think of them constantly – or if we were to pass on an ill-considered vow.”

  “I know you've lost a lot of guildmates,” Cyrus said with quiet certainty, “but I have a hard time imagining you as close to any of them as I was to Narstron. Because if you were... I don't see how you could dismiss the idea of revenge so easily.” Even through his gauntlets, Cyrus's fingers pressed the metal into his palm.

  Alaric's expression did not change. “I daresay I was closer to one of them; Raifa Herde was my wife.”

  Cyrus blinked in surprise. “Raifa Herde? Wasn't she one of the founding members of Sanctuary?”

  “She was,” Alaric said. “She was also the first member of Sanctuary to die permanently.”

  “How can you not have wanted to hurt whoever killed her... as bad as they hurt you?” Cyrus asked.

  Alaric did not answer at first. He walked toward the window and stared out across the Plains of Perdamun toward the horizon. “I believe I told you once that the titans were responsible for her death, as this was in the days before the elves controlled the pass through the Heia mountains to the southern lands. The titan that murdered her still lives.”

  The Ghost turned to him. “I likely could have killed him by now, had I a single-minded intention to do so. I could have led assault after assault into the heart of Kortran, hunted him down and murdered him in his sleep if necessary, but I could have done it. Even so, Raifa would still be dead.” He turned back to the window.

  “She was so delicate,” he said with a faint smile. “I could lift her with the greatest ease, as though she were a flower being hefted on the wind. When he hit her, she spun away like one.” His noble features darkened at the memory, the smile disappeared and was replaced with a look that sapped all the kindness from the Ghost's face.

  “Life is too short to exhaust it in mourning the loss of loved ones and trying to bring about the ruin of those who are responsible for taking them from us. We are adventurers who live by the way of the sword, and to swear revenge on all who aim to kill us and ours is to foreswear living any sort of life at all.

  “When the day comes that Talikartin the Guardian meets his end, if it is by my hand it will not be because I have plotted and directed all my efforts to striking him down; it will be because he is a threat to my guildmates and in defense of them, he will die.” His point made, Alaric faced the window once more.

  Cyrus, taking it as his cue to leave, walked toward the doors. As he opened one of them, he turned back to the paladin. “You said vengeance would not bring me peace. But you also said Talikartin still lives. Since you never took vengeance, how do you know that it wouldn't give me some measure of peace?” His voice came out choked, more like a desperate plea than he wanted.

  Alaric did not stir from his place by the window as he answered. “Talikartin the Guardian was hardly the first person to ever wrong me, Cyrus.” Alaric turned back to him, and Cy caught a glimpse of a flash of cold fury that passed as quickly as it appeared. The fact that it glimmered and was gone in less than a second disturbed the warrior more than even the righteous anger he had seen earlier in the Council meeting. Expecting some final, reassuring message from Alaric, his unease grew with the Ghost's final word on the matter: “He is simply the only surviving one.”

  Chapter 17

  Cyrus descended the stairs to find Andren in the lounge, post-dinner ale already in hand. He sat across from the healer, who did not speak, and looked away at Cyrus's approach. “What do you want?” He took a ferocious slug of the ale in his hand, pitching it back with more intensity than usual.

  “Sorry I yelled at you.”

  “It's all right,” Andren replied with a shrug. “You have a few things on your mind lately. Vaste told me what happened in the Council meeting.”

  “You going to let him teach you the resurrection spell?”

  “He already did. I used it this afternoon; works just fine.”

  Cyrus stopped, surprised. “How did you use it this afternoon? Who died?”

  Andren flushed. “Well, no person died, so I used it on one of the cows that Larana was going to slaughter for dinner. He sprang back up and vomited grass gunk all over my boots.” The elf shrugged. “I guess they feel the effects like we do.”

  “So you just tried it the once?”

  “No, we killed it over and over again, just to be sure. Probably did it about ten times.”

  Cyrus winced at the thought. “I feel kind of bad for that cow.”

  “Yeah, he was wobbling quite a bit at the end. We decided to let him live; figured he'd been through enough for one day.” Andren took a pull from his ale. “Larana was not happy; her workshop stunk when we were done.”

  “How could you tell she was angry? Did she yell?”

  “Oh, yes. Very scary when she gets mad, that one.”

  Cyrus chuckled. “She's dead quiet around me.”

  “She asked me about you once – figure maybe she's got something for you?” Andren's eyes were suggestive, then after a moment of looking at Cyrus, his eyebrows arched and lips thinned. “You okay?”

  “No.” Cy shook his head, looked around and lowered his voice. “We're about to hand out some very bad news.”

  “You mean about how we're banished from everywhere and everybody hates us?”

  Cyrus blinked. “Yeah. That.”

  “Everyone knows,” the healer scoffed. “Lot of talk about it, too. Not very happy tidings.”

  “Yeah, well, we need to plan an expedition somewhere – something challenging that could profit the guild and give everyone something to focus on outside of our own problems.” His eyes narrowed. “Something that could cut through the bad reputation and make people think twice about leaving us, because we're a guild on the move.”

  “I don't think a successful excursion to kill the God of Death would make people think becoming a
pariah is an acceptable trade-off for joining us.”

  “If we could just stem the tide of those who will want to leave, give them enough doubt to keep them here while we find these bandits...”

  “There are rats already talking about jumping ship,” Andren warned. “I wouldn't, because I have no family I care about seeing and give less than a damn if I ever lay eyes on the elitist Kingdom again, but there are some who are already homesick and heartsick and nothing you could plan would cut through that.”

  “Those are the ones we're going to lose anyway.” Cyrus straightened as a realization set in. “Since we're pariahs and the whole world is against us, we might as well add a few thousand more people to the list.” He grinned. “Especially since it'd net us so much money.”

  Andren did not look amused. “I can tell you're having a right nice thought there, but would you care to share?”

  “The Trials of Purgatory,” Cyrus said. “That's our target. The big three guilds – Amarath's Raiders, Endeavor and Burnt Offerings – are busy trying to make inroads into the Realms of the gods; the Trials are empty, no one's even making any attempts.” His grin widened. “We're going to do it. We'll launch ourselves into the top tier of guilds.”

  “Correct me if I'm wrong,” Andren adopted a pensive look, “but the reason no one has attempted Purgatory in the last year is because the last guild that did successfully execute that particular expedition was slaughtered in the streets of Reikonos moments after they emerged from the exit portal – which, by the way, is the ONLY way out of the Realm. Not to mention it exits in REIKONOS – you know, where we're all in danger of being executed if we show up?”

  Cyrus shook his head. “First of all, the minute we step out of the portal, we can teleport out – before any other guild tries to slaughter us, and before the Reikonos guards show up.” He scoffed. “Actually, with the entire guild behind us, the Reikonos guards would be helpless against us.”

  “Yeah, but there's the fact that the big three slaughtered – right there in the streets, with every other guild in the city and the Reikonos guards watching – the last guild to do what you're proposing we do!”

  “I told you, we can teleport out before they assemble. That guild, Retrion's Honor – some of them escaped, but their guildhall was in Reikonos; they didn't know they'd have to run. We do.”

  “Wasn't their guildhall sacked and burned? You think the big three won't take a little trip to the Plains of Perdamun if they want to make an example out of us?”

  “I don't think they'll care enough to pursue us, no.” Cyrus's eyes darted around as his mind raced. “None of them has been through Purgatory in over a year. Everyone else is too scared to try. Even if they make an attempt on us afterward, we'll run and they'll decide it's not worth their time to unite forces and chase a guild whose days are already numbered in their eyes. If they chase us, we'll seal the wall and make a stand here. They'd have a hell of a time trying to storm Sanctuary.”

  “Fine. Assuming you're right – and I'm not saying you are,” Andren said with practiced skepticism, “we still have a major obstacle in that we know nothing about the Trials of Purgatory! How are you going to plan an expedition when you don't know what we're facing? I mean, do we even know anyone who's been on a successful run through the friggin' Trials of Purgatory?”

  “I have,” said a cool voice from behind them. “I can tell you everything you'd need to know about how to get our army through safely.”

  Cyrus turned. Light from the entrance glinting off the shiniest armor he'd ever seen, and shone in her blond hair, which was loose and hanging around her shoulders for only the third time since he'd known her. Vara returned his stare, face impassive.

  “I will help you lead us through the Trials of Purgatory.”

  Chapter 18

  “You know Purgatory?” Cy raised an eyebrow.

  “I was an officer in Amarath's Raiders when they succeeded in conquering the Trials.” She straightened. “I was involved in the planning.”

  “You said 'when they succeeded',” Andred said with a tinge of caution. “So there were times they failed?”

  “Horribly,” Vara confirmed. “Hundreds dead, rather like your experience in Enterra; those of us who survived returned to collect the dead and prepare them for resurrection – but we lost dozens to permanent deaths.”

  Andren shot a pleading look at Cyrus. “I don't want to die again.”

  “If it makes you feel any better,” Vara said in what could only be described as (for her) a soothing tone, “I have never died. And I have been on expeditions much more challenging than the Trials of Purgatory.”

  “Never?” Cyrus said, taken aback. “How long were you with Amarath's Raiders?”

  “Five years,” she replied.

  “Impressive.”

  “Thank you. I did come very close once, close enough that I know I would not care to repeat that experience.” A smile upturned the corner of her mouth. “So let us attempt to keep that trend alive, shall we?”

  The planning had taken almost a week, during which Cyrus had called the Sanctuary army together every day to practice maneuvers that would be employed during the expedition. Each night he spent in planning with Vara, examining every point, no matter how trivial, related to the Trials.

  “This is crucial,” she said. “When you reach the fourth island, it becomes the point of no return. There is a gateway here –” she pointed to the hand-drawn maps on the table before them – “that is your last exit before the Final Guardian. If we choose to go forward and face the guardian, we are forced to exit into the Reikonos guildhall quarter.”

  “So we need to be prepared to fight a rear-guard action for a few minutes in Reikonos before we leave the guardian's island.”

  “We should prepare for the possibility that they may place wizards in position to block our exit with a cessation spell that could cut off teleportation in the vicinity.”

  “How do we counter that?” Cyrus's eyes widened in alarm.

  “Kill the wizards in question,” she said with a thin smile. “They'll be exposed, close by, and they'll have to continue the chanting in order to keep the spell in effect. It requires concentration, so they won't be able to move or the enchantment will break.”

  She pulled a map of the guildhall quarter to the top of the stack. “They'll have to place the wizards here or here,” she said, pointing to the map. “Either way, since we know what we're looking for, a ranger will be able to kill them or disrupt their spellcasting ability with some well-aimed arrows. And we'll be out of there before they can re-establish the cessation field.”

  Cyrus sat back and looked at the pile of maps in front of them. Exhaling, he felt a rush of panic. “Can we really do this?”

  “Yes,” she answered without hesitation. “You know where the sticky points will be, and how we'll need volunteers for... that,” she said.

  “If that's the worst,” he said, “I can take that myself – at least two thirds of it.”

  “Yes, well –” She hesitated. “I'm certain you can find one other willing soul in all of Sanctuary to bear the other part of it. Everything else we face is a matter of preparation, strategy and effort. The first challenge is likely to be a problem, since the brute force that Sanctuary can bring to bear does not compare to the sheer power that Amarath's Raiders has at their disposal.”

  “I'm more concerned about the third trial,” he said, pulling the map in question from the pile. “This is something we've never practiced.”

  “It's easier than you would think. I worry about the power of the fourth trial; you will be in great peril during the entirety of that fight and it could be fatal.” Concern etched her face. “You will have to be quick on your feet to survive.”

  “Don't bet against me,” he replied with a smirk. “Remember what happened last time you did?”

  “I won, as I recall.”

  He frowned. “You recall incorrectly. I stood there with you on the bridge in the garden as yo
u insulted me.”

  “That was basest chicanery; you had deceived me about the timeframe on the bet.”

  “You're an adult, physically if not emotionally; take some responsibility – it's not my fault you thought the bet had ended a day earlier.”

  “I thought it had because you told me it had.” Irritation creased her brow, despoiling her pretty features. “You lied to me for the express purpose of collecting your prize.” The annoyance on her face turned into self-righteous satisfaction. “If you won, then why haven't you tried to collect the 'date' you 'won'?”

  “I've been rather busy with other things of late. If you thought you won,” he said with a smirk, “why haven't you collected on the favor you were owed?”

  “I haven't had need of any of your rather limited services yet, but be assured, when the day comes that I need a poorly brewed cup of tea or a slab of ignoramus to rest my feet on, you shall hear from me.”

  “I'm also a reasonably good pincushion and a fair dancer.”

  “I've seen you dance; I think you're overstating it.”

  They laughed for a moment before her expression became guarded once more. “Why did you choose Purgatory?”

  He stared back at her, trying to mask his feelings. “It's one of the biggest challenges out there. It's high profile; it'll give our name a boost right now – which we could use.”

  “Of course the fact that you lack only two components for this weapon you've been assembling and that one of them is in Purgatory has no influence on your decision.” Her blue eyes pierced him.

  “I can't deny the appeal,” he admitted, “but that's not the main reason. Since the 'Big Three' have been focused on exploring the newly opened Realms of the gods, all the tradespeople and merchants that were used to selling the exotic goods that came from their regular harvests of Purgatory have gone wanting. The goods we bring back will fetch a hefty price – enough to come close to paying off Reikonos, at least.”