The Sanctuary Series: Volume 02 - Avenger

by Robert J. Crane

  “You think,” Cyrus said with a disappointed shake of his head, “that Alaric Garaunt, the Guildmaster of Sanctuary, the most honorable man we've ever met, gifted with the power to disappear, is going to spend his time and effort misusing that power to peep on our new female applicants?”

  “Just the pretty ones,” Andren said, looking mildly offended. “I wouldn't accuse him of spying on that new dwarven gal or any of the gnomes.”

  “In my culture, you would be considered a 'dirty old man', Andren.”

  “Thank you,” the elf said as he took another swig. “I think.”

  Cyrus shook his head as he began to walk toward the foyer, the point of assembly. Andren followed him. “What, you're all high and mighty, you're telling me you wouldn't at least want a peek? Can't say some of those new recruits aren't attractive.”

  “Didn't say they aren't.” Cyrus tossed a glance back at Andren. “I just said I wouldn't use a power like that to spy on them.”

  “What do you think of that Aisling, eh?” Andren said with a wink. “I'd always heard dark elf girls were a little dirty. She might be a good chance to prove it.”

  “Not interested.”

  “Oh, right,” Andren said with a nod, face impassive. “I forgot I was speaking to a man for whom the necessary elements of attraction include being roundly insulted at every turn.”

  Cyrus stopped just short of the foyer. “That's hardly a requirement –”

  “But you can't deny that she castigates you constantly,” Andren said with a cocky smile. “I mean, why would you be attracted to that? I mean, other than the obvious physical attributes. Are you a glutton for pain?”

  “Well, I am a warrior...”

  Andren rolled his eyes. “There are a great many good looking women in these halls, my friend. You could take a bit of an interest.”

  “I'm an officer now. I have to uphold a certain standard, and pursuing recruits and members is not in line with that.”

  “My, aren't you an oak of resolve?” Andren said with a tsk-tsk sound. “I wouldn't be so reluctant if I were you.”

  Cyrus snorted. “Why does it matter what I do? Why don't you worry about yourself? I haven't seen you rolling in the female company of late.”

  “I'm not the one lacking, friend. I've found as much companionship as I can handle here.” The elf smiled. “Just thought I'd try and help you out.”

  “I appreciate it,” Cy said, tone softening. “But I have more pressing matters on my mind.”

  “More like repressing matters. When all that bottled up energy finds an outlet, it's going to be one hell of an explosion.”

  “I have an outlet,” Cyrus replied as he resumed walking, entering the foyer to find an assembled crowd. “It's called battle.”

  “Oh, well, that should fix everything.”

  Cyrus started toward the staircase leading to the balcony. Vaste fell into step next to him. “Need me to clear a path for you, oh exalted General?”

  Cyrus surveyed the room, packed with people standing shoulder to shoulder, gnomes lingering around the edges for fear of being trampled in the middle. “I may; we'll need a bigger foyer if we expand any more.”

  “I wouldn't go wishing for us to atrophy,” the troll replied.

  “Might not need to wish for it if we can't find these raiders,” Cy said while peering over the head of a human in front of him.

  “If you want, you can clear a path for me, Vaste,” Andren said. “I want to get to the lounge; Larana usually sets a fresh keg out in the morning and I want a mug before we leave.”

  The troll stared down at him. “You can make your way through on your own.”

  Andren looked back at the assemblage. “Not all of us are eight feet tall and built like a titan,” he grumbled.

  “Nor are you as pretty as I am, or as well hung,” the troll added lightly, “but you've got to work with what the gods gave you.”

  With Vaste's assistance, Cyrus made his way to the staircase. He passed someone in gray plate mail and his eyes flew back to see Cass standing before him with a wide grin. “What are you doing here?” Cyrus asked.

  Cass wore a sly smile. “You didn't think I was gonna throw you to the wolves and run, did you?”

  Cyrus looked at him warily. “After the last Alliance meeting, yes. Yes, I did.”

  “Ouch,” Cass said, feigning hurt. His expression turned serious. “Our guild is a democracy; as one of the three officers leading, I have to follow the members’ wishes, and their ignorant wish was to follow Goliath's lead, in spite of mine and Erith's objections. If I could have done it differently, I would have.” He smiled. “But I am here to help, if you'll have me.”

  “And pretend it was your idea the whole time, no doubt,” came Erith's voice from beside Cass. “We are here to help,” she amended.

  “You know what? We can use all the help we can get.”

  “Knew you would,” Cass said with a wink that sent an infuriated look across Erith's face. She turned to argue with him as Cyrus moved on, Vaste in front of him.

  “Nice to know we still have a few friends left, isn't it?” Cyrus asked the troll.

  “Speak for yourself. I have many, many friends – you antisocial cur.”

  They ascended the grand staircase to the balcony to find the other officers waiting for them. J'anda looked appropriately calm, Terian sported his usual cocky grin, Vara appeared lost in thought and Niamh surveyed the crowd with a look of nervous anticipation. Curatio and Alaric spoke to each other in hushed tones, but looked up at Cyrus upon his arrival.

  “We're ready for this,” Curatio pronounced with an air of youthful enthusiasm that belied his years.

  “You seem excited,” Cyrus said with a hint of amusement.

  “We haven't been this on-the-move in years,” the healer pronounced. “I've lived... uh...” He halted and coughed – “...a long while and this is one of the most exciting times I've witnessed.”

  “Yes, a death sentence that stretches across multiple nations tends to inject a bit of excitement into one's life,” Vaste agreed.

  “You know what I meant,” Curatio said to the troll with a smile.

  “I agree,” Alaric said, “if not for the onerous clouds hanging over our heads at the moment, this could be perhaps our finest achievement as a guild.”

  “I don't know about that,” Cyrus said, pensive. “I think it will be our finest achievement because of the other adversities that we're battling against right now.”

  Alaric looked at him with a glint in his eye that almost looked like pride. “Well said.” The Ghost made a gesture toward the crowd. “Your army awaits, General.”

  Cyrus stepped forward and gripped the rail of the balcony as applause echoed through the foyer. “We go now to a place that few guilds have seen and fewer have conquered,” he began as the applause began to die out. “When we walk out of the last gate of Purgatory later today, we will be only the fourth guild in Arkaria to have conquered it.” Another smattering of applause greeted this statement. “All the troubles we are facing will pale in comparison to this triumph. The nations that have accused us will wonder if perhaps they have viewed us wrongly.”

  Alaric leaned in. “You're going a bit over the top; the fools who govern those nations will likely not re-evaluate anything but how many troops they send our way.”

  “Sorry,” Cy whispered back. Returning his voice to normal volume, he continued.

  “We will face countless perils, but through our training and discipline, we will be triumphant. Maintain order at all times, be prepared for the worst, and watch out for your guildmates.” He straightened and looked over the crowd with undisguised pride. This was his army. “Follow my lead, and we'll be out of the portal in Reikonos before you know it.”

  He turned and raised his hand to Nyad, who nodded back at him in acknowledgment.

  “I know that the exit leads out into the Reikonos guildhall quarter, but where is the portal to go into Purgatory?” Niamh asked.
r />   “There isn't one,” Cyrus said without looking up. His eyes roamed the crowd, falling from Longwell, who gripped his lance across his chest and stared ahead to the desert man, Scuddar, whose face was masked by the cloth he habitually wrapped around his head before battle, to Larana who looked at him with a nervous anticipation and then averted her eyes when he met her gaze. “A wizard has to know a special spell to teleport us there.”

  Nyad muttered under her breath, and after a moment's pause a flash of red light sent glowing orbs flying in all directions. One of them settled in front of Cyrus and he grabbed it, blinding him with a blast of crimson, searing his eyes and clearing the vision of the Sanctuary army from his view.

  Chapter 21

  A wave of energy blasted around him as Cyrus landed, stunned from the force of the impact. The sound of others around him getting the wind knocked out of them told him he wasn't alone.

  “That didn't feel like a normal teleportation spell,” J'anda said, looking around while shaking his head. “That hurt.”

  “We just tore out of the Realm of Arkaria and into a Realm of gods,” Vara replied as she stood up from landing. Dust filled the air around them and others picked themselves up. “It's not as simple as crossing a street.”

  “I've crossed the world with teleports,” Terian mumbled. “Never had one feel like that.”

  “Can we save the chatter for another time?” Cyrus brushed a thin layer of dust off his black armor. “I had intended to lead an invasion of this place and your discussion is interfering with my ability to give orders.”

  “Sorry, sir, won't happen again, sir – get bent.” Terian shot Cyrus a grin.

  “Now, Terian,” Alaric chided, “you should have added a sir to your last comment.”

  “What a merry band are you,” came a voice from behind.

  Cyrus pivoted, sword drawn before he had time to assess the situation. The speaker had not made a sound as he approached.

  “Now, now,” came the voice again, from a wizened, middle-aged human, “I wouldn't get too overeager with that blade or I should have to force you to eat it.” Gold robes draped a man who possessed a long nose that came to a point. His expression was severe, and his eyes were a shining black. His face was thin, which only added to the overall scornful look he carried.

  “I'd like to see you –” Cyrus snapped before feeling Alaric's hand on his shoulder. He cleared his throat. “You need not threaten us, Gatekeeper; I'm sure your trials will do worse than try and make me eat steel.”

  “Quite right,” came the Gatekeeper's reply. “My trials shall make you eat a sizable helping of crow, reducing your rampant ego to a manageable size.”

  “No force created could keep his ego in check,” Erith commented from a few rows back.

  “You're a guest,” Cyrus hissed as he looked back at her.

  “So I should lie to spare your feelings just because I've been invited to die with you?”

  Cyrus turned to the Gatekeeper to find him shaking his head. “Ah, Sanctuary, a fractious lot.” A smile creased his worn face. “This should be most amusing.”

  “You should know better than to underestimate anything,” Alaric said without expression.

  “And you, Lord Garaunt, should know better than anyone that the Trials of Purgatory do not come without sacrifice.” The smile broadened on the Gatekeeper's face, but Alaric did not rise to the bait and remained impassive.

  The Gatekeeper shifted his attention to Vara, who since his arrival had remained quiet. “You, I am surprised to see again. I assumed after our last meeting that I would not see you again.” The smile turned wicked. “But you have returned, once more, to challenge the Trials. I trust we shan't test you quite as hard as last time? Or shall we?”

  There was a mutter of curiosity among the army that Cyrus silenced with a look. “Gatekeeper, I, Cyrus Davidon, General of Sanctuary's army, inform you that we intend to challenge the Trials of Purgatory.”

  The elder human raised an eyebrow. “And I, as Gatekeeper of Purgatory, do hereby open the gates to the Trials to you and your brethren. I hope your deaths are unpleasant and that your flesh serves as sustenance for our fiends.”

  “A simple 'good luck' would have sufficed,” Terian muttered.

  The Gatekeeper threw his head back and laughed, a long, malicious cackle that reminded Cyrus of Malpravus. “I do not wish you good luck but rather ill,” the Gatekeeper scoffed. “Only four guilds entering this Realm have left triumphant and for one of them, the triumph was short lived,” he said with a smirk. “I have nothing but hope that you will fail.”

  “Yeah, who knows what could happen if we were to emerge victorious?” Vaste said with a trace of sarcasm. “You might have every guild in Arkaria knocking down your gates next week, and then you'd never have time to sit in your private sanctum and practice being an insufferable jackass for hours at a time.”

  “Rein in your troll, Lord Garaunt, lest I remove his tongue,” said the Gatekeeper, ice in his voice infusing the air.

  “I have no desire to rein him in, Gatekeeper. I find his wit amusing.” Alaric did not break the Gatekeeper's stare. “Do you intend to open the Trials to us?”

  A long pause hung in the air before the Gatekeeper spoke again. “They are already open,” he said, frost still falling from every word. “Should you survive,” he said with a bow, “I shall see you on the other side of the first trial.”

  “Back to your sanctum to practice!” Vaste said with a smile and a wave.

  The Gatekeeper did not respond, but his face thinned and he seemed to fold in on himself, disappearing.

  “I would caution against taunting the Gatekeeper,” Alaric said. “He will latch onto any overconfidence on our part and turn it to our disadvantage later.”

  “Seems harmless,” Terian said with a shrug.

  “He's not,” Vara croaked, paler than usual. “He has power and is not above using it to influence the outcome of the Trials.”

  “He's a foul old man,” Vaste opined.

  “He is not a man – at least not anymore,” Alaric replied.

  “He's a foul old sonofabitch, regardless of species,” Vaste corrected.

  “Can we move this expedition along?” Cyrus snapped. “Vara has been here before and if she says avoid taunting the old bastard, then I don't care if he's a ferret, a gnome or that creepy pederast that skulks around the Reikonos market, don't taunt him! Now let's go! Fall into formation!”

  They moved forward, and for the first time, Cyrus got a good look at the Realm of Purgatory. It was not dark, but there was no visible light source; a pall hung in the air that gave the place a feeling of perpetual twilight. The ground was rock and a light dust filled the air as the army moved, causing Cyrus to gag from the dry, chalky taste of it filling his mouth and nose. There was no sign of greenery to break the horizon.

  They stood upon an island, hanging in the middle of the air. From where he stood, Cyrus could see in the distance an end to the ground and nothing beyond it. “What's out there?” he asked Vara, who had fallen into step beside him. Silence filled the air around him, save for the noise of the Sanctuary army.

  “Oblivion,” she replied. “Anyone who is lost to the edge shall not be returned until you have conquered the Trials.”

  “Sounds ominous.”

  “We lost several in our first attempts at Purgatory when I was with Amarath's Raiders,” Vara agreed. “When they were returned to us months later, after we defeated the Trials, they were scrawny and haggard, but alive. Every one of them described a torturous existence for those months, however.” She shuddered at the memory.

  “Avoid the edges.” Cyrus nodded. “Got it.”

  They marched forward, not in lock step, for their discipline as an army was not so formal, but in rows. Following Vara's lead, Cyrus directed them to a short bridge that narrowed and led off the island to another. Standing before them at the entrance to the bridge was a magnificent gate, with an arch made of stone. The gate itself w
as large enough to admit several of Fortin.

  They walked through the gate and Cyrus found the terrain had changed; instead of flat, dusty ground it became sloped and craggy. The dust subsided and the ground became solid rock, reminding Cyrus of the foothills of the Mountains of Nartanis, without the volcanic ash.

  They began to ascend a short hill, and at the top Cyrus could see the far edge of the island and another bridge, leading to another gate. “That is our course,” Vara said.

  “When will we be attacked?” Cyrus kept his voice low enough so that only she could hear him.

  She answered him in the same hushed tone. “It could come at any time; there were occasions when we scarcely made it through the gate that they set upon us, and others when we had to take up a defensive position at the far gate and wait for them to appear.”

  “Make ready!” Cyrus ordered to the army standing ready behind him. They began to move slower, in anticipation of attack. It could come from any direction, at anytime, he thought. Marvelous. It's like Vara's insults.

  The thought caused a smile to spread across his face and a chuckle to escape him. Vara's head whipsawed around to him. “And what do you find so funny at a moment such as this?”

  “Nothing,” he said with great certainty. They lapsed into silence. The crunching of Fortin's feet hitting the ground lulled Cyrus for a moment; the heavy footfalls caused small tremors across the ground. Cyrus turned to look at the rock giant, and felt a tremor that did not match Fortin's stride.

  A thrill of anticipation ran through him. “They're coming!” Cyrus shouted. “Defensive positions!”

  The army broke their square formation and moved into a circular perimeter, with warriors and rangers on the outside and spellcasters in the middle. The footfalls became louder until Cyrus heard a shout from behind him, at the point where Thad was stationed. “Incoming! It's a golem!”

  Cyrus nodded and heard the shout taken up by Cass to his left. “Another one!” He turned his attention back to his segment of the perimeter in time to see a creature made of solid rock crest the hill in front of him.