The Sanctuary Series: Volume 02 - Avenger

by Robert J. Crane

  His eyes scanned it as it ran down the hill toward them. It was twice the size of Fortin, and while the rock giant had rocky skin, the golem appeared to be made of solid rock, given motion by some magic beyond the skills of any wizard Cyrus had ever met. There were no eyes, nor a mouth, ears or other weak spots visible. Damn.

  It charged down the hill, and Cyrus had a moment of discomfort as a realization hit. “I wish we had set up at the top of a hill instead of the bottom,” he muttered.

  “What?” came Terian's voice next to him.

  “It's coming at us on a downhill charge,” Cyrus said. “I can't stop that thing before it runs through our ranks like a bull. Which means –” He shifted to turn around and began to yell. “Move out of its path!” he shouted to the spellcasters behind him. “Warriors, get out there and engage them in front of our lines!”

  Without waiting for acknowledgment of his orders, Cy charged out from behind their defensive perimeter. The golem was easily four times his height, invoking a memory of the time he had invaded the titan city of Kortran, where the combatants were also giant. But they were flesh, not rock, he thought. How do I hurt this thing?

  It barreled toward him at high speed. To hit it full on means instant death, he realized. Which means I have to...

  As the golem reached level ground, it did not slow down, and as they closed on one another, Cyrus at a dead run and the golem moving faster than should have been possible for something so giant, Cyrus leapt at the last moment, evading one of the giant's legs by inches and raking his sword along the golem's skin as he passed. Rolling as he hit the ground, Cyrus returned to his feet and watched the golem break through the scattering ranks of the Sanctuary army.

  The other two golems had effected a similar charge, and they all ended up at the center of the Sanctuary army, which had parted for them. Cyrus could not see if there were any dead as he ran back toward the army, where the golems had begun to swat at the creatures crowding around their ankles with swords and daggers.

  Spells flew through the air, fire marking with scorches where it hit upon the skin of the beasts, and small pockmarks of ice checkering the torso of the giant he had charged past. There was no sign on its leg that his slash had done any damage as he passed and when he stabbed forward with his short sword, there was no effect on the rock where he hit.

  Three more rapid attacks did little more damage, chipping away only bits of rock, and Cyrus felt a pang of discomfort – in none of their plans had they discussed how to defeat the golems if their weaponry could not penetrate the skin. Cyrus's eyes searched for Vara and found her behind the same golem he was attacking, but her sword was gouging large chunks out of the skin without difficulty.

  The golem brought a leg up and stomped down. When it stepped again, Cyrus realized that several people had been killed underfoot. The golem's hands swung through the crowds below it, killing wherever it struck.

  Cyrus worked his way toward Vara, dodging three stomps. “Vara,” he shouted when he had moved close enough. She looked up for only a second, sword still dancing her hand. She had cut a deep hole in the leg, extending almost a foot into the golem. “Our fighters don't have mystical swords as powerful as Amarath's Raiders; they're not doing much damage to the skin of these things.”

  “I had noticed that,” she replied crossly, not looking at him. “Unfortunately, I'm rather busy trying to make up for it.”

  “These things are made of solid rock! I don't think even the spellcasters can get through that!” A quick look revealed the others around him attacking the golem were experiencing similar results, save for a few of their more experienced combatants that had better equipment. Longwell's lance was gouging pockmarks an inch deep and Scuddar's blade carved heavy lines wherever his blade found purchase.

  I can't break through solid rock with this piece of junk, Cyrus thought when he looked down at his short sword. I'd need a pickaxe to do any damage. He snorted at the thought then cut it off as he remembered a similar battle where he labored to cut through the skin of a dragon. That almost didn't turn out well, either, he reflected. Wouldn't have made it out of that cave if not for... a jolt ran through him.

  “Niamh!” he shouted into the spellcasters, huddled away from the golems. “We need ice spells! Focus them on the legs!”

  A flash of red as the druid turned her head to address the spell casters told him that she had complied with his orders. A volley of spells flew over his head and struck the legs of the golems. Ice spread from the impact sites, crusting as it ran down the legs of the stone creatures. Cyrus moved toward the nearest section of frost and struck with all his strength, shattering the ice and cracking the rock beneath it.

  Rolling away from the golem's next stomp, he returned to the same damaged spot and slashed at it again and again. Chunks of rock fell from the wound he had created, and he saw his efforts repeated in other places where ice spells hit; all the wizards and druids had unleashed their frozen magics, and ice was forming around the golem's lower body. Vara had seized on a vulnerable spot and was wreaking tremendous havoc. A rumble made its way over the army as her last strike produced a satisfying CRACK and the golem's leg broke off, sending it tumbling to the ground and killing several of their guildmates upon impact.

  Far from being finished, the golem lashed out from a prone position, striking Nyad and sending her through the air. The spell casters unleashed a volley that completely encased its head in ice. Vara jumped into the air and landed on the head sword-first, shattering it. With its head destroyed, the magic binding the golem together released and the arms and remaining leg fell apart, turning into pebbles that spread from the spot where it died.

  Vara's face did not register a smile of victory as she moved to the next golem, similarly indisposed and delivered another shattering blow to end it, and then to the last as well.

  “Next time,” Terian said to Cyrus as Vara was killing the last golem, “tell us about mystical skin before sending us up against something like these. My axe was only marginally effective,” the dark knight groused. “You and the new recruits didn't do squat with your steel weapons. I hope there aren't more of them.”

  “I don't think so,” Vara answered as she returned to them. “Each of the Trials is based off of one of the elements, save for the last island. This is the Earth island, so naturally the defenders would be...”

  “Rock golems,” Terian said, shaking his head. “Of course. Why didn't you mention the mystical skin, if you've been here before?”

  “In truth, I did not know the skin was mystical,” Vara replied. “When I was here with Amarath's Raiders, we all had mystical weapons and no one had any difficulty causing damage to them.”

  “Must be tough to have such nice things.”

  “Yes, truly your burden is great to be so ill-equipped for battle, but worse than that is the burden of your father's disappointment in his son,” came the voice of the Gatekeeper. “Yes, I speak to you, Terian Lepos – great must be the shame of your father.”

  Terian's grip on his axe increased. “You don't know what you're talking about.”

  “Oh?” The Gatekeeper's eyebrows leapt up in amusement. “Your father, one of the greatest dark knights to walk the face of Arkaria? Did he not want his son to follow in his footsteps and become strong in the ways of the blackest of the black knights? Yet here you stand, a shade of what you could have become – closer to a paladin than a knight of the shadows.”

  Cyrus stepped forward to bar Terian's movement, matched on the dark elf's other side by Vara. “It's not worth it,” Cyrus whispered.

  “It would be so worth it,” Terian said with undisguised loathing. “To hold his severed head in my hands as he died would be so enjoyable, it would be the benchmark by which I could judge all other joyous events in my life.” He did not struggle in Cyrus's grip, but the dark elf's eyes whispered murder.

  “You take umbrage at the thought of being a noble paladin?” The Gatekeeper's amused look was now taunting. “Take heart
. Did you ever tell your friends what you were doing after you left Sanctuary last year? Does Lord Garaunt know what sins his pet knight was committing while out of his sight?”

  “I have not asked and he need not tell me,” came the voice of Alaric. “I expect him to live up to the standards of Sanctuary while he is with us.” The paladin strode forward, interposing himself between the Gatekeeper and Terian.

  “If only you knew...” the Gatekeeper said in a chiding tone.

  Cyrus took his eyes off the Gatekeeper's bemused expression long enough to confirm that Terian was focused on Alaric, a stricken look written on his face.

  “There will be no need for explanation now,” Alaric spoke over his shoulder. He returned his cold glare to the Gatekeeper. “You will open the next gate.”

  An accommodating nod from the Gatekeeper and a wave of his hand in the direction of the next bridge followed. “Your path is open. Many guilds before you have come this far and no further. I am required to offer you an exit, should you wish to leave now.” His hand moved to indicate a portal in the distance and it flared to life. The Gatekeeper's smile evaporated. “I advise you to do so, as the next island shall be much more difficult than what you have experienced here.” Once more, he seemed to fold in upon himself and was gone.

  “Charming bastard,” J'anda commented. “Are you sure we can't kill him?”

  Vara shook her head. “He is some sort of Emissary from the gods that serves as the steward of this place. Every one of the elemental gods is responsible for an island of this Realm, each according to their type. We just faced Rotan's creations, for example.”

  “But aren't there five islands?” Niamh asked.

  “Yes,” Vara replied.

  “Fire, air, water, earth... who commands the fifth?” the red-haired druid asked, curious expression on her face.

  Vara pursed her lips. “It has long been rumored that the last island and its monstrous creation are the product of the God of Evil, whose name we know not.” She looked down. “I would say, having been there, that it is a fair guess, since what is housed there is possibly the greatest evil I have ever seen.”

  “Well that was nice and foreboding,” Vaste commented. “Are you going to act like Malpravus or will you tell us what we'll face there?”

  “I do not know how to describe it, but those who have faced it have called it the Last Guardian.” She hesitated. “Everything that the Gatekeeper has done thus far, preying on our weaknesses, stirring up doubts – the Last Guardian does as well. I believe that the Gatekeeper works to bring those insecurities to the surface to allow the guardian to better exploit them.”

  “So it's more of a mental battle?” J'anda asked.

  Vara shook her head. “No, the guardian is also a fearsome fighter.”

  “Vara and I have discussed the guardian,” Cyrus interjected. “We have a strategy in place to deal with him when the time comes. We have three more islands to deal with first.”

  Vaste spoke up. “We've brought the dead back to life and should be ready to move in the next few minutes – but I would advocate a short break.”

  Cyrus nodded. “That seems wise, to give those who died a chance to recover before our next challenge.” He turned to Vara. “Unless you think we shouldn't?”

  She shook her head. “No, we need to be at full strength to deal with the Wind Totem.”

  Erith shouldered her way through the crowd surrounding the officers. “I need to talk to you about something,” she said with a curt nod toward Cyrus. “Alone,” she said with emphasis, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him away from the army.

  He did not protest. “What is it?” he asked when they were out of earshot.

  “Not yet,” she said, releasing him. “Keep going.” He followed her over a nearby hill.

  She stopped and turned to face him, then bit her lip. “You're going to find out eventually, but I wanted to tell you here so none of your guildmates could see your reaction.”

  His eyebrows arched in concern. “What is it?”

  “When Sanctuary was dishonored among the Alliance,” she began, still looking tentative, “Malpravus rallied us all to turn against you. He came and spoke to our members, persuaded them.”

  “Yes,” he nodded. “I know. It stung, but it's done now.”

  “He told us something else,” she said. “He claimed that this act of dishonor cast in doubt every other act Sanctuary had done and every accusation you had ever made.”

  “Why?”

  She laughed mirthlessly. “Why does Malpravus do or say anything? To justify what he's done or get what he wants.”

  “Dishonoring us?” Cyrus shrugged. “He's been trying for years to force a merger of the Alliance guilds. He wants us all under his control, knowing that with Goliath's numbers, any kind of democratic process would work to his advantage.”

  “That's certainly an intent, but that's not why he made that announcement,” she said, shaking her head. “He was giving himself cover for what he did next. He told us that you and the Sanctuary Council had conspired to release Ashan'agar into north with the understanding that he would elevate Sanctuary to rule over all the lesser races – that you had stolen the godly weapons, that you were known in Pharesia to be involved – and that you only took action against Ashan'agar and called in the allies after the Dragonlord betrayed you.”

  “This does not surprise me,” Cyrus said, shaking his head.

  “Then this might,” she said, biting her lip. “He didn't just make the accusation – he brought one of his officers along to tell the whole sordid tale – of how this officer confronted you in the mountains while we were fighting. That he fought you and through treachery you killed him, and of how he narrowly escaped.”

  “You're joking,” Cyrus said darkly. “He didn't bring back –”

  “He did,” she confirmed. “Orion is back – and Malpravus has made him an officer of Goliath.”

  Chapter 22

  Cyrus returned to the army several minutes later, cloud hanging over him. Alaric sent him a questioning look as he approached, and Cyrus waved him off. “Later,” he said in a choked voice. “We need to speak in Council once this is over.”

  Alaric nodded, his helm moving slowly downward in what seemed like an exaggerated bow of the head. “Of course.”

  “We're moving,” Cyrus announced after a moment to calm himself. They headed over the hill and toward the direction he had come from.

  Vara once more fell into step beside him. “What's wrong with you?”

  “We'll talk about it later,” he said, dismissing her.

  “Fine,” she said tersely. “If you wish to pout about whatever it is, I will respect your wishes to act like a child. However, you know that we must plan and act accordingly for what we are about to face –”

  “I'll take it,” he said, cutting her off. “I will.”

  She started. “You are the leader of this expedition. For continuity of command you should not be the one who –”

  “It's me, decision made. Stop arguing,” he said in a voice that brooked no further discussion.

  “Very well, then,” she said, face inscrutable. “I won't try to stop you.”

  “Didn't think you would.”

  Shaking her head in annoyance, Vara drifted away from him and Cyrus turned to his own thoughts. Unbelievable. Orion, back in the Alliance. What do you do with a treacherous ally? How do you get rid of an enemy when you've got no weapon to use against it?

  They crossed the next gate and the terrain turned once more to dirt. Another flat, dusty stretch of land filled Cyrus's eyes, all the way to the edge of the island. In the distance, he could see the lights that denoted his enemies. He held up his hand to stop the army. “Hold here. I'm going to lead the way and I need you all to follow a few hundred feet behind me.”

  Alaric surveyed him from the front rank, eye narrowed visibly through his helm. The Ghost took a few steps forward, drawing even with Cyrus. “Perhaps I should go with you, bro
ther.”

  Even as Cyrus faked a smile, he felt the unease grow inside him. “It's all right, Alaric. Just follow behind me with the rest of the army. I want to lead the way during this battle.”

  “Your bravery is unquestioned,” Alaric said under his breath. “You don't have to do this.”

  “Do what?” Cyrus's smile grew wider, and more strained. “I'm just leading the way, like a General should.” The Ghost hesitated and Cyrus caught a flicker of emotion in his eye. “What do you think is going on here, Alaric?”

  “Very well,” Alaric said with a bow of his head. “Lead the way.” Alaric rejoined the line as Cyrus opened the distance between himself and the army to almost three hundred feet before signaling them to follow once more.

  The lights in the distance began to move closer, then they streaked towards him, lighting the skies.

  Pegasus, Cyrus thought. They were winged horses that shone with an energy that made them glow white. Their red eyes shimmered against the soft light of their skin. The first of them flew at him and he caught it with a swing of his short sword. Blood spattered the ground as the pure white of the pegasus was marred by red. It slammed into him with a hoof, knocking him sideways. The others landed in a crashing attack, hooves raining down on him as he dodged. A strong kick hit his arm, numbing it and causing him to drop his sword.

  Cries from the army behind him reached his ears only faintly, drowned out by whinnying above. Where are you, you bastard, he thought as he dodged one pegasus and felt another crash down on his shoulder. A snapping sound was followed by an exquisite burst of agony that ran the length of his collarbone. He was on his back now, rolling to dodge another beat of hooves. He looked up and saw the largest of the pegasi, a horselord, among them. It was twice the size of his own horse, Windrider, and each hoof was as big as the watermelons Larana had served at the end of summer feast.