The Sanctuary Series: Volume 02 - Avenger

by Robert J. Crane

  “All right,” Cyrus said, looking over the carnage around them. “When can we be ready to move?”

  Curatio looked with him. “Probably in a half hour if you want everyone at full strength. I'd prefer an hour.”

  Fighting back internal pressure, he nodded. “An hour it is. I want everyone at their best.”

  Vara hobbled up behind him at that moment and rested her hand on his shoulder. He looked at her in surprise and she blushed. “I am still unsteady and require some support to stand.”

  He blinked and looked down at her hand, small and delicate but covered in dirt. Cyrus caught sight of Alaric walking across the flaming ground as he tended to wounded. “I've never seen a paladin cast spells other than for healing before. Can you do what Alaric did back there underwater?”

  She stared back at him with a look of practiced incredulity. “The force blast spell? Of course. All paladins can.”

  “Then why didn't you?”

  She deflated slightly. “I know many of the same spells as he does, but I haven't learned sublingual casting – how to cast spells without speaking. It's a rather advanced skill, one that I did not learn during my time with the Holy Brethren.”

  Cyrus's eyes followed Alaric as he picked his way across the island. “Do many spell casters know 'sublingual casting'?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “It takes quite a bit of additional study and by the time I reached the point that I could have learned it I was eager to get out into the world.” He chuckled, bringing a look of annoyance across her face. “What?”

  “Nothing,” he chuckled again and waved away her inquiry. “I was just imagining you as a young paladin, sick of learning in a League and desperate to get out of there.”

  She shrugged. “It happened very much that way.” A look of discomfort crossed her face. “I don't know if you've noticed this or not, but I am not comfortable in any situation where I feel I'm not in control.”

  He remained expressionless, but only with greatest effort. “I hadn't noticed.” She glared at him but broke the effect of it with a half-smile of acknowledgment. “I guess Alaric must have been more patient if he took the time to learn sublingual casting before leaving the Holy Brethren.”

  Cyrus saw a wall spring up in her expression, guarding her emotions. “Alaric is capable of more than any other paladin I've ever met,” she said with a note of awe. “For most paladins the force blast only stuns your opponent; Alaric's can kill.” She paused, her words hanging in the air between them for a beat. “We have details to plan for the Last Guardian. He has a death glare and it will kill one combatant for each of his two eyes.”

  Cyrus nodded. “Yeah, I figured I'd take the hit again.”

  “That is unnecessary. There are a dozen people you could order to do it – it's not as though they're in any great danger. A resurrection spell shall sort them out in moments.”

  Cyrus exhaled, and eased her hand off his shoulder as he walked to the pit where the Siren had sprung from. With a sudden weariness he sat, feet dangling into the hole. “I know you haven't died, so I don't think you realize how much it hurts – and how much you lose when it happens.”

  She reddened. “I've heard it can be disconcerting –”

  “Disconcerting doesn't begin to cover it.” Cyrus looked out at the horizon beyond the islands, at the sky in perpetual twilight, with a dark orange glow filling the air around them. “Death hurts. Resurrection is almost worse. But you also lose memories. Things just disappear from your mind.” She flushed and looked away. “Things you don't want to forget, things you'll never get back.”

  Cyrus looked over the Sanctuary army. “Thad would willingly throw himself into the guardian's death glare if I ordered him to. He's so gung-ho he'd die a dozen times over if ordered. Should I tell Martaina that the reason he can't remember the moment they met is because I needed him to die 'for the team'?” He looked at her soberly and shook his head. “No. I'll do it.”

  “How sweet and poignant,” came the voice like ice from behind him. The Gatekeeper appeared at Cyrus's shoulder. “I am beginning to be somewhat impressed by your rabble and their consistent refusal to die. However, you cannot endure what you face next.”

  Cyrus waved him away. “You told me a while ago that I could become the greatest warlord that Arkaria had ever seen. I'm about to show you why.”

  A deep guffaw filled the air and the Gatekeeper's eyes lit up. “Or perhaps you're about to show me why I used the conditional phrase 'could'.”

  “Well,” Cyrus said with a sickeningly sweet smile that betrayed the turmoil and anger he felt inside, “why don't you just open up the next gate for us and we'll see?” Something gripped him, an instinct to draw his sword and gut the old man that had taunted them from the moment of arrival, someone who had hurt Vara badly in the past...

  The Gatekeeper stared at Cyrus and the expression on his face showed a flicker of uncertainty. The Gatekeeper blinked at him, concentrating. “Who... are you?”

  Cyrus met his glare and a laugh escaped him. “I thought you knew our destinies, our sins, our past and all that rubbish?”

  The Gatekeeper took a step back, a look of undisguised shock filling his features. “I can't – how are you –?” The Gatekeeper composed himself, severe expression returning. “I will open your gate, and you will face the death you so richly deserve.”

  “You don't sound as sure of that as you did a few minutes ago,” Cyrus said with a growing confidence. “What are you afraid of, Gatekeeper?”

  “I am the Hand of the Gods!” the Gatekeeper barked. “I do not fear you – nor any mortal!”

  “Hand of the Gods, eh?” Cyrus said with a sudden streak of recklessness. “Why don't you open the gate and then go do whatever a god's hand does?”

  The Gatekeeper muttered something and folded in on himself once more, leaving them in silence. Cyrus turned to Vara, who wore a shocked expression. “I have... never, in all my excursions here, seen what you and Alaric have managed to do to the Gatekeeper today. He is never less than arrogant, full of threats and taunts.” She shook her head in amazement. “And he never retreats before striking a final verbal blow.”

  “It would appear,” Cyrus said with a frown, “something about me disturbed him.”

  “One sympathizes with him,” Vara said, “but I agree, it would seem something you said or did – I know not what – put him ill at ease.” A smile broke across her features, lighting up the twilight. “That bodes well for us.”

  Erith appeared at Cyrus's elbow. “The dead are healed. Curatio says we may be ready to move sooner.” She lingered, looking at the two of them. “Did I interrupt something?”

  Vara stared at her in disbelief. “No. No, I suppose not. I have other matters to attend to.” She walked off and Cyrus watched her go, disappointed.

  When she had left, he wheeled back to Erith, who was still standing there. “Yes?” he asked.

  “Nothin',” she said with a shrug. Her eyes shifted left and right, seeing if anyone was near them. “Okay, question – officer to officer, do you ever get tired of the whining and the stupidity and all the garbage that comes from running a guild?”

  He blinked, caught off guard. “Uh... no? Although I admit being banished from the cities of western Arkaria is causing some stress.”

  “The officers of the Daring do what we can,” Erith said, ignoring his reaction, “to grow our numbers, to find new members, to put together a program of expeditions – small scale ones, trying to keep our heads above water and grow. There's no appreciation for what we do; just bitching and moaning; complaints about the other guilds in the Alliance, and how you and Goliath are expanding and we're not.”

  Cyrus nodded, a creeping feeling of familiarity washing over him. “I understand. I led a small guild once, and when you're stuck in a bad situation, people would rather gripe than try and fix it.”

  “Exactly!” she said. “Elisabeth is great with people; she's smooth and sweet, and agrees with everybody, an
d everybody loves her, and Cass is all big and tough but pulls back on saying what needs to be said. So,” she went on, brow furrowing in annoyance, “I'm the bad guy. I get to speak the truths that they don't want to, and have everyone hate me. I'm sick of it.”

  “It's tough,” he agreed. “I respect that; you're willing to fight the good fight, even when sometimes it may not seem like it's worth it.”

  “What if it's not worth it?” she asked. “What happened to the other guild you ran?”

  “There were three of us and when Sanctuary offered, we did some thinking and jumped ship. Of course,” he chuckled, “Sanctuary was in a better spot then than we are now.”

  “I don't know about that,” Erith said. “You've got a lot of forces arrayed against you, but that could help you – you know, buckle down together, have each others’ backs, focus on the bond you have with people you fight alongside. I think you'll come out of this crisis stronger than ever.”

  He laughed. “I hope you're right.”

  “I'm always right,” she sighed as she wandered off. “I only wish they saw that in my guild.”

  Chapter 26

  A sense of foreboding filled Cyrus as he watched the Sanctuary army recover and prepare to face the Last Guardian. Vara found him only five minutes before he was set to order reassembly of their formation. “You are still intending to be the first to take the death glare?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he nodded. “I have to find a second.”

  “No, you do not,” came a voice from behind him. Alaric strode up and placed a hand upon his shoulder. “I will join you.”

  Cyrus flushed. “Alaric, I don't think you should... what about Fortin? Won't he turn on us when you die?”

  The Ghost waved his hand dismissively. “So long as I am resurrected, he will not. Do you think I would ask one of my other brethren to die in my stead?” The Ghost's glare penetrated Cyrus even through the helmet.

  “Very well,” Cyrus agreed. “Once we enter the gate, you and I will charge. The guardian stands in the middle of the island.” He looked to Vara, whose expression was masked. “Right?”

  She nodded. “The first two to catch his gaze will be killed instantly. His death glare will strike again every fifteen minutes until the guardian is dead.”

  “Got it,” Cyrus nodded at her. “You lead the battle while I'm gone.”

  “You would be better suited to this than I,” she said.

  “But I'll be dead, so you're in charge.”

  A look of argument came over her face, then disappeared. “Very well.”

  Cyrus bellowed to get the attention of the Sanctuary army, reformed them and they marched toward the next gate, already opened. The officers, as usual, gravitated to the front of the formation. As they passed underneath the gate, Cyrus ordered the army to halt.

  “The island of evil,” Niamh said with a gasp, then she straightened and looked around with a cocked head, face more curious than afraid. “It doesn't look that evil.”

  “Rest assured,” Vara breathed, “evil is here.”

  The island looked like the ones before it; a long stretch of dust hanging in the air, unremarkable in every way but one: spaced around the far end of the island were a number of portals, similar to the ones scattered throughout Arkaria, save for one detail: they each pulsed with energy of different colors, like the entryways he had seen to the Realms of Darkness and Death.

  In the middle of the island before them stood a pool of black, viscous liquid. It writhed, coalescing and taking shape, a thick tar that rose out of the puddle to form a dark figure that rose to the height of a titan, twenty feet into the air, and solidified. The Last Guardian's body was not quite shaped like a human – it had four arms and four legs, with an unrecognizable head. Its skin glowed a shade of black that Cyrus had never seen, not even in the Realm of Darkness.

  “Are you ready?” Vara asked from just behind him.

  “Alaric?” Cyrus asked, looking at the Ghost, who shot him a sly smile and nodded. “We're ready.”

  “Good,” Vara said. Without warning she kicked Cyrus's legs from under him as she hipchecked him to the side. He landed on his back, hard, the weight of his frame and his armor knocking the wind out of him. He watched her leap over him and blaze across the ground toward the guardian as he gasped for breath and struggled to retake his feet. Alaric followed behind her, and by the time Cyrus was upright again, he knew he would never reach her in time.

  The Last Guardian's head spun on the top of its neck, in ways that no living being could move. Two eyes gathered on the front of its head as Vara and Alaric approached.

  “Charge!” Cyrus spurred the army of Sanctuary into motion, running toward the guardian.

  A flash from one of the eyes lit the air around them and a cry of victory came from the guardian as Vara crumpled to the ground. Another flash and Alaric seemed to become hazy for a moment, but kept running, sword in hand.

  As Cyrus closed the distance, Alaric engaged the guardian. Four arms swung down at him and two of the guardian's legs moved to kick. Alaric dodged every blow that came his way. The guardian's arms seemed to slide across the torso, positioning themselves all on one side to better strike at the Ghost.

  Cyrus made his way past the Ghost, buffeting the leg with glancing strikes as he passed, not doing much damage. Fortin thundered up to the guardian and launched into it with a powerful fist, striking a blow that glanced off. Cyrus looked at the rock giant for a split second – there was a black scoring on his chest. Finally, all four of the guardian's arms lined up and struck a flurry of punches at Fortin.

  Cyrus could hear a cracking noise as the attacks landed one after another. The last hit the rock giant in the face with the force of an explosion. Chips of stone from the impact hit Cyrus in the face and drew blood. He watched Fortin drop to a knee. The arms struck again and when they withdrew, cracks like gashes could be seen along the rock giant's chest and dark fluid oozed out.

  Fortin's red eyes faded and he slumped at the guardian's feet, dead. He landed with a thump that forced Cyrus to step back, during which time the guardian waded into a cluster of Sanctuary attackers gathered behind it. It stomped its spider-like legs that had suddenly grown pointed at the ends and flailed its arms as it attacked much softer targets than Fortin.

  Bodies flew through the air, whole and in pieces. Cyrus watched Terian duck one attack only to be flattened by another while Thad was not even fortunate enough to dodge the first: he was impaled by one of the guardian's legs and flung off into the crowd, knocking over several spell casters upon impact. Aisling's assault was cut off midway as one of the guardian's arms struck her a killing blow.

  Spells impacted upon the guardian's skin and attacks continued by the survivors of the guardian's assault. Cyrus dodged another round of strikes from the fiend and joined Alaric in attempting to attack the legs, the only reachable part of the creature.

  Cyrus sensed another arm coming his way and swung his sword into it with all his force. The appendage cleaved in two but withdrew, leaving a slight residue of dark gray liquid behind on the blade. “I think I hurt it,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone.

  “Excellent,” came Alaric's reply over the chaos of the battle. “Keep doing so.” The paladin brought his sword back for another strike and Cyrus could see the Ghost's weapon was coated in the same fluid that his was.

  Does this thing have a weak point? Cyrus wondered. Vara seemed to think if we hacked away at it, it would eventually die – but she was used to fighting it with mystical weapons. But surely there must be a weak point...

  He looked up, to the top of the creature, where two eyes stared down, rotating around the ovoid, formless head. “I need a ranger to strike those eyes!”

  “With pleasure,” came a voice, breaking with anger. Cyrus looked back to see Martaina taking aim, a look of malice on her face. Arrows flew, one after another and peppered the head of the guardian. She placed four arrows in each eye, but still the head spun. The arms swe
pt around, but with less purpose than before.

  “At least he's blinded now,” Cyrus said as he blocked another strike with a sword blow, cleaving an arm and then watching it reform before his eyes.

  The guardian shuddered and pulled away from them, legs sliding back into something approaching a line. The guardian's torso widened in one direction and flattened in another, becoming human-like but with four arms. The legs coalesced into two legs from four. The head disappeared for a moment and then sprang back up, eyes missing.

  Cyrus brought his sword forward and was knocked off balance when it hit with a clang! and his short sword bounced off the guardian's skin. He brought it back for another swing and was rebuffed once more with a shock of pain that rattled his teeth.

  Cyrus looked over to see Alaric chipping away at the metallic skin with his sword, doing a little damage. Sheathing the short sword he dodged a swing of the guardian's arms and ran to Vara's body. He rolled her over gingerly and froze for a moment. Her eyes were closed and a peaceful expression lay upon her face. With a grimace, he pulled her sword from its scabbard and touched her hand, which was already cold.

  Her sword was almost twice the length of his, with a blade almost as thick as his bicep. Serrated edges curved on either side, giving it an elegant appearance lacking in his simple short sword. The curves of the blade continued into the guard, which came to pointed edges. The hilt was all metal, cold in his hand, and the pommel was the head of a wolf, cast from a dark metal.

  He swung the blade around, admiring the balance as he charged back into the battle and the Last Guardian's arms came after him again. The closest was taking aim; a hand sprouted at its end, individual fingers balling into a fist. He smiled as it flew toward him and he sidestepped, bringing the sword sideways into a strike that split the arm once more, all the way to elbow. He used his weight and dragged the sword down, stripping half the lower arm off the guardian.

  Another hand swung at him, palm open for a vicious slap and he brought the sword across the wrist, cutting the hand off. The other two arms avoided him as he crossed back to the leg to join Alaric. He plunged Vara's sword into the upper thigh of the guardian, eliciting a sound of grinding metal on metal before pulling the blade out at the kneecap, creating a three foot gash. Grey fluid oozed from the wound, dripping onto the dusty ground and forming pools in the contour of the landscape as the guardian moved about.