The Sanctuary Series: Volume 02 - Avenger

by Robert J. Crane

  “I'll fetch him,” Niamh said, pushing back from the table. Alaric nodded and she slid through the door.

  “So you believe me?” Cyrus asked Alaric.

  “I am open to the possibility,” the Ghost said. “However, there are many questions to be answered, and we must have evidence if we are to clear our name. This is, of course,” he continued, mouth curling downward in displeasure, “in addition to the other unpleasant duties in front of us.”

  Cyrus looked at the Ghost in mild confusion and turned to find Terian and Vara sharing his look. Curatio's eyebrow was raised.

  “While you were gone,” J'anda answered for Alaric, “one of our members asked to address the entire guild tonight at dinner in regards to our current crisis.”

  “Who was it and what about?” Curatio stared straight ahead.

  “One of the applicants that joined us after Ashan'agar,” J'anda said. “Ryin Ayend – a druid if I'm not mistaken. Human.”

  “I know of him,” Curatio said. “He's a good druid.”

  “Perhaps one of us should have a conversation with him?” Vaste suggested. “To get a feel for his topic?”

  Alaric shook his head at the end of the table. “We have never inhibited our members from speaking their minds, even when the consequences are not pleasant.”

  “What do you think he's going to say, Alaric?” Terian stared at the Ghost.

  “I suspect that he will discuss the proposal to merge with the other Alliance guilds – the one we have shelved for the last four months.” Alaric's gauntlet clanked as he made a fist. “I think he will bring up the topic of paying our way back into several of the cities now that we have the means to do so, and he will make mention of the fact that three hostile armies still circle our location, able to strike at any moment. I suspect, in short, the worst, and will be pleased by any result less than that.”

  “It's nice to see you've set your expectations at a manageable level,” Vaste said with a nod. “We don't have to stifle him – but wouldn't it be nice if we had an officer talk to him first to see if these are his intentions?”

  “I will not stop any of you from doing so,” Alaric replied, head bowed as he studied his gauntlet. “But I reiterate that I do not want his right to speak to be squelched in any way.”

  The door opened as Niamh returned with Mendicant. She escorted the goblin to an empty seat next to J'anda at the round table and took her seat. Alaric wasted no time. “Mendicant, during last night's patrol Cyrus became entangled with one of the raiders and before it vanished using a wizard's orb of teleportation, he claims to have seen a goblin.”

  Mendicant receded in his seat. “It wasn't me. I was with Vara's patrol at the time!”

  Alaric exchanged a look with Vara, who nodded. “That wasn't the reason we called you here, but thank you for vouching for your whereabouts. Our question pertained to the idea that goblins would be involved in attacks here in the plains.”

  “Oh.” Mendicant's eyes glassed over for a moment and his lips began to twitch. “Spellcasters among goblins are not tolerated nor trained in the Imperium because of the royalty's love of strength above all.” He receded further into his chair, a gesture Cyrus thought odd until he realized it indicated embarrassment. “I am the only goblin wizard that I know of. And the idea that the royalty would send an expedition this far from Enterra, well...” He hesitated. “...it doesn't make a great deal of sense.”

  “I saw a goblin. I would swear it right now even if you demanded my life were I wrong,” Cyrus said with total conviction.

  “It could be an outcast, like me,” Mendicant suggested.

  “I saw the outline of several of the others; they were the size of goblins as well,” Cyrus said, shaking his head.

  “It would be rare to see more than one or two goblin outcasts at a time,” Mendicant said with deference to Cyrus. “Coupled with the idea of a goblin wizard it becomes... impossible.” He looked around the table at the officers. “Goblins pull off secret attacks of this type, even down to the complete lack of evidence regarding the attackers afterward – but they are limited to human and gnome convoys and villages that sprinkle the areas around Enterra. This is far from the empire, several months journey for an armed force of goblin warriors,” Mendicant finished. He bowed his head to Cyrus in a gesture of supplication.

  “You need not fear my wrath for disagreeing,” Cyrus said to the goblin. “You know your people and the points you make are well taken. But I say nonetheless, there was at least one goblin with the raiding party last night and likely more.”

  “Could they have been dwarves?” Mendicant asked. “Dwarves have captured some of our number and could be using a goblin to advise them on attacking with stealth.”

  “You think one of your warriors would betray their people and work with the dwarves?” Alaric looked down the table.

  “Unlikely,” the goblin said, bowing his head. “But the Dwarven Alliance is far to the north of us, and not nearly the enemy that the Gnomish Dominion is. If the Imperials of Enterra were of a mind to raid convoys, they could find them much closer to home and I see no means for them to acquire a wizard without outside involvement,” Mendicant said with a note of regret, unable to look at Cyrus.

  The goblins continued to stare at his lap. “As we have no alliances or ties to the outside world, that seems unlikely. If there was a goblin involved in this attack, I would guess it to be a rogue rather than an effort sponsored by the Empire.” He bowed his head. “I am sorry, Lord Davidon.”

  “You don't have to apologize, Mendicant,” Cyrus said softly. “You speak the truth. But I know the truth of my eyes and though it defies explanation, I know that I saw a goblin.”

  “We come back to a search for evidence,” Alaric sighed. “We are no closer to proving our innocence, even if we had seen a hundred goblins slaying every convoy from here to Prehorta. No,” he said with great finality, “we will continue on our present course until we find evidence – not only testimony –” he held up a hand to Cyrus – “but something firm that we can take before the Council of Twelve and the King of the Elves.”

  “And the Sovereign of Saekaj?” Niamh suggested.

  “That will not turn out favorably, regardless of evidence,” Alaric replied. “Let us go – and if you intend to have a peaceful discussion with this Ryin Ayend, now would be the time,” he said with a gesture toward Vaste.

  They broke, Mendicant scurrying to the door and holding it open for all of them. “Mendicant,” Alaric said gently, “there is no need, brother. We are here to serve you, not vice versa. Thank you for your time today.”

  “Oh,” said the goblin with an embarrassed nod. He did not relinquish the door, but bowed. “Thank you, Lord Garaunt. Lords, Ladies,” he said, bowing to each of them in turn.

  Alaric sighed as the goblin left. Cyrus had made it out of the chamber without a word from Alaric when he felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder. He turned to see Vaste staring down at him. “Let's go,” the troll said with a jerk of his head toward the stairs.

  “Go where?”

  “To Reikonos. I've had my eye on this exquisite pair of leather boots, and I saw a cuirass last week that would look just fabulous on you!” The troll rolled his eyes. “To talk to Ryin Ayend – where else?”

  “Oh,” Cyrus said in surprise. “I thought maybe you were serious about the Reikonos thing for a second.”

  “I don't fancy the thought of fighting my way through a wave of guards right now, thank you, and certainly not so that you can solve your fashion woes.”

  Cyrus frowned. “I do not have 'fashion woes'.”

  “Please,” Vaste said with an aura of impatience. “You wear black all day, every day. I'm not the most in-tune with style, but even I know the monochromatic look is not in vogue.”

  Cyrus looked down at his black armor with a tinge of self-consciousness. “Why do you need me to come along to talk to this Ryin?”

  “Because I need someone less intimidating than I am.�
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  “Shouldn't you ask one of the women? Like Vara?” His frown deepened as Vaste laughed. “Maybe Niamh. I meant Niamh.”

  “Let's go.”

  They descended the stairs and found Ryin Ayend in the lounge, surrounded by five of the newer members Cyrus recalled from the recruiting trip that had carried him across a good portion of Arkaria. There were three humans, a dwarf and a dark elf sitting around the druid. Vaste caught the attention of Ryin. “We'd like a word,” the troll told him.

  “All right,” the human said with a nod.

  “You want us to come with you, Ryin?” the dwarf sitting across from him watched Cy and Vaste. “In case they try something?” The dwarf's chest puffed out, an indignant look on his face. Some of Ryin's other associates sat forward, hands lingering near their weapons, or in the case of spell casters, hanging free.

  “We're guildmates, toerag,” Cyrus said to the dwarf with a welling sense of rage. He looked at the others. “What exactly do you think we're planning to do? Rough him up? Kill him? Say unkind things about his mother?”

  The dwarf deflated. “You can never be too careful,” he murmured, his hand moving away from his weapon and creeping nonchalantly to his shoulder, where it sat as he pretended to scratch himself.

  “Can we have a word in private?” Vaste emphasized, staring down at Ryin.

  “Anything you have to say to me can be said in front of my friends,” Ryin replied, looking up at Vaste with the frostiest eyes Cyrus had ever seen.

  “Fine,” Vaste said. “We want to know why you want to address the guild tonight.”

  “I need to speak,” Ryin began. “There are issues that need to be addressed in Sanctuary. Things are broken.”

  “We're a guild that's been operating for twenty years without difficulty. You're here for six months and you think we need fixing?” Vaste's face turned a dark green shade, darker than the leaves of the trees. “Thank the gods you came along to fix us, then.”

  “You cannot look at the situation Sanctuary is in and claim that all is well,” the druid replied, voice raised.

  “Fine, fine,” Vaste said, taking his voice down a notch. “What... things... are not working in Sanctuary in your... opinion?” The last word came out as a sort of muttered curse.

  “Let us not even address the fact that spell casters get treated worse in this guild than in any other guild I've been in –” Ryin began.

  “It must be tough, being treated equally with the meatheads that use swords and maces,” Vaste interrupted, words dripping with sarcasm.

  “Every other guild accords certain privileges upon those who are blessed with the gift of spell casting, in acknowledgment of their value – preferred looting rights, gold bonuses –” Ryin ticked them off on his fingers, one by one.

  “I recognize that spell casters are rarer than those of us who fight with weapons –” Cyrus began.

  “In a normal guild, 1 in 10 of their members would be a spell caster,” the druid said, voice heated. “Here, it's easily 1 in 20.”

  “And out there in the non-guild world, it's 1 in 1000,” Vaste said, sounding bored. “You want more money and preferential treatment because you can wave your fingers and make the trees dance?”

  “The spell caster Leagues – the Circle of Thorns, the Commonwealth of Arcanists, the Healer's Union and all the rest – are a 5,000 year old tradition,” Ryin said with a glimmer of pride. “The Society of Arms and Wanderers' Brotherhood didn't even emerge until 2,000 years ago, and only then because warriors and rangers wanted to elevate themselves to the same level of importance that spell casters enjoy! They don't even have to learn from those Leagues; they can be taught outside them, such is the lack of sophistication for their teachings!”

  “So you want to be treated better than your guildmates because people who lived before you established fancy clubs that taught you everything you know?” Vaste nodded, expressionless. “Makes sense. You've certainly earned favorable treatment, based on that argument.”

  The druid reddened. “That wasn't even my original point. You interrupted me before I could make it, sidelining us into this discussion.”

  “Oh, I'm sorry,” Vaste replied, voice dripping with a mock-apologetic tone. “Please, let us discuss something outside your raging elitism. What did you intend to talk about tonight – other than how you're brutally mistreated and forced to stay in a dungeon room while the warriors have wine and dance and song every night, and women delivered to their palatial quarters by the dozen?” He turned to Cyrus. “How was the wine and dance and song last night?”

  “Not as good as the dozen women.”

  “This is going nowhere,” Ryin stood, face red.

  “Why don't you just make your point?” Vaste bent down to look the druid in the eyes.

  “Fine,” Ryin spat. “We're banished from our homelands, and we have a way to solve that problem. The leaders in our Council have refused. We have hostile armies circling us like vultures around a dying soul, waiting for gods know what to attack and destroy us. We have patrols that have operated for months without ceasing, trying to prove our innocence in a futile search –”

  “It occurs to me,” Vaste said with a low rumble, “that these patrols are voluntary, and I haven't seen you on one.”

  “It would be easy for you to think me a whining coward,” Ryin Ayend said, glaring at the troll with a fire in his own eyes. “But I have been on patrols every day for the last four months and will continue to do so until they are called off. If you don't believe I am, ask Niamh; I ride with her every day.”

  All eyes in the lounge now turned to the argument going on in their midst. “We have a way out. We could either pay the fine ourselves and work to redeem our own name, or we could merge with the Alliance and let Goliath pay the fine and use the merger as an opportunity to bury the disgraced Sanctuary name and start anew.” Ryin must have sensed Cyrus and Vaste bristle at the pairing of ‘Sanctuary’ and ‘disgraced’ because he held up his hands in a gesture of surrender and waited before speaking again.

  “I am not admitting guilt,” Ryin said, determination filling his eyes. “I know we have had nothing to do with these attacks. But that doesn't change the perception of the rest of the civilized world that we are responsible. And our own guildmates –” he pointed at the three humans sitting with him – “can't even go home right now because of events that are within our ability to control!”

  His voice became impassioned. “Every day we delay costs our guildmates beyond measure. Jesha.” He pointed to one of the humans, a glum looking young woman. “Her father is on his deathbed in Reikonos, and she cannot go to him because of this banishment.” He pointed to another human, a scared-looking boy who was barely old enough to be in Sanctuary. “Corin has not seen his parents in six months, the longest he has ever gone without renewing these family ties. And Yeral –” his finger swiveled to the dark elf in his group – “his wife is in Saekaj and he cannot go to her and see his newborn son.”

  Cyrus spoke up. “I feel for their plight – every one of them. But you are wrong. To pay our way out of this would be to admit guilt for something we had no part in. There is no disgrace on the Sanctuary name right now but that which we would bring by cowering before the bullying powers of the west, and paying them a toll like you would pay a bandit on a bridge to avoid a fight.”

  “That is pride!” Ryin said, pointing at Cyrus. “That is akin to the highborn who watches a lowborn get pummeled by thieves but won't involve himself because he's afraid his robes might get dirty!”

  “Strange metaphor for an elitist to use,” Vaste commented.

  “I feel the pain of those you call brothers and sisters,” Ryin said with a sneer, ignoring Vaste's jibe. “I sit down here every night while you sit in your high-and-mighty 'honorable' Council and hear none of the heartache and separation and loss that your guildmates feel.”

  The druid composed himself, wiping the emotion from his face. “Change is coming. The moment will soon
arrive when you in the Council will be forced to accede to our wishes – to take the actions necessary to remove this banishment – or we will find new leaders. Either from within Sanctuary, or from without.”

  Ryin Ayend returned to his seat. A smattering of applause filled the lounge, and grew louder as Cyrus and Vaste left and entered the foyer. Cyrus looked back to see a swarm of guildmates huddled around Ryin, who was talking to them while casting a look over his shoulder at the retreating officers.

  “That went well,” Vaste said as they entered the stairwell.

  Cyrus grunted. “I don't think he liked your attitude.”

  “I have no time for anyone who claims to represent the people and then tries to rally for additional rights and privileges to be bestowed on a group that includes them.” Vaste stopped, bringing Cyrus to a halt a few steps above him. “That sort of elitist thinking may start soft, but it ends with one group thinking they're better than the other.”

  Cyrus shrugged. “I don't know. It sounds innocent enough to me. If other guilds treat spell casters better because they're rare, it makes them a valuable commodity.”

  “There are two problems with that thinking,” Vaste argued. “First, if they're better than us, what does that allow? Because for someone who buys into that 'superiority' thinking and takes it to an extreme, it becomes perfectly acceptable to kill an inferior – because they looked at me funny, because they got in the way of what I needed, or because they opposed me and my 'superior' thinking. You marginalize them, write off their opinions as stupid and worthless, and say the same about them as people. Or the other problem,” the troll said with an odd expression, “is that you begin to treat people like a commodity.”

  Cyrus stood back, looking at the troll with mild surprise. “You feel strongly about this.”

  Vaste nodded. “I saw the same stupid thinking in my people the last time I was there. It nearly got me killed.”

  “How?”

  “You know how the last war played out, right?”

  Cyrus nodded. “We studied the basics at the Society of Arms. The trolls started a war of conquest, invaded the Elven Kingdom, then they crossed the river Perda and began raiding human territories, which united the humans into the Confederation, who joined the elves against them and the trolls got well and truly shellacked.”