“I'm not surprised the Society of Arms teaches a different version than I learned growing up,” Vaste said with a healthy dose of irony. “However it started, yes, the trolls began invading other territories, enslaving people and all that. They were doing well as I understand it. Until just after the Dismal Swamp Campaign.”
“I'm somewhat familiar with that one.”
“Quite right,” Vaste acknowledged. “Just remember, my father died there too. Anyway, your people were losing. Dismal Swamp was a rout; the elves and the humans were running scared, retreating on all fronts until your dear father killed our most powerful shaman. Even still, the troll armies could have marched all the way to Saekaj and not met any resistance until they came up against the dark elf army. The human and elven forces were broken by that battle.”
“Fine.” Cyrus nodded. “I've heard it differently, but what you say may be true. So what happened after Dismal Swamp?”
“The Sorceress Quinneria, more powerful than any other, raised an army of magic users from the guilds, paired them with the tattered remains of your human and elven armies, and proceeded to kill almost a million troll warriors in a series of twelve pitched battles that annihilated most of our fighting force.” Vaste smiled. “Not that I'm sorry you won, because living under troll rule is not pleasant.”
“This relates to superiority how?”
“After their defeat, attributed to Quinneria's unfair use of magics versus their infinitely more powerful warriors –” Vaste beat on his chest with exaggerated emphasis – “the trolls turned against all magic users, wiping out or exiling our few surviving shamans, claiming spell casters as cowardly and inferior – that they have to resort to nasty trickery because they are weak. Any magic user in our homeland is marked for death.”
“The scarring on your face, from your last visit to your homeland, when you were recruiting for us...”
“Yes,” Vaste said with a nod. “Not only did I represent a foreign influence, something that's not popular, but while on the streets I watched two children playing our version of a kid's game – fighting – and one accidentally killed the other. I resurrected and healed him and was soundly pummeled for it by a mob that included the child I'd just saved.”
His expression hardened. “They feel they're superior in some way to spell casters. I don't care if it comes from some true, deep-seated feeling of inferiority; it doesn't matter. I've seen what that sort of thinking can do, and I despise it.”
“So you mocked and berated a druid who was expressing the mildest form of that elitism?”
Vaste shrugged. “Mighty trees start as seeds. Same thing with elitism.”
“We need to warn Alaric,” Cyrus said. “So we can prepare a response to what Ryin's going to say.”
“I've already got a response to Ryin.” Vaste climbed the stairs, passing Cyrus as he watched, waiting to hear what the troll was going to say. A string of profanities reached the warrior's ears, ending with a a suggestion that was anatomically impossible for a human.
“Well, that will certainly salve the situation,” Cyrus muttered to himself.
Chapter 31
Dinner that night was a grim affair at the officers’ table. The rest of the Great Hall was filled with hushed anticipation, eager voices cutting through the heavy atmosphere that had surrounded every meal for weeks. Cyrus looked around, realizing that as the banishment had dragged on, the Great Hall had become less and less festive with each passing day. Meals were eaten in near-silence; but the impending speech by Ryin had spurred the first sign of life in weeks.
“Are you ready to respond to his bullshit?” Vaste said, leaning toward Alaric, who sat in silence, not eating.
“I am prepared to address the concerns of our brother and guildmate,” Alaric said with a note of rebuke. “Can any of you say that you have not had the same doubts about this course of action?”
Vara bristled. “I don't think any of us at this table have ever considered a merger with Goliath as anything other than lunacy.”
“Other than that, can any of you say his concerns are not valid?” Alaric surveyed the gathered officers. “That you would not be willing to pay any price to go home again?” He steepled his fingers as he leaned back in his seat. “Were it not such a black stain upon our honor, I would have paid the damned gold already.” He shook his head. “I think it is time.”
Alaric stood and conversation in the hall abated. “My brothers and sisters, this evening one of our guildmates would like a chance to address us about matters of great concern...”
Cyrus did not wait to hear the rest of the introduction. He stood as Alaric complimented Ryin as a thoughtful, concerned member of Sanctuary. Cyrus passed between tables and heard the scattered applause fill the hall as Ryin stood. He did not look back.
He exited the Great Hall, intent on heading up the stairs to his quarters but stopped at the doors from surprise. Standing in the middle of the room, enormous pile of boxes and bags around her, was Erith. Perplexed, he crossed the distance between them. “What in the hells is all this?” he asked without preamble.
She looked at him crossly. “It’s my luggage. Where do I put it?”
Cyrus was nonplussed. “Outside, where it came from, I would suggest. Perhaps the stables if you must.”
“Ha ha,” she said, not laughing. “Seriously, where do I go?”
“I’d pick a spot on the map,” Cyrus quipped, “that is uniquely you, that encapsulates your personality and the feeling you bring people. I’d say the Great Dismal Swamp. What do you think?” She glared at him. “Realm of Death? Darkness? Realm of Evil?”
“No one even knows if there even is a Realm of Evil,” she scoffed. “And you should be nicer to me; it's not every day you have a first-rate Healer apply to join your guild, especially in these times.”
“Excellent,” he said with glee. “And where is the first-rate healer of whom you speak? I would be most eager to meet him or her.”
“Would you like me to leave and apply to Goliath, smart ass?” Her glare increased in potency.
“No, no. I'm sorry for teasing you.”
“No you're not. Don't apologize if you don't mean it.”
He thought about it for a moment. “You're right: I'm not sorry; I so enjoy mocking and derision.”
“I do too, which is the only reason you're forgiven.” She smiled.
“Give me a minute,” Cyrus said, turning to look back into the Great Hall, hearing cheers for Ryin as the druid finished speaking. From the brief snatches that Cyrus had heard, it had all the markings of an impassioned plea similar to what he'd heard from the druid in the lounge. “I'll show you to the applicant quarters.”
“You know,” she said, puffing up, “most guilds, even those not currently under embargo and banishment everywhere in the known world,” she emphasized the last part, “would be ecstatic to have a new healer – especially a princess that is truly a joy to be around. They might go out of their way to kiss her ass a little. You know – even more than they normally do for spell casters.”
Cyrus shook his head, not even deigning to look back at her as he stared into the Great Hall. “Everyone's treated equally here, princess.”
She deflated. “So I don't get my own suite?”
The applause filling the Great Hall was loud; maybe louder than anything Cyrus had heard since the Purgatory victory. He watched Alaric take his feet to respond. The sun sank below one of the windows to the side of the foyer and the light in the room dimmed as the sun's rays faded. Torches began to light of their own accord around them.
“That's amazing!” Erith said, staring at the walls. “How do they do that?” Her voice carried an awe that Cyrus couldn't help but chuckle at.
“Magic.” He strained to listen as the Ghost began to speak.
“You're an ass.”
“Come with me,” he said, walking back toward the Great Hall. He entered the room, sliding along the back wall with Erith behind him as Alaric spoke. He watch
ed the Ghost, helmet on the table behind him, eye focused ahead as he seemingly prepared himself for what needed to be said.
“I hear the words that Ryin Ayend speaks, and I cannot deny their truth. These are troubling times, and anyone with family in the lands from which we are banished would be heartless if they did not long to see their own kin.” His hands met in front of him, clutching onto each other, fingers intertwining. “I feel the pain inflicted on every one of you, and it troubles me.
“These last twenty years we have seen peace in these lands. A lack of war and strong economies among the powers meant prosperity for the peoples of Arkaria, and that has flowed to the southern plains. In recent years I have seen this area grow in population and watched as its people have built lives from what was empty ground.
“But the world changes on us,” Alaric continued. “We have seen turmoil brought to the southern plains. We have seen traders and soldiers lose their lives without cause or provocation and we have seen the powers of western Arkaria align against a most unfortunate enemy – us.
“They would force us into a corner because they have no strength here and because they – three armies between them! – have failed to stop the raiders.” Alaric looked around the room, moving from person to person, reaching their eyes, looking into their souls. “Three governments, three armies, one supposed purpose – to find the guilty souls responsible for these attacks – and they have found not one shred of evidence to link anyone to them – let alone us, the ones they have blamed.”
His hands broke apart. “They have exiled us from our homelands, separated many of us from loved ones and demanded – without reason or provocation – that we make restitution. As though draining our treasury and insulting us were not enough, they would consider our payment to be admission to a crime we have yet to be proven guilty of! They stain our honor with these accusations, smearing our name to the world.”
He pointed to Ryin. “His words ring true. All we need do to end this pain and anguish, at least for now, is to bow to the governments that have scorned us, kiss their hands, swear allegiance once more, and promise that should they ring a bell in the future, we will come running to fight in whatever pointless conflict they intend to start on that day.”
Alaric's brow creased, his countenance turned stormy. “I would not have it so. I did not start Sanctuary with the intention of turning us into a mercenary band, doing the bidding of whatever master offered us the greatest reward. We are our own masters! The name Sanctuary is meant to stand for something greater than the nations around us! Something greater than the other guilds, greater than our Alliance!
“We stood against the Dragonlord, racing to defeat him when no others understood the threat. We stand now at a crossroads, where the armies of the three greatest powers in Arkaria play games around us, charging ever closer to each other – and war.”
“Pay them then!” Ryin's voice cut through Alaric's, interrupting him as the druid took his feet. “Pay them and they would go away, and this war you speak of could be averted before it begins!”
Alaric smiled. “It is not that simple. Convoys brought their armies here. Conquest will keep them here. Foolish men have their eyes set on expanding their empires and this is the first step. Pay them all they demand and more, there will still be war, whether it begins here or elsewhere. And you will have the stain of blood on your hands as well as the stain of treachery forever upon your honor. Our integrity stands upon what we do, what we say and who we are. If we pay their blood price, we admit we are thieves, and we consign our names to the shame of being the bandits who start this conflict.”
“Even with all this in the balance,” Ryin said, looking at the Ghost with a sort of numb shock, “you will still not consider paying them? You could end this!” the druid shouted, a betrayed look on his face. “Your stubbornness and refusal to yield will leave us with nothing!”
Alaric stared him down. “Except our honor. Every one of you must decide if looking your families in the eye now is worth never being able to look another soul in the eye ever again without being associated with a guild of admitted thieves and bandits.” He straightened. “There is no course for me but to clear our names – and then you can see your families with your heads held high, knowing that when things were at their worse you did not yield to the lies that others might tell and believe about you.”
“And how long should we continue to be pariahs, Alaric?” Ryin's face was laced with bitterness. “What if we never find the raiders? How long are you willing to stand out here in the cold, with everyone arrayed against us? How long do you expect they'll let us sit here, with their armies growing every day? They'll come for us, come to slaughter us – and then it won't matter if we know the truth of our honor and goodness, because no one will be alive to tell it!”
“Very well.” Alaric bowed his head. “There is a motion before the Council now, as you are all aware. It is for a merger with the Alliance guilds. It will be before you – the members – to decide whether to accept it or not.” He held up a hand with two fingers aloft. “In two months, you will have the right afforded every member of Sanctuary, to guide the direction of our guild. It will be your choice, not the Council's, that will determine how we proceed.”
“Why not now?” came a voice from the crowd, not far from Ryin. “We want to go home now!” A chorus of agreement rang across the hall.
Ryin looked across the crowd at Alaric. “No. Two more months is acceptable,” he said to the crowd surrounding him. “We may not be able to wait forever to see our families, but two months would be worth it and more – if we could prove ourselves innocent.”
Ryin looked down at the human next to him, whose name Cyrus remembered to be Jesha. “I am sorry, but he is right. And for two months...” Ryin's eyes fell to the floor. “I am sorry, Jesha.” Cyrus could hear her sobbing from the back of the room.
“Very well,” Alaric said from his place by the officer's table. “The next two months will decide the fate of our guild. Patrols will double. Officers... we are in Council in five minutes.”
“I just leave an Alliance guild that's kowtowing to Goliath and I walk into another one,” grumbled Erith from beside him. “You damned sure better find these bandits.”
“Maybe with your help, princess.” He dodged past her and out the door, beating the crowd. He caught Andren's eye as the Healer left the Great Hall.
“I would not want to be an officer right now,” Andren said.
“I'm not worried about it.”
“Why's that?”
“Because in a couple of months, Malpravus could be leading us, and then my only trouble would be trying to find a new guild to join,” Cyrus fired back, ignoring the flinch from Andren. “I need you to show Erith to the applicants’ quarters. I have to get to a meeting.” The healer nodded and Cyrus left them, following Alaric into the stairway as the Ghost passed.
“All or nothing, Alaric?” Cyrus grimaced. “I don't like it. I'd rather they elected a new Council from within Sanctuary and used our funds to pay the fines. At least then Goliath wouldn't own us.”
“Goliath would own us, regardless,” the Ghost replied, taking the stairs more quickly than Cyrus. “Malpravus has many spies in our ranks; he would ensure it in whatever manner possible. The new Council's first act would be to approve the merger.”
Cyrus's jaw dropped. “How do you know?”
“I know.”
“Because they are treacherous rats and it is likely they would waste their time in such weaselly matters,” came Vara's strident voice, echoing up the stairwell from below Cyrus. He looked back to see her and the other officers following close behind.
Alaric halted mid-stride, bringing Cyrus to an abrupt stop behind him. “Are all the officers here?” He looked down the spiral of the stairs. “We need not venture to the Council Chambers. You have all heard what I have promised. It is now incumbent on us to deliver. Double patrols. Our healers will not sleep much in the next weeks, and for that I
apologize.”
“I'll sleep plenty,” Vaste said from below. “But it'll be on my horse.”
“We have two months to prove our innocence or we face something too unpleasant to contemplate,” Alaric said, words echoing. “We will make every effort, exhaust every possibility.” His face hardened. “If this is to be the end of Sanctuary, then let it not end with anything other than a fight to the last.”
Chapter 32
A month passed in the blink of an eye. Ryin Ayend had held to his word and been on patrol every day without fail. Some of his followers had not been so pleased at the bargain the druid had struck; Jesha disappeared within the week, along with the glum youth Corin. Shortly thereafter the dark elf Yeral had gone missing. A handful of others trickled out the door openly, renouncing ties to Sanctuary, while others disappeared under the cover of darkness.
The departures continued for the first two weeks after the confrontation in the Great Hall and came to a halt with the arrival of ill tidings. Dinner, returned to the deathly quiet affair it had been before the night of Ayend's speech to the guild, was interrupted by the squeak of both doors to the hall opening with violence. Thad Proelius made his way through the scattered tables with unusual urgency.
Alaric rose to meet him; Thad was posted to the detail that stood watch along the walls that ringed Sanctuary. For the first time since Cyrus had been part of the guild, the great gates that had always stood open were now closed against the possibility of attack. Thad cut through the Great Hall, stopping at the officer's table and whispering into Alaric's ear.
The Ghost remained stoic. Those who knew him well could read his anger in the clenching of the fist he held at his side, but his face gave no sign.
The Sanctuary Series: Volume 02 - Avenger Page 26
