Cyrus waited at the doors to the stable for the Ghost. “Would you care to do the honors of leading us out?”
Alaric's mouth twisted in a smile. “This is not Sanctuary's last ride. I trust you to deliver the results we are seeking.”
“I hope you're right.” He followed Alaric into the stables and watched as the Guildmaster mounted his horse, a gorgeous pure-white mount that looked as though she had never seen a spot of dirt.
Cyrus found Windrider already saddled. Longwell rode up to him, lance in hand. “I took the liberty of making ready your horse, Lord Davidon.”
Cy looked at the dragoon with nod of thanks. “I'll need you and that lance of yours up front with me if we go charging into battle.”
Longwell nodded and fell into formation behind him. Cyrus rode Windrider out of the stables and through the mass of assembled riders. Ryin Ayend was there, sick look on his face as he sat atop his horse. “You should look more gleeful, Ayend. This may be our last chance to avoid the fate you seem determined to bring down on us – the dissolution of Sanctuary.”
The druid glared back at him, disgust written across his fair features. “If you think I want this guild wrecked, you can go to the hells. I pray to all the gods that we find these raiders tonight, goblins or otherwise.”
Cyrus gave the druid a grudging nod of respect. The patrol formed, officers in front per usual. He nodded at Niamh, who began to cast a spell. A burst of wind grasped hold and shook him, dropping his horse onto the plains, portal at his back. The rest of the patrol was behind him, still in perfect formation. He nudged Windrider into a gallop, heading north.
Vara had made clear the path the convoy was to take. He looked back and his eyes found her, atop her black horse, eyes vacant, staring into the distance. They set a pace that would allow them to meet the convoy, even if it were early. Cyrus sent riders ahead as scouts to report. As night fell, they found themselves on a ridge, looking down at the winding road below, barely visible in the last rays of sunlight.
Vara and the other elves stood forward and Vaste cast a spell on Cyrus, giving him night vision. J'anda shrugged as the troll cast. “It's easier than handing you one of my orbs of lucense, I suppose.”
Cyrus peered into the distance. The patrol was quiet, as though a grim vigil for Sanctuary were taking place. After an hour of waiting, the scouts returned to report the convoy moving toward them. Minutes later they caught sight of it, a collection of thirty wagons with a few outriders – elven guards and humans mercenaries, well armed. The convoy moved at a slow gallop, wagon wheels bouncing in the ruts of the well-traveled road.
“It's carrying mostly silks sewn in the Kingdom to be shipped from Aloakna across the Bay of Lost Souls to Taymor and up to the human settlements along the desert and mountains,” Vara said from behind him. “They'll be easily spooked and I can almost guarantee that they're more ready for raiders than previous convoys.”
“Good,” Cyrus said. “If they get attacked, it would help us if they could hold them off until we get there.”
The patrol rode down the small ridges, keeping a distance of a few miles from the convoy. “The road goes into a small canyon ahead,” Niamh warned them. “We won't be able to see them for a minute or two.”
“That's no good,” Cyrus said. “That'd be the place they're attacked.”
“I don't see what you can do about it,” Niamh said.
“I can go through the canyon before them,” Cyrus said as he spurred Windrider to a full gallop. “Longwell, Terian, Vaste, you're with me; the rest of you split – half the formation ride ahead past the canyon, the other half stay here and keep watch on the entrance.”
Windrider galloped at full speed, the others following behind Cyrus. With a friendly wave, he cut in front of the convoy almost a hundred yards before they reached the canyon and heard the cursing of the outriders. “Sorry,” he shouted over the rattle of the wagons, “I'm in a hurry.”
He raced through the canyon – a short, shallow lowering of the terrain to coincide with an old riverbed before the road turned south. His eyes scanned the walls and rocks for any sign of movement. Seeing none, he relaxed for a moment as he emerged from the canyon on the other side. With a frown, he pulled up the reins, bringing his horse to a halt. “I thought they'd hit them there,” he said to the others as they pulled up behind him.
“Maybe we spooked them?” Terian suggested.
“These raiders are cowards,” Longwell agreed, clutching his lance. “They would likely hide at the sight of an unexpected force.”
Cyrus did not have a chance to reply to the dragoon as a bolt of lightning struck the warrior, coursing through his armor and blasting him clear of the horse. His teeth rattled with the power of the shock and his head ached beyond description. A slow pain spread across his back and he blinked the spots out of his eyes and heard the spooked horses around him.
Another blast of lightning seared the air and Terian flew from his mount, then Longwell. Cyrus watched Vaste jump from his horse, using it for cover against the next blast of lightning, aimed at him. His horse screamed and bucked, but the troll dodged out of the way. Cyrus watched Vaste cast a spell and the scorched skin around Cy's hands faded to pink.
The convoy was almost to the end of the canyon and the low, guttural noise of voices could be heard. Goblins poured down the sides of the canyon, swarming among the convoy defenders, and another blaze of lightning lit Cyrus's view, skipping over his head. A fire started, walling them off from the canyon. A figure in a cloak stepped behind the wall, flames flying from his fingers. A wizard, Cyrus realized. Their transportation.
The warrior was on his feet and running across the ground. A whinny caused him to turn his head, revealing Windrider running beside him at a trot. He jumped, landing a foot in the stirrup and swinging the other over as he urged the horse toward the fire. “You're not a normal horse,” he whispered. Another whinny came back to him and the horse bore down on the wall of flames and leaped over it.
The image Cyrus saw as Windrider jumped was of goblins looking up in awe as he flew through the air toward them. His sword was in his hand, and upon landing he swung, sending foes flying left and right. He rode forward, eyes on the convoy, watching as goblins hauled elves and men off horses. The wizard was at the end of the caravan, cutting off the convoy's retreat with another fire spell.
The outriders' horses were spooked, throwing their masters to the ground where goblins were swarming over them. Cyrus rode to the end of the convoy, attacking and killing a half dozen goblins from horseback. He swept around the last wagon and passed the wizard too quickly to bring his sword around. He landed a heavy kick on the wizard's chest. Though he could not see the face he was virtually certain of the identity of the spell caster. A grunt of pain came from the cloaked body as it tumbled to the ground.
He rode along the side of the canyon, screams of the convoy's defenders ringing in his ears. Cyrus jumped from Windrider as he reached a concentration of goblins and began to cut his way through. Three goblins blocked his path forward. The first came at him while the other two held back. He dodged a two-handed attack and brought down the pommel of his sword on the goblin's uneven skull, cracking it and sending him to the ground.
The next two goblins stepped forward, slashing and stabbing. One landed a claw under the armor at his elbow joint; the second glanced off his breastplate. He butted his chest forward, knocking the goblin back a few paces and giving him enough room to swing his short sword to decapitate the goblin's comrade. He leaned forward and kicked the survivor and the force of his blow lifted the small body off the ground, causing it to carom off a wagon and come to a rest on the ground, motionless.
A warcry came from in front of him as the fire was extinguished by a blast of wind and rain. He could see the forward element of his patrol riding past the first wagons, attacking. A strangled cry came from behind him, and a light filled the air as half a hundred orbs of light shot past him to each of the goblins standing around the
convoy. They began to wink out in a flash of light, leaving behind only their dead and wounded.
Cyrus saw a dozen goblin bodies interspersed with the wounded and surviving members of the convoy detachment. “My gods,” came a voice to Cyrus's right. An elf lay wounded against a wagon wheel, eyes wide in fear, blood trickling down a corner of his mouth. “Those were goblins, I'd swear to Virixia! And... and...” His eyes found Cyrus, who looked down at him. “You stopped them! My thanks, sir! Who are you and where do you hail from?”
“My name is Cyrus Davidon and I hail from Sanctuary,” he said in a calm voice. “My healers will resurrect your dead and assist you and your convoy in getting back on the road. Make for the elven army – my riders will guard you until you reach them. Tell everyone what you have seen today,” he said, fire in his eyes. “Take some of the goblin bodies with you for proof.” He whistled, and Windrider was at his side.
“I will,” the elf promised, eyes still wide. “I will tell everyone. We all will.”
Cyrus climbed back into the saddle and dashed to the rest of the patrol, issuing orders as he came. “Vaste, Terian, stay here and escort the convoy; the rearguard should be here momentarily. Everyone else, you're with me!” Vara made her way to him, looking him over with unease.
His eyes brushed past her as he looked for Niamh, finding her still on her horse. “You know where to take us.” She nodded, and began to cast a spell. “Longwell,” he said to the dragoon, who had returned to his side, a few of his hairs sticking up, singed from the lightning, “get your lance ready...”
A tornado of wind swallowed him and the patrol, leaving the last remnants of the convoy behind them.
Chapter 37
Cyrus urged Windrider out of the maelstrom that accompanied the teleportation spell. The horse stumbled for but a moment in gaining its footing on the unfamiliar grounds and whinnied as screaming filled the air around them.
Behind them, the Sanctuary forces moved forward from the portal, weapons drawn, spells already streaking through the air.
Before them, a horde of goblins squealed at their sudden appearance. The night was lit as the wizard accompanying the goblins raised his hands, magic arcing from his fingertips as he cast a spell.
Cyrus did not even get a cry out before a lance streaked through the air and caught the wizard square in the chest, knocking him backwards, spell energy already dispersing. A smile broke across Cyrus's face as he watched Longwell pump his arm in victory.
“There is no retreat for them!” Cyrus called to his forces. “Ride them down!” His sword flashed in the light of the spells cast around them and hacked into goblin after goblin. The area around the portal was flat, filled with volcanic rocks and dirt, and in the distance, volcanoes spewed magma in the air and pooled in the ground.
“So nice to be back in the Mountains of Nartanis,” Terian breathed as his axe felled two more fleeing goblins. “It seems like we always find a victory here.”
“Except once,” Cyrus muttered. “They'll flee towards Enterra!” he shouted. “Kill them here!”
Screams and whinnying filled the night as they gave chase to the goblins. The goblins’ meager efforts to defend themselves resulted in several wounded horses, but the only injuries to Sanctuary riders came when a pair of newer members were thrown from their mounts. Cyrus swept down on the goblins responsible before they could do any more harm.
Within minutes, the battle was over. Goblin bodies lay strewn across the ground and Cyrus sat atop Windrider, viewing the carnage with a feeling of odd dissatisfaction.
Niamh picked her way over to him. “You guessed right. They did head for home after the attacks.”
Cyrus nodded. “Now we've got some proof. A surviving convoy that can tell what they've seen, a host of goblin corpses and even a surviving conspirator.” He turned to look at the body of the fallen wizard. “If we choose to resurrect him.”
The other officers cantered over on horseback, Longwell and Andren in tow. “Where's Alaric?” Cyrus said with a frown.
“He was with the rear guard,” Vara replied. “He's back at the canyon. Any idea who our mystery wizard is?”
“Yeah,” Cyrus admitted. “I'm pretty sure.”
“Did you see him in the battle?” Niamh asked.
He shook his head. “No. Just a guess.”
The druid looked at him in amusement. “You're guessing? Would you like to bet on it? Because I'm betting you can't figure out which wizard, in all Arkaria, is under that cloak.”
Cyrus smiled even though he didn't feel it. “I'll bet you a hundred gold.”
“And you didn't see him?” Niamh said, skeptical.
“On my honor, I have not seen his face nor anything but his cloak.”
“I'm in,” Longwell said.
“Me too,” Niamh agreed. “Unless that's too rich for you?”
“That's fine. Any other takers?” Cyrus asked, looking over the crowd of raiders milling around him. He looked to Andren. “You?”
“Nuh-uh.” The healer shook his head. “You've burned me with these tricks before.”
“It's called perception.”
“It's called me losing money, and I need every piece of gold I can get.”
Cyrus looked to Vara. “What about you?”
She looked at him evenly. “I wouldn't care to bet against you – in this or any other matter.”
A small smile crossed his face at the memory of provoking her to an outburst to win a bet. “Because I change the odds?”
“Because you're likely right.”
“All right,” Niamh interrupted. “All bets are in, so who is it?”
Cyrus smiled. “Carrack from Goliath.”
“That horse's ass?” The druid looked at him in astonishment. With a flash of her red hair she dismounted and crossed the ground, Longwell a step behind her. Cyrus led Windrider at a slow canter toward the body, Vara and Andren behind him.
Niamh and Longwell stood over the corpse, having pulled back the hood. “Impossible,” Niamh gasped. Her red hair suddenly matched the color that her cheeks brought forth, anger filling her eyes.
“Damn,” Longwell breathed. He dropped his lance in surprise.
Cyrus looked down from Windrider into the still face of the Goliath wizard, eyes bulging from his head. “You just couldn't resist taking a shot at me, could you? That was a mistake; if you'd kept it impersonal you'd have knocked out our healer first; he wouldn't have been able to heal me and you would have made a clean getaway. If you were really smart, the minute you saw us you would have teleported out, but now you see what vengeance... gets you...” His words drifted off and he felt a sudden dryness in his mouth.
“Indeed,” came a whisper from Vara.
“We should get out of here,” Cyrus ordered, voice suddenly hoarse. “Gather up half a dozen of those goblin corpses and Carrack's body, and let's get back to Sanctuary.”
His orders were carried out and within minutes they were dissolving into a teleportation spell. The light faded and Cyrus found himself on Windrider, in the foyer.
“I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to park your horses outside,” came the amused voice of Alaric from behind them on the balcony. Cyrus looked around to see the members of Sanctuary assembled in a ring around them, having moved aside when the light of teleport appeared. “We were just having a guild meeting in regards to what our evening's efforts revealed.”
“Wait 'til you see this, then,” Niamh said with a nod at Longwell, who threw the corpse of Carrack into the middle of the floor. The wizard's dead eyes stared up at the ceiling.
“I don't understand,” came the voice of Ryin Ayend. Cyrus looked back to see the human staring, eyes dull.
Cyrus dismounted. “We suspected Malpravus was pushing the governments toward the action they took; now we know why.”
“I don't get it,” Ayend said numbly. “Why would... our ALLIES... do such a thing?”
“It was the only way that Malpravus could ever get Sanctuary t
o merge,” Niamh said. “He brought all this down on us just so he could take over our guild.”
“None of you were there but Alaric and Curatio,” Cyrus began, “but in my first Alliance officer meeting, Malpravus proposed to merge the Alliance guilds. Alaric voted it down, as did the Daring, but with us disgraced I'm sure he found it easier to get the Daring to move.”
“Vultures,” Vara said under her breath.
“This is beyond circling the carcasses of your enemies, waiting for them to die,” J'anda said from his place on the balcony. “We've known Malpravus was capable of some evil things, but he's been bringing goblins into the Plains of Perdamun, killing countless traders and guards on these convoys... all so he can absorb us?”
“And now, the last piece of the puzzle falls into place,” Alaric said from above.
“Not quite,” Cyrus replied. “I didn't want to tell any of you without proof, but I remembered something from our night in Enterra – you know, the one I've been reliving every night for the last year.” His voice turned ironic. “I believe Malpravus was the one who conspired with the goblins.” A muttered gasp of shock filled the hall.
“He's already conspired with the goblins to kill hundreds of people in an effort to get us banished and shunned from every civilized town in the west, and you all act shocked that he'd have sold us out before?” Vaste shook his head in amazement.
“He's the one who betrayed us the night that Narstron died – he must have known we'd have at least one dwarf with us, so he played the Emperor and Empress, saying that their 'gezhvet', this prophesied harbinger of doom, was coming with us. He collected the Hammer of Earth as a reward –” Cy clenched his gauntlet – “and they killed Narstron thinking he was going to be the death of their Empire.”
Alaric answered with a nod. “It would make sense that he would have ties to them before proposing this scheme. So now the question becomes, what do we do about it?”
The Sanctuary Series: Volume 02 - Avenger Page 29
