“I have not,” Alaric replied, dismounting. “But nor am I any longer banished from Reikonos.”
“Oh?” Malpravus's eyebrow perked up in interest. “Do tell.”
“Malpravus,” Cyrus called out, catching the necromancer's attention, “where's Carrack?”
Malpravus let out an exasperated sigh, somewhat uncharacteristic of the usually cool dark elf. “Dear boy, how should I know where all my officers are at every hour of the day? I brought the three normally requested for Alliance meetings...” He grinned. “Although, if you should feel the need to assault them as you did last time, Alaric should perhaps pick differently when next we meet...”
“'When next we meet'?” Alaric said, seizing upon the necromancer's words. “I'm not much concerned about that. I have a message for you from the Council of Twelve.” He smiled as the Goliath Guildmaster froze. “Your assets are being seized as we speak; you are banished from the Human Confederation, and you will be removed from your guildhall by tomorrow at noon under pain of death. Whatever you cannot carry with you will become property of the Confederation.” He tossed the scroll from the Council's clerk in the dirt at Malpravus's feet.
The necromancer stared down at it, all mirth gone from his gaunt face. “If this is some form of a joke, I can only assume that my sense of humor is not quite up to the modern standard.”
“It is no joke,” Alaric replied as Tolada reached down and seized the parchment, unrolling it. His eyes widened as he read it, and Malpravus snatched it out of his hands before he was finished.
“Carrack blew your whole plan,” Cyrus said to the necromancer with a smile. “He was still mad at me for cutting his throat at our last meeting – mad enough that he made a really bad decision to go after a convoy that we had a clear watch on.”
“I see,” Malpravus said with cool indifference. “The word of one wizard is nothing. He lies.”
“That would be more persuasive if we hadn't killed all the goblins you sent,” Cyrus answered back. “And then we stormed Enterra and brought the Empress back, and she told quite an interesting tale.”
“Goblin deceits,” the necromancer said with a small laugh. “You cannot possibly believe what any of them would say? They did kill your friend, after all...”
“They did,” Cyrus admitted. “But only after you warned them that the 'gezhvet' was coming to attack them.” The warrior's voice grew icy. “Tell me, did you know that Narstron was with Sanctuary? Or did you just assume that there would be some dwarf on the Enterra invasion that you could pass off as the 'gezhvet' to get your hands on the hammer?”
Malpravus's smile was gone. No evidence of laughter was present on his face, which had grown stiff, his eyes cold as the death he claimed mastery over. His expression was calculating and aimed right at Cyrus. “That is a powerful accusation to make.”
Cyrus met the necromancer's cold stare with one of his own. “I'm a powerful warrior.” He gestured at Orion. “He told me last year that there was another traitor in the Alliance. It figures that the two of you would end up thick as thieves. After all, you both served the Dragonlord.”
Malpravus did not flinch at the accusation, but Tolada did. Cyrus could see Elisabeth out of the corner of his eye. “That's enough, Cyrus,” she called out to him. “You go too far!”
“The Council of Twelve has spoken, as has the King of the Elves,” Alaric said matter-of-factly. “They have found the testimony of the Empress of the goblins and the presence of Carrack at the raid to be compelling enough to find Goliath guilty of these crimes, and levied sanctions accordingly. By the way,” Alaric continued, “Pharesia is also demanding payment, should you ever want to set foot in the Elven Kingdom again.”
“So we see how the wheel turns,” Malpravus said. He looked back to Cyrus for but a moment. “You have lost your chance, boy, and now your friend will rot forever.”
“I think he'll rest in peace, actually,” Cyrus replied, “knowing that the treacherous dogs that got him killed have finally faced some justice – and knowing that I didn't have to sell out everything I believed in just so you'd use your precious bauble to bring him back to life.”
“Bauble?” Cass said with a frown. “What are you talking about, Cyrus?”
“His soul ruby,” Cyrus said with a dismissive wave at Malpravus, who stiffened once more. “He claimed he could bring back Narstron.”
“Soul ruby?” Cass's eyes hardened, a line of suspicion etched across the warrior's brow. “You traffic in soul rubies, Malpravus?”
“Utter rubbish,” the necromancer replied. “The boy is mistaken.”
“He showed me one,” Cyrus said. “He had it in his sleeve.”
“That's dark magic, even for a necromancer,” Cass said with contempt. “You have to sacrifice a life to make a soul ruby, Malpravus.”
The necromancer scowled. “I do not have –”
“Have you ever seen someone brought back to life by a soul ruby?” Alaric asked. “It is a not a life – it is a twisted, dark reflection of life, not even fitting for the worst of criminals as punishment.”
“This is ridiculous,” Orion protested, voice heated through his helmet. “The Council of Twelve and the King of the Elves have exiled us based on what? Your word, the ramblings of a goblin and some arrogant wizard?”
“Plus my word that you're traitorous, malevolent, sell-your-mother-for a piece of chainmail –” Cyrus began to rattle off an insult but did not get a chance to finish it. Orion charged at him, blades already drawn, two of them, each the length of Cyrus's borrowed short sword.
The warrior could feel the strength and speed of Praelior coursing through him; Orion moved as slow as if he were underwater. Cyrus drew the blade as Orion closed on him and brought it across in a purely defensive blow that knocked both the ranger's swords out of his hands. He staggered from Cyrus's strike, and with a knee to the abdomen, Cyrus spun him about and brought the ranger's charge to a halt.
Orion lay on his back, gasping for air as Cyrus stood over him. “I took your advice and got a longer sword,” he said coolly. “I could scarcely afford better, as I have yet to be paid a large bounty of gold for being faithful to my friends and guildmates, rather than selling their lives to the highest bidder.” He swung the sword delicately across Orion's doublet, peeling back the cloth with the blade. “You know, like you did to buy this fine, fine chainmail of yours.”
Cyrus stared down at the ranger. No one moved around him. Alaric stood back and watched, arms folded. Niamh bit her lip. Cass had an arm out, holding Elisabeth back from intervening. Tolada stood open-mouthed, but neither he nor Malpravus showed any sign of moving to help their fallen comrade. The necromancer stood with his hands crossed in front of him, eyes still cold.
Cy edged Praelior down with a push, splitting the first of the links of Orion's armor with a sword harder than any other metal. “It's a funny thing, honor,” he said as he brought his blade down from the neck of the chainmail to its terminus below Orion's waist. “You pledged yours to your guildmates and allies, then made a pact with the Dragonlord who would have killed us all.”
Orion's shirt of links fell from him and Cyrus brought his blade down, snagging the ranger's chainmail pants at the hip. He dragged the blade along the ranger's leg on each side. Orion's priceless, finely crafted armor fell away from him, but still he made no move to stop Cyrus.
“We fought and in some cases died to check your insane ambitions, and you got away without a mark, without justice, without consequences.” Cy knelt down and looked the ranger in the eyes through the helmet. With a sneer he tipped the sword under Orion's chin. “I'm sick of this ridiculous mask. I want to look at you when I call you a traitor.” With a flick of his wrist, he pushed the helm up and over the top of the ranger's head, and it fell to the ground. Cyrus gasped.
“That's not exactly true, is it, Cyrus?” Orion looked at him, eyes burning.
The ranger's face was a ruined mess; his lips were split open in an exaggerated ovoid, show
ing far more of his teeth and gums than should have been visible. Heavy, ugly scars showed on his forehead, gashes grown over with new flesh, but ridges stood out on his brow and ran diagonally, and another from his left eye down to his mouth that ended in a peculiar V-shaped split that looked like a river running into the lake that was his mouth. His chin lacked almost any definition, as though there were no bones in it at all, and his right eyebrow seemed to have suffered the same fate.
Elisabeth looked away from the grotesque sight with a gasp and Cyrus could hear Niamh retching behind him. “I didn't get away without a mark. You left me scarred for life. Selene got me out of the mountains alive, but she passed out and wasn't able to heal me in time to fix the damage you caused.” He looked down, bowing his head. “Now my wife cannot even bear to look at me.” The ranger's eyes turned defiant. “So do your worst. Tell me how I've wronged you. Take your revenge at last.”
Cyrus stood up, leaving his sword pointed at Orion and shook his head. “I don't need revenge against you, Orion. Look at you. Revenge would be beneath me. If the day comes when we cross blades again, it will be because you provoked it, and it will be the last in a long line of your foolish mistakes.”
“Forgive and forget, Cyrus?” Orion brought his eyes up, looking at the warrior. “Is that it?”
“No,” Cyrus said. “Never forget.” Cyrus pivoted on his heel and brought Praelior down on Orion's helmet, neatly cutting it in half. He cast a look at Orion, but the ranger showed no emotion on his ruined face.
He pointed the blade at Malpravus, who did not move or react in any way. “The same goes for you, necromancer. My business with you is done. What you tried, you failed, and it has cost you everything. If I ever catch you in wrongdoing again... I won't let you survive.”
“I think that it goes without saying, but I will mention it anyway,” Alaric interjected, stepping forward. “Sanctuary voted unanimously this morning to reject a merger with the Alliance. In a second vote, we decided that we no longer desire to be affiliated with this Alliance, and so we are leaving it.”
A smile crossed the face of the Ghost, slow and sweet, full of a deep satisfaction. “We wish you all the very best.” He angled his head to Cass and Elisabeth. “Should you require our assistance in the future, we would be pleased to render it in honor of the bonds of fellowship we once shared.”
He turned his head to the Goliath officers. “I would hope that these events will bring to light the fact that some ambitions are not worth pursuing and that some bargains come at far too high a cost. Should that lesson not have sunk in to your thick skulls – we will be watching you.” A hard edge crept into Alaric's voice, and even though the threat was not aimed at him, Cyrus was intimidated.
With a bow, Alaric led the way out of the Coliseum. Cyrus took a last look at Malpravus, still unmoving, and Orion, who sat in the dirt, head still bowed, his face forever marked with the wounds suffered in his treachery. Alaric waited until they had passed the gates until he spoke. “You're passing up opportunities at revenge left and right.”
“You sound impressed,” Cyrus replied with a deep amusement. “Perhaps I've grown as a person. Best not to mention it to Vara; she might die of shock.”
Alaric shook his head. “If you wish to hide your best, most noble deeds...”
“Okay,” he said. “You can tell her. But don't make it sound like I wanted her to know.”
The Ghost regarded him, impassive for a moment as they continued their walk. “I never cease to be amazed at the lengths two supposedly mature adults will go to in order to avoid the possibility that their feelings might be bruised by the possibility of rejection. I mean – gods, man, just tell her how you feel already and get it over with.”
“I second that,” Niamh said from behind them.
Cyrus shot her a glare that caused her to look away. “Perhaps I will.” He frowned. “I didn't think about it at the time because of all the other things that happened in our meeting with the Council of Twelve, but Pretnam Urides said that the Confederation is already at war with the Dark Elf Sovereignty. Won't that change things for us?”
“Worse than that,” Niamh said. “I heard in the square before you both showed up; the Dark Elves must have been ready before they made a move – they hit a dozen towns and outposts in the last fifteen hours all along their border. I guess the humans weren't as prepared as they thought. There are armies marching through the Confederation as we speak, sacking everything in their path.”
“Pretnam Urides was so arrogant that he assumed that the war would start and stay confined to the southern plains,” Alaric said. “I suspect that the Sovereign of Saekaj has other plans, especially if his opening gambit was this ambitious. The elves will remain neutral, and the Sovereignty will take the lead in this war for the foreseeable future.”
“You don't think the humans will be able to mount a counteroffensive?” Cyrus asked.
“Perhaps in time,” the Ghost said. “I believe Pretnam Urides was more ready for the war than the Confederation was,” he said with a sad shake of the head.
“Will this change things for us?” Cyrus asked.
“Of course,” Alaric replied. “We do not go about our business untouched by the outside world. As Reikonos and Saekaj Sovar make war against each other, all the powers and the peoples of Arkaria will be affected in some way. I doubt we'll see the carnage show up on our front doorstep – yet – but be assured, the fires of war burn hot, and they consume all in their path. It will be a matter of time, and we will become involved in some way – willing or not. But for now, we will remain as we have been for all these years: a Sanctuary for those who need it most.”
Chapter 42
War news consumed the conversations in the lounge and Great Hall that evening, and carried over through breakfast the next day. The names of the human towns that had been destroyed in the first attacks were on the lips of everyone. Some members left to join the armies of their respective homelands; more applicants began to show up at the door as the truth spread faster than war news through the lands of Arkaria.
Cyrus found Niamh at the appointed hour the next day, waiting in the foyer for him. “You're early,” she said with a hint of surprise.
“Wouldn't want to be late, would I?”
“Not for this.” Her smile spread almost from ear to ear. “I doubt I'll stay for the whole thing; I'm going home to Pharesia to see my family.”
“I didn't know you even had family,” he said with a shake of his head. “We've known each other for two years, traveled the world together and you're still just the girl who keeps saving my ass whenever I get into trouble.” She gave him a look that evidenced her six hundred plus years. “Woman,” he corrected.
“Family's not a hot topic for those of us that have been here a long time,” she observed. “Sanctuary becomes your family after a while. I haven't been home in years. Hadn't felt a sudden urgency to, until I couldn't anymore because of the banishment.” Her face grew solemn. “Then, suddenly, I wanted to see my mother and father, nephews and nieces and brothers and sisters more than anything.
“What about you?” she asked after a beat. “Do you have any family left in the world?”
A vision of hearth and home flashed before his eyes – of his childhood, of a fireplace, of the warm smell of meat pies cooking and a mother with green eyes and a laughing smile, whom he hadn't seen since before he was dropped off at the Society of Arms at the age of six. “No.”
“Would you like to go home with me?” She had a half-smile, pity that she couldn't quite conceal edging into her expression at the corners of her eyes. “They're preparing quite the feast, I'm told.”
“You're too kind, but I have some errands to run while I'm in Reikonos.”
She nodded, a wistful look on her face as a half dozen others joined them in the next minutes. Terian, Vaste, Andren, Nyad and more. When the last arrived, Niamh cast the teleportation spell and Cy felt the warm air of Reikonos hit his skin as the fountain i
n the square appeared when the wind of her teleport spell faded. They walked through the streets of the city unnoticed; even now, a steady line of dark elven refugees filtered out from the slums toward the city gates.
The guildhall quarter was buzzing with activity even though it was not yet noon. At the four corners where stood the biggest guildhalls in the city, the streets were already packed with people. He and the others picked their way through the crowd, ending up on the raised platform of the portal that exited from Purgatory. The portal was lifeless now; no energy crackled within the ovoid rock.
“You know, I still say it'd be a fine day for a mass public execution,” Andren said with not a little acrimony. Terian nodded along with the healer.
“I wonder how many members of Goliath actually knew what was going on?” Niamh said.
“I would guess few,” Vaste commented. “Enough to make it work and no more. Malpravus is no fool and this is the sort of plot that is best kept secret; the more people that knew, the worse chance of keeping it quiet.”
Cyrus watched the crowd. A bored assemblage stood guard at the doors to Goliath's guildhall. Even from this distance he could see Archenous Derregnault, sour expression on his face. Larning, the Guildmaster of Burnt Offerings, stood next to the human, warhammer slung behind him. Isabelle was not far from them, standing at a distance, arms crossed and golden hair flowing around her shoulders. She chanced to look up as he was studying her and a slight smile filled her lips. Her arms uncrossed and she offered him a salutory wave. He returned it.
“Look who's here,” Vaste said with a smile, nudging Cyrus in the ribs. Vara picked her way through the crowd, caught sight of them and hesitated for only a moment before moving to join her guildmates on the platform.
“You never come to Alliance events,” Cyrus said as she climbed the steps to join them.
“I decided to make an exception,” she said. Her expression softened. “You know I wouldn't miss this.”
The doors to the Goliath guildhall opened, and the first of a procession began to file out, all of them laden with bags and boxes. Hoots and jeers filled the air, as did a few rotten vegetables. Orion was near the front, face uncovered.
The Sanctuary Series: Volume 02 - Avenger Page 35
