Brushing off the paladin’s repartee, Cyrus asked, “How long do you have to be in Sanctuary before you can become an officer?”
Curatio and Alaric exchanged a confused glance, while Vara looked annoyed. Curatio answered, “According to the charter, one year.”
“Then this is a moot point. I am ineligible to be an officer of Sanctuary.” Cyrus tried to put on a disappointed look, but honestly felt a bit relieved at not having to go through a popularity contest that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to pass. Vara, surprisingly enough, did not look any happier at the revelation.
Alaric nodded. “Time loses its meaning for me. It feels like you have been here longer.” Not sure his meaning was taken, the Ghost corrected, “I hope you realize I mean that in the best possible way: that your loyalty seems like that of someone who has been here since the beginning.”
“I appreciate the sentiment. But I don’t think even having a new General that leads excursions every night of the week to the most interesting locations in Arkaria would satisfy Brevis. He’s got a burr under his saddle and I don’t think it’s going to be settled until someone is gone. Whether it’s him or Orion and Selene, mark my words,” he said, “Sanctuary isn’t big enough for all of them. At least not in Brevis’ eyes.”
“We’ll have to discuss this in Council.” Alaric surveyed the grounds before him. “Though I wish we could fix Orion’s broken spirit, I cannot — at least not immediately.” He turned back to Cyrus. “But I intend to have your word on something before we part. Our Council needs leadership. You are a leader.”
Cyrus shook his head. “I was only leader in my last guild because no one else wanted the job. I’m not a leader.”
Alaric nodded over Cyrus’s shaking of his head. “Yes, you are. Curatio, Vara, can either of you see any reasons, anything in this warrior’s character, that would prevent him from being an honorable and useful addition to the Council of Santuary?”
Curatio answered immediately. “Absolutely not. I believe Cyrus to be a guildmate of the highest caliber and that he would be an excellent officer.”
Cyrus looked at Vara expectantly, waiting for her to add a negative critique, to say something that would reflect her disdain for him, his skills, his abilities, his character or even his personal hygiene. None was forthcoming. After a long moment’s pause, Vara turned her gaze back to Alaric. As her eyes passed over him, Cyrus saw something nearly indefinable in her expression, that same something that he had noticed the first day they met. “No,” she said without emotion. “I can’t see any reason he shouldn’t run for officer.”
Alaric nodded. “Then it is settled.” The paladin turned back to Cyrus. “I want your word that in six months, when you are eligible, you will submit your name for candidacy and do your duty to Sanctuary by becoming an officer.” He held up his hand to forestall protest. “I will not allow any argument. I want your word.”
Though Alaric’s voice and manner had issued a command, Cyrus knew in his heart that he could tell the paladin no, if he really wanted to. He shifted his gaze from Alaric to Curatio, who was hopeful; a warm and encouraging smile upon the elf’s face. Cyrus desperately wanted to say yes… to be an officer, right now. Protests aside, he wondered what happened in Council meetings, wondered how he could help, if he could help. Long minutes passed, none of them speaking, all waiting for his answer.
Vara would not meet his eyes, and her gaze was fixed in the distance, giving him a look at her profile. Her mouth was set in a hard line, keeping whatever emotions she had tightly bottled. The hair stretched in a ponytail over her shoulder, the sun shining on her spotless armor. He looked at her for a few minutes, silence still hanging in the air. She never turned to him.
As all these thoughts were bubbling in Cyrus’s head, one solitary phrase slipped through his lips, a whisper, barely audible: “You have my word.”
19
It was not yet four o’clock when the crowd began to gather at the portal to the Realm of Death. Cyrus came with the bulk of the Sanctuary army, who had hiked to the edge of the Bay of Lost Souls, only a few hours southeast of Sanctuary’s gates. Nyad and a team of wizards had conjured a boat that they sailed on across the bay to the Island of Mortus.
Cyrus could tell the island was small: he could see the entirety of it from where they had landed. In the middle of it all was a gateway that looked like a portal — a stone arch that crackled with black energy. No light escaped from it and the area around seemed dim even in the late afternoon sun. Alliance members were gathered about it in very casual groups.
The Daring were already waiting when they arrived. Erith was seated atop a little black and white pony, and when she saw Cyrus she giggled. “What’s going on, meat head?” she shouted.
“How the hell did you get a horse over here?” Cyrus asked her, bewildered. The dark elf shrugged and smiled at him.
A few of Goliath’s members flew to the island on winged mounts. Cyrus fixated on a warrior riding a griffon, a creature with the beaked head of a bird of prey and heavy, matted fur with a four-legged body. Claws jutted from its paws, digging into the ground as the creature landed and the warrior dismounted. I’d like one of those, Cy thought.
Cyrus waved at Elisabeth when she arrived. Any thought of striking up a conversation with her was forestalled: she was swamped with well-wishers and people seeking instruction. Cyrus knew how she felt: leading an invasion of this magnitude couldn’t be easy — at least not based on his experience. She went to work with a scroll, studying plans carefully.
She was all smiles as she stepped onto a rock in front of the army. “We have quite the assemblage tonight,” she announced with great pleasure. “I’m going to be reorganizing you into different elements in order to form a cohesive fighting force. We expect guardians by the entrance to the Realm and additional forces at certain key points which we’re going to be hitting.
“Opposition will be tough,” she continued, “but we have very good numbers on our side. Our main warrior for tonight will be Kilgar from Goliath,” she announced, making a sweeping gesture toward a hulking human as Cyrus rolled his eyes, “but we’ll also need some backups to ensure that if an enchanter can’t control an enemy, it doesn’t wreak havoc by killing our spell casters.” Lack of armor made spell casters easy prey for strong enemies. Even with a quick resurrection spell, it could take thirty minutes to an hour for them to regenerate enough magical energy and shake off the sickening effects of death to effectively cast spells again.
“Cyrus from Sanctuary, Cass from the Daring and Yei from Goliath will be our secondary warriors.” Cyrus blinked in surprise. He cast a sidelong look at Cass and then Yei. The Goliath warrior was a massive troll, bigger than Vaste. Yei had recently painted his armor into a bizarre, multicolored scheme involving deep purple, bright red and some strain of yellow. Terian had remarked during the assault on Kalam that it “defiled his eyes” to even look at the warrior.
“We’ll need our enchanters focused on occupying additional monsters, beguiling them by use of your charms or simply mesmerizing them.” Her voice turned serious. “We are outnumbered here, and we will be facing wave after wave of foes.” She proceeded to break the force into elements assigned to support each warrior.
“By the time we get this entire force facing the right direction, I’ll be older than Curatio,” Andren said under his breath. Niamh overheard him and giggled. Cyrus said nothing, but privately he agreed; leading this force of several hundred was going to be like trying to lead a herd of cats from the front.
When they had organized, the combined army lined up in formation before the portal. It was wide enough for only a few people to enter at a time. They lined up in order as best they could; the space around the portal was completely packed — as was the island itself.
“On my mark, I want a full charge into the portal and out of the way, as quickly as possible — without trampling any gnomes,” Elisabeth added. Cyrus heard a squeak of appreciation from somewhere in the crowd in f
ront of him.
It was a tense moment. The portal glared at them, almost defying them to enter. Cyrus could hear the heavy breathing of Vaste next to him, and caught sight of J’anda ahead, his now elven features fixed in a look of intense concentration. Yei was scratching himself.
The seconds ticked away, and nerves were chewing at Cyrus. He could hear his heart pounding; he’d never before set foot in the domain of any god. At least I’m not challenging Bellarum, Cyrus thought. The God of War had to be at least as intimidating as the God of Death, he conceded, missing the irony of that thought in the intensity of the moment.
Looking sideways in the moments before the order was given, Cyrus’s gaze fixed on the smiling visage of Malpravus. The cowl of the Goliath Guildmaster’s cloak was once again covering his head, leaving the dark elf’s face shadowed but for the dim sunlight playing on it. His expression was bizarre, triumphant. His eyes flicked to the side and saw Cyrus looking at him. With a nod, Malpravus bowed toward the warrior.
“GO!” Elisabeth’s shout boomed across the island and in a blink, Kilgar and his group were in the portal and fading, the second group charging in behind them. Cyrus thundered forward, felt a twisting sensation in his stomach as he stepped into the darkness and his vision distorted like he was underwater; all trace of the world he had left behind on the island had disappeared.
When Cyrus’s feet hit the ground he was already moving forward, sword in hand. The sky was blood red, like a sunset that had never quite finished. Spread out before him were rolling fields, as far as the eye could discern, spreading out in every direction but one. His eyes alighted on an enormous structure in the distance. It had a gigantic base, miles wide, and gradually drew to a point on top. It was the single biggest tower he had ever seen.
Cy felt a thump as someone ran into him from behind. He realized he had stopped along with everyone else and turned his head to see Cass peering around him. “Frankly,” the Daring’s chief warrior said with a slightly disgruntled expression, “I was hoping for a little more combat on this side of the portal.”
Cyrus snorted. “I hope Mortus isn’t lingering to give you your fondest wish.”
Elisabeth made her way to the front of the army. “I was told to anticipate more resistance at the entryway.” Lines knit across her face as she scanned the area around them.
“More resistance?” Andren said from just behind Cyrus. “How about any resistance?”
Cyrus did not stop scanning the horizon, even as the rest of the Alliance force began to relax. “These must be the Fields of Paxis,” Cyrus said under his breath.
“Indeed they are,” came the reply from Vaste, startling Cyrus. “The Realm of Death is broken into many parts to reflect the fate awaiting the worst of us.” The troll smiled. “Did you know that Mortus, even as God of Death, doesn’t get all the dead?”
“I’d heard that,” Cyrus said, still looking for trouble.
“He only gets the really bad eggs; those who have done horrific things.” The troll shuddered all the way to the top of his enormous frame. “The Fields of Paxis are the entry point or sorting area for the newly arrived. The least of the offenders are sentenced to wander these fields eternally without guidance or hope of escape. The worst are judged here and sent elsewhere.” The troll gestured into the distance to the tower.
“The Eusian Tower,” Cyrus said without inflection.
“You got it,” Vaste confirmed. “Three main areas within, places of torment for the dishonored dead…” The troll’s voice drifted off.
“I hate waiting.” The warrior turned his eyes back to the horizon. “I hate waiting for possible death even more.”
“You should never go on a date with Vara then,” the troll said. “Not only does she take forever to get ready, she is the very definition of ‘possible death’.”
Cyrus laughed. “I don’t think there’s much danger of that.”
“Her killing you or you going on a date?”
Cy raised an eyebrow. “The latter. I’d actually lay odds on the former.”
The troll looked at him, face unreadable. “More than you probably realize.”
“Hah!” Cyrus laughed out loud. “The woman can’t stand me.”
“An all-too-familiar experience in your dating life, I’m sure.” Ignoring Cyrus’s rude gesture, the troll pressed on. “But in Vara’s case, you have to understand her.”
“Do I really want to?”
“Can’t answer that for you,” Vaste replied. “But I can tell you that Vara was nearly married once — to a human warrior, of all things.” The troll looked around before finishing his statement. “I heard it ended badly.”
Cyrus raised an eyebrow. “The fact that she’d ever consider marrying a human is laughable. The idea that she’d have any involvement with a warrior puts your story well into the realm of fiction. She hates—”
“Yes, yes,” Vaste cut him off. “Haven’t you ever wondered why she can get along with me or Nyad, or Curatio — any one of a number of other guildmates — but not you?”
“I’m gonna go with… because she’s a heinous bitch.”
Ignoring him, Vaste went on. “I’d have thought you, genius of the umpteenth order, Mr. Strategy and Tactics and ‘Assessing the Battlefield’, would have figured it out. She doesn’t like you because you remind her of someone.”
“I don’t buy it.”
“Very well then,” Vaste said, still inscrutable. “Far be it for me to disagree with the mighty Cyrus Davidon, who knows the hearts of all whom he meets.”
“Not all of them,” the warrior said. “But there’s no room in that heart for love; past, present or future.”
“Perhaps not,” Vaste said and let the matter drop.
At the front of the army, Elisabeth had been consulting with Malpravus and a few others. Shaking her head, she turned from the Goliath Guildmaster to address the army. “We’re going to move to the Eusian Tower now. I expect whatever enemies that aren’t here but usually would be are in the tower.”
The army of the Alliance moved forward through the tall grass of the fields. The journey to the Eusian Tower took a little over an hour, during which time the color of the sky changed not at all. As they approached, Cyrus felt several times that they had to be close to the entrance, such was the size of the tower. When they finally reached the entry, he had to admit that even the Citadel in Reikonos, the tallest building he had ever seen, would easily fit into the shadow of the Eusian Tower. They marched through the doorway, and Cyrus once again found himself in near-complete darkness.
20
Upon entering the Eusian Tower, the Alliance force paused. Vaste cast a spell next to him, and a veil lifted from Cyrus’s eyes, allowing him to see in the darkness. They were in the middle of the largest open indoor space Cyrus had ever seen. It seemed to stretch for miles up and down. They crossed a massive bridge to a central platform that had three additional bridges spanning out in each direction of the compass.
As no foes were in sight, Elisabeth addressed them. “There are three wings to the Eusian Tower: one is the personal chambers of Mortus and his guards.” She looked up and gestured straight ahead from the direction they had entered, indicating a mammoth door made of solid metal, large enough that it would not have looked out of place in Kortran. “It is also where his treasure trove is. In order to gain access, we’ll have to go through the other two wings of the tower,” she said, brimming with confidence. “Defeating the guards in both wings will draw out the reserve in his private chambers. We’ll start with this direction.” She pointed to their right.
“How does Mortus have any treasure left if guilds are constantly stealing from his Realm and killing his guards every time he leaves?” Cy frowned.
Vaste shrugged. “If you’re a god, I guess you can make more treasure.”
“His followers pay him tribute in their temples,” Cass said from behind them. “And he can recreate his guards with ease.”
“Yeah, but if someone s
tole all your possessions every time you left your house, wouldn’t you stop leaving?” Cyrus asked.
“They don’t get all of Mortus’s possessions,” Cass said. “He keeps the best of them sealed under magical barriers that only the power of a god could breach.”
They stopped talking as they crossed the bridge and entered an archway. As they progressed down a dark corridor, Cyrus felt a deep-seated chill run through him. It took him a moment to realize that it was not internal; the temperature had dropped significantly as they continued along the corridor, which had also begun to slope downward.
They emerged into a cavernous area — not nearly as tall as the entryway but which extended so far into the distance that Cyrus could not see the opposite wall. Stretching down the middle of the cavern was a frozen lake, with blocks of ice stacked around the sides.
Cyrus said with surprise, “I expected to see more dead people in the Realm of Death, y’know?”
“I know what you mean,” Vaste said. “Where’s the fire and brimstone? Where’s the damnation?” The troll looked at the frozen lake and shook his head in disappointment. “I was expecting more damnation.”
“Damnation is here,” a rattling voice breathed next to them. Cyrus jumped in surprise before he realized that the words issued from Malpravus, who was at his elbow. “The damned are all around you,” the dark elf said with barely contained glee. “You cannot see them.” Malpravus inhaled deeply, as though he was enjoying a particularly pleasant scent. “There is a great deal of torment present here — many, many damned souls, enslaved in the ice.”
Cyrus looked at the Goliath Guildmaster, eyes wary. “Why can you see the dead when we can’t?”
Malpravus looked into Cyrus’s eyes and the warrior could see a hollow blackness in the dark elf’s sunken sockets that reminded him of the portal leading into Death’s Realm. “I am a very powerful necromancer, boy. The dead are mine to wield; it is only natural I would be able to see them.”
Magic, Myth & Majesty: 7 Fantasy Novels Page 14
