by Joseph Lallo
Cyrus looked at the Ghost, eyes burning. “I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done.”
A smile creased the knight's worn features. “Then go, my friend, and let us make Sanctuary strong once more.” The Ghost took a deep breath. “Because if we are right, I suspect that soon we will need that strength.
Chapter 27
Cyrus set off the next morning on horseback with J'anda as his travel companion on the road toward Reikonos. Every day, they would stop in at least one village, following a plan drawn out by Alaric. They had large meetings to drum up interest and then follow-up talks with a number of locals throughout their journey, and as soon as they were done, they would leave.
The meetings always seemed to take longer than the time Alaric had allotted for them, and by the second week they were exhausted, having traveled through the night regularly to make their next destination on time.
One night, they had found themselves about to be attacked by a group of highwaymen outside of a village called Prehorta, between Sanctuary and Reikonos. The enchanter had caught the bandits with his mesmerization spell and they stood motionless as Cyrus killed them one by one.
“How does that spell work?” Cyrus asked, curiosity overcoming his fatigue. They had moved down the road and set up camp for the night. They sat around the fire, and he looked at the dark elf, who merely smiled back.
“Would you like to see?” J'anda said.
“Yes, I would.”
Before J'anda could raise his hand, there was a cracking of twigs in the underbrush behind them. The warrior leapt to his feet, sword in hand. Cyrus could feel his pulse racing, all trace of tiredness gone as he peered into the darkness, trying to see what was coming their way. The sounds grew louder and closer, soft footsteps walking through the wet grass – whoever it was drew near.
With a start, Cyrus lowered his sword. “You,” he said, irritated at being startled, words almost an accusation.
“Me,” Vara said, striding slowly out of the darkness, armor glinting in the light of the campfire.
Cyrus regarded her with suspicion. “How did you find us?”
She pointed at the campfire. “It's not difficult when you set out a beacon that says, 'Here I am! Come slit my throat and steal my belongings!'” Instead of favoring him with a look of usual disdain, it was a bit more impish. “It's a bit of a mystery to me how you've survived to the ripe old age you have.”
He snorted. “Says the she-elf. What are you, a thousand years old?”
“Hardly.” She took a step closer to him. “If I were human, how old would you guess I am?”
“I would assume you were a teenager,” he shot back. “And that's based on maturity.”
“What makes you think,” she said, voice soft, “I'm not?”
“I'm waiting for the insult,” he said. Where had J'anda gone?
“I've grown tired of insulting you. It's far too easy.” She walked past him, and he felt her hand land on his side, putting a gentle pressure on it, even through the layers of armor.
A chill ran down his spine at her touch. “What are you doing?” he said, alarmed, fighting his instinct to take a step back.
“Shhh,” she told him, and he felt her other hand land on his side, undoing the strap of his armor and reaching under the chain mail beneath, finding his flesh and caressing it. “Aren't you tired of fighting? It's all just masquerade.” She slid around to his front as his breastplate and backplate hit the ground. Her fingers found their way into his hair, running through it as she brought his mouth to hers.
Cyrus put aside his shock, completely wrapped up in her kiss. She was soft and it had been... over a year, at least. Another surprise hit him: he found he wanted her desperately. He returned her kiss with a passion he could not have imagined, and he felt her other hand working, heard pieces of armor hit the ground and then he felt her pull away from him. Cyrus opened his eyes to see her standing before him, expression filled with the same almost indescribable look he had glimpsed on the day they met.
He drank in the sight of her, eyes dancing, hair gleaming in the firelight. Her hand came to rest on his chest and he felt a rush as she leaned into him. Their kisses were hungry and she continued to undress him, helping him slide the chain mail over his head and then he felt his skin against hers. He pulled back from her embrace, reflecting that Andren had been right in what he'd said so long ago; that what he saw now might be the sweetest sight known to man. Her arms wrapped around him and pulled him close once more; now there was nothing between them but the cool night air as they sank onto his bedroll.
A sudden shock ran through Cyrus, and a feeling that he was spinning, then he was sitting upright once more, next to the campfire, J'anda looking at him with pity. “Sorry,” the enchanter said with a little embarrassment. “I apologize for bringing you out of the trance at such a moment, but you were resisting the spell.”
Cyrus's breath was ragged, coming in gasps. “That... was what being mesmerized is like?”
“Yes,” the dark elf said. “It shows you the deepest desires of your heart and brings them to you in a way that seems plausible to your mind. The spell keeps your mind trapped in your dream so you are unaware of the world outside. The stronger the enchanter,” he said with a smile, “the stronger the effect of the illusion.”
“Does it feel different than when you are charmed?”
“Much,” J'anda said with a smile. “It takes a much stronger will to resist mesmerization. You broke out of it, which is... unusual.”
The warrior had caught his breath. “Can you see what is happening in the mind of the person you've mesmerized?”
“Yes,” J'anda said with reluctance after a moment's pause. “I don't create the illusion but I help give it form. The magic exposes their heart's desire, and I help craft the illusion to give it to them.”
Cyrus stared straight ahead, stunned. “So the deepest desire of my heart is...” His words trailed off and they sat without speaking. Cyrus finally looked up after being lost in thought. “Did you know?” he asked J'anda. The enchanter raised an eyebrow. “What I would see? Did you know before you cast the spell, before it told you my 'heart's desire'?”
The enchanter smiled. “As they say in Saekaj, where there is heat, there is fire, no?”
“We've certainly had a fair exchange of heat.”
“You maintain your free will during the course of the enchantment. Your reaction was genuinely yours.” The dark elf shrugged. “If you'd like, you could simply say to yourself that you are a man who has been without the company of a woman for far too long, and she was likely the first woman on your mind.”
Cyrus's hands covered his face. “This must happen often if you're that skilled at coming up with a lie people can tell themselves to feel better after they find out...” Cyrus's words drifted off as he pondered the implications of what came next, “...what they truly want.”
J'anda laughed, cutting himself off abruptly after Cyrus sent him a pitiable look. “Ah,” the enchanter said, coughing, and turned serious. “It happens more than you think. The greater danger is that there are people in Sanctuary that ask me to mesmerize them so that they can have that moment of bliss, and they don't want to leave the illusion.” The dark elf looked a bit downtrodden for a moment. “I've had to tell someone before that I cannot do this for them, ever again. It was... heartbreaking,” the enchanter said in a tone that left no doubt that it was just as he had described. “If you want my advice about Vara...”
“I don't think that would be wise,” Cyrus said. “Vara and I are not a healthy match for each other. It would be best if I just buried it.”
“You never know,” J'anda said. “Perhaps her ire for you is cover?”
“I doubt it,” Cyrus said with certainty.
“As you say.”
They did not speak of it again until the night J'anda returned to Sanctuary. They were in the Great Square of Reikonos, and had said their far
ewells. “Tell whoever is coming to join me that I'll meet them here at midday. If they come before that, tell them to come to the old Kings of Reikonos guildhall in the slums.”
“The slums?” The enchanter raised an eyebrow, one of his favored expressions. “Hardly the place for so skilled an envoy to spend his night.”
Cyrus smiled at the enchanter. “Couldn't have done it without you. Your illusions give you great adaptability when it comes to finding common ground with whoever you're talking to.”
“Ah, but you see,” J'anda said with a glint in his eyes, “that is not the illusion; that is simply me.”
“I believe that,” Cyrus said with sincerity. “Take care, my friend. I know you'll do your best to take the people we've recruited and help turn them into a capable force by the time I get back.”
“You take care as well,” J'anda said. “If Alaric is correct, we shall need all the help we can get to deal with whatever danger awaits from these weapons.” After a moment's thought, he said to the human, “About your illusion, your 'heart's desire'...”
Cyrus shook his head impatiently. “I won't dwell on it. It will never happen.”
“I see,” J'anda said, with sad eyes. “You should always be careful when saying the word 'never.' Such an ugly word; a killer of all possibilities. In the dark elven tongue, 'never' is a word that doesn't exist – we would say, 'It's an unlikely thing,' or 'It seems improbable,' but there is no word for 'impossible' or 'never', because the things you decide are never going to happen,” the enchanter said with an undisguised smile, “have a way of happening when you least expect them to.”
With a flourish, J'anda cast the return spell and vanished in a burst of light. While the light of the spell receded from his eyes, the enigmatic smile that the enchanter had flashed him as he left and the words that he said echoed in the warrior's mind for the rest of the night.
Chapter 28
Cyrus blinked the sleep out of his eyes as he fought his way to consciousness. For a moment he was confused, awakening in the Kings of Reikonos guildhall. The sun was barely showing through the wood panels that made up the building. Due to the canyon-like nature of the slums, the appearance of sunlight meant that it was close to midday. Cyrus fought the urge to return to sleep and strapped on his armor and scabbard before bolting out the door.
The clock in the square showed 11 o'clock when he arrived, and Cyrus settled himself by the fountain after filling his cup from it twice. It tasted much, much different from the water he had been drinking from the rivers and springs of Arkaria over the last month, he reflected as his horse, Windrider, came up and dipped his face into the water for a drink. Cyrus shrugged and turned to scan the square, blinked and did a double take.
“Hello old friend,” Orion said from a few paces away.
Cyrus nodded. “Hello, Orion. How goes it?”
The ranger smiled. “Quite well. What brings you to Reikonos on this beautiful day?”
“I'm just passing through, but I'm waiting to meet another Sanctuary officer here.”
Orion couldn't hide his pleasure. “So the rumors are true: you're an officer now. Good for you.”
Cyrus returned the ranger's smile, a bit more guarded. “Yeah. Doing our best to rebuild after the debacle.”
Orion's eyes fell and his face turned grave. “Rebuilding is going to be a long road for you, brother. I'm sure you've heard: the big guilds of Arkaria have gotten most of the talent and everyone else has been scrambling to get their hands on as many new recruits as they can. There's not much left at this point.”
Cyrus smiled. “We'll see.”
Orion walked closer, sitting himself beside the warrior on the fountain. “Listen, when I brought you to Sanctuary, it was because you're a great warrior with the potential to be one of the best – if not the best – in Arkaria.” Orion smiled again, but with a hint of insincerity. “But that was when Sanctuary was rising, when they were a force to be reckoned with. Because of – all that,” the ranger said, glossing over his defection, “Sanctuary is going to struggle as a fighting force for some time.
“You're a great leader,” Orion coaxed him. “Goliath could use your talents.” Orion looked around the square. “Your only hope of successful expeditions with Sanctuary in the near future is going to be small actions, little invasions. With what you've got left you won't be seeing any of the realms without the Alliance.”
“So what you're saying,” Cyrus's eyes focused on the dirt at his feet, “is I should leave Sanctuary behind, like you did, so I can move up to Goliath?”
“Right,” Orion said. “Isn't your purpose to be the best? Don't you want more?”
“I do.”
“Then follow me,” Orion's eyes were alight with possibilities, “instead of wandering to the four corners of Arkaria in search of a farmer whose skill with a rusty pitchfork translates into swordsmanship.” The ranger smiled at him. “You'll spend the next four or five months in the countryside, working your ass off so you can find a few good people, and the rest will be chaff that gets blown away by the next strong wind.”
Orion's hand landed on the warrior's shoulder, reason filling his soothing voice. “Come with us. No need to rebuild, and with your skill and with the equipment we would give you, you could step into the role of Goliath's number one warrior, and be an officer candidate in no time. Malpravus likes you; he says you have great potential.”
“Oh my,” Cyrus breathed.
Orion did not hear him. “Bypass the next few months or years of hell you're gonna put yourself through to build an effective fighting force – your odds of success are very low. You'll end up frustrated and Sanctuary will still be in the same spot in a year.” Excitement filled the ranger's voice. “This is not a time for building strength. You can't compete with Endeavor or the others; they've got a lock on recruiting. You need a guild that's already got strength, that can step up and take you where you want to go.”
“Well,” Cyrus said, voice flat. “You certainly paint a grim picture.”
The ranger shrugged. “It's reality. What do you say?”
“To your proposition?” Cyrus asked, voice again devoid of emotion. “Thanks, but no thanks. I haven't forgotten what Goliath did at Enterra, even if you have. If I'm to fight to the top, it should be in a place where I can trust my guildmates.”
“So you've fallen into the trap of Alaric's 'noble purpose'.” Orion shook his head. “Instead of wanting to be the aggressor, the victor, you want to be a defender? Spend your time helping the helpless instead of getting more powerful? You're going to be sorry a year from now, when Goliath is exploring the realms of the gods and you're still struggling to fight off bandits in the Plains of Perdamun.” Acid dripped from the ranger's words.
“Perhaps,” Cyrus said. “But at least I'll know that if I have a guildmate at my back, I need not fear they'll put a knife in it.”
With a tight smile, Orion offered his hand to Cyrus once more, who shook it. “Best of luck, Orion,” Cyrus said.
“To you as well,” Orion said, but the words echoed with a certain hollow quality.
Curatio had shown up in the square a few minutes later, all smiles. “Good to see you, brother! Let's see if we can make the next leg of this journey as productive as the first.”
They headed out the eastern gate of Reikonos and followed the road past the coliseum on a frantic schedule much like he had followed with J'anda, with too little time between meetings and times to talk with candidates on a one-on-one basis. Once again he found himself traveling late into the night, he and Curatio shorting themselves on sleep to meet Alaric's schedule.
“When you get back to Sanctuary,” Cyrus had quipped one day as they were leaving a village, “please do give Alaric my thanks for his attempts to kill us.”
“Aye,” Curatio said with a smile. “I don't think he believed J'anda when the enchanter told him that you were run ragged on the first leg, but I'll make sure he knows it when I r
eturn.”
“Assuming that by the time we get done there's anything left of you to return. Any news on the weapons?”
Curatio shook his head. “Nyad and I went to Pharesia to warn them and Alaric personally went to Reikonos to speak with the Council of Twelve that rules the Human Confederation. We were informed that both weapons are still there, and safe as they can make them.”
“Did they take you seriously or brush you off?”
Curatio raised an eyebrow. “I know we were taken seriously in Pharesia. I suspect Alaric has enough credibility to get his message across in Reikonos as well. How many people do you know who go before the ruling Council of Twelve?”
Cyrus thought about it for a moment. “That would be the first. Not many people get an audience in the Citadel.”
Over the next days they found the ground and the air around them getting colder, snow beginning to pile up as they trudged from the summery beauty of the Pelar Hills into the frozen tundra of the north that surrounded the mountains of the Dwarven Alliance that was north and east of Reikonos. Their destination was Fertiss, the dwarven capital, but they made stop after stop at human and dwarven villages along the way.
The humans of the northern clans were dramatically different than the dwarves that populated the frigid lands. Somewhat furtive and suspicious, the dwarves largely kept to themselves. The men of the north, on the other hands, welcomed them with open arms and Cyrus and Curatio had far too much ale in the days that followed.
“Next time we come this way I'm sending Andren in my stead. I cannot recall a time when I've had that much to drink,” Cy said one morning after a long, boisterous night at the inn with several potential recruits. His head was still swimming.
“There's a reason for that,” Curatio said, looking a bit green. “You're yet young enough to make these sort of mistakes. I'm old enough that I should know better.”
