Cyrus nodded as the elf walked off into the Sanctuary foyer. Then why does it feel like a defeat? He recalled the bridge, Alaric disappearing as the stone broke apart around him and he fell … Right. That’s why.
He looked up at the moon, staring at the pale disk hanging in the sky above. It almost seemed as though it were slightly red, tinged with blood. He stared at it for only a moment more before he began to pick his way through the bodies, moving aside the countless corpses of dead dark elves in hopes of finding a few familiar faces before it was too late.
Chapter 119
The Council Chamber was quiet when he arrived. There was a stir as he entered, motion around the table as they stood to greet him. It was a somber silence, though, with a kiss on the cheek from Erith, her eyes filled with regret. Nyad gave him the same, and Cyrus saw the tears from her. Vaste stood before him, an imposing figure, and he stared up at the troll’s impassive face for a moment, started to say something but was swept from his feet in a bear hug that pressed him against the healer’s tattered and stained robe.
“I missed you, too, Vaste,” Cyrus said as the troll pulled him tight. “But perhaps not that much.”
Vaste turned him loose. “Oh, sorry,” he said with aplomb. “I was just trying to burp you. You look like you could use a good burping.”
“Thanks,” Cyrus said with a nod as he took his seat. It squeaked when he eased himself into it. The smell of wood burning in the hearth was especially strong, and familiar, but still, something was off, something that kept it from feeling like …
Home.
There was a quiet, and the darkness outside the windows was impenetrable, though Cyrus knew that out there the Luukessians were still running down the enemy and that druids and wizards were bringing more and more of the refugees into the Plains via the portal in Sanctuary’s foyer, newly reactivated, as well as the one a few minutes north of the gates. Sanctuary troops and scouts were spread out in a pattern around it, and the foyer was packed with guardians, all facing the seal in the center. The Sovereign won’t soon try that again, not without an army at the gates. It would be pointless now.
Curatio sat at his usual place next to Alaric’s empty seat, which was a gaping thing, a missing piece that made the whole place seem strangely empty. Cyrus’s eyes darted to Terian’s seat as well, also empty. Terian. Niamh. Alaric. He bowed his head.
“I call this Council to order,” Curatio said quietly, somberly, “in my capacity as the Sanctuary Elder and acting Guildmaster.” The elf’s mouth became a thin line. “And it grieves me so to do it, let it be known.”
“So noted,” Nyad said, with her parchment in front of her and an inkwell at her side.
“We find ourselves in an unusual situation,” Curatio began. “How goes the pursuit of the enemy?”
“A hundred thousand or more killed,” Longwell said with a shrug. “Very few still alive. Hard to outrun men on horseback when you don’t have any for yourself. We managed to hit their cavalry at the outset of the battle and caught them unhorsed, so they had no horses with which to flee or fight back. A few wizards took some of ours out but only in small groups. There are likely a few hiding here and there, but sunrise will essentially see the end of that campaign.” His eyes were half-lidded, as though he had lost any interest in it, though there was a little fire remaining. “What does that mean for the war?”
Vara cleared her throat, and Cyrus’s eyes were drawn to her for the first time since he had returned. She looked worn, scuffed, a healed gash left dried blood under her eye. Her ponytail was back as always, but a few strands were out of place-well, more than a few. She leaned against the back of her chair, looking down her face at all of them as though she would fall asleep at any moment. She did not look at Cyrus. “The Sovereign threw the bulk of his forces at us here, hoping to capture the plains to feed his armies as he marched them in conquest. To have lost … even ninety percent of them will cost him dearly and stall their progress on the other fronts.” She shrugged, lightly, as though it were a matter of no consequence. “I should find it hard to imagine he will be able to continue the war in its present form, not without some other source of troops. There are simply not enough remaining for him to be anything but defensive.”
“You don’t know that for certain,” Erith said. “This was a massive upset, true, but we don’t know the disposition of the dark elven forces. And it would certainly be in our best interest to get the wall repaired as soon as possible.”
“Because it held so marvelously against whatever devilry he employed on it this time,” Vara muttered.
“We captured some prisoners,” Longwell said, “his intellectuals, if you will. They spoke of a kind of powder, black as the night itself, that when lit afire, explodes. It was no magic, according to them, but some form of alchemy.”
“Whatever it was,” Vaste said, “it was a fearsome power to unleash. It blasted those holes in the wall; took some of our people with it, I suspect.” He glanced toward Erith, who nodded.
“At least a couple hundred unaccounted for,” Erith said. “Some of their bodies might still be out there, but if any of them got caught in that-alchemy-then there’s probably not enough left of them to resurrect.”
“I hate to even speak of it at a time such as this,” Nyad said from her place at the table, holding the quill, “but it seems unlikely that even with the siege broken, we’ll be seeing much in the way of applicants at the moment. Who wants to be part of a guild that’s likely to be blockaded by dark elves at some point in the future?”
There was a stark silence. “I hate that you spoke of it, too,” Vaste said. “Because now I’m thinking about it, and I wish I weren’t.” The troll leaned his face into his hands, elbows on the table. “Can we not have … can we not mourn for just a small amount of time? Think of how many we’ve lost, how much battle we’ve seen …” He scanned the table, eyes coming to a rest on Cyrus. “I mean … some of you just watched an entire land-three whole Kingdoms-go down in flames.”
“Aye,” Longwell said, “and some of us will never forget it, not for the rest of our lives.”
No one spoke for a long time after that. When the silence was finally broken, it was Cyrus who did it. “We have a lot of survivors of Luukessia who have no homes and no place to go. We can feed them here for a time, but-” He shrugged. “I doubt they’d want to settle close by here. We seem to be a magnet for trouble of late. Especially of late.”
“I had an idea about that,” Longwell said, looking up. “As you may recall, in addition to being the King of a land now lost,” he said with a sharp taste of bitterness, “I am also a Lord of the Elven Kingdom with a very nice holding not far from a portal in a green, verdant, and unfarmed land.” He looked around the table. “I have spoken with some of the dragoon captains, and with a few leaders among the survivors. If I can secure King Danay’s permission, I will settle the survivors there on my land.” He looked to Nyad.
“He’ll likely consent, especially if you get them to pay taxes of some form,” Nyad said. “He’ll agree to just about anything if it increases his coffers right now. The destruction of Termina and the war have left them quite dry, I suspect.”
“I doubt your people have much in the way of money,” Cyrus said quietly.
“They do not,” Longwell said, “but I think I know of a way they might earn their keep, might add some value in a place that could grant them incomes.”
Cyrus watched the dragoon cannily. “Go on.”
“If you would care to have tens of thousands of new applicants to Sanctuary,” Longwell said, drawing the silence around him as surely as if he had slammed a sword into the table, “I believe we would be quite content to put our weapons to your service.”
Vaste rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I can see we’re going to move right past that mourning and on to the next conquest.”
“Aye,” Cyrus said. “We’ll mourn. But we need to focus on something other than grief before it chokes us to death.” H
e scanned the table. “Alaric believed that we of Sanctuary had a greater purpose than merely acquiring wealth and fighting enemies to take from them. He believed we were supposed to protect the helpless and give aid to those who need it.” He looked each of them in the eye in turn. “How might we give aid if we have no money to give it with?” He waited for an answer but found none. “We’ll go to Purgatory again with the new applicants from Luukessia. We’ll get them equipped, build our guild bank, get some coin dispersed among our people again to make up for this catastrophic year.” He held his head high when he spoke, though he didn’t feel it. I’ll protect Sanctuary, Alaric. I’ll do it however I have to. “We’ll rebuild, become what we were before but stronger. We just won an epic battle against the dark elves. That has to be worth something in the eyes of the people of Arkaria. That has to enhance our reputation at least some. We need to keep growing.” He felt his voice crack as he said the last. “It’s what Alaric would have wanted.”
Chapter 120
The Council broke in silence, some to their duties, some to their beds. Cyrus waited, though, head down at the table, hearing them file out one by one. There was a taste of bitterness in his mouth, an acid in the back of his throat that caused him to realize he had not eaten a substantive meal in a day or perhaps two. Yet I do not hunger. His mouth was parched, he realized, but he didn’t care.
“Cyrus,” Longwell said, and he blinked at the dragoon. “The first groups of survivors have begun to come through the portal. I wanted you to know.” He hesitated then looked across the table as though guilty of some crime, and Cyrus’s gaze followed his to where Vara sat, in her seat, still reclined, watching them both.
“Out with it,” Cyrus said, but Longwell hesitated, casting a look at Vara, uncertain. “Go on.”
“Cattrine is with them,” Longwell said. “I have … allocated her quarters here in Sanctuary for the night. I did not wish to overstep my bounds, but as she was of the royal family of Actaluere, it seemed … appropriate, somehow-”
“That’s fine,” Cyrus said, with a dismissive hand.
Longwell nodded slowly then stepped aside, walking out the door. Behind him, J’anda remained, as did Curatio. Vara was still in her seat, Cyrus noted, still looking quite weathered-and beautiful. Always beautiful, even when she’s been through hell. Her cheeks looked thinner, but when she looked at him in response to his stare, he did not look away afterward.
J’anda coughed. “I don’t mean to interrupt your long, meaningful look at each other, but I did want to …” he paused. “Well, I had to show someone.”
“Show someone what?” Vara said slowly, as though she were so tired that she were pushing the words out one syllable at a time.
“I stayed behind with the Luukessians on the beach when the cavalry teleported back here,” J’anda said. “Myself and one of the druids went back with a couple rangers, back to the site of the bridge destruction, to go underwater, to see if we could find anything.” He looked down, chagrined. “We used Nessalima’s light, as brightly as we could, and spells that allowed us to breathe underwater. We searched for two hours, shifted some of the rubble-”
“Did you find anything?” Cyrus cut him off, leaning forward. “Did you see-” He stopped, and felt the pressure build in the back of his throat.
“We found the bodies of more scourge than you would care to count,” J’anda said quietly. “And this.” He reached into his robes and pulled something out, something rounded, and set it upon the table with a thunk, right where it usually sat on the table next to its owner-
Alaric’s helm.
Cyrus sagged back into his seat, felt the weight of the thing, the true loss it represented. He stared at it, the empty eye slits staring back at him, accusing him- If only you had believed sooner. If only you had listened to me in Death’s Realm-
“Thank you,” Cyrus said in a choked voice, and J’anda nodded mournfully and shuffled toward the door. It shut quietly behind him, and Cyrus was left staring at the helm with Curatio, whose face was an iron mask of reserve mixed with regret, and Vara, whose lip actually quivered as she stared at it.
“Thus ends an era,” Curatio said softly, almost too low to be heard. He placed his hand on the top of the helm and ran his palm across it, closing his eyes and bowing his head for a moment as though he were praying. “So long, old friend,” he whispered, and then his long, weighted, shuffling steps were audible as he made his way across the floor of the Council Chambers and out the door. It shut just as quietly behind him.
“He is truly gone, then,” Vara said, drawing his eyes toward her. Hers were rooted on the helm, and she stared at it with a little horror before she squinted her eyes shut and lowered her head onto her hand.
“I think so,” Cyrus said. “He knew he wasn’t going to get away from it. He talked about making sacrifices for what you believe in, and he gave me this,” he realized with a start, reaching under his armor and pulling out the pendant. He looked at it in the light. The smooth edges felt strange to his naked palms, and he removed it and set it beside his gauntlet on the table.
“He was a Crusader to the last, then,” she said quietly. “Dying for the cause he believed in.”
“Yes,” Cyrus said. “Yes, he did.” But he did not look at her.
“Can we talk?” she asked, almost choking on her words as they came out. He looked at her in surprise. She watched him with greatest hesitation, even fear.
“I think … we are, right now.”
“I meant about us,” she said, voice no more than a mere whisper. He strained to hear her, watching her as she spoke.
He blinked twice, stole a sidelong look at the hearth, and then turned his eyes back to the table in front of him, where the medallion rested, perfectly centered in front of him. No. “Yes.”
She rose, but he tried not to look at her for more than a few seconds at a stretch, always looking back to the medallion in front of him. “It has been over a year since I watched you march out the front gates of Sanctuary …”
He looked up. “I didn’t know you were watching.” Calm. Cool. Uncaring.
“I was,” she said, placing her hand upon the arm of her chair as she stood, looking for support of some kind. “I watched you go, watched you ride off at the head of the army, and I wished-oh, how I wished-that I had said and done something far, far different when last we spoke. With every report of dismal news from your expedition, my fear worsened. I was certain that I would never see you again, that you would die in some far off place with the memory of our last conversation being what you remembered of me.” She took a tentative step toward him, crossing behind the next chair-Nyad’s, one of two between them-and putting her hands delicately upon its back. “I did not wish to leave such a dark air between us-”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Cyrus said, clearing his throat abruptly. He shook his head but still kept his eyes upon the surface of the table. “You said what you needed to say. I can hardly fault you for feeling as you did, especially in the wake of … all that happened in Termina-”
“I was afraid,” she said, and eased another step closer, behind Vaste’s chair, using her hands to almost pull herself nearer to him. “I let fear guide my actions toward you, let my mother’s fears-my fears-carry me along a path I don’t wish to go down-”
“It’s only natural,” Cyrus said, shaking his head, keeping his eyes away from hers, looking at the lines of the medallion, “only natural to listen to reasonable instincts warning you away. I won’t live as long as you, after all-”
“You very nearly outlived me today,” she said, interrupting him. “If it hadn’t been for you, for this army you brought with you, these eastern cavalrymen, I would have been dead. We live in dangerous times, and a dangerous sort of life-”
“Right,” he said, “all the more reason to be cautious in our personal lives-”
“Listen to me,” she snapped at him then eased closer behind Longwell’s seat, the last between them. “I’m sorry, I didn
’t mean to … I just … please, let me say this.” Cyrus nodded, but did not interrupt her. “I let fear rule me. The fear of losing something very precious to me, more precious than … anything else. Anyone else.” She took a breath, composed herself. “I lost my parents within days of each other. Lost my home. You already know my past, the things that happened to make me untrusting. None of these are excuses, but … after all that … I couldn’t bear the thought of losing someone else, someone who has perhaps grown more important to me than any of the others-”
“We all feel the loss of Alaric,” Cyrus said, templing his fingers in front of him and bowing his head. “And it is particularly acute now-”
“I’m not talking about Alaric-” She ground the words out, practically in his ear, and he was forced to look up at her at last. She stared down at him, disbelieving. “I am talking about you.” Her face changed, softening. “You have come to mean more to me than anyone else in my life.” Her hand came down upon his shoulder awkwardly and eased up to his cheek. He looked at her in surprise, not quite openmouthed but wide-eyed. “I pushed you away once before because I was afraid. Afraid after so many losses that I would lose … a good man. That I would lose you, perhaps not now but in the future, and feel that pain for the rest of my days, so sharply.” Her hand shook as it came to rest on his cheek, brushing against the stubble there. “I could not bear the thought of that loss. So I pushed you away. And I am …” her face crumpled, “so … sorry. So sorry I drove you away.”
“It’s all right,” Cyrus said and rose slowly. She eased toward him, wrapping her arms around him as he stood, pressing her face against his shoulder, against the blackened armor there. He felt the weight and press of her, smelled the aroma of battle that clung to her after days of fighting. It was a soothing feeling, having her close, and only a year earlier he would have welcomed it happily, exclaimed it inside with such fervent joy-
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