The Sanctuary: Warlord Part 23

Vara looked at Cyrus, and he got the impression of a woman trapped. Still, she did answer. "I once asked Alaric what he was doing in Purgatory, and his answer was very much in line with him. He swore he would tell me some of it right then, and the rest at another time later."

"Come on, come on," Vaste said, "what's the part he told you?"

She hesitated. "Do you recall the sequence of portals in Purgatory that the Gatekeeper has told us any number of times not to walk through? The ones at the very end?"

"Yessssssss?" Vaste said, voice rising expectantly.

"One of them is a gateway to a place," Vara said slowly, "where for a short time after permanent death, one can reclaim a lost soul."

It was so quiet in the Council Chambers that Cyrus would have sworn that even the popping of the absent fire would have sounded like barrels of Dragon's Breath going off in the Heia Pa.s.s.

"Excuse me?" Nyad asked, a look of horror st.i.tched on her face.

"That's ... troubling," Vaste said, and his expression reflected it and more.

"You're telling me that behind the Trials of Purgatory, which we can beat at a will," Thad said, "there's a gateway to a place where we could reclaim our lost-our dead." His eyebrows were low, mouth open at a furious angle. "The dead we've been losing over the last few weeks-months-years? Those we lost before that, even?" He poured a little hope into the last question.

"There is some cost," Vara said quietly, now looking more cornered than ever, "that he did not explain to me. It is not a simple thing, this ... this task, however it happens."

"Can we also just reflect on the fact that Alaric apparently beat the Trials of Purgatory himself in order to get to this back gate?" Erith asked, blinking. "Unless you were stabbed at the entry?" Vara shook her head. "Wow. By himself."

"He was not by himself," Curatio said, stirring to life after a long silence. "I was with him."

"The two of you?" J'anda asked, eyes widening. He had remained silent throughout the entirety of the meeting thus far. "Alone? Against the entirety of the Trials? The golems? The eel? The Siren of Fire? The-"

"Yes," Curatio said, "I am aware of the Trials, having bested them myself." He looked stiff, rigid, as though he had become rooted in the chair. "And Vara is quite right. There is a price a.s.sociated with that particular portal. It does not lead anywhere ... good."

"We've been in the Realm of the G.o.d of Death," Vaste said, "when a whole mess of trapped souls burst loose and came screaming down upon us. You're intimating that this is something worse?"

"You have heard of the G.o.d of Evil, yes?" Curatio asked, the fatigue infusing his voice.

"Hard not to," Vaste said. "His work is so very widespread."

"Well, this is his work as well," Curatio said. "There is legend of a last gift to mortals from the G.o.d of Good, something handed to them to give them hope-"

"The ark," Cyrus said, drawing a flash of surprise from the healer. "Scuddar told the story over in Luukessia," he explained. "It made an impression."

"Well, the legend goes that the G.o.d of Evil made a similar contribution, and that the other G.o.ds were so ... put off by his efforts," Curatio said, "that they made every attempt to contain it. Where the ark supposedly brought hope to people, this gift stole it away under false guise. So, yes, you can supposedly retrieve your loved and lost dead for a period of time after the resurrection spell does not work, but at some considerable cost."

"Like ... as bad as a soul ruby cost?" Cyrus asked.

"Arguably worse," Curatio said. "Where a resurrection spell steals some small memories as its exacted price, this ... process ... shall we say ... steals them all. The person you bring back has no memory of you at all, no memory of their life before, and is essentially a blank canvas." His head sagged as he bowed it. "We set off that day to retrieve Raifa from that place, but came across someone else in dire need." He nodded very slightly at Vara. "She, too, was past the hour of healing for her wounds, and cursed with a dark knight spell that would have prevented her from healing herself. Faced with the choice of abandoning Vara, this stranger we had stumbled across, in order to bring Raifa back, Alaric ..." Curatio sighed. "He did not hesitate. Not even in the face of the Gatekeeper's taunting, not even against counsel telling him that we had come this far, to not be foolish and sacrifice his cherished love helping some poor soul who didn't appear to stand any chance of survival." His eyes darted around the table. "Some of you saw my ... my moment of doubt before we left for Luukessia. Where I doubted Alaric, doubted his intentions. I feel a fool for forgetting that moment in Purgatory, and a thousand others like it, when he held true to the mission of Sanctuary above all else." He looked solemn. "That is how you know who a man is-not in his decisions in the best of times, but in his decisions under greatest strain, when the things he cares for most are ripped from his grasp without mercy."

Curatio sighed, loud and long. "By the time Vara was well, Alaric did not pursue a vendetta with the t.i.tans, and they did not come through the pa.s.s and challenge the elven defenses again. The fear of the dragons set in on the t.i.tans, I think ..." He waved a hand. "A fear they don't seem to have any longer."

"Wow," Vaste said, leaning back in his chair, ample belly looking like it would strain out of his robes. "That was like a buffet of secrets. I don't think I've ever had so much in the way of secrets come out at this table before, except maybe that time when Alaric threw his sword down after we killed Mortus. I almost feel too full for lunch." He rubbed his stomach while the others sat in silence. "Come on! Alaric, may be alive, or else our Guildmaster delusional! The realization that Alaric and Curatio were a team of bada.s.ses so powerful that they could take apart the Gatekeeper's little pet labyrinth like it was nothing?" He made a pfffft! sound. "They didn't even need us when we started going through there a few years ago. Chew on that for a minute. The rest of us are struggling to survive, and they're out there doing what it takes hundreds of us to do by themselves." He looked at Curatio and saw a hint of something else there. "Right?"

"Close enough," Curatio said, waving a hand at him. "I think ... it best I retire." He slid his chair back from the table. "If anything else is decided, be kind enough to inform me in the morning."

"Curatio," Erith said, "it's the middle of the afternoon."

"I am old," Curatio said, weaving toward the door, looking as if he meant it, "and I require a nap." He opened and closed the door in near silence.

"Is Alaric really alive?" J'anda asked, leaning across Curatio's empty chair to look at Cyrus.

"I don't know," Cyrus said, now feeling slightly pinned himself. "It was awfully real, what I saw that night in Saekaj, as the Sovereign-Yartraak-was choking the life out of me. More vivid than any daydream or delusion I've ever had."

Vaste nodded at him. "So you're saying you've had a lot of delusions, then? Enough that you feel you can tell the difference between those and ... uh, this?"

"I'm not prepared to gamble my life on it," Cyrus said, "but yes. I think he's alive, somewhere." He saw a furtive glance from Vara, watched it slide off of him and back to the table, and mustered up a near-finish to his thought, one that was steeped in doubt and guilt. "But I don't know why he's not here."

The Council broke, and even Vara prepared to leave the chambers in advance of Cyrus. He stopped her with a word. "Vara."

She looked back into the darkened Council Chambers as Erith pa.s.sed her by. "Can we talk later?" she asked. "I find myself ... perhaps in the mood for a nap of my own."

"Sure," Cyrus said, and watched her go, the slump of her shoulders obvious even through her s.h.i.+ning armor.

"Cheer up," Andren said, making his way to the door. "We can go on a walk to Reikonos if it'll make you feel better?" He paused at the door. "Maybe look for your mysterious house again? Eh?"

Cyrus started to say no, but something about the thought of Andren's proposal held him up. "Maybe," Cyrus said. "Yes. I think ... yeah, that sounds like a-"

The door next to Andren thundered open, slamming wood against stone as its hinges reached full extension and started to spring back from the force. For a moment, Cyrus thought perhaps the alarm spells of Sanctuary had gone off, warning of foul deeds afoot somewhere in the keep, but he saw the dark-armored figure with the lance tucked over his shoulder a moment later, and relaxed almost imperceptibly until he saw the look on Samwen Longwell's face.

It was dark as the Council Chambers; darker even, perhaps, thunderclouds on the broad brow of the last King of Luukessia. He stalked into the room with a furious purpose, every motion relaying obvious anger. "How could you?" Longwell asked, thumping the haft of his lance against the floor with every step like a walking cane. He did not appear to need its support, but it channeled his fury into the stone and echoed through the Council Chamber with all his anger.

"Watch your tongue with your Guildmaster," Andren said, coming back into the room and slamming the doors behind him. "Perhaps show a bit of courtesy, too, to the man who's done more for your people than anyone els-"

"I am here," Longwell said, so harshly he cut the healer off with his fierceness, "because of my people. Because of what just reached my ears about the Heia Pa.s.s." He snapped his head around. "How many Luukessians died in the defense of that place?"

Cyrus regarded him coolly, trying to think his way through the situation before him. He's plainly agitated. There's a burr deep under his saddle; best not ride him too hard right now. "I didn't break down the list of casualties by their place of origin, Samwen."

Longwell's eyes flashed at the use of his familiar name. "Well, I had a glance at it when it came through at my station in Emerald Fields. I counted forty-five." He edged up to the table, b.u.t.ting his chest out. "Forty-five men of Syloreas, Actaluere and Galbadien-"

"Of Sanctuary, I think you mean," Cyrus said, trying to remain calm, channeling Alaric to the best of his ability.

"Of Luukessia!" Longwell practically shouted. "And you threw them into death!"

"Come on," Andren said, scoffing, "half the d.a.m.ned guild is Luukessians, Longwell. You can't expect them not to die when we have losses-"

"What I expect," Longwell said, his own voice dropping into icy ranges Cyrus a.s.sociated with wizard spells, "is that my people aren't going to be the s.h.i.+eld vanguard for every stupid fight we get into."

Cyrus raised an eyebrow. "Defending the pa.s.s against the t.i.tans-defending the new Luukessian homeland against them- that's a stupid fight?"

Longwell flushed scarlet. "Did you have to put them up front?"

"I had to put the best fighters up front, yes," Cyrus said, giving him a steady, even stare, but trying to put some compa.s.sion into his voice as well. "Just the same as at Leaugarden, when I had to use the cavalry dragoons to-"

Longwell exploded before he had a chance to finish. "And that's another thing! Using us as your spear to do your dirty work, the hard work, even when-"

"Hey!" Andren shouted, silencing Longwell for once. "I didn't see any of 'your' men flinching away from doing their asked duty. I didn't see your dragoons hesitate to charge when ordered-when you ordered them, by the way, because I recall you being right at the fore in that fight." Longwell jerked his head as if struck. "This is a guild where we fight, and right now we're holding the line to defend your Emerald Fields, man! You were bucking for battle not that long ago, in fact, looking like you'd enjoy tearing a piece or two off t.i.tan flank with your teeth. What happened to that bloke?"

Longwell turned slowly back to Cyrus, all the fight drained out of him. His pale face was hollow of expression, and his lip quivered in a way that Cyrus had never seen from the dragoon. "There are so few of us left," he whispered. "So very few. And with ... Emerald Fields, and Leaugarden, and now ... now this ... and more could ..." He choked a little.

"Samwen," Cyrus said, trying to hold himself up as a stone wall though his legs felt heavy bearing the burden of his body at the moment. "We are going to do everything we can to protect your people. But your men aren't-the ones we've sent to Leaugarden and the pa.s.s-they're not farmers." Cyrus felt the sag of his lips as emotion weighed them down. "None of us are. We're fighters. Soldiers. We go to war. And this ... this fight with the t.i.tans, it's reminding me what real war is, without the safety of the armor of magic and healing and resurrection spells."

"There are just ... so few ..." Longwell pitched back, his rump hitting the chair nearest him, and he landed on the floor with a short bounce. "So few ..." Now the hot tears were running down his face.

Unsure what to say or how to say it, Cyrus walked over to the dragoon and knelt next to him, placing a strong hand on his shoulder as the last living King of Luukessia wept openly in the middle of the Council Chambers.

"That was a bit of downer," Andren said as he walked the streets of Reikonos off the square with Cyrus at his side. The healer's stride was lighter than his bearing, and evening was already starting to settle on the world. Autumn was in full effect, the cool breeze blowing through the streets, the few trees in the city shedding leaves that whipped along down the dirt and cobblestone avenues.

"He's had a rough run of luck," Cyrus said, adjusting his belt, feeling for Praelior's hilt instinctively. They had waited with Longwell for quite some time, until the dragoon pulled himself together, wiped his eyes, and offered Cyrus a half-hearted apology before he made his retreat.

"That's the truth," Andren agreed as they took a turn down a shop-lined street, gla.s.s windows glinting in the last light of day as the sun moved into the west. "Martaina told me that he's quite the weepy fellow when, uh ... engaged in the business, you know."

Cyrus frowned. "No, I don't know. What are you talking about?"

"You know," Andren said. "He and Martaina ... in Luukessia ... they ..." The healer arched his eyebrows.

The answer hit Cyrus like a t.i.tan fist. "Oh! Oh, G.o.ds! I didn't need to know that about your paramour."

"Well, you were with her over there," Andren said. "You must have known she did a bit of dabbling."

"I tried very hard not to discuss it with her more than the once or twice it came up," Cyrus said, quickening his pace as though he could leave this particular conversation behind if he walked fast enough. "Why is everything so focused on s.e.x of late? It feels like every conversation tends that way sooner or later."

"Stuff of life, mate," Andren said with a twinkle in his eyes. "What else is there? Battles, s.e.x, food-I mean, that sounds like a warrior of Bellarum's whole bag right there."

"There's more to it than that," Cyrus said, shaking his head. "There's got to be. That's a hollow life, my friend."

"Well," Andren said cautiously, "some people go in for the drink-"

"More than that," Cyrus said.

"Such as?"

"I don't know," Cyrus said, trying to look at the buildings they were pa.s.sing. Shops were giving way to some houses, broken by businesses, taverns and the occasional small lot for farming, or communal ovens. "Love? Companions.h.i.+p? The bond of the brotherhood and sisterhood of our guild-"

"Bleargh," Andren p.r.o.nounced with a finger shoved down his throat. "You're getting a bit sappy as you're hovering toward settling down-again, I might add, as if you failed to take away a single lesson from your first marital experience."

"Says the man who's about to tie the knot."

Andren's eyebrows arched upward in surprise. "Say what?"

Cyrus froze in the middle of the street. "She told me you'd talked about it."

Andren frowned, clearly befuddled. "Who? Martaina?"

"No, Aisling," Cyrus snapped back. "Of course Martaina.

"Hey, it could have been that dark elven minx. Based on the number she did to you, though, I'd be a bit warier in my approach, maybe try and-"

"Martaina came to me and said she wanted me to perform a marriage ceremony for you," Cyrus said. "For the two of you. Said you'd talked about it."

Andren gave it a moment's thought. "I suppose we did at that."

Cyrus waited for the reaction. "And?"

Andren just shrugged, the shadow of a nearby house disguising some of his expression. "Okay."

"Okay, what?"

"Okay, I'll marry her."

"What?" Cyrus could not avoid the tug of disbelief. "Just like that?"

"Well, yeah," Andren said. "I didn't know she was serious." He broke into a goofy smile. "It's kind of an honor, being asked by a woman like that, you know? Clearly she has plenty of options available, and she wants to marry me. I'm flattered."

Cyrus stood there, thinking that one over. "That's a ... unique perspective."

"You don't live as long as I have without gaining an appreciation for a good compliment," Andren said, starting down the street again. Cyrus had to hurry to catch up once he'd recovered his wits. "I mean, after all, she's got her pick of all these men in Sanctuary, she could maybe go for that bloke in Amti-"

"Gareth?"

"That's the one," Andren said lightly. "I guess they grew up together or something? Anyhow, it's really quite flattering to be chosen out of all those."

"I suppose," Cyrus said, inclining his head as he fell back into step alongside the healer.

"Kind of like you with Vara," Andren said. "When are you going to chain that little lady down?"

Cyrus's mouth fell open. "I ... don't know."

"You want to, don't you?" Andren prodded. "Eh? You've wanted nothing but her for years, really. So why wait?"