Thy Father's Shadow (Book 4.5) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Copyright Page

  Author's Notes

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  52

  53

  54

  55

  56

  57

  58

  59

  60

  61

  62

  Epilogue

  A(nother few) Word(s) From the Author

  Next in Series

  Other Books By

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Thy Father’s Shadow

  The Sanctuary Series

  Volume 4.5

  Robert J. Crane

  THY FATHER'S SHADOW

  THE SANCTUARY SERIES

  VOLUME 4.5

  Copyright © 2013 Midian Press

  All Rights Reserved.

  1st Edition

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part without the written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, please email [email protected]

  Author’s Note

  With the exception of the Prologue and the Epilogue, this book takes place during chapters 22-33 of Defender: The Sanctuary Series, Volume One. The Prologue and Epilogue take place during Chapter 116 of Crusader: The Sanctuary Series, Volume Four.

  Maps of Arkaria and Saekaj Sovar can be found for your convenience at http://www.robertjcrane.com/p/arkaria-maps.html

  Prologue

  “Alaric is dead,” Terian said. The sound of his boots echoing against the stone surface of what remained of the Endless Bridge was the least of the noises clamoring for his attention, but he noticed it nonetheless. The gentle wash of the sea against the supporting pillars of the bridge below and the buzz of muted conversation from the nameless, faceless grunts in the Army of Sanctuary that still gathered in clumps atop the bridge vied for Terian’s attention as he strode toward the shores of Arkaria.

  “He was the Ghost of Sanctuary,” Samwen Longwell said, carrying that barbaric pig-sticking lance of his over his shoulder. “I find it hard to believe that a man who can go incorporeal on cue somehow drowned in the wash of the strait below.”

  “He was not invincible,” Curatio said stiffly. Terian turned to see him sweep his white robes behind him as he walked. “And while he was certainly a proficient swimmer, I do not think he would be able to swim out from under the multiple tons of stone he brought down upon himself just now. Nor if he had, would he deceive us by hiding his survival.” Curatio’s normally quick smile had been absent of late—for most of our journey across Luukessia, Terian reflected. Well, our retreat. Which may be the reason it’s gone missing. “I think it is safe to say—”

  “That he’s dead,” Terian said, the heavy thump of his boots coming back to his ears. “Much as I said just a moment ago.” Much as I’ve been thinking since he cast that damned spell and ruptured the bridge. He nearly swore aloud but curbed it. Damn you, Alaric, for saying what you did, for being what you were and then—

  And then—

  Terian glanced off the edge of the bridge and stopped, placing a palm on one of the grey stone pillars that stretched like towers above them. He took a long, slow breath of the sea air, felt the salt breeze wash through the holes in his helm to chill the sweat gathered beneath in his hair, on his face. Gods, what a fight.

  He felt his chest deflate, felt his stomach drop. What a year.

  It’s all been a fight. From beginning to end.

  “So what do we do now?” The voice came from Odellan, a blond-haired elven soldier who looked entirely too pretty to Terian’s eyes. Terian looked sidelong at Odellan, who stood earnestly waiting for an answer as the others—the whole damned army—stood knotted on the bridge, waiting.

  “Cyrus is swimming along the bottom of the bridge,” Curatio said, and Terian turned his head to look at the healer. Every word he spoke was like venom squirted into a wound. “We need to go to him; he is the General, after all. We will go to him, and then we will … determine our next move.”

  Terian felt his arm shake where it stretched out against the bridge support. General Cyrus Davidon. The favorite son. Of course we have to go find out what he has to say. Terian felt his face twist in anger—in anguish—some combination of the two, like a knife thrust into his heart.

  “What do we do without Alaric?” This voice was smaller—near quiet. It was J’anda Aimant, the dark elven enchanter who asked, in a voice that was barely audible.

  “We go on,” Terian said, surprised his voice did not crack. He pushed off the bridge support and stared at the beach far ahead, barely visible in the falling darkness that heralded the arrival of night.

  Like he would want us to.

  Chapter 1

  Three Years Earlier

  “Do you want me to leave?” Terian stared at Alaric, the Ghost’s only eye looking back at him with a strangely impassive expression. Alaric was many things to many people; unreadable was not one of the things he was to Terian. They just don’t know him well enough, Terian thought.

  “No, I do not wish you to leave,” Alaric said, standing by his chair. The Council chambers felt mildly cold, in spite of the Plains of Perdamun’s utter rejection of typical winter in favor of warmth nearly year-round. The sun was below the horizon now, and Terian looked past the Ghost to the windows to see the darkness fallen over the plains. The fires were crackling in the hearths on either side of them, and Terian heard them acutely; there wasn’t any smoke to speak of, but he could smell the faint aroma. “I wish you to do your duty as an officer.”

  “He’s scum, Alaric!” Terian let loose this time, unrestrained, his voice hitting a defiant tempo. “Orion is a piece of self-absorbed trash, whose only reason for being here was to trade up. He’s been waiting for an excuse to leave, to move up in the world, and we’re better off without him.”

  Alaric stared at Terian with an even eye. Only minutes earlier they’d seen members of the guild walk out the doors, almost countless. Half the guild, for all I know. “That is certainly your opinion,” Alaric said quietly, “which you have every right to. However,
you are the Elder of Sanctuary, and there are things expected of you, duties—”

  “Don’t lecture me on duty,” Terian said. “I just did what was best for Sanctuary, letting that poison be excised. Orion and the gnome have been destined for this collision for months, circling each other while the wound grew more and more infected. I just got it all out in one burst.”

  Alaric moved quickly, sweeping his hand across the table and knocking his own helm to the ground. Terian took a step back, flinching at the motion. “And lost us half the guild in the process!” the Ghost snapped, his face drawn in a look of quiet fury. “Your duty is not simply to your internal feelings about what is best for Sanctuary; it extends to our bylaws as well, to enforcing our system of justice and law, so that our members are not left rudderless, guided by whatever presiding whims come upon our officers on any given day!”

  “What is right,” Terian said, trying to regain his mental footing after the Ghost’s outburst, “goes beyond law, goes beyond whim … it goes to the very heart of the direction you’ve chosen for Sanctuary, Alaric.” How can he not see the truth of this? He pointed a finger at the paladin. “You told me when I came here that this was to be a place where we would fill ourselves with a purpose—defending the people who can’t defend themselves. Fighting the fights nobody else will.” He let his eyes fall as that unreasonable darkness settled itself around his heart once more, the one that had plagued him for so long. “Making amends for … sins past.” His eyes came up again and found Alaric’s lone eye watching his. “You sold me on the idea that we wouldn’t be bound by the politics and strictures, the petty stupidities that keep the Kingdoms and Sovereignties and Confederations from doing right. Now you’re telling me it’s not so?”

  “Our ability to do right rests in our bylaws,” Alaric said, a calm quiet settling upon him. “It is grounded in the idea that there is process and law to hold back our baser natures. To ‘do right’ without any restriction is the slow path to tyranny. Many a despot has thought himself ‘right’ as he inflicted untold horrors upon his people. Many a tyrant has thought he was treading the path of righteousness when he had lost his way years earlier. Our bylaws guide us. They are our North Star to keep our intentions and our lying hearts from leading us astray in the heat of emotion. They bind us from hasty, foolish action.”

  Terian let out a low snort of disbelief. “They bind us from righteous action.” They keep us from our duty, he thought but did not say. “They stack the deck of Sanctuary against those of us who care for her and put more power in the hands of those who would use her for their own ends. They keep us from expelling low trash such as Orion, even when it becomes obvious he is not the sort that will give us any aid beyond that which will profit himself.”

  Alaric’s lone eye narrowed, and the room seemed to grow hot to Terian. “You do not know how it would have played out. You do not know what further consequences will rise from what you have let happen this day. Orion had done no real wrong, had not crossed any lines beyond simple selfishness. Had he done anything of the sort, anything provable, there would have been action from us, you know this—”

  “I don’t know anything, anymore,” Terian said with deep disgust. How can he be so blind to what that worm was? What his deceitful little trollop was doing? “He was using us. He was biding his time, waiting to make a move—”

  “And now his move is made,” Alaric said with unsubtle calm, “and along with him, we have lost half the guild in an unsettled dispute gone amok.”

  “We’re better off without them,” Terian said, waving his hand dismissively. He wanted to sit in his chair, felt the vague pull of it, but resisted.

  “So say you,” Alaric replied. “But it was not your decision.”

  “It was,” Terian said, “it was my decision in the moment that they started going at it in front of me, bringing their grievance to the fore and having it out. It was my decision, and I let it be, let it play the way it did.” He took a deep breath. “And I would do it again, for the good of Sanctuary.”

  Alaric stared back at him. “So this is what I can expect from you? A man unfettered by rules, by restraints?”

  Terian didn’t glare, but it was close. “You helped elevate me to officer, then to Elder. You know who I am, what I have done—what my aims are. If you don’t trust that I’m doing what is right for the guild—”

  “I don’t trust intentions,” Alaric said, his head bowed. “Not yours, not mine, not those of anyone, truly. Not to operate without oversight, without restriction, with absolute power. Decency goes adrift in small moments first then larger ones when someone believes they are unfettered by any rules. You may set out to do good by this guild, but without rules, you would play favorites. Those who were annoyances to you would not be treated the same as those who have ingratiated themselves to you. There is no equality of members in such a case, and soon enough someone who is outspoken would become your target, and you would land upon them with all your grievous fury. Your guildmates can become your enemies without the rule of law to help guide you, without it to equalize your reaction.”

  Terian felt the pull of hot anger in his blood. “Do you truly think me so petty? So low? Do you think me without scruples or decency?”

  Alaric turned away, letting his steps echo through the room as he made his way to the windows that lay to either side of the balcony doors. “Perhaps it was not you of whom I spoke.” He gave a faint look, over his shoulder. “Power is a corrupting influence, Terian. You might use it from a desire to bring about the best results for Sanctuary, but your moral compass is not some indefatigable thing, unswayed by emotion or your judgment. It is not a fixed constant that will hold you on the same course for all your days. We all need a true north, something to help guide us so we do not lose our way on the darkest of nights.”

  Sanctimonious bastard. “That’s you, I suppose?” Terian let the bitterness run out in his words. “Are you the all-knowing guide? Are you our compass, Alaric? The one who will light our steps and tell us the right way to go when all is shadow and blackness? Will you set our course, always? Tell us when we err, gently take us by the hand and lead us back onto the path, like children who’ve lost their way?” He drew in a deep breath, and it seared his nostrils as if he were inhaling brimstone. “Is that what we are to you? Do you call us brothers but really mean ‘children’?”

  Alaric’s steady gaze wore on him. The look was jaded, calm, placid, but Terian could see a little of the fury buried deep. Because I know him. “You are no child, and you should not look to me as your example. Our bylaws are our guide, etched in place to restrain the darker voices in all our souls, to light the path to good conduct for all of us.”

  “You say of all of us,” Terian said with a little more hostility, “but I kind of get this feeling you wouldn’t be having this conversation with Vara.” As though he doesn’t play favorites already. “I don’t need a father, Alaric. I’ve already got one more of those than I care for. I don’t need a compass, because I know my way around the world.”

  “And what about a purpose?” Alaric said quietly and let his head turn to look back out the window to the darkened plains.

  “Look at me!” Terian said and watched the old knight’s head make a slow turn to see him. “Don’t ignore me; don’t look away when I’m talking to you, like I’m some matter of unconcern to you! I have seen darkness, I have seen death, I have seen horror and evil, all on a scale so massive and inordinate as to be immeasurable. You think I don’t know which path is right and which is wrong? I’ve known since long before I darkened the doors of Sanctuary what the right damned path was, what the right intention is, because I’ve seen the application of it in the wrong ways.” He let his voice settle. “I don’t need a guide. I don’t need your path, or your purpose, or your laws.” Terian looked down at Alaric’s helm on the floor and gave it a gentle nudge with his foot. “I know what’s right.”

  He felt the weight of the one eye on him, ev
en as his mouth felt dry. “Do you?” Alaric asked.

  “Damned right I do.” Hot fury boiled in Terian. I can’t believe I’m saying this. It was as though he had crossed a forbidden line, airing all this, and yet the reckless fury and pride would not allow him to turn back, not now. There was one more thing yet to be said. “And I don’t need you to tell me any of it, to show me any of it.” The last of the fury slipped out. “In fact, I don’t need you. Or Sanctuary.” He gave one last encompassing wave of his hand, waited for a reaction, and when none was forthcoming, he turned and went for the door, not pausing as he opened it.

  “Then I wish you the best of luck in your path … brother.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Terian said, holding the door, feeling the weight of it in his hand, like it was a hundred tons of regret. “I’m not your brother, not your son, not your anything anymore. And I damned sure don’t need your luck.” He let the door slam shut behind him.

  Chapter 2

  One Month Later

  It was a rowdy crowd in the Brutal Hole, a longshoreman’s bar in Reikonos, the capital of the Human Confederation. Rowdy is good, Terian thought. I like being surrounded by troublemakers, laborers, men who think they’re strong. The low winter daylight barely shone down through the front windows, reflecting off the darkened mirror that lay behind the bar. Rosalla was behind the bar, as usual, and she was a good one. He liked her, which was rare. I don’t like much of anyone. But she’s okay. More than okay. He didn’t want to think it, but outside of some of the girls down at the Silken Robe, the local brothel that catered to dark elves, he hadn’t spoken to anyone but Rosalla in more than a week.

  The crowd crashed around the bar like waves breaking on docks. There was laughter, cursing, angry shoving—sometimes from the same person all in the span of seconds. Terian watched it all with a careful eye. It wouldn’t do to have the place degenerate into a melee, after all, not with him still nursing his drink. He’d feel obligated to get involved, and that would most likely end with him walking down the snowy streets of Reikonos rather than warming his arse by the hearth. He took another long pull of his ale and pondered that thought. He didn’t care for it.