The Sanctuary Series: Volume 02 - Avenger Page 15

  She looked down. “So money's the motivation.”

  He exhaled. “It's not just one thing, it's a combination of factors. And why does it matter? This expedition is a good move for us; it can provide answers to a lot of different problems we're facing right now.”

  “Alaric will never consent to paying Reikonos – nor anyone else.”

  Cyrus paused before answering. “If it gets desperate enough, he may change his mind – not for him, but for his guildmates.”

  She shook her head. “He is a man who does what is right in all things, no matter the cost. He would sacrifice everything in order to do what is right.” Her eyes flicked up to meet his. “Not to 'appear' to do what is right. To do what he believes is right, always.”

  Cyrus stood, smiling. “I admire him for it. I'll follow his lead, but I want to give him the option to pay if necessary. And if that fits with giving us a boost and a challenge to aid our retention, all the better.” His smile disappeared. “Can I ask you something?”

  Her face turned wary. “What?”

  He leaned forward, peering at her. She stared back, eyes wide, not sure what to expect. “Do you ever think about the night we had dinner in that little village...”

  She sat back and breathed in. “Elintany, it was called. South of Traegon.”

  He almost chuckled. “You remember.”

  “I do.” Her eyes held a certain reserve, and a glimmer of sadness.

  “That night, I felt like I finally got to know you better, and the next day it was as though you had shut the door to the Vara I saw there.” He moved his head, trying to meet her gaze, but she was looking away, focused on the maps in front of them. “I've seen glimpses of her since that night, but it's rare.”

  Her head snapped up, a fire burning in her eyes. “I do not wish to discuss this any further; it is a dangerous path to consider.”

  “It's dangerous to consider what?” he fired back. “That you could melt that icy shield around you and come out and talk to me like a human being?” She rolled her eyes as she flipped her hair to reveal her pointed ears and stared him down. “Poor choice of words – like an elf being – whatever you'd call it. Like a person,” he said with urgency, “rather than as someone constantly worried about being harmed.”

  “If I worry about being harmed,” she said with a tinge of outrage, “perhaps that says something about what I might expect from a man like you –”

  “A man like me?” Cyrus reeled back in shock.

  “A human,” she snapped back. “Let me ask you this: do you still want to kill every goblin in Enterra?”

  He tensed but did not answer.

  “I see.” Her eyes pulsed with a self-righteous fury. “Do you still dream about them at night, wish to claw at the Empress and Emperor and visualize their slaughter?”

  “Of course I do!” Cyrus erupted. “He was my best friend and they killed him!”

  “This sort of human bravado can get us killed!” she shouted back. “When we go into the Trials of Purgatory, the Gatekeeper will know your very soul! Part of the Trials is facing his attack on your very essence – he says things to undermine your confidence. He knows your weaknesses and he will nettle you with the things you fear and the things you're obsessing over, try to hurt you with words and thoughts.”

  “Words don't concern me. Words can't harm me.”

  She laughed, but it was a bitter and scornful sound. “I have seen him use words to turn guildmates against one another. So perhaps I'm not as worried about his words harming you as his words causing you to harm another.”

  “You really think I'd harm anyone?” He straightened, trying to meet her gaze, but she had once more turned her eyes away. “Do you think I'd harm you? I know you don't hate me anymore –”

  “I never did; do not presume to tell me my own emotions –”

  “Well you acted like you did, and you don't anymore –”

  “We'll see about that –”

  “Fine,” he said with a burst of fury. “I can see this was a stupid topic of conversation for me to bring up. Let's get back to focusing on the plans,” he said with a shake of the head. “But we'll do it tomorrow morning; I'm done for the night.” Without waiting for her to say anything else, he walked from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Chapter 19

  “Cy,” the female voice interrupted his stride halfway across the foyer. He turned, ready to spit venom, only to have the desire fade as he took in the speaker.

  “Niamh,” he acknowledged. The red-haired druid stood next to a goblin – dark green, scaled skin, almost the size of a dwarf, and possessed of long ears and sharp teeth. His eyes were cast down but his pupils were ringed with a yellow iris, visible even a few paces away because of their striking color. His body was covered by a light blue robe and bore the lettering given to wizards. Cyrus looked closer at the goblin, who appeared nervous and was almost twitching.

  “My name is Mendicant,” the goblin said with a bow, still not lifting his eyes to meet Cyrus's. “I am pleased to meet you, Lord Davidon.”

  The internal tension that Cyrus had felt upon spying the goblin dissolved. “I... can't say I've ever been called Lord Davidon before,” Cy said with a smile. “I am pleased to meet you, Mendicant. Niamh has told me good things about you.”

  The goblin bowed again. “I only hope to be able to live up to her expectations, m'lord.”

  “Stop calling him 'm'lord',” Niamh commanded. “You'll swell his ego.”

  “Don't stop on my account,” Cyrus replied. “She's just jealous because you don't call her Lady Niamh.”

  “Oh, he does,” she said with a smile. “But as a more mature, stable individual, I can take a compliment without letting it go to my head.”

  Mendicant looked back and forth between them. “Let's remember the new recruit in our midst, Niamh, and keep the focus on getting to know him better,” Cyrus said with an ingratiating smile. “Mendicant, you seem different than the goblins I've met in the past.”

  Mendicant's eyebrow arched. “Because I'm wearing clothing and not clawing at you?”

  Cyrus studied him for any sign of sarcasm. Finding none, he replied, “That's a start.”

  “There are more goblins like me than you'd think,” Mendicant said. “Our city is ruled by the royalty, and they are the warrior caste; all else is secondary to them. They take the strongest fighters and indoctrinate them into the ruling class, and lord over the rest of us with an iron fist. Most of my people hate life in Enterra.”

  Cyrus rubbed the stubble on his chin. “The Emperor and Empress are not beloved of all the goblins?”

  Mendicant shook his head. “Only the warrior caste, but that's all it takes. We have no magic users trained in Enterra for fear it would diminish the power of the warriors.” He looked down. “I may not look it to your eyes, but I am average for a goblin, too small to be a warrior. So they would have me be a worker, always doomed to be a second-class citizen. If a warrior wants to have his way with your life-mate, they may.”

  His teeth showed at the thought, but Cy noticed they were smaller and less pointed than the goblins he had fought previously. “So I left. Better to live under my own conditions, with no goblins around me than the way they would have me live. But they do not let you leave voluntarily – I had to escape.”

  A curiosity welled to the surface of Cyrus's mind. “I need to ask you something, Mendicant.”

  A nod. “Anything, Lord Davidon.”

  “What does gezhvet mean?”

  Mendicant recoiled and blinked several times. “You have heard of the gezhvet?”

  “I've heard the word. I need to know what it means.”

  Mendicant looked around, as if he were afraid of someone overhearing them. “Gezhvet is a tale of hope among the non-warriors, and a nightmare to the ruling class. Warriors have not always ruled our city. Several hundred years ago, we had a society that was wise, ruled by thinkers, scholars, workers and soldiers equally. Then came the days
of upheaval when a strong General protected us from a great scourge that came from across the Sea of Carmas, and afterward came to believe that only martial strength was fit to rule. And so the ruling class was born.

  “But the Prophecy of the Gezhvet is from the last of our magic users – a seer of some renown, who made many prophecies, all of which have come true after a fashion.”

  “After a fashion?” Niamh asked.

  “Prophecies are bullshit.” Cyrus shook his head.

  Mendicant hesitated. “Prophecies are vaguely worded – the story of the gezhvet states that a dwarf shall come forth and be the ruin of the warrior caste and free the goblin underclass. It produces a great fear of dwarves in the royalty.”

  Cyrus had a stricken look on his face. “You know that my friend who died in Enterra was a dwarf?”

  “I did not. It could be they considered him the gezhvet, and killed him to trumpet their defeat of the prophecy. The royalty would pay any price to avoid the doom brought by the gezhvet.”

  Cyrus set his jaw. “Even trade away their Hammer of Earth for a warning that he was coming?”

  “They traded away Terrenus?” Mendicant's jaw dropped in outrage. There was a beat of stunned silence before the goblin spoke again, his voice high. “That is the birthright of my people!”

  “You sound surprised.”

  Mendicant shook his head. “I should not be surprised. The powerful hold onto that power with all their strength. And with a race of warriors, that strength is considerable.”

  Cyrus nodded back. “Although we are embroiled in our own problems at present, the day may come when we delve into the depths of Enterra once more. I trust that won't be a problem for you?”

  “So long as you don't wade through the streets of the city, filling it with the blood of my people, there is no problem,” Mendicant said with a shake of his head. “If your intention is to storm the keep of the Imperials, you have my assistance every step of the way. And,” he said with a jagged-toothed smile, “I believe I can be of great assistance in that.”

  “It would seem we have a common foe. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mendicant,” Cyrus said with a smile.

  Mendicant bowed. “I am proud to enter the service of so noble and honored a guild as Sanctuary.”

  Cyrus closed his eyes for a moment. “I wish I could say that we were as honored as we used to be, but unfortunately events have turned against us recently.”

  “These are but temporary problems,” Mendicant said with a wave of his clawed hand. “Niamh has informed me of the difficulties and I am certain that you will clear this matter up.”

  “I appreciate your confidence.”

  Mendicant bowed once more as Niamh led him away, up the stairs toward the applicant's quarters.

  “Cyrus,” came a quiet voice from behind him.

  He turned and exhaled, the energy rushing from his body. “I don't have the energy for another argument tonight.”

  Vara stood before him, hands in the air in surrender. “I did not seek you out to fight you. I overheard your conversation with the goblin. I am impressed,” she admitted. “You handled that well; better than I would have given you credit for.”

  “Because I didn't sink my teeth into his throat like the vicious dog you think I am?”

  “Perhaps I spoke in error.” Her hands fumbled at her sides, flitting from the plates of her greaves, where they left marks of perspiration in the shape of her palms on the shining metal. “My last experience in Purgatory was not a positive one. Amarath's Raiders barely won the day and it was a vicious final battle that ended in a rather unfortunate spot as the Guildmaster was slain by one of his most trusted officers at the urging of the Gatekeeper.”

  Her eyes looked up and behind them was a sheen of fear, something Cyrus had never seen from Vara before. “The Gatekeeper is one of the most frightening fiends I have ever faced, but he does not fight in battle; he undermines using every insecurity you could imagine. I am... afraid of him, which is the most difficult thing that any paladin could admit.”

  “I would never harm you,” Cyrus promised. “Nor would I allow any harm to come to you.”

  “I believe you,” she said, voice unsteady. “I am ready to resume planning on the morrow when you are.” She turned and began to walk away.

  He watched her go and turned to find Aisling watching him from the shadow of a nearby doorway. “Doing a bit of eavesdropping?” he lashed at her in an accusing tone.

  She shrugged, languid smile across her face. “I like to listen. It's nice to stay informed.” A smirk lit her dark blue features. “She's not just afraid, she's terrified of this 'Gatekeeper'. Unattractive trait in a fearsome fighter, isn't it?”

  A surge of inarticulate anger straightened his spine and tingled across his scalp. “We all have our vulnerabilities. There's nothing wrong with that; it's natural.”

  “Nah.” She tossed her shoulders back in an even more casual shrug. “Not all of us do.”

  “I don't have time to search for it, but I'm sure you have a soft spot for somebody, somewhere.” He covered his eyes and bowed his head as the realization of what he'd said hit him. “You know what I mean.”

  “I have a very soft spot for you –”

  “Just stop,” he said in irritation. “Stop trying to convince yourself that you want to sleep with me.”

  Puzzlement covered her face. “But I do.”

  He laughed mirthlessly. “You do? You cannot possibly think that these ridiculous double entendres are doing anything other than irritating the hell out of me. You don't strike me as a stupid person, yet time and again you persist in following the same pattern of attack, and I rebuff you every time. It's wearing thin.” Dark clouds gathered above his eyes. “If you were really serious, you'd find a different method of approach, since the current one isn't working... at all.”

  She recoiled as though stung. “This is who I am. I'm not going to change for you.”

  “Then I've got news for you,” he said with a cold smile. “I don't like who you are. I don't find you cute or amusing, and I've had my fill of your ridiculous attempts to 'seduce' me with stupid one-liners and over-the-top displays of sexual aggression. Stop wasting your time and mine with your childish attempts.”

  “I don't think you need to worry about any of my attempts in the future,” she said, acidity filling her tone. She turned back to the shadow of the doorway, her white hair standing out in the darkness.

  “By the way,” he tossed at her disappearing back, “looks like you're as insecure and vulnerable as the rest of us.”

  Deep, rumbling sounds resonated from a nearby grating. Approaching with caution, Cyrus saw a red eye gazing up at him from below and realized that the noise was laughter. “You really have a way with the ladies, don't you?” came a voice from below.

  “Fortin?” he asked, peering into the grating. The eye blinked, showing a hint of rocklike-skin around it. “Do you listen to all the conversations that happen in the foyer?”

  “Only the ones that interest me.”

  “These are private conversations,” Cyrus said in irritation.

  “Then have them in private.” As Cyrus shook his head and began to walk away, the rock giant's voice rumbled at him again. “Don't get snippy with me because the woman you don't like likes you and the one you like doesn't,” the rock giant called from behind him.

  “You don't know what you're talking about, Fortin,” Cyrus threw back over his shoulder.

  “Then why are you walking away in such a hurry?” came the rock giant's voice one last time as Cyrus stormed up the stairwell.

  Chapter 20

  Although they planned together for several more days, Cyrus and Vara did not discuss her admission about the Gatekeeper in Purgatory. During their planning sessions, her eyes rarely met his and then only seemingly by accident. He had not seen Aisling since telling her off in the foyer; he suspected her considerable skill at evasion and stealth allowed her to avoid him without diff
iculty. Every time he passed the grate that looked down into Fortin's quarters, he heard a hearty chuckle.

  The day of assembly for Purgatory came at last; although reaction to the banishment and shunning of the guild had been unpleasant, the announcement of the Purgatory expedition coupled with Alaric's promise that they would do all in their power to resolve it had cushioned the blow. Patrols left on horseback every morning and evening, scouring the plains for any sign of the raiders. With only a few exceptions, most of the guild had accepted it to be a temporary situation that would be remedied soon.

  “After all,” Andren said when Cyrus had asked for his feeling on how the the guild was taking the news, “they know we're not responsible for the attacks, so they assume the rest of the world will figure that out as well.”

  Cyrus nodded and cast a glance down the corridor they were standing in to make sure no one was nearby. “And what do you think?”

  The elf looked at him warily. “Most of our guildmates are from you younger races. Few of the elves here are as old as I. They're all a bit taken in by your human optimism.”

  “But not you?”

  “It's not that I don't want to believe that we'll find the raiders and all this will be resolved peaceably,” Andren said with a grimace. “The problem is that whoever they are, they've been exceptional at avoiding us so far. So who's to say they're going to get sloppy now? And without them, we've no evidence, which leaves us...”

  “Still accused,” Cyrus agreed. “So the question becomes, after we finish buoying guild morale with this Purgatory expedition, what can we do to speed up the capture of the raiders?”

  Andren pulled his flask from beneath his cloak and held it up in a salute to Cy. “That's the question now, isn't it? How do you catch them when they almost seem like ghosts?” He looked around. “Uh, no offense to Alaric.”

  Cyrus chuckled. “I don't think he's lingering in the air watching you.”

  Andren took another swig. “After what you've told me about his disappearing act, I don't rule anything out. But if you could disappear into the air,” he said with a conspiratorial smile, “wouldn't you take a wander through the female applicant baths?”