The Sanctuary Series: Volume 02 - Avenger Read online

  “Then why aren't you afraid to confront him?” Cyrus asked. “And why is he afraid of you? Are you more powerful than he?”

  Alaric smiled. “I knew him before he was the Hand of the Gods, and I know his darkest secrets, lies and fears better than anyone – and many times those are worth more in a battle than a sword.”

  “How did you know him?” Cyrus asked.

  “A matter for another time,” Alaric said. “We have business to attend to.”

  “You know what that means, right, Cy?” Terian said with a chuckle.

  “Yes,” Cyrus said with a sour expression. “It means 'don't bother asking later, either'.”

  Alaric chuckled. “In time, gentlemen, all will be revealed... to those who are patient.”

  “Guess that rules me out,” Terian snarked.

  As they approached the shore, others from their army waded out to join them in carrying the eel. Larana stood quietly at the fore, with a smile on her face, and a cutting knife in her hand. Her eyes followed Cy as he led the party carrying the eel and dropped it at her feet. “All yours,” Cyrus said. Her eyes flicked down at his approach, then flitted back up for just a moment, giving him a hint of vivid green before she averted them from his gaze once more.

  He walked back on dry land and threw himself down next to his armor. He watched as Thad embraced Martaina, and she began to help him put his armor back on, piece by piece. The warrior's expression was still haunted, listless, in spite of trying to smile for his wife.

  Cyrus looked for Aisling, but she was not to be seen. Erith was aiding Cass in putting his armor back on, as J'anda helped Terian. Nyad assisted Menlos, causing Cyrus to shake his head at the odd sight – the usually filthy, wandering northman and the composed elven princess.

  He looked up with a start as someone approached him. Vara stood before him, dripping. “Do you require assistance with your armor?”

  He smiled. “You wouldn't mind being my squire?”

  She sighed and rolled her eyes. “I am offering my assistance. Do you wish it or not?”

  “I would love it. It's easier when I'm pulling the pieces off the bust I have in my quarters, instead of trying to strap it on and bend over to pick up the next piece.”

  She rolled her eyes again. “I have been known to wear armor myself, from time to time.”

  “Yes.” He nodded, staring absentmindedly at her chestplate, still gleaming in spite of having been so recently submerged in dirty water. “And you wear it well,” he said without thinking.

  She stopped fastening his pauldrons. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  He cringed. Oh, screw it. “I didn't mean to say that, but it means that in addition to being damned handy with a sword and a nightmare to argue with, you're also very pretty.”

  She resumed fastening the straps on his armor, but her eyes looked down. “You forgot to mention how intelligent and charming I am.”

  He grinned. “And they say I have a big ego.” She pushed him roughly, but had a sly smile to match his.

  “We've done well so far,” she admitted, changing the subject. “The final two islands will be more difficult, but I have confidence we will prevail.”

  “Next is fire,” he said. “I'm not much looking forward to it.”

  “It is not an enjoyable battle,” she admitted, fastening the straps on his breast and backplate. “I recall my armor getting hot enough that it burned me even through my undergarments.”

  A moment's thought gave him pause as he considered her undergarments. Shaking that thought away, he fastened his belt and adjusted his scabbard. “How do I look?” he asked her with his best dashing smile.

  Her eyes only half-rolled and she placed his helm on his head with undue force, jarring him. “Better if we could get a helmet that covered your face, like Alaric's.”

  He sighed. “I just called you pretty. I don't suppose there will ever be a moment when you'll let your guard down and say something nice about me that's not related to my performance as an officer or a General?”

  She did not speak, but her gaze softened and she hesitated before turning and walking away, one slow step at a time.

  “No insult?” he said to her retreating back, then lowered his voice. “It's a start.”

  Chapter 25

  “All right,” Cyrus called out to the army. “Next is the island of fire.” He outlined in a few sentences what he expected of them, and they set out on a path over the lake with the aid of Falcon's Essence, floating a foot above the water. They reached the far gate, already open for them, and Cyrus marched through first. On the other side was a much smaller island, and instead of dry dust or rock, scorched earth greeted them, alight with scattered flames burning on the ground. The air smelled of acrid smoke, of burnt things, flesh and wood and metal.

  “It looks like a battlefield,” Vaste said with a tone of awe. The troll stood to Cyrus's side, looking over the burnt ground as Niamh moved behind them among the Sanctuary army, dispelling the Falcon's Essence – it was not an easy matter to fight while floating.

  In the middle of the island was a pit in the ground, filled with fire. “That's it?” Cyrus looked for Vara. She was not in the front ranks of the army.

  Alaric caught his eye, nodding. “That is the Siren of Fire.”

  “Where's Vara?” Cyrus asked, surprised. She never leaves the front line of battle.

  “Here,” she announced, pushing to the front. “I was checking with some of our spell casters to ensure they were ready. Alaric is quite right. Approach the flame and she will come for you.”

  “All right.” He nodded and shifted his attention to the army. “Move into position, encircle the flame, and wait for my signal to move in.”

  “What's your signal?” Terian asked. “A girlish scream of, 'It burns, it burns'?”

  “No,” Cyrus said with a shake of his head. “I wouldn't want to be mistaken for you using the lavatory.”

  Terian flinched. “You can hear that? Through the walls?”

  “I can.” Cy clapped the dark elf on the back with a broad grin that was not shared by Terian and stalked off toward the flame in the middle of the island.

  Cy watched out of the corner of his eye as the Sanctuary army encircled him. He slowed his walk to give them time to complete the circle. He looked to the flames, burning in the pit. The fire stretched above his head and seemed to be emanating from the ground itself. As he closed on it, something began to take shape in the bottom of the fire.

  With a screech so loud it made him look away for a second, the flames rose into the air and coalesced into a female form, a little taller than him. The fire slid up to reveal flesh beneath, red skin and a scathing look as the face was revealed. The flame settled at several points around the body, enshrouding both hands, both feet, and becoming the creature's hair.

  “I am the Siren of Fire,” came a voice that was melodic but tinged with a note of chaos. Without any warning, it flew at him, eyes burning and her hands grasped him by the armor, heating it to an unbearable temperature. He brought his sword down against her flesh but she knocked his hand away with almost no effort and battered him with a flaming slap across the face that sent him reeling.

  “Good enough signal for me!” Terian shouted as he attacked. She parried his overhand axe blow and grabbed the dark knight by the neck and hurled him bodily into three other Sanctuary attackers. One of them, a ranger, was killed by Terian's spiked pauldron upon impact.

  Cyrus felt his chainmail burning through his undershirt as he pushed to his feet and checked his armor. It was hot but not melting. He blinked and watched as the Siren threw her hand out as though she were tossing a ball and a wall of fire ten feet high sprang up in a line leading through a densely packed group of spell casters. Screams filled the air as robes caught fire. Several of them ran, in flames. Alaric and Curatio charged toward the chaos. The smell of seared flesh filled the air.

  Fortin stomped through the flames, bearing down on the Siren along with a half doz
en other fighters. Smoke began to flow from her eyes and a burst of angry red shot forth, sending another half dozen combatants to the ground with blistered and blackened skin where the beam hit.

  She moved her stare to Fortin, hitting him in the chest. The rock giant stopped moving forward. The intensity of the light from her eyes increased and he took a step back, then another. She moved, a subtle bob of her head, and the beam from her eyes knocked the rock giant onto his back.

  Vara jumped at the Siren while her back was turned. As she was about to land, the Siren spun and caught the paladin with a blow that sent her rolling across the ground. Cyrus watched as she came to rest, blood trickling from her nose and a cut on her forehead, eyes closed, and his sword shook in his hands.

  He charged, blood pounding in his ears, narrowly dodging the Siren's perfectly timed answering blow. I will carve your flaming head off! he thought. He didn't even raise the short sword, catching her instead with an offhand slash that was so quick she didn't have time to riposte.

  A flurry of blows came at him, two of them glancing off his armor, heating it up and rattling him from the force. He countered with another slice, another small gash, this time across her muscled abdomen, and blood sizzled as it dripped onto the ground.

  She raised her arm, outrage blazing on her face. Her aim was true but just as she was about to connect, a blast of ice encapsulated her. Cyrus blinked in surprise and looked to see Mendicant, hands raised, a blast of freezing spell energy still flying from his long, clawed fingers.

  Cracks began to appear in the ice and an explosion rocked the island. The Siren of Fire burst forth, cloaked in flames once more. A hail of arrows greeted her from the rangers holding position at the edge of the island, standing apart from the chaos in the middle.

  Her feet returned to the ground and the flames retracted from her body, but the fire remained in her eyes. The red beam she had shot from them now honed in on him, hitting him in the center of the chest and left him clutching his sides and gasping as though he were hit by a battering ram operated by a host of trolls. He spit out a mouthful of blood and watched as Sanctuary army attacked again.

  Thad and Cass moved toward her, each plunging their sword at her from opposite sides. Her arms moved quickly enough that on her left, Thad scored only a minor slash before she slammed him to the dirt, but on her right Cass managed to dig his blade several inches into her thigh before being backhanded head over feet.

  Terian and Vara flanked her next, distracting her with a frontal assault while several newer warriors that Cyrus knew only by face attacked from behind, stabbing her in the back. The eyes flared once more and the Siren of Fire screamed, her flaming hair extending and taking on a life of its own, whipping back the attackers behind her while she moved forward to deal with Terian and Vara.

  One of the Siren's hands reached between the spiked pauldrons and grasped Terian by the neck while she fended off Vara with her other. Terian raised his axe and she knocked it away. Her eyes flared once more and Terian took a full blast to the face as her hand jerked him forward. Something flew through the air, landing near the burned and wounded spell casters. It rolled to a stop as she dropped the dark knight's body, the head now missing.

  Vara let out a howl of outrage and brought her sword down before the Siren of Fire could pull back the hand with which she dropped Terian's body. The slash was powerful, cleaving the elemental's hand from her body and forcing her to stagger away after backhanding Vara once more.

  Vara stumbled and recovered. The paladin's face was covered in blood and dirt. Cyrus pushed himself to his knees then fell down, unable to breathe. He looked to Terian's body, decapitated, and felt rage, pushing himself to his knees once more, fighting for another breath. All my ribs are broken, he concluded, feeling agony in his chest.

  The Siren screamed and flung her remaining hand at Vara, sending another wave of fire, which the paladin dodged. Cyrus watched as the dozen or so combatants behind her, who did not have the dexterity given her by her armor, were consumed in the wall of flame, screaming and tossing themselves to the ground.

  “Curatio,” he muttered, but the Healer was far from him, across the battle, and tending to the spell casters that had been burned by the last wave of fire thrown by the Siren.

  A swell of relief filled his chest and his lungs inhaled; most of the pain vanished, leaving only an echo behind. He drew himself to his feet and looked behind him to see Erith shaking her head. “Go,” she said, worried look written on her face.

  Cyrus threw himself into battle again, rage burning through his veins like the fires scattered across the island. Vara was drawing to her feet again as well, he saw, and her face was crisscrossed with open cuts, blood dripping along her cheek and chin, but her jaw was set and her sword was raised.

  The Siren of Fire drew her hand back as if to throw another burst of flame but Cyrus lunged, crossing the last of the distance between them and plunged his sword into her side. He brought it across her stomach, slitting her belly as she brought her remaining hand across and knocked him six feet into the air.

  He landed with a thump a few feet away and Vara moved in to attack as the Siren was hit with another flight of arrows, peppering her body. The shafts and fletchings burned upon impact and the wounds dripped with melted metal from the arrowheads.

  Vara struck from behind, bringing her sword down overhand and cutting several inches into the Siren's shoulder. The elemental's eyes blazed once more and Vara went flying from the blast, almost to the edge of the island. Upon landing, she did not move.

  Cyrus rolled from his back and jumped to his feet, ignoring the dozen pains he felt. A figure shoved him back roughly and filled his view.

  Alaric Garaunt stepped forward from where he had pushed Cyrus back, sword in hand. The Ghost took two quick strides forward and brought his blade down more quickly than Cyrus could have imagined possible for the old knight as he parried her attack. She struck again and once more he avoided it, scoring a stabbing blow to her midsection in return. His hand reached out and she staggered back from the spell he had cast, and he moved toward her again, almost a blur of motion, sweeping in to close range.

  His sword swung again, but the Siren of Fire blocked it and countered with a blow that did not even seem to impact the Ghost. He swung with another strike, leaving another gash, this time across the Siren's chest, drawing more blood and exposing bone. She staggered but threw another punch that he parried as he brought her arm down, breaking it and flipping her sideways to the ground, where he placed a boot upon her chest. He brought his sword to her throat and it hovered there.

  “I have met you,” Alaric said with a cold indifference, “I have bested you, and in the name of Sanctuary, I send you back to your god.” A cool understanding lit the Siren's eyes, the Ghost's sword plunged down and the fires on the Siren's body flickered and went out like blown candles, with only wisps of smoke drifting over the corpse.

  Cyrus looked around at the detritus of the force around him. Three quarters of them were wounded in some way and at least half were on the ground, moaning or worse. Cyrus's eyes looked across the island to find Vara, still unmoving. He rushed to her, feet thudding across the dusty ground.

  He dropped to her side and rolled her over. She coughed and blood trickled down her chin from her mouth. She tried to speak but gasped and more blood poured out. “Healer!” he shouted. Her eyes rolled back in her head.

  A sparkle of light ran up her body, and Cyrus turned to see Alaric standing behind him. “Do not be concerned; I can tend to her wounds. Our Healers are otherwise occupied.”

  Vara sat up in Cyrus's arms, breathing heavily. “I am in your debt once more, Alaric.” She looked around and a glimmer of sadness crossed her face. “Just like old times.”

  Alaric's expression was nearly unreadable through his helm, but Cyrus could have sworn he saw a flicker of some deep emotion run across the Ghost's face, but when he looked again, it was gone. “Indeed,” he responded.

 
“What about Terian?” Cyrus asked.

  Alaric held up his hand to stay the warrior. “Curatio is working on him as we speak.”

  Cyrus stood and ran to the spot where Curatio, Vaste, Andren and Erith stood, looking down with a small crowd gathered around them. Cyrus broke through the observers and saw the dark elf, eyes open wide and staring at him.

  “We brought him back,” Curatio said. “Tricky thing, the timing of the spells – a resurrection spell, a heal to rejoin the body parts – which, with a decapitation, usually causes death again, then another resurrection spell and another heal, some incantations to restore vitality.”

  Cyrus looked to the dark knight laying prostrate on the ground. “How do you feel?”

  “I feel like I just got the hell beat out of me by a living fireball until my head popped off.” Terian scowled at him. “How do you think I feel?”

  “Crabby.”

  The dark knight's scowl lessened. “And thirsty.”

  Curatio winced. “I wouldn't drink anything for a bit. Reattaching a head is tricky business. We're going to need to do some targeted healing to your neck later to make sure there aren't any holes.”

  Terian sighed. “So you're saying that if I take a drink right now, I might spring a leak? Marvelous.”

  “At least it won't burn,” Cy added with an innocuous expression.

  “I hate you,” Terian said, scowl deepening.

  “Because my expedition got you killed?”

  “Please. I hated you long before this.” Cyrus laughed. Terian tried and ended up with a coughing fit.

  Erith spoke up from behind them. “Andren, I didn't think you knew the resurrection spell?” she said with a frown.

  “No, I do,” the healer said defensively.

  Her frown deepened. “You didn't before. And I know you haven't been gone for two years to learn it.”

  “Hey!” Terian said. “Can we please focus on what's important over here – namely, me?”

  “Sorry,” Erith muttered, but did not sound remorseful. Her eyes followed Andren, narrowed to suspicious slits.