of Sanctuary and the guard towers on the wall, brown strips of ground where the green had simply been lost from overtravel. A rain had started, one that made everything smell more pungent somehow, fresh earth on the path as though it had been tilled. She watched him disappear inside and she followed at a jog, trying to catch him. “Alaric!” she called. She quickened her pace, breaking into a run, feeling the first droplets splash her cheeks as she did so. There was a peal of thunder in the far distance, and she ignored it as she climbed the steps and entered the foyer.
The doors were open, shedding the grey light of day into the room. It was quiet now, of course, with nearly everyone out on the wall from repelling the latest attack. Larana was visible in the opening to the Great Hall, along with-
“Yes?” The Ghost did not turn to face her, leaving his armored back in her full view, his bucket-shaped helm only slightly twisted as if to acknowledge her. “What can I do for you, Vara?” It was slow death, his every word, a sort of weariness she recognized in her own soul.
“You killed him.” She heard the bluntness and was surprised at the lack of accusation. “For nearly nothing-”
“He raised his hand to you,” Alaric said, and his helm slid so that he was facing once more toward the officer’s table at the far end of the Great Hall. “I found that unacceptable.”
“A great many men and beasts have raised a hand at me,” Vara said. “I should think you would find it to be a full-time occupation to kill them all.”
“But a worthy one, I believe,” the Ghost said, quietly.
Vara let her boots clink step by step toward him. “This is unlike you, Alaric. Snapping in Council. Killing an annoying dwarf who but raised a hand to me. Slaughtering prisoners as they surrender. What has happened to you? Where is this burgeoning darkness coming from?”
The helm came around again, and she saw his chin in profile, his mouth a thin line. “Perhaps it has always been here.”
“No.” She took a last quiet step and laid a hand upon his shoulder. “I have known you for years. Seen you in one of the darkest periods of your life, in fact, which was upon the day we met. This? I have never seen this from you. Not you.”
His helm slid away, hiding his face wholly from her. “You know nothing of my darkness.”
She blanched at his response. “Were you not the man who counseled me away from deadly action? Were you not the one who guided me back to the path of the light after my fall? Did you not say that vengeance leads to dark roads, roads that are not worth walking?”
There was a quiet for a moment before he responded. “Sometimes,” he said, “you look down upon a road that you’ve chosen in earnest, with best intent, and it leads to a far different place than you thought it might when you chose it. Dark roads, yes, they are not worth walking. But sometimes the path turns dark of its own accord, long after you’ve begun your walk down it.”
“This is not the path,” she said and tried to step around him to look him in the face, but he turned so abruptly it threw her off balance. “Why will you not look me in the eyes when I talk to you?”
He took a step away from her, still giving her nothing but his back. “I hear you just fine. Finish speaking your mind.”
She let her mouth drop slightly open. “But do you listen?”
He swung around on her then, and she saw the fury burning within him. “I listen. All I do is listen. To you. To your guildmates. Your fears, your worries. Will the dark elves break down the gates? Will I die here, in Sanctuary, still but a bloom not yet come to flower?” His face went from frightful to neutral, which made her stomach lurch alarmingly, giving her more than a pinch of fear. “How many crises must I lead you through? How much counsel must I give that is ignored? How many times must I watch others die undeserving-” His voice broke, and she flinched at it. “How many sacrifices must I make before the end? How many times must I give all to you and to your brethren here?”
He brought his hand up and slammed his gauntlet into his chest in a fist, and it made a dreadful clank that echoed through the Great Hall. “I have fought for this guild. Believed in this guild, in our purpose, believed in it when no one else did. I have bled for it, and I would die for it.” He waved a hand around him, as though to encompass the entirety of Sanctuary, and all the people standing out on the walls. “Yet I have an army who worries for their lives. Not for the world that will burn if we fail but for themselves.” He sagged, and she saw the fight go out of his eyes. “And I fear for them as well. For them, and for all Arkaria.”
His hand came up, and she saw his long fingers clutch at his chin. “I cannot keep carrying the purpose of this guild all on my back; I cannot keep believing when no one else does.” He raised a hand out, as though he were going to point, and then let it fall to his side. “I cannot do it all on my own.” He seemed to recede then, as if he was stepping away from her, but she realized that he was not; he began to dim, to turn translucent in the lighting. “I will carry it as long as I can, as far as I can, until I reach my limits, and then, I think you will find … I will merely fade away.”
The mist rose up around her, encircling her for a moment, and then disappeared, just as he said, into nothingness.
Chapter 96
Cyrus
“Drettanden,” Cyrus whispered, and his fingers wrapped around the hilt of Praelior, the sword in his hand before he finished speaking.
The enormous scourge-beast stood before him. He handed Windrider’s reins to Cattrine as Drettanden snorted, filling the air with the reek of death again, bad enough that Cattrine gagged as it hit them. “Take this,” he said, pressing the leather into her fingers. “Be ready to lead them down to this dock.”
“And the people of Caenalys?” Cattrine muttered, coughing from the stench.
“If this thing is here,” Cyrus said darkly, watching as Drettanden stared at him, unmoving, “the streets are already flooded with his brethren. This battle is over.”
“Cyrus,” Martaina said quietly, still watching Drettanden as it stared at them.
“Go with her,” Cyrus said to Martaina then let his gaze flick to Aisling. “You too. We have no healer and the two of you carry short blades that won’t even make a dent in this thing’s hide. Get out of here. I’ll cover your retreat.”
“And an escape plan for yourself?” J’anda said, sotto voce.
“I expect I’ll be diving off the balcony in the throne room in five minutes or less,” Cyrus said. “It would be lovely if someone were there to fish me out of the water.”
“Five minutes?” Martaina let out a low whistle, and Drettanden growled menacingly to match it. “You’re feeling optimistic about your chances against that thing?”
“I like my odds,” Cyrus said, never breaking eye contact with the thing that stared at him. “Go. Now.” He clutched Praelior as Cattrine brushed a hand against his shoulder, so softly he couldn’t feel it. With a subtle look she went to his right, and he saw Martaina cast a regretful look as well, then slip away quietly along with her, horse in tow. Aisling went next, then J’anda. Cyrus listened for their quiet footsteps as they angled through a small, open door to where he could see a flat ramp spiral downward, and watched as the last of them faded into the darkness of it.
“So …” Cyrus said, looking at the scourge creature which stared back at him. It took a step forward, taking a deep breath, then exhaling so strongly Cyrus found himself wanting to retch. “Please stop that, will you?” The red eyes widened at him. “Do you have any idea what your breath smells like? Corpses. Yeesh. Do you eat everything you come across? Because you could stand to digest a field of mint, my friend-”
The grey lips came apart and Drettanden filled the air with a screeching roar, leering at Cyrus with a hard- edged gaze, mouth hanging open and enormous teeth exposed.
