Crusader

Longwell nodded grimly. “I would estimate more started and were trapped along the roads or caught behind the lines as the scourge moved to sweep down along the eastern road through Galbadien. Those people are trapped behind the scourge now, and nothing can save them. They’re exposed, and the scourge will have at them at will. There is no effective fighting force outside of this peninsula left on Luukessia. We can only hope that perhaps a few of them made it to boats and can make the slow way around the land unfettered by those things.”

“They can’t swim,” Cyrus said. “We found that out in Caenalys. Unless they can walk along the bottom of the sea, I think we’re safe from them across bodies of water.”

“They breathe,” Longwell said. “I’ve found that out from the stink of their breath and the realization that they cease breathing when they die. I doubt they’ll be able to do much on the bottom of the sea save for drown, like the rest of us.”

“Quite an assumption,” Cyrus said, “but I’m hoping you’re right.” He looked east, to the horizon, where the midday sun was just starting to come down from its apogee. “Only hours til they get here? I suppose we should rest for a piece, and make ready.” He felt the set of his jaw as it got heavy, and the slightest bit of determination from somewhere inside crept up, like a friend he hadn’t seen in a long time. “Because it’s going to be a long fight after this.”

Chapter 100

Vara

Day 214 of the Siege of Sanctuary

She sat in the lounge, staring at the front window as the spring rain drizzled down outside, little speckling turning the glass into refractions, tilting the little bit of light that came down in different directions. The smell of home cooking was in the air, Larana’s finest efforts at turning pickled eggs, conjured bread and old mead into something palatable seemed to be working; in fact, Vara could not much tell the difference between the smell of what the druid was creating now from what she created with the freshest meats and vegetables. In the case of most, that would be a damning criticism indeed. In her case, it’s praise. Her mouth watered as she took a deep sniff of the air around.

The sound of a dozen practice swordfights being conducted in the foyer were like a steady clank of metal in her ears, deafening in their way, causing her to clutch the stuffed arms of the chair with all their padding. It was a soft touch against her hands; her gauntlets lay at the table to her side, along with her book, The Crusader and the Champion. Can’t seem to get into it at all. I haven’t been able to since … since he left.

There was a shout of triumph, and she turned her head to see Belkan with his blade at Thad’s neck. “You may be one of our best,” the old armorer said to the red-clad warrior, whose face was as scarlet as his armor, “but age and experience still beats youth and speed from time to time.”

She let her mind drift back. Her eyes drifted to the window, still spotted with the rain. Will he ever come back? It’s been a year and more, now. She chided herself for a fool. Even if he wanted to return, the portal is closed. He would have to go to Reikonos and wait there until the embargo was lifted. A glumness lay upon her, deep sadness draped over her shoulders like a shawl on a chill day. We are truly cut off from the outside world. That is the lasting legacy of what the Sovereign has wrought here, to place us under his thumb once and for all, without any way to come back and forth, to get supplies-she thought of Isabelle, and the briefest hint of sadness grew-to see family, friends. He means to drive us out, to kill us, or worse. How Alaric sees all this and still manages to believe so strongly in the mission, in the ideal of disrupting and holding against the Sovereign …

Then again, should we fall, we lose our home.

There was a stir behind her, a quiet that settled over the foyer, and she turned her head to see Alaric come out of the Great Hall, walking. He rarely walks these days, flitting from place to place in his ethereal mists-or whatever they are. She stood, grabbing her gauntlets and book, and marched toward the entry doors as Alaric headed toward them, nodding at those he passed and speaking to a few.

“Well done, Belkan,” Alaric said as he passed the space where the armorer was sparring with Thad. “You continue to prove that skill and ability are ageless things and that a heart and willingness are enough for a fight.”

“Let us hope we don’t have to prove your theory correct in an all-out battle,” Belkan said to Alaric. “I’d just as soon stay in the armory with a dead quiet than continue to have to sharpen these young ones for a battle I’d rather not fight.”

“Agreed,” Alaric said, passing between the two of them smoothly, clapping each on the shoulder with great assurance and with none of the darkness of the soul he’d exhibited when last he’d spoken with Vara privately. She had not seen much of the Ghost since then. There had been no Council meetings and no change, the wall continuing to be assailed in earnest every few days. “The purpose of this guild was never to sit here and defend our own keep, and that it has come to this is a measure of the depths that Arkaria finds itself in rather than a commentary on us, I think.” He gave a slight nod. “I think.”

He graced Thad and Belkan with a smile and then kept on, giving a ranger he passed a slap on the shoulder for good measure, causing the man, a dwarf, to smile and blush at the acknowledgment of his guild leader. He’s so good at this when he wants to be. They respect him, they love him, even though he maintains his air of mysteriousness and aloofness. They would follow him into the Realm of Death on a whim, just like-

She felt the stab of pain inside and ignored it, placing herself before the door and directly in Alaric’s path. He noted her but did not adjust his course and did not look up until he was nearly upon her. “Lass,” he said as he came to the doors.

“Alaric,” she said.

“I’m going to inspect the inner walls,” he said, gesturing toward the door she was blocking. “If there’s something on your mind, perhaps you’d care to accompany me as I go.”

She gave a very subtle half turn to look at the door before realizing how pointless it was to look at a closed door in indecision. “It’s raining.”

“A true deluge,” Alaric admitted. “And exactly why I am going now. The run of the water will apprise us of any breaches, any places where the drainage is poor, any areas of concern. The water shows us the truth of the wall, I think, and the strength of our barrier.”

“Yes, very well,” she said, and looked back to the table just inside the foyer. Laying her book upon it, she pulled her gauntlets on, one by one, and grasped the door handle, opening it for her Guildmaster. “Shall we?”

He eyed her curiously, dismissed the fact that she was holding the door open for him and walked through. She followed and the patter of the rain upon her helm began a moment later. Alaric paused outside the door on the first step as the rain fell upon him. He raised his face skyward, as though he were trying to expose himself to the drowning sky, and Vara watched, huddling closer to the door, trying to shelter herself using the slight indent of the main doors to protect her from the downpour. It was only minimally effective.

“Do you feel the liberation that the rains grant?” He turned to look at her, a solemnity and peace visible on the part of his face she could see. “It is spring, and the rains mean growth and the coming green of summer. All the vestiges of the hard winter will be washed away as though they were our past sins, and we will be left left with nothing but a new field, freshly tilled, ready to be planted with whatever we will.”

“My field appears ill-tilled and filled to the brimming with dark elves,” she said sourly. “But perhaps I’m seeing it wrong. Though I would consider myself very fortunate if the spring rains would wash them all away and leave me with an empty field once more.”

Alaric gave the slightest chuckle. “So would we all, but that is not always the point of the storm. When the real downpours begin, you cannot always control what is washed away. Sometimes you lose a part of your field, of your crop. It would certainly be easier if such things did not happen, but since we see it always in nature, I find it hard to believe it would not carry over into every other facet of life.”