continent are so much larger than the enemies storming down our own gates.”
Ryin’s jaw worked open and then shut, a quick motion that caused his lips to purse. “Of course we didn’t know over there what you were experiencing here, else we might have come back a bit quicker. However-”
“This scourge,” Alaric said, interrupting. “You have mentioned the danger they pose, but you did not speak to the origin of these creatures.”
Ayend’s face went ashen. “Ah, yes. Well, you see, that’s the other part of the problem and the reason Cyrus sent me back. He wants you to send reinforcements-”
“Then he’s just as daft as ever he’s been,” Vara said, and she felt the twitch and contraction of the muscles at the corners of her eyes. “Unsurprising, given that he’s been operating out of contact for so long, but the idea that the war here would just run a pleasing and gentle course is ridiculous, and a supposed ‘master strategist’ such as Cyrus Davidon should damned well have known that the Sovereign of Saekaj wouldn’t be sitting idly by while he grew fat in his black armor, feasting beyond the eastern sea.”
“You don’t understand,” Ayend said with a shake of the head. “He’s not just fighting the good fight for the sake of it over there-”
“Because he’s never gotten involved in an ill-advised fight before?” Vara said, cutting across Ayend’s words.
“To your advantage, I believe, not his,” Ryin said.
“Yay, verbal fisticuffs,” Vaste said, “I have so missed the arguments in these chambers over the last months.”
“I haven’t,” Alaric said, dark circles under his eyes now that his helm was removed. “Vara, if you might, please allow our esteemed brother Ryin to finish his train of thought without interruption … About the origin of this scourge …?”
“Ah,” Ryin said, all contrition. “That is the sticky part, as I said.”
“Something on the order of five times now you’ve said it was a sticky part,” Vara said, her fingers now on her face and ready to dig into the skin in lieu of anything else to squeeze her frustration out on. “Some of us grow weary of being sticky-”
“Not I,” Vaste said. “I could do with more of it. Though not with any of you.”
“Perhaps you might cut to the point of it and be done,” Vara continued, ignoring the interruption, “so that those of us who have other things to do-say, seeing to the defense of Sanctuary-could get back to that.”
“Would you allow me,” Ryin said, irritation infusing his tone, “sixty uninterrupted seconds without the extreme pleasure,” he put emphasis on pleasure, as though it were the foulest curse, “of your sweet and indulgent voice, and I might complete a full sentence and thus end the story I am trying to tell.” His jaw worked as though he were chewing something heavy. “J’anda read the minds of these creatures and saw their monstrous origin, and then Cyrus and Aisling confirmed their creation by seeing-”
“What a wondrous pairing, those two,” Vara said, and her hand dropped from her face to the table again, where she dug her fingers into the edge once more.
Ryin ignored her. “-seeing how they were created. There is a portal, and it leads to Mortus’s chambers. The creatures are the souls turned loose after the God of Death’s-well, his death,” Ayend said, after struggling with the phrase. “They are the legacy of what we released when we killed Mortus.” A heavy silence covered the room before Ryin began to speak again. “Cyrus says he will stay until the end to defeat them to, ah …” Ayend pursed his lips, “… atone for his part in their release.”
Vara’s eyes met Alaric’s, which were cool indifference, but she caught a glint in them that she ignored. “Well,” she said, suppressing the internal desire to scream, “isn’t that … noble … of him.”
“He’s quite the honorable chap,” Ayend said coolly.
“Interesting to hear you speak so favorably of him,” Vaste said with amusement, “seeing as you’ve always been his harshest critic.”
“I’m everyone’s harshest critic,” Ryin said, sitting up straight in his chair, “because I don’t believe in letting ideas pass unless they’ve some virtue and until they’ve been considered carefully. Perhaps we made a mistake in killing Mortus, perhaps we erred in defending Termina for the evacuation, perhaps not on one or both counts; either way, there are plainly consequences that need to be dealt with by someone, both here and abroad. Whatever our prior decisions, we are stuck with the fallout from them now, and I see Cyrus trying as best he can to cope with his part. Luukessia is at war, these things are numerous, the land is fragmented and the coming war will likely be disastrous. Cyrus could use additional forces to drive these things back and finish them in order to have Curatio destroy the portal.”
There was a long pause, and Alaric stared at Ryin from his place at the head of the table, the grey skies highlighted out the small windows behind him to the balcony. It might have been Vara’s imagination, but the sky seemed to dim further as Alaric wrapped a hand around his mouth as if trying to suppress any sound that might escape. “No,” he said at last. “His cause is, of course, just, and worthy, but the army we broke is not the last of what we will see of the dark elves. We cannot move to assist our comrades in Luukessia unless we know for fact that the dark elves have moved all their armies against other objectives.” He bowed his head. “I do not see us coming into an abundance of news in that regard, not anytime soon, not more than idle rumors.”
Vara stared at him, at the specter of quiet and defeat that hunched the Ghost’s shoulders.
Even still, she spoke. “Perhaps …” she said, “… if I went to the front south of Reikonos and spoke with my sister, who helps head the defense of human territory, we might gather some idea of how goes the war in general, and the disposition of forces. With that insight, we might know if it were safe to send another expedition to assist our beleaguered forces in Luukessia.” She clamped her mouth shut after it was said, and wanted to scream.
“An interesting idea,” Vaste said. “And here I thought you were firmly against committing any more troops outside of our walls. I wonder what might possibly have shifted the weight in your mind against that idea.”
“An outpouring of concern for our army across the sea, no doubt,” she said icily.
“Because you spend a vast majority of your time concerned about the plight of our new recruits,” Vaste replied with a barb and a raised eyebrow.
“I spend my time as an officer concerned about our entire guild, you miscreant.”
“Of course,” he said contritely.
The doors opened to the hall behind them, a slow creak of the hinges as Erith Frostmoor entered the chamber, her white hair bound behind her in a long braid, her robes tattered, the white thread now brown and smudged. “The hour is over,” she said as she took her seat, as though it were an explanation of itself.
“The hour is … what?” Vara asked her with a cocked eyebrow.
“Is over,” Erith said, her usual mischief faded, her eyes weighed down in hard lines, lips tight, the purple flesh that made them stand out from the blue skin of her face tightly compacted in a line that wavered. “The hour we have to resurrect people who might have been killed in the tower collapse is up, and they were still pulling bodies out of the stone when I left a few minutes ago.” She lowered her eyes. “It looks like a quarry where it came down, piles of block everywhere, and you can still hear moans and cries from inside, so all hope is not lost, but …”
“A terrible day,” Alaric pronounced. “To see so many of our brethren fall in a battle that we didn’t even truly partake in. How many unaccounted for?”
“Eighteen,” Erith said, her head hanging. “Some yet live, and our strongest are working to unearth them, but some are certainly lost. Then there are the consequences of the collapse. It looks like someone took the corner of the building and dragged it down, exposing all the lower floors to the air and elements. You’ll have to have someone more familiar with design tell you how that will affect things. We’ve lost a good many quarters, though, I can tell you that much.”
“We have empty housing enough,” Vaste said. “Not to marginalize the loss of the tower or the deaths, which are unpleasant, no doubt, but we will make do. The bigger concern is if the dark elves come again, with more
