Crusader

men, more war machines.”

“The Sovereign is unpredictable yet spiteful,” Alaric said, still holding himself to his seat, pensive. “Yes, I think it might be wise to have you speak to your sister about the war’s progress,” he said with a nod to Vara. “We need to know what to expect, what will be coming and how it will hit us.” He brought his hands around to steeple in front of his face. “You will go immediately, and return as soon as possible.”

“Very well,” Vara said, and began to stand.

“Hold,” Ryin said. “I will take you to Reikonos, but there is one last thing I have to report.”

“Oh, good,” Vara said, lowering herself back into her chair. “Because you weren’t overly dramatic enough with any of the other information you brought us. What pointless drivel have you left to-”

“Terian,” Ryin said, and Vara stopped speaking, a knifeblade cutting into her under the armor, as though something unseen had stabbed her.

“What about him?” Alaric said, stiff, shifting in his seat to focus attention on Ryin.

“He attempted to kill Cyrus while they were on the northern expedition.”

“Attempted to kill him?” Erith said with mild surprise. “What, did he cook his infamous vek’tag casserole again? Because that isn’t technically an attempt to kill, though your digestive tract won’t know the difference.”

“It goes somewhat beyond cooking,” Ryin said archly.

“Not many non-dark elven palates can handle that spider-meat your people consume like some of us eat chicken,” Vaste said, chiming in, “though I’ve always found vek’tag to be something of a delight.”

“Shut up,” Vara said, her voice only a whisper. How could he have known?

“What?” Vaste said, watching her. “You can’t seriously mean that Terian would actually try to kill Cyrus? This must surely be some sort of-”

“It is no mistake,” Ayend said. “It was deliberate, plotted. He cursed Cyrus and slit the throat of his horse while he was on the run from the scourge. Save for the efforts of Aisling and Mendicant, he would have died.”

“They saved him?” Vara said, and her voice cracked slightly.

If Ryin noticed, he did not call attention to it. “It was how Cyrus and Aisling discovered the origin of the scourge. They became entrapped behind enemy lines together for several days after their retreat was cut off.”

“How … fortuitous that she was able to save him,” Vara managed to choke out.

“Yes, you sound extremely pleased that she was able to risk her life in order to spare him from our guildmate’s treachery,” Vaste said. “But if I may observe, you and Alaric seem unsurprised that Terian would try such a thing. Whereas I am shocked, and there is little that shocks me, aside from the smell that comes from Erith’s quarters.”

Erith flushed a deeper blue. “I’m not much of a housekeeper.”

Vaste snorted. “And they say that trolls smell. But that is neither here nor there. The point remains that our esteemed Guildmaster and fellow officer seem to know something of this that the rest of us do not.”

“While in Termina, defending the bridge,” Vara began, “Cyrus killed a dark knight. He was Terian’s father.”

“Oh, dear,” Vaste said, his green face wiped clear of amusement for once, and his mouth open into an ‘o’ that was distorted by his ungainly teeth. “The sword.”

“What sword?” Alaric said, leaning forward now.

“Aisling brought the sword of that dark knight back to Sanctuary,” Vaste said, and shifted to one side in the chair. “She carried it with her in the escape and presented it to Cyrus as a trophy of his accomplishment.”

“His accomplishment?” Vara leaned onto the table. “I fought the bloody bastard almost to the death before Cyrus stabbed him in the back-”

“Let us keep sight of what has happened here,” Alaric said gravely. “Terian discovered a truth we hoped he would not find out until we could comfortably present it to him here, in carefully controlled circumstances.”

“It would appear the circumstances have spiralled far, far out of your control,” Erith said with a furrowed brow.

“Yes, and your predictive powers are usually spot-on,” Vaste said mildly. “I suppose we’re all allowed a failure of judgment every now and again.”

“It was not a failure of judgment,” Alaric whispered, “it was a failure of communication. I saw no way for him to know that his father had died, and so I worried not about it but of the myriad of other things we have to deal with. Had I known, I could have predicted his response, the slyness of it, the wait, the consideration. Terian is many things-conflicted, devious, somewhat cold-but revenge is not out of the question for him. If he knew what had happened, I would have assumed vengeance could follow, in its own time, and that it would be in a manner of his choosing.”

“Am I the only one wondering why you brought him back after he left the guild, then?” Ryin asked. “If you knew he was this dangerous?”

There was a pause, stark and quiet. “Because danger is not all there is to Terian,” Alaric said, “and there is good in him, enough to outweigh the baser desires, should he have the right … outlet.”

“He’s a menace,” Vara said, and the words surprised her, “and now a murderer, it seems.”

“It seems,” Alaric said. “But there are no innocents at this table, remember that. Our profession is the sword and shield, but I note that none of you choose to use a shield.”

“I use a shield all the time,” Vaste said, “but I call it Vara, and it squirms when I force it to absorb the blows of my angry enemies. Also, it speaks harshly to me sometimes.”

Vara felt the snap of heat across her cheeks. “This is hardly the time for humor, you fool. We have too many problems for you to sit here and make light of every one of them!”

“I’ve got the time,” Vaste said. “What else would I be doing? Trying to solve them? They’re a world away! Silly idea, that.”

“Enough,” Alaric said quietly and turned back to Ryin. “Why did Cyrus not send Terian back with you?”

Ryin started to speak, then stopped. “I don’t know. He was in something of a hurry to go meet with the army and prepare them to move. I’m certain it slipped his mind.”

“It slipped his mind to send a dangerous prisoner who wants him dead back to a place where he could be held with some modicum of security in our dungeons?” Vara asked, incredulous. “I shouldn’t be surprised, his head as full of pudding as it is, but here we are, nonetheless …”

Erith’s eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t sound as though Cyrus is functioning at a terribly high level to have overlooked something so elementary as that, even after a few months away. And to remain out of contact for as long as he has with all this going on …” She shook her head. “He’s under duress, I’m sure.”

“Vara,” Alaric said, “if you could speak with your sister, that would be helpful to us in planning our next move.”

“Yes,” she said, “very well,” and stood up. Ryin matched her across the table. “Do warn the army guarding the foyer that we will return, likely in the middle of the night at this point, and so if they could be generous and give us a moment’s hesitation before trying to impale us, it would be appreciated.”

“You’re not capable of anything so mild as appreciation,” Vaste said, “only lesser stages of ire and woe.”

“You know nothing of my lesser stages of ire and woe, not being a recipient of anything but the higher stages yourself.”

“Once they get past a certain point,” Vaste said with a shrug, “they’re more like fury and misery, but really, who’s keeping track?”

“You are, you green-”

“Enough already!” Alaric said and brought his fist down upon the table with a clatter that sent the empty metal cup sitting in front of him over and sideways, spilling the little remaining liquid therein on the old finish of the Council table. “Our guildmates are in danger, we are under siege, we have unleashed a plague upon another land and lack the resources to help them effectively. Yet still the four of you that remain argue like small children over who got the greater portion of the sweetroll. Well, let me say this, children-” He whipped his head around to favor each of them with a glare from where he stood now, looking down at them, “there is little sweet about our current predicament. If you want to bicker and whine, resign your position as officers, leave Sanctuary for a safe place, like Fertiss, and pick at each other for the better part of every day while the world continues to descend into chaos