Magic, Myth & Majesty: 7 Fantasy Novels Page 18

J’anda raised his hand, causing Alaric to look at him pityingly. “You’re an officer now, J’anda. You may freely speak.”

  A look of embarrassment crossed the face of the dark elf. “We should do a recruitment drive like we did in the past when numbers were low. Send officers to the major cities of Arkaria and hold a series of meetings to get across to anyone interested what we’re looking for in guildmates. We talk to members of the city’s armies, we talk to other adventurers, to anyone who’s had any experience.” He leaned back in his chair.

  “An excellent point,” Alaric said. “We have stopped those because we felt fairly ‘on-target’ for growth. We will need to re-institute those recruiting practices to grow. I recommend we send delegations immediately so we can find candidates to begin the process.”

  Cy raised his hand. “What exactly goes into the application process?”

  Alaric looked sideways at Curatio, who fielded the question. “Officers engage with applicants, adventuring with them in smaller groups, trying to get a sense of who they are, what they stand for, and what type of guildmate they’re going to be when their back is against the wall. The officers have final say and vote either yea or nay once per month on the applicants.”

  Cyrus frowned. “That seems labor intensive for the officers.”

  Curatio nodded. “That was the reason we suspended those type of recruiting events. Our members were bringing in people they’d met while adventuring and we had no time to evaluate the ones that we were bringing in through other means.”

  Cyrus leaned forward with a frown. “We’ll run into the problem again within six months if we don’t change that practice.”

  Alaric raised an eyebrow. “You have a suggestion?”

  Cy thought for a moment. “Instead of relying on officer feedback to make the decision, we give our guildmates a say in who is Sanctuary material.”

  “We need to be careful about who we let in here,” Vara said, voice filled with disdain. “We prize honor above all.”

  Cyrus fired back at her, “Do you have such a low opinion of your guildmates that you don’t think they can determine for themselves if a potential member is dishonorable or not? Do we officers possess some special skill I’m unaware of?”

  “In the order of your questions,” Vara snapped back, “I have a low opinion of only one of my guildmates, and as he’s the walking cesspool that made the suggestion, it makes the entire idea suspect.” Leaning back in her chair with a smug look on her face, she continued, “As for special skills, yes, I possess a few that you’re unaware of but that doesn’t say much; I’m sure you could fill many volumes with things you’re unaware of.”

  “Yeah,” Cyrus said, cheeks flushed, “and the title of those volumes is ‘How to Be a Pretentious, Arrogant Elf With a Huge Chip on Her Shoulder for No Apparent Reason, Part One through Four Hundred’ by Vara.”

  “Cyrus, that is unnecessary,” Alaric said, ending the verbal sparring match before the elf could riposte. “Old friend,” he said to Vara, who was glaring at Cy, “this idea has merit. We, the Council, serve our members, but that doesn’t mean they are stupid or easily fooled. Taking advantage of their insights means we can grow faster.”

  Somewhat placated, Vara stopped speaking. When put to a vote, after a moment of delay, she voted in favor.

  “So that’s settled.” Alaric cleared his throat. “Next, we have an Alliance officer’s meeting tomorrow, and we’ll need to send representation.” He coughed. “Naturally, I will be attending, simply because I have no choice in the matter.” The sour look on his face was evidence enough for Cyrus that he cared little for that idea. “Curatio, I trust you will be there?” A nod of affirmation came from Curatio. “Very well, and as senior officer remaining, Vara, you as well?”

  Vara’s mercurial temperament showed again. “I am not going to deal with those vultures.”

  Cyrus raised his hand. “I volunteer.”

  Alaric looked around. “Very well. Cyrus, Curatio and I will attend the Alliance summit at Reikonos Coliseum. Other business?”

  Vaste leaned in and looked around the table. “Who should we send on the recruiting mission?”

  Curatio spoke up, “We should send a mix — dark elves can cover some areas the rest of us can’t reach without getting attacked, whereas elves, dwarves, gnomes and humans can cover other ground.” He paused for thought. “Obviously, no one who isn’t gnomish should go to their domain…”

  J’anda furrowed his brow. “So even you supposedly ‘good’ races aren’t welcome in the gnomish city?”

  Curatio laughed. “No, their city is built so small, we shouldn’t send anyone taller than a dwarf.” Assorted laughter greeted that remark, and even prompted a smile from the Ghost of Sanctuary. “They have a city where they handle their commerce with outside races, and that’s built large enough for others, but there are two other major cities and countless villages in the Gnomish Dominions that are built to gnome’s scale.”

  “Very well,” Alaric said. “When next we meet, we’ll lay out specifics for this ‘recruitment drive.’“ With that, the paladin called the Council meeting to a close. As they filed out one by one through the main door, Cyrus took a few minutes to look around the Council Chambers and noticed a door he hadn’t paid any attention to before.

  Alaric was the last one still in the room, and caught his eye. “It’s the Council Archives. All the records of our decisions, meetings, and history are kept in there along with some tomes and spells that are very dangerous, as well as some records of incidents best forgotten.” He paused, giving it a moment of thought. “Rather like recent events we’ve experienced, I suppose.” Shifting his focus back to Cyrus, he started to speak again after a moment of consideration. “I’m glad you stayed after the meeting — I have something I want to talk to you about.”

  Cyrus regarded him with a perplexed expression. “What?”

  Alaric finished shuffling the parchment he’d used during the meeting into a manageable stack and favored Cyrus with a penetrating look. “I want to talk about your purpose.”

  “I thought you wanted me to recruit for the guild and lead them into adventure?” Cy asked, puzzled.

  “Not what I meant,” Alaric waved him off. “What I mean is what you hope to achieve being a member and officer of Sanctuary.”

  After a moment of thought, Cyrus answered. “I’d like to recruit a bunch of people, attack tougher enemies and increase the wealth of our guild.”

  Alaric looked at Cyrus, expression neutral. “Assuming we were able to create an enormous army and explore increasingly challenging places, would that make you happy?”

  Confused and looking at Alaric with a slightly incredulous expression, he nodded. “Yes, I believe it would.”

  “So all you want out of life is wealth and battle?” Alaric raised an eyebrow. “You don’t need Sanctuary for that; you could find all that with Endeavor or any of the high level guilds…” His voice trailed off.

  Cy felt his cheeks burn with shame. “Well I don’t want to forsake all the bonds of friendship to get to the top.”

  Alaric walked around the table. Cyrus suddenly felt smaller than the paladin. “If all you believe in are the things you can achieve by battle alone, you will do anything to anyone in order to get what you want. There are many who feel that way. There are those in this world that would kill anyone who got in their way, would destroy any who opposed them to advance their own ambitions.”

  The stare continued. “I know that is not who you are. Your ambition is checked by your beliefs. So I ask you again: what is your purpose? Because you can achieve those aims, but doing them the Sanctuary way, with honor, your goal becomes a pure aim, to advance yourself and your fellows, but with respect for others instead of desire for self alone.”

  The shame consumed Cyrus. “I’ve always wanted to be more, to do more, to have more than I had before, Alaric. I was raised in the Society of Arms in Reikonos, and I’ve never had much to call my own.” He felt the warmth
reach his eyes. “I gave everything I had to the Kings of Reikonos, to keep them in the best guildhall I could afford, to keep us fed and together. I held us together with the promise that someday we’d have more, that someday I could go for greatness.”

  Looking out the window, Alaric crossed his arms. “What is greatness to you?”

  Confused, agitated, impatient and almost wishing that this man he respected more than any he’d ever met would simply give him the right answer, he blurted out, “I don’t know. I always assumed it was being the best — having the best.”

  Lowering his head and sighing, Alaric still did not look at him. “Are those two things one and the same?”

  Cyrus shrugged his shoulders in exasperation. “I don’t know. I always assumed they were. In order to face the greatest threats of Arkaria, you need to be powerful.”

  “We come to it at last. Power.” Alaric, turned, arms still crossed, and faced the warrior again. “There are two uses for power. You may use it to fulfill your ambitions and whims, both gross and tame — or you may use it for the good of others. Your purpose directs how you gain power and what you do with it.”

  Alaric became lost in his thoughts for a moment. “A true officer of Sanctuary is driven by honor and self-sacrifice, knowing that service is its own reward.” The Ghost’s focus shifted back to the warrior. “Of this I can assure you — if you do not decide now what you believe in, what you stand for, and what you will do with the power and influence you acquire, then you will eventually leave Sanctuary just as Orion, Brevis, or any of the countless others that came before have.” Alaric moved his hand as if to forestall any response. “Think about it for a time.”

  Cyrus thought about it intently for a moment. “What’s your purpose?”

  A smile cracked the knight’s lips. “My purpose is what I have assembled Sanctuary for — to create a force capable of defending against threats to Arkaria.”

  Cyrus’s brow furrowed. “Then why all this interest in excursions? In adventures?”

  The Ghost sighed. “Armies do not function well in idleness — they need challenge and things to accomplish. Great threats do not present themselves every day. People as individuals also do not function well in poverty — with the exception of a paladin, of course. A constant series of explorations keeps our fighters sharp, lets us earn money and better positions us to fulfill my primary purpose.”

  “I admit,” Cyrus said with a nod, “while honor has been emphasized since day one here, this is the first I’ve heard of a greater mission of Sanctuary.”

  “That would be the result of Orion’s singular focus on expeditions at the time you were recruited. We help those who need it and protect against grave dangers to Arkaria.” Alaric sighed deeply. “Although I cannot prove it, I suspect one of those dangers is on the horizon at this moment.”

  “What is it?” Cyrus asked with concern.

  “I cannot say for certain; I have only suspicions based on fragments of information.” Alaric cast his eyes downward. “And now,” he turned back to the window, “I sense I must take my leave of you.” There was a hissing and Alaric was covered in a mist, which faded, leaving nothing behind.

  Cyrus looked at the spot where Alaric had been, alarmed. “That was… ominous.” Cyrus looked around the room. That did not look like any teleport spell I’ve ever seen — and paladins can’t teleport anyway!

  “He faded into the ether, didn’t he?”

  Curatio’s voice startled Cyrus, who was already on edge, realizing that the ‘Ghost of Sanctuary’ might not be a nickname.

  “Into the what?” Cyrus asked the elf, still astonished.

  “The ether,” Curatio said. “When he appears, it’s like mist taking shape. Same thing when he disappears.”

  Cyrus’s mouth was suddenly very dry. “How does he do that?”

  Curatio shrugged. “I’m not certain,” he said, expression neutral. “He’ll be back in time for the Alliance meeting.” Changing the subject, he moved on. “Now that you’re an officer, have you moved into your new quarters yet?”

  “No. I haven’t been an officer very long, after all.”

  “Let’s get you set up, then.”

  Cyrus followed Curatio up to the next floor and waited as he unlocked a room. Stepping inside, Cyrus was impressed. The officer’s quarters were easily four times the size of his previous quarters — and as if that weren’t enough, there was a door on the far end of the room to his own private bathroom, complete with running water — something that many cities in Arkaria didn’t have.

  Looking around, he tried to imagine the placement of his new bed, but dismissed it as Curatio spoke to him again. “We’ll have your possessions brought up from your quarters, unless you’re dying to do it yourself. The Alliance Officers’ meeting will be taking place tomorrow afternoon at the Coliseum in Reikonos. We’ll set off after breakfast. A wizard will transport us to Reikonos Square. We’ll go on horseback from there.”

  Cyrus looked at him skeptically. “And Alaric will be back by the time we leave?”

  Curatio smiled. “Trust me.”

  25

  Alaric appeared for breakfast the next day, looking the same as he always did. “What happened yesterday?” Cy asked.

  “We will discuss it in great detail… someday,” Alaric said under his breath and returned to greeting other guild members.

  When they departed, Cyrus was paired with a white horse named Windrider, who responded to him affectionately. Nyad brought them to the portal in Reikonos Square. Cyrus looked at the portal, an ovoid ring of rock that looked like a door.

  They crossed under the shadow of the Reikonos Citadel, ignoring the hot, stuffy air that did not seem to be moving at all. They passed most of the journey conversing about a myriad of topics.

  “Do you know how Lake Magnus was formed?” Curatio looked at the warrior as he asked the question, assuring Cyrus that he was not talking to Alaric.

  Cyrus shook his head. “I’ve only been there once.”

  Curatio nodded. “Most people don’t. Long ago, there was a war…”

  It dawned on Cyrus that he knew what Curatio was talking about. “Yes, I’ve heard this. The gods were meddling in the affairs of mortals, pitting them against each other in wars, basically along classic good and evil lines — the titans, goblins and trolls against an alliance of dwarves, gnomes and elves. As the war spread all over the world, it also crossed into the Realms of the gods, as lesser gods tried to eliminate each other — the only stability in the pantheon was the six highest gods. The Elementals — Fire, Earth, Air, Water — and Good and Evil.”

  Curatio smiled, pleased to have such an engaged pupil. “The names for the gods of Good and Evil have long been lost to the winds of time, but we know the lesser and elemental gods because some still interfere in the affairs of mortals. Sometimes literally,” Curatio said with a knowing look.

  Cyrus snickered. “You’re referring to Yartraak’s dark elven harem in Saekaj Sovar, or perhaps the myth that Vidara, Goddess of Life, had a child with a human?”

  The healer blushed. “Those are two of countless rumors spread through the ages. I was speaking of interference in mortal events — and of the war that consumed the world and spread to the Realms in ancient times. Bellarum, your god, gathered his mortal armies and sent them into the Realms of his enemies, causing all sorts of havoc.”

  “Until one day,” Cyrus interrupted, “his army killed Eruditia, the Goddess of Learning, with Ferocis, his Warblade, and he was set upon by all the gods, even his allies, and he was punished.”

  “Quite so,” Curatio said, clearly impressed. “The God of War’s reputation suffers to this day because of that. You probably know that, if you tell people you’re a follower of Bellarum.”

  “Once or twice, it nearly got me killed,” Cyrus said, voice tight.

  “Anyway,” Curatio went on, “Lake Magnus was a crater that filled with water after Ashea, Goddess of Water, sent down Amnis, the Spear of Water, for h
er truest follower to use during the war. Like all godly weapons, it was imbued with a portion of Ashea’s godhood, making it more powerful than mortal magics.”

  “I’ve heard legends of godly weapons,” Cyrus said. “I wasn’t sure they existed outside the drooling stories of legend told by covetous warriors in the Society of Arms.”

  “Oh, they exist,” Alaric said. “Reikonos has one, though it is not widely known. They have the aforementioned Amnis under heavy guard in the Citadel.”

  “The Elven Kingdom is in possession of the Ventus, the Scimitar of Air,” Curatio said. “It rests in Pharesia and has been there for thousands of years.”

  “How many are there?” Cyrus pulled the reigns of Windrider to keep pace.

  Curatio shrugged. “Each god has at least one, but there are only five on Arkaria that we know of. The four elemental weapons are the most well-known. Amnis, Ventus, Terrenus, the Hammer of Earth — the Goblins in Enterra have that one — and Torris, the Scepter of Fire.”

  “And Ferocis, the Warblade of Bellarum?” Cyrus asked.

  “Yes, and that one,” Curatio nodded.

  “I forgot to mention at the time,” Cyrus said, “but after everyone left Kortran, I was alone for a few minutes taunting Talikartin and Razeel, and they mentioned that Ferocis was stolen the night before we got there.”

  “What?” Alaric stopped his horse suddenly, eye wide through the slit of his helm.

  Curatio stopped his horse as well. “Are you certain?”

  “Fairly certain,” Cyrus said. “Talikartin offered me a painless death if I returned it.”

  “And you are certain,” Alaric enunciated every word, “he said it was the Warblade of Bellarum?”

  “Oh yes.” Cyrus nodded heartily. “I wouldn’t forget. I do worship Bellarum, after all — I had heard of the Warblade… I was wishing I had it.” Cyrus looked more carefully at Alaric, whose mouth had drawn into a tight line. The rest of the Ghost’s emotions were carefully hidden by his helmet. Curatio, on the other hand, had downturned lips and his eyes were wide and haunted.