“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 safely out of your sight.”
Alaric stiffened in his battered armor, the dark green tinge to it looking almost black in the cloudy light filtering in from behind him. “But if you mean to make a difference and live up to the mission of this guild, put your humor aside and let us work to end this siege, so we can make good on repairing the consequences of our error in killing Mortus.” With that, Alaric grabbed his helm and put it on his head, straightening it so that the slits where his eyes were visible were shadowed and Vara could see only the hint that he was behind them. “The time for light-hearted fun is over; these are dark times, perhaps darker than we can safely bear. This is a time for adults, for the things of grown-ups, for battles, a time to leave the simpering humor behind as we struggle with our burdens. The hour grows late, and for the young, it is past your bedtime. Leave us, if you want no part of serious things. But for those who remain … go to work.”
With that, he became insubstantial, a fog that rolled toward the doors behind him and out of the balcony, disappearing over the edge in a fine mist, as though the air outside were reabsorbing him.
“So …” Vaste said, as the four of them stared out the window at the exit of their Guildmaster. “Who put the caltrops in Alaric’s chair today?”
Vara turned from the table, casting a look at Ryin, who nodded and followed her to the space in front of the door. “Perhaps it was something you said,” she told Vaste, who remained in his chair with a look of quiet unconcern. “Or perhaps it was everything you say.” The winds began to pick up around them, stirring the stuffy air in the Council Chambers. Vaste said nothing as the maelstrom of the teleportation spell caused the walls to dissolve around her, and the last thing of Sanctuary she saw was the troll’s green face, a second’s hesitation showing in the puckered brow and downturned lips as the whirlwind carried her far, far away from him.
Chapter 44
Reikonos was a town astir, the streets quiet and yet frenzied, the long stretches of thatched-roof homes canceled out by the bigger buildings with wooden beams making up their construction. It was a hodgepodge of old and new, of stone buildings and wood shacks, and the streets were both calm and chaotic in alternating segments. Vara walked along with Ryin trailing a few steps behind her as they headed toward the southern central gate through the city’s walls. The sun seemed to be higher in the sky here than it had been at Sanctuary, and there were few enough clouds that the late afternoon warmth was still present and cooked her in her armor as she moved through the quiet then the chaos.
“Lines,” Ryin said, “for the communal ovens.” The druid was right, though she didn’t want to acknowledge it. There were clusters of people, women mostly, around the places where there were ovens for public use. Not everyone has their own, after all, as this is not Termina. A rueful thought occurred. Even Termina is unlikely to have those things, now. “In time of war, meat must surely be limited, so daily bread is likely the cornerstone of their diet at this point.”
“If they’re just getting to the ovens at this time of day, it’s going to be a late supper,” she said.
“True enough.” He came alongside her, trying to match her pace. “But I suspect that the grain shipments put them at the mercy of whichever merchant has some that day-there’s likely a line for that as well. Rationing, shortages, all that.”
“What fun,” was all she said and tightly at that.
The street vendors who were normally set up on this, the busiest thoroughfare in the city, were noticeably absent this day, giving the streets an even more abandoned feel, quieter than she had seen even in the years she had lived in the city. Cyrus would not like this, not at all, came the thought, as unbidden as it was frustrating. She increased her speed, pumping her legs to a faster walk, as though she could somehow leave that line of thinking behind if she were to just walk fast enough to outpace it.