Crusader

Chapter 82

Vara

Day 150 of the Siege of Sanctuary

“It’s not the idea of being cooped up here that I object to,” Partus said, in the closest imitation to whining that Vara could imagine without actually being a whine, “it’s the fact of it. I know you’ve sent expeditions to other places to gather food, to get relief and supplies, and yet I wasn’t offered a chance to go along with them.”

Vara listened, waiting for the dwarf to say more. When he didn’t, she let herself take a breath and count to five before answering. “As we have discussed, I would be more than happy to send you along to Fertiss with not only the utmost haste but also with a bounty of gold simply to be rid of you.” She caught the cockeyed gaze of the dwarf, and wondered if he was as insulted by that as she had intended him to be. “Unfortunately, Alaric seems to be of a different opinion-and, in a stunning reversal of his previous nature to this point, he is keeping that decision secret for reasons that I cannot possibly fathom.” She shrugged broadly, trying-Oh, how I try-to keep it amusing. “I wish he would send you away. Were it in my power, I would send you away. I would walk you to the gate right now, open it up, roll you under it, and be done with it. Unfortunately, it is not in my power, nor the other officers of Sanctuary either, because-”

“Alaric has some ill intention toward me that he has no desire to disclose to the rest of you,” Partus said, still squinting at her with one eye half-closed. “I see how it is. He knows strength when he sees it, and he knows you’re in a dire situation. He thinks by backing me into this corner with you, I’ll have no choice but to fight for Sanctuary when the time comes. You know what? The sneaky bastard is probably right. I’ve got no love for the dark elves, not after Aurastra, and they don’t take prisoners, as well you know. Well, they take the women ones, but not like-”

“Thank you, for that,” Vara said, wondering if her fake smile was holding. Alaric compelled me to be nice to this one. I cannot imagine what reason he might have for that, nor why he would ask it of me, OF ALL PEOPLE. She felt the strain inside, the desire to scream, to raise a booted foot and punt the little blighter-but she resisted. He’s a strong paladin, she grudgingly admitted, stronger than me. Two days earlier, the dark elves had begun constructing siege towers from logs hauled to within sight of the Sanctuary walls; Partus, in an annoyingly boastful show of force had bragged that he could destroy every single one of them before they had started moving. No one had believed it. There had been bets placed, gold wagered. Partus had taken all of it and left fifteen siege towers in wreckage, showering splinters into the army of dark elves huddled around them. There were bodies lying there, too numerous to count, from the explosive force with which the wood had splintered into both the engineers and laborers that had built the things, and also warriors and fighters that had been standing nearby. He’s a wealthy little git now, eager to spend his newfound winnings and make his escape while the getting is good; he’s unlikely to manage another gambling win such as that.

“You know that no other paladin could match my power-other than Alaric, of course.” Partus gave her a wink, causing Vara to restrain an explosive fury of her own. I could surely blast him at least a quarter of the distance he managed to send his spell; far enough to kill him, perhaps. Instead, she rolled her eyes and realized that the smile had long since vanished, and that now all she wore was a look of undisguised loathing.

“I recognize that you are quite strong in the powers of the white knight,” she answered, “though it mystifies me that you can even call yourself one given that you seem to believe in nothing, and certainly have no sort of crusade, if you ever did-”

Partus let out a soft laugh. “You’re a young one, aren’t you? Being a paladin has little enough to do with having a crusade or a cause.” Vara bristled at this, and Partus laughed further. “It doesn’t matter what you believe in, some god or cause or nothing at all. All that matters is that you know how to use the spells to their maximum effect. That you put in the practice to push them to the limits of what they can do.”

Vara listened to him, taking care not to grind her teeth. “Is that so? Believe in nothing-”

“But yourself,” Partus said, correcting her not at all gently, “if you’re into saying it that way, I suppose.”

Vara let her eyes slip sideways, darting around the foyer. “And how would you say it?” She watched him shift on his short legs; he only came up to her chest in height, a fact that was not lost on her. Or him. “If you were forced to describe it.”

“If I were forced to describe it,” Partus said slowly, “I would say it’s believing in power. Not in yourself, exactly,” he cringed, his face turned mocking, “because that’s a little elven and weak for my tastes, frankly-no offense. Your people make good mystics and warriors, but they talk such a pitiful line of effeteness when it comes to yourselves. You have to see your ability to cast a spell that mighty-” He held his hand out in front of him, aimed it just past her. She kept her cool, and realized he was watching for her reaction, his palm pointed into the lounge. “It’s all to do with seeing it, saying it, bringing it to form. It’s not just the words.” He ran the back of his hand over his brow. “Then, after you’ve done it once, you know you can, so then it’s about stretching your magical energy to accomodate, exercising your abilities to adapt to casting it more often.” He used his tongue to suck at something stuck in his teeth. “Then, it’s about practice. Constant, diligent practice.”

She eyed his short frame, at the slight paunch that hung over his belt. “And you did this? Practiced diligently?”

“Aye,” Partus said, “I may not look it now, but I put in thousands of hours of effort when I was at the Holy Brethren. More than anyone else, that’s certain.”

“Yes,” Vara said with a trace of irony, “I’m certain you practiced by yourself constantly, until you became a tremendous master.”

Partus caught the hint of insincerity and squinted at it, then shrugged it off. “It doesn’t matter that you believe I did it, you can see the results for yourself. Care, don’t, pay attention, heed me not, it’s all the same to me until those dark elves come crashing in; then you might wish you’d done things a bit differently.”

With that, the dwarf wandered off, toward the lounge and the casks of ale that remained there, even in this time of crisis. Vara wanted to sigh but she didn’t, instead letting the smell of the hearth burning give her a moment’s peace, that slight homey feeling to calm her nerves, then she turned to see Vaste watching her by the stairwell. She hesitated, unsure of what to do. He’s standing right in my path. Should I avoid him entirely? The troll watched, giving her a slight smile, then continued to speak with the human he had been talking to. It would appear he’s focused upon his own matters; just as well, I do not know that I could handle much more in the way of sympathy from him at this point.

She headed for the stairs, her head involuntarily moving to look in the open doors of the Great Hall. Larana waited within, seated at a table inside. The druid looked more ragged than usual, her face smudged with a little dirt or grease, and her hair in a muss-that part was usual. Vara pondered speaking to the chief cook, but she sat alone, by herself, and seemed to be working on nothing at all. I haven’t said more than a dozen words to her since I came here. This seems an ill time to start, simply because I know she may be the only other one in Sanctuary who misses … she cringed … who wishes Cyrus were here. She felt the physical reaction in her face as she thought it; a tightening of the muscles into a scowl, the lowering of an eyelid, the muscles straining and causing it to twitch.

She made for the stairs instead, keeping her pace slow, neutral, until she had passed Vaste. Then she sped up, taking the steps two and three at a time, letting her frustration come out in a near-aggression. She reached the Council Chambers and paused; the door was parted slightly, as though someone had left it open for some purpose. She stopped, pondering, then opened the door and stepped inside.

It was quiet, of course; no motion within. The hearths were dead, only the faint glow of fading embers showing any sign of life. The shadows were long inside, the sun was behind the clouds outside. There was little light, only what came in through the windows. Strange, the torches typically light themselves-

“Shut the door,” came a voice in the darkness, originating from Alaric’s chair at the head of the table. It was quiet but full of command, and she heeded it immediately, drawing the door closed behind her. There was less light now, and Vara stared into the shadow of the massive seat at the head of the table, peering into it with her superior vision. If he is there, I should see him, even in this, unless-

There was a faint hint of haziness in the room, she realized, a lack of clarity as though a mist had seeped in around her. It hung low, around her feet. “It is easier this way, sometimes,” came the voice of Alaric from his chair, “to keep one foot in the world of men and the other in the world of the ethereal, existing fully in neither.” There was a slight sound, barely audible to her ears, a rushing of air, and then he was visible, his outline, the helm and armor. There was a clink of metal on the wood of the table and his chair. “Do you think it would be easier to live in this world if you could leave it at any time you wanted?” There was no mirth in Alaric’s statement. “It isn’t, actually. It might be harder, if such a thing were possible.”

“Alaric?” she asked, still uncertain-uncertain what to say, what to do, why he was here-I cannot recall having heard him like this before. He almost sounds … like … “Have you been drinking?”

When the reply came, it was filled with amusement. “On this occasion, no. I think there is quite enough going on around us at this point to fill one’s mind with a certain heady sensation, something to make one feel lighter than air. Of course, when one can already become lighter than air with only a thought, it becomes redundant, but … perhaps you get the point.”

“Perhaps not,” Vara said, easing closer to the table from where she stood by the door. “What has happened to you, Alaric? You have never been so … bizarre.”

There was a pause. “I am merely musing. Contemplating what has happened, what has gone before. On who I am, on what I have done-the triumphs and the failures. The failures, I think, are the things upon which I most often dwell, but occasionally I think of the triumphs as well.” He paused. “Time is running out, you know.”

Vara blinked. “For Sanctuary?”

“For all of us.” There was clarity in Alaric’s voice now, a disturbing note that was foreign to his usual tone.

“What do you see?” She took another step in, resting her hand on the back of the nearest chair. Cyrus’s chair, she realized.

“I see much,” Alaric replied, and now the fatigue had bled into his voice. “More than most, less than the gods. Enough to disquiet me. I see that which I want to see, and that which I don’t care to see, and that which no one thinks I can see. All of these things.”

“Is that how you know so much?” Vara asked. “Is that how you’re always so vague and mysterious and all-seeing?”

“I am hardly all-seeing,” Alaric replied. “There are many, many things beyond my sight. For example, I can no longer see … him. He passed beyond my vision when he went across the bridge. Beyond the boundaries.” The Ghost’s hand gestured vaguely in Vara’s direction, and it took a moment for her to realize that he indicated Cyrus’s chair and not her.

“Cyrus?” She stared at him, then the seat. “You could see him? Before he left the shores of Arkaria?”

“I could watch him,” Alaric said, “just as I can watch a great many things whileethereal. But no more, now.”

“How do you do it?” She slid the chair quietly, and it made a screech that to her ears sounded as loud as if someone had scraped wood across stone harshly next to her head.

There was a moment of quiet as the sound of the chair sliding died away. “I suppose it would be asking too much for me to say it is merely magic and have you believe it?”

She thought about it for a moment. “There are things beyond magic in this world, Alaric.”

“There is nothing beyond magic in this world. Only things that you do not understand that you wrongly attribute to being beyond magic.” The shadows seemed to deepen in the room with his answer, as though he had summoned them to wrap him up in a cloak.

“What strains you so?” Vara asked, leaning forward in her seat, trying to see him. “What has you on edge for the first time since I’ve known you?”

There was a pause and a quiet settling over the room like the shadows, draping themselves over everything. Alaric’s answer was calm, measured, and covered over with the same quiet, but layered with deceit, she thought. “Nothing, child.”

“I am hardly a child,” she bristled. “Never before have you condescended to call me ‘child’ even though you knew I was the youngest of my race. You know I don’t care for that appellation and never have, and to apply it now, of all times, you had to know would raise my umbrage and suspicions in equal measure. So what is it, Alaric? Why do you sit here in the darkness, alone, meditating on the idea of leaving this world behind?”

She could almost hear the raising of his eyebrow. “I leave this world frequently; you have seen it many times. The meditation, perhaps, is new to you but not to me, I assure you. As for being alone … are there any of us here that are not so?” She waited as he finished, and could almost hear him add, “my child,” to the end of the question, though it remained unspoken.

“We are not all alone,” Vara said, “there are many among our number who have found companionship with each other, as friends, comrades …” the next words stuck, but finally came loose, “lovers, spouses. So, no, we are not all alone. And most of us do not spend our time considering abilities that we do not have-for example, the power to become insubstantial and watch others as they go about their business.”

There was a shrug from the figure in the shadows. “I assure you it is not as ominous as you make it sound; it actually is quite banal. But to the earlier point, about being alone … well, you are correct, after a fashion. There are friends here, companions, those who guard our gates against the outside world, who watch each others’ backs, find friendly company herein, and more perhaps-love, laughter, all these things. Yet when we leave this world, we do so alone. When we wander through it, much as we might make of having companions there, many of us do not share the load, shoulder the burdens of others. Then again, this should be no great mystery to you … since you have chosen to do so all the days I have known you.”

“I was betrayed,” she said quietly. “It takes a bit of time after that to-”

“I realize.” He was unflinching, she heard it in his tone. “But once you did move past it, you let your fear take hold of you, you acted on it without consideration-”

She laughed, a high, empty sound that was no more real than Alaric when he was transformed into mist. “It feels peculiar that you should lecture me about this.”

There was a quiet in the darkness. “I don’t mean to lecture.” Alaric leaned forward, suddenly, his chin visible through the gap at the jaw of his helm, and he was urgent now. “I only mean to tell you that however long you think your life is, if you go through it alone, it will drag. It will crush you, the weight of it, like a wagon filled to the top with no wheels to carry it on, pulled by a team of old horses. Those things you attribute to others-love, friendship, companionship-these are the wheels that make your passage go easy. True, there are ruts in the road that you would not experience had your wagon no wheels, but that is only because the day-to-day passage of the hours is all rut, all scrape, no smoothness.” The light in the room shifted and illuminated the holes where his eyes were, and she saw they were wild. “You made choices in fear because of what you lost. You threw away everything you had left, and like a fool I said nothing, too wrapped up in my own problems to acknowledge or intervene. But the day has come where you regret what you have done, where you know it was foolish, and yet I know you-and I know pride-and you are the second most prideful and stubborn invidual I have ever met in my long life. I warn you now-cast it aside. Be done with it. Your pride, your fear, is keeping you from the life you might have, is dividing you from all you could want.” He seemed to recede then, pull back in his chair, leaving only his hand stretched out across the table, as though he were reaching out to her.

She sat stiffly upright in the chair, his chair, her head pressed against the wood behind her. Her eyes burned from holding them open, so she let them close, and the darkness was little more than what she had already been looking at. The weight of her armor was more pronounced now that she was settled in the chair, and there was a gaping sound in her ears, a silence; even her breathing was not audible. “I hear your words,” she said. “But it occurs to me, Alaric, in all the years I have been here, that I have never seen you try to do what you encourage me to do now, that you have never moved beyond Raifa-”

“And I tell you this,” Alaric said in a hiss, “so as to steer you around my mistakes. Just as I always have in other areas, now I want to-need to-attend to this last concern.” He waved a hand and the torches flared to life, the hearth came roaring back to fire, and Vara’s eyes snapped open at the glow of orange. “Life does not last forever, unimpeded,” he said, and she saw the blaze in his eyes through the holes of his helm, as though the torches were reflected in them. “Not yours, not mine, not his. You have talked to others of regrets, of the ones you feared should he die first, and I tell you now, as someone who has felt it-I would not have given her up, not cast out her memory or done away with it had I a chance. I embrace the pain for the rest of my days in spite of it and would not wish to be rid of it if the alternative was to have never had it happen at all.” He flinched at his own words. “She was everything to me, Vara, and her loss has haunted me all these years. You say it seems strange to come from me because I live now as though I were dead inside, never moved beyond her. This is true; when she died, a part of me died with her, a part that will never come back to life. But if I had it to do all over, I would do it exactly the same, even if it meant experiencing the pain once more, because the alternative …” he swallowed heavily, “… would be to never have lived at all, truly.” He looked back up at her. “Consider what I have said.” She started to speak, and he waved her off. “Consider it.” With that, his eyes closed, and he began to fade, becoming smoke and mist, which drifted, slowly, out the crack under the door behind her.

The hearth flickered, and so did the torches at the last great rush of air as he left her behind, his presence departing and changing the currents in the room as he did so. She sat there for quite some time, wondering at his words, wondering at his change, and for some time after that … wondering what had prompted such musings on the finite lives of mortals.