Master (Book 5) (8 page)

Vaste raised his staff then lowered it and started toward the door. “I’m hungry.”

“That’s it?” Cyrus asked and looked around the empty chamber, torchlight flickering across the stone walls. “We’re done?”

“Sure,” Vaste said and paused at the door, looking back at Cyrus with that same piercing look. “If you want to spend all your time and energy convincing yourself that this battle is lost, and that you really do want to be spending your nights with Aisling, who am I to spend my time and energy trying to thump you solidly in the head until you realize the folly of your ways?” Vaste shrugged. “Supper is waiting, I’m one man, and my shoulders don’t have enough strength in them to knock the idiocy out of your thick skull.” With that, he swept out of the door, his robes trailing behind him, leaving Cyrus without a thing to say in his wake.

Cyrus walked out of the hallway that ran along the side of the Great Hall and emerged into the foyer, the smell of dinner growing more potent. He could almost taste the fresh-baked pastry crust that accompanied the meat pies, his favorite meal. The scent was heavy in the air. The doors to the outside were open across the foyer, and Cyrus stared out into the fading sunlight as a slow-moving crowd passed in front of him, the staircase emptying the upper floors as the entirety of the guild filtered down for dinner.

One of the figures broke away from the staircase and took a right turn toward him, her gown a lovely piece of work. It revealed her shoulders, smooth, youthful skin at odds with the age of the woman who wore it. Cyrus smiled at Arydni, probably with a little more sadness than he intended. He had not seen her since presenting her offer to the Council.

“Did it go as you anticipated?” she asked, tentative.

“It did,” Cyrus said. “We’ll look into it.”

“Do you have a plan?” she asked, her fingers clutching her gown to keep it from trailing on the stone floor.

“A basic one,” Cyrus said, nodding at her. Her hair was up today, more formal, as if she were prepared for an event of some sort. “We’ll need your assistance to reach the Realm of Life. We need to at least try and ask some questions of Vidara’s servants if we’re going to investigate her disappearance for you.”

“Of course,” Arydni said, bowing slightly from the waist. Her gown was tight-stitched around her sides in sharp contrast with what he’d seen her wear in the past.
Of course, in the past, her vestments showed off almost everything, so I suppose covering all that with tight-fitting cloth is something of an improvement … or perhaps not, depending on how you look at it
. “Would it just be you and myself, or did you want to bring another person along?”

“I was thinking a small army might be best,” Cyrus said. “For safety.”

Arydni paled, her dark complexion giving way to a milky-white sheen. “I … don’t think that’s terribly wise. The Life Mother’s guardians are already on edge. To provoke them by bringing an army into their space could be incredibly counter-productive. They very nearly attacked us last time and only restrained themselves because we were unarmed pilgrims.”

“Which is my concern,” Cyrus said. “If they very nearly killed you and your party, who were known to them and plainly not a threat, I don’t expect they’re going to react well to utter strangers. I don’t want to get pinned in a god’s realm without any sort of assistance should things go … undiplomatically.”

Arydni’s face fell, a tearing sort of embarrassment causing her to look away. “And I’m sure you won’t do anything to provoke their ire.”

“Well, I’ll certainly try not to—Hey!” Cyrus said, catching the meaning of her tone. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Arydni sighed. “It means that you are a warrior of Bellarum, and as such, your first instinct is to lead with the sword and follow with diplomacy later. If at all.”

“That a little insulting,” Cyrus said.

“More than a little, I would hope,” Arydni said, face bereft of amusement now, “but only because you must concede it is true.”

“I’d concede it was true at one point,” Cyrus said. “I’m no longer the leading edge of a blade, though. I can be diplomatic. Not every situation has to be a fight, and I know that.”

“Then you’re not a follower of Bellarum anymore,” Arydni said, watching him carefully.

“Even though I’m the General of the largest guild in Arkaria,” Cyrus said, keeping a thin tether on his patience, “I don’t have the luxury of fighting every battle I think needs to be fought.”

“Because you don’t have the desire or because you don’t have the resources for all those fights?”

“Both,” Cyrus said. “I’m a busy man.”

“So I’ve heard,” Arydni said after a brief pause. “I will see what I can arrange. I would implore you to come with as few people as you feel you can if we are to engage in this endeavor, though.”

“Can you guarantee our safety?” Cyrus asked.

Her hesitation before she answered told him all he needed to know. “No.”

“Then we come with an army.” Cyrus folded his arms, listening to the clink of the metal as he did so. “If Vidara’s minions are spoiling for a fight, I will not be caught unready.”

“I understand,” Arydni said, seeming to age before his very eyes. “I must return to my people to put some things in order. I will meet you in Reikonos in seven days’ time to venture to the Realm of Life.”

“All right,” Cyrus said. “Let me get a wizard to teleport you to—”

“I have already secured passage,” Arydni said with a smile as she turned away from him to cross the foyer. “A wizard from my order awaits me outside your gates.” She turned back to favor Cyrus with a weak smile. “Please do try to remember that I have hired you to aid the Lady of Life, not to leave her realm in utter wreckage while she is absent.” Without waiting for a response from him, she turned and wove her way through the throng still crossing into the Great Hall for evening meal.

“Cyrus,” a clear voice called out to him, causing him to turn. Curatio approached, his robes trailing the floor, his head cocked at an angle as he drew near to the warrior.

“Curatio,” Cyrus said, bowing his head. “On your way to dinner?”

“In a moment,” the healer replied. “I heard you had a meeting with some of the others regarding the Vidara investigation.”

“I did,” Cyrus said, “and our first step—”

“Why was I not invited?” Curatio asked, and Cyrus noted that his face seemed stiff, his eyes slightly narrowed.

“You’re awfully busy,” Cyrus said, shrugging. “I assumed you were—”

“You will inform me of any future meetings regarding this matter, and I will be in attendance,” Curatio said, turning from Cyrus to move toward the Great Hall’s massive entry doors.

“Curatio, your schedule is filled from sunup to well past sundown,” Cyrus said, and the healer paused to look back at him. “You’re doing the work of a Guildmaster now. Let me handle the matters of the General—”

“You will keep me informed of any meetings related to this subject in the future,” Curatio said, and there was not an inch of yield in his voice, like forged steel, hardened and folded over and over again. “This is not a matter that is up for discussion. I can be of assistance to you in this, and I am the most well-versed person in this guild in matters related to Vidara.” He took a step back. “Or have you forgotten that I was the one who spread her gospel to the entire Elven Kingdom in my time?”

Cyrus froze. “I … uh … it was not uppermost on my mind, no.”

“Did you think I would have undertaken that mission without reason?” Curatio stepped closer to him, and Cyrus saw a tightening of the skin around the healer’s eyes as they narrowed. “Do you think I would take centuries to campaign across the entire Kingdom to bring her followers for no purpose? I know the woman, damn you.” He snapped the words out. “I know her well, or did, and if she’s gone missing, I will be involved in helping to find her. Do I make myself clear?”

“I will keep you informed,” Cyrus said, feeling a slight tautness in his jaw from the burning in his face and gullet.
Let it go, Cyrus. He’s raw and concerned that his goddess is missing. Put away your pride
.

“That is all I ask,” Curatio said and turned, without a word more, and slipped away into the still-moving crowd as he disappeared behind the doors to the Great Hall.

“Cyrus,” came another voice, softer this time, and he turned his head to look.

“Good gods,” Cyrus said and sighed upon seeing who it was. “Oh, it’s just you.”

“I’ll let that pass because I’m in a hurry,” Erith said, “and because I need something from you.”

“So does everyone lately, it seems,” Cyrus replied. His eyes caught sight of a blond ponytail above a group of dwarves, and a shining silver breastplate that caught the rays of sunlight filtering in through the open foyer doors. “Well, almost everyone.”

“I have a serious problem,” Erith said.

“All right,” Cyrus said, putting aside the jest he might have made. Erith’s face was tight, her normally mirthful eyes weighed down with some emotion. “Go on, then.”

“They’ve gone missing,” she blurted out. “They were supposed to be on a routine patrol out of Reikonos, going west, but they left fourteen days ago and have yet to check in.” Cyrus watched a droplet of water slide down Erith’s blue cheek and tried to recall the last time he’d seen her actually shed a tear.
Probably never.
“The city guards have no idea where they’ve gone, and they can’t even spare anyone to go looking for a lost patrol that’s as small as they are—”

“Who?” Cyrus asked, wondering if he’d missed the answer somewhere in the healer’s rush to unburden her mind to him.

Erith swallowed heavily. “My old guild, the Daring. They were called into service of the Confederation because of the war, because of their homestead clause—”

“Wait,” Cyrus said. “You mean the whole guild?” He watched her nod. “Cass? Elisabeth?”

“All of them,” Erith said, and another tear crept down her cheek. “They’re seven days late returning. There’s no sign of them, no hint … nothing.” She bowed her head. “They’re just … gone.”

“So,” Andren said, “now you’ve got another problem to deal with.” The elf stood next to Cyrus, tankard in hand. A fresh breeze blew around them as they stood out on the archery range along the side of Sanctuary’s massive structure, the southwest tower casting its long shadow over them, the sun invisible behind it as it continued to set.

“Yes,” Cyrus said, his left hand tautly squeezing the grip in his hand. It was a training weapon that he’d pulled it out of the nearby storage shed along with a dozen training arrows. He pulled it up and nocked an arrow, drawing it back to his cheek. There was a cool sensation as he held it there, the breeze blowing over him. His stomach rumbled at him for leaving the smells of dinner behind.

Cyrus released the arrow and it flew at the straw target at the end of the range, lodging firmly in the torso.

Andren let out a dry snicker. “What are you doing? Got delusions of being a ranger?”

“Warriors were required to learn every possible weapon at the Society of Arms,” Cyrus said, drawing another arrow from the ground, nocking it and pulling it to his cheek. “I’m not as good with one of these as, say, Martaina Proelius, but I can use one in a pinch.” He let the arrow sail and it stuck in the throat of the straw man. “And not terribly badly, if I might say.”

“I’d be more impressed if the straw man were moving,” Andren said, taking another slug. The smell of the booze washed over Cyrus. It was a thick, hearty stout that caused his stomach to rumble again. “I’ve seen Martaina on the hunt before, and it’s quite a sight to behold.”

“Oh?” Cyrus asked. “She does seem to do well with animals, doesn’t she?”

“I was talking about killing people, but yeah, I’m sure she’s good with them, too.” Andren’s beard twitched, his mustache frosted with the foam of his ale. “Although the way she looked doing it …” He let his voice trail off in suggestion. “I might consider breaking my ‘No elven women’ rule for her. I bet she’s a feisty one.”

“Where did Arydni fit into that rule?” Cyrus mused, loosing another arrow. This one lodged in the groin of the straw man.

“She was the origin of it,” Andren muttered and gestured at the straw man. “For about that reason, I might add.”

“Didn’t seem like you were too put off by her when she was here.” Cyrus paused, pulling an arrow from where he’d stuck it in the earth and twirling it in his fingers. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“Well, you know, I have some fond memories of her,” Andren said, nodding. “Some things I wouldn’t mind reliving, if you know what I mean—”

“I didn’t drag you away from dinner to discuss your rampant libido,” Cyrus said, turning back to the straw target. A cool breeze blew over them, cutting through the lingering heat from summer’s end.

“Nor yours, apparently,” Andren said. “Can we talk about Aisling’s bedroom manner yet? I’m a mite curious—”

“No,” Cyrus said and released the string. The arrow flew wide of its mark. “Dammit.” Cyrus turned to Andren. “I brought you out here to talk about the Daring.”

The elf nodded. “Right, yeah. You’ll have to forgive me, though, as it’s not quite as exciting of a topic as dark elven sex.”

“A missing goddess and a missing guild,” Cyrus said, drawing another arrow from the ground, “what are the odds of those two things happening at the same time?”

“What are the odds of you being pursued by a Baroness, a thief and a paladin all at the same time?” Andren asked. “I mean, up until now you’ve not exactly been a stud horse, if you catch my—”

Cyrus cut him off with a look. “What is wrong with you today? Can you possibly get your mind out of the rut you’re in and listen to me?” He paused. “About something that isn’t related to lusty bedroom activities?”

“I’m sorry, we’re not all presently fending off every woman in Sanctuary with a blunt instrument, are we?” Andren said with a scowl. “Even the cook fancies you, always sending those tentative looks your way and fixing your favorite meals.” He sighed. “A couple years ago, I was on top of the world with the women around here, and you couldn’t find a scabbard for that sword in your breeches. Now, I’m sitting here competing with all these Luukessian men for a limited number of women, longing for a former wife I haven’t touched in a century, and you’ve got—”