Part 13 (1/2)
Cyrus gave her a look of slight disbelief. ”Have I ever thrown you headlong into insane battle that you had no chance of coming out of?”
”There was that time with the Dragonlord,” Andren said.
”The Realm of Purgatory, that first time,” Mendicant said.
”That was nerve-wracking,” J'anda said, ”but not perhaps so much as the invasion of Enterra.”
”Let's not forget the bridge,” Samwen Longwell said with a measured tiredness.
”Which?” Curatio asked, looking more than a little weary himself, hand propping up his head, all energy gone from the man. ”Termina or the Endless Bridge?”
”Well, both, now that you mention it-”
”There was also the G.o.d of Death,” Ryin said with a raised eyebrow.
”And the G.o.d of Darkness,” Nyad said.
”That was eerily chronological,” Vaste said, peering at the whole table. ”But I think I have you all beat, for once upon a time, Cyrus and I faced the Avatar of the G.o.d of Death in a temple in the Bandit Lands-”
”Did you not hear me?” Ryin asked. ”We killed the actual G.o.d of Death, not some avatar that was simply a holding place for his essence while on Arkaria-”
”I think we know by now that I never truly listen to you,” Vaste said, ”and my story was better, because it was just Cyrus and I, running like mad from Mortus's little shadow, because it was back in the days long before we knew G.o.ds were even able to be killed.”
”None of those were unwinnable scenarios,” Cyrus said, more than a little annoyed. ”Merely challenging ones. As this is.” He pointed down at the map. ”If we do this in half measure, it will provoke a terrible response. If we succeed, however-”
”It will provoke a terrible response,” Longwell said, nudging his spear. ”But if we do nothing, odds are good based on what you've seen, eventually a terrible response will wend our way. I say we make our terrible response first.”
”Well, it certainly looks terrible,” Vaste said, and Cyrus gave him a look. ”Not impossible, just terrible. If there are as many as you say-”
”A thousand in the fortress,” Cyrus said. ”According to Ehrgraz. Based on my brief flyover, I'd say he's close.”
”Oh my,” Curatio said, languidly moving to stare at the map. ”Well, so long as we don't retreat, this will certainly not be a half of a measure, not even in t.i.tan terms.”
Cyrus looked at Vara, seated next to him, deep in thought, and the only one who had not weighed in thus far. ”If there are no objections, I'm going to send the messengers to Amti and Saekaj immediately and start getting our forces together for this.” He looked around the table. ”Anyone?” He stared pointedly at Ryin, who shook his head. ”All right, then. We go tomorrow.”
”Yay for possible death!” Vaste said with faux enthusiasm. ”I always sleep well on nights like this.”
”Really?” Andren asked. ”Because it's nights like this I miss the drink.”
The meeting broke and they began to file out, surprisingly quiet save for Vaste and Andren. Cyrus caught a few hopeful looks from the others, save for Curatio, who merely seemed tired, and Longwell, whose rage appeared to bubble just beneath the surface.
When the doors shut, Cyrus found he was left in the Council Chambers with Vara alone. She stared at the hearth, the flame within, and her expression was inscrutable. ”How is it,” Cyrus said, jarring her into looking at him, ”that the only person who didn't weigh in on my plan of attack was you?”
”I'm certain it's a perfectly wonderful plan,” she said, answering a little too quickly for his taste.
”You'd know if you had looked at it or studied it like the others did,” Cyrus said. ”Vaste called me mad, I think.”
”I'm sure he's right as well,” she said, still strangely neutral, then she shook her head. ”The soundness of your plan does not concern me.”
”But something does,” Cyrus said, easing into his seat next to her. ”What is it?”
”I worry about you,” she said, but this answer did not come quickly. ”You seem ... more conflicted of late than you were before. You are not the man you once were.”
”The man I was before,” Cyrus said slowly, ”did not have half as much responsibility as the one sitting before you now.”
”I don't think it's just that,” she said. ”I think it's that the man I met in the caves of the Dragonlord's prison all those years ago had less to lose than the one sitting before me now.”
Cyrus felt a pained expression cross his face. ”I had many discussions like this with Terian for the year I was in Luukessia. He accused me of not believing as I once had-”
”I'm not questioning your conviction,” Vara said and she reached out, brus.h.i.+ng long fingers against his face. ”Or your courage. You have both in as great a supply as your s.e.x drive-that last of which I could do with slightly less of, I might add. I am merely suggesting,” she said, lowering her voice even further, ”that now, unlike the days when you lived in a barn, you have friends ... You have an entire guild ... and perhaps even me to worry about it.” She looked up hesitantly as she spoke.
”'Perhaps' I have you?”
”Perhaps you worry about me,” Vara said. ”Perhaps you worry about losing me. About losing the others.”
Cyrus found himself looking down, stiffening his neck. ”I certainly wouldn't care to contemplate that loss too deeply, but I a.s.sure you I am still more than willing to commit to the battles before me with everything I have.”
”Because now you're the stalwart defender with something to fight for?”
”Look,” Cyrus said, cringing slightly as his thoughts made their way out, ”this man you're talking about-the old me, let's call him-he's not so much older. I've only been here some five years. I would argue that these worries you attribute to me, these things that hang about me-they're more the work of responsibility and change than fear.”
”How do you mean?” she asked, staring into his eyes.
”In the s.p.a.ce of five years I've gone from member of Sanctuary to officer and General to Guildmaster.” He smiled tightly. ”You and I have gone from enemies to rivals to ... well, lovers, in that time.” He felt the slight buoying within sag as the last came on him. ”We've lost friends. We lost ... Alaric.”
”It is rather a lot in a short time,” she conceded.
”Sometimes,” Cyrus said, shaking his head, ”things move so fast I don't even feel like I know who I am anymore. I wake up in the Tower of the Guildmaster with you next to me and wonder for a moment what happened.”
”And do you count yourself fortunate in those moments?” she asked, looking slyly at him.
”Absolutely,” he said, keeping the smile off his face expertly, ”because that tower is just the most comfortable quarters-”
”Oh, you-” she smacked him on the backplate and the clang of metal rang out in the Council Chambers along with their laughter. ”I only worry about you because ... of late, you have not seemed like you at all, truly. Since the Emerald Fields, I mean.” She brushed a short, stray hair back behind his ear. ”You seem a little different is all. The old Cyrus-the one of five years ago-would not have pondered this war so long before committing.”
”That Cyrus didn't know war,” he said, drawing a solemn breath. ”Not really. He just knew battle. This Cyrus,” he clinked his gauntlet against his breastplate, ”has known too much of it..”
She leaned in close to him, her breath sweeping across his ear. ”You once quoted to me some adept of your Society that said you should embrace war with all the ardor of wooing a lover.” She pulled back slightly to look him in the eyes. ”I hope you don't lose your fervor for me the way you seem to have lost your love of war.”
”Well, with you the destruction is slightly less than-”
”Oh, you are an a.r.s.e-”
They collapsed into laughter once more, the soft, genuine snickering that seemed to be all that they could manage at this point. He looked into her eyes and pulled a sweaty hand out of a gauntlet, pausing to wipe it upon his sleeve before brus.h.i.+ng the back of his hand against her cheek. ”I don't want things to change any more.”
”Because you're afraid of what you'll lose?” Her blue eyes glistened.