"I will not have some...troll!...work Vidara-knows-what kind of ministrations on my daughter!"

"Then she'll die," Vara said, her voice leaden, standing over Cyrus's shoulder. "Then you'll have only one disappointment to call your own."

"He's one of the best," Cyrus said, before he realized that it might have been more effective to denounce Vaste to Chirenya in order to get her to take his advice. Before he could try and rectify his perceived error, the stately elf removed herself from her position covering her daughter.

"Very well," Chirenya said, pulling herself to her feet. "Fail me not in this, troll, or I shall-"

"Threaten me until I burst into flames, I'm sure," Vaste said, thrusting his cloak into the arms of J'anda as he knelt at Isabelle's side. The troll's long, elegant green fingers reached to his belt, where they fiddled with a small leather pouch. Pulling from them a pinch of ground leaf, he held it above Isabelle so she could see it.

"Yes, yes," the elven healer said, her head bobbing against the floor. "I know how this works. Just do it already."

"As you say." Vaste pressed his hand to her side.

Cringing as he recalled the agony of this particular treatment, Cyrus looked away as Vaste placed his hand against her side. He felt Isabelle beneath him, felt the muscles of her shoulder tauten where he held onto her. A grunt of pain escaped her lips, but no more than that. A few seconds later, it was over.

"I've cast the healing spell," Vaste said. "I suspect she'll be able to heal herself going forward until the hour is up, but I'll stay here just in case." He turned to look at Chirenya, who was standing by the broken windows, staring out into the street.

"Hm?" She turned to look back at Vaste, her expression now haggard. "Yes, that will be fine, thank you."

"Vara?" Cyrus called out to the paladin, who was sitting on the bed next to her father. Her hands were holding his, but her eyes were closed as if she had fallen asleep sitting up. "We need to leave. This place is not safe."

"Not safe?" Thad looked around in wonder. "We just routed at least thirty assassins."

"How did they get in?" Cyrus looked to Thad, who shrugged.

"Most came from the cellar," J'anda spoke up from the door. "There's a hole into the house next door."

Cyrus wheeled around, turning to Isabelle. "I thought your people garrisoned the houses on either side?" She looked back at him, drained, but a look of puzzlement on her face.

"The assassins killed all the members of Endeavor in that house an hour or more ago, before they began the operation," J'anda replied. "There's twenty or thirty bodies over there. Most of them died in their sleep. The assassins must have figured trying to approach on the street or the backyard was too problematic, since we were watching this house, but..."

"No one was protecting the protectors," Vaste said with a hint of irony. "So the assassins managed to wipe out a significant force from one of the most powerful guilds in Arkaria without raising an alarm." The troll shook his large head. "That's quite an accomplishment. These are no amateurs we're facing."

"Vara," Cyrus spoke again, approaching the paladin from behind. He laid a mailed fist on her shoulder, as gentle as he could. "We need to leave. It's not safe. We need to get your parents out of here." He looked up to see Chirenya staring at him, expression blank.

"No," came a choked voice that he didn't even recognize. Vara looked up at him, and a righteous anger lit her features and caused him to take a step back. "My father is dying, and I'll be damned if I'm going to take him from his home for whatever time he has left." Her jaw was set, her face steel. "We stay. To the end."

Chapter 17.

Cyrus watched her huddle close to her father, who was still unmoving. Whispers from the doorway caught his attention and a quick survey of the room revealed Chirenya now staring out the broken windows while Isabelle was still lying down, Vaste at her side.

"The Termina guard has arrived," Chirenya said, her voice devoid of any emotion. Turning from the shattered glass, she looked to Cyrus. "Someone should speak to them. They don't look kindly on battles in the streets."

"Good thing we kept it in the house then," Vaste said.

"I'll go." Cyrus felt numbness spread through him as he cast a final look at Vara. Her head lay against her father's, her face buried in his cheek. He shot a look at Thad as he moved toward the stairs. "Keep an eye on her. In case anything happens, get her out of here."

The human warrior bowed his head in a show of respect. "Will do."

Cyrus brushed past the Endeavor members who stood guard at the entrance to the room, cramming the staircase with their bulky frames. All were roughly his size or larger; warriors, paladins, and even the occasional dark knight. He pondered the differential between them and the warriors he trained in Sanctuary-on average they were a foot shorter in height and weighed considerably less.

Sanctuary's rangers were miniscule by comparison-few of them were League trained and almost all were smaller by a considerable margin than those he saw from Endeavor. The frame that would pass for a warrior in Sanctuary was small for a ranger in Endeavor.

Every one of them moved aside as Cyrus descended, and upon reaching the first floor he found a half dozen members of Sanctuary lingering in the kitchen and living room. The more formal among them saluted him and he found a familiar face at the front entryway, talking to an elf in full armor.

"Andren," Cyrus said in surprise. "I didn't know you were here."

"I was sleeping when you came over earlier," the healer said with a nod. "Long watch the night before. This is Endrenshan Odellan-Endrenshan is roughly translated to Captain-of the Termina Guard." He gestured to the armored elf, who bowed his head in acknowledgment. The elf, like most Cyrus encountered, was at least a foot shorter than he, with a unique helm that came to a point at the top, with winged ornamentation that extended beyond either side, giving his head a very different shape.

"Cyrus Davidon, of Sanctuary." Cyrus reached out and grasped the extended hand of the guard captain. "Has my comrade apprised you of what happened here?"

"Just basics," Andren replied, his long, dark hair curled below his neck. "About the Hand of Fear and how they're after one of our guildmates."

Cyrus turned his attention to Odellan. "They broke in through the cellar from the house next door, about thirty or so-"

Odellan cocked his head. "Has anyone checked on the people who lived next door, to see if they're alive?"

Cyrus shook his head. "They weren't there. Endeavor had paid the occupants of the house to stay elsewhere-"

The Captain's eyes grew wide. "Endeavor was involved in this skirmish as well?"

"Aye," Andren said with a sidelong smile at Cyrus. "The people who own this house, one of their daughters is with Sanctuary, the other with Endeavor."

"The members of Endeavor that were in the house next door are dead," Cyrus said to Odellan. "They also took over the house on the other side and the one in back, while we have the one across the street." He pointed out the door. "Do you need the local constabulary here to take a statement of some kind from me?"

Odellan's youthful face was lit with a gleam of mirth. "The Termina Guard is the local constabulary." The Endrenshan's short blond hair peeked out from under the lip of his helm, which outlined his face on the sides and forehead. He was possessed of a clean-shaven, ruggedly handsome kind of confidence, the type Cyrus had always associated with the elves.

"I thought you were the army?"

"Army and constabulary are the same in the Kingdom," Odellan said. "We police the cities and defend the Kingdom where necessary."

"One would think you'd never been here before," Andren said.

"I haven't-not to Termina, anyway," Cyrus said.

"I'm familiar with this Hand of Fear group, in passing at least," Odellan said. "We've got a few dead in the last weeks, all attributed to them."

Cyrus's curiosity was awakened. "How did you know it was them?"

"I take it you haven't lost anyone to them yet?" Odellan's eyebrow was raised.

"We have." Cyrus felt a burning in his chest as he thought of Niamh, lively, giggling-and no more. "One of our guildmates, back at Sanctuary."

"My condolences." Odellan's flat face reddened. "But you must have caught them before they had a chance to leave their mark. You said they killed the defenders you had set up in the house over there?" He pointed.

"Somehow they blasted through the cellars. I haven't seen it yet-"

"Walk with me," the guard captain said, already in motion. He led them onto the street, where four columns of elven soldiers stood in formation while a few others milled about outside the houses surrounding them.

The metalwork in Odellan's armor revealed patterns on the chestplate rather than the flat metal appearance that Cyrus was used to. Odellan led them to the front door of the house where the members of Endeavor that had been killed were staying.

Odellan pushed open the door. Inside was a house laid out not much differently than Vara's. The sitting room was filled with dead bodies. A few live members of Endeavor looked up as Cyrus entered with Odellan and Andren, but said nothing.

"The walls." Odellan pointed. Cyrus looked past the corpse of a warrior, a trickle of blood running down the mouth of the burly dwarf, to see spots on the white walls. "For every victim, they do this," Odellan said.

Cyrus looked at the spots. They appeared a deep brown by the light of the lamps. He knelt and realized they weren't spots, but blood, placed on the wall in a hand print. Empty space stood out between the joints and in the center of the palm, stark patches of white interrupted by the dried blood. "A hand print to mark the Hand of Fear," Cyrus said. "Cute."

"Not really." Odellan stared at the carnage. "We've seen a few murders with the hand prints on the wall. Pharesia gave us a warning that this was the Hand of Fear. I guess they caught one in the act, before he made his getaway." Odellan's hand fell to his sword, where it rested as he looked at the bodies surrounding them. "A counselor of the King was killed along with his whole household guard."

Cyrus stood up. "What about in Termina? Who has the Hand of Fear been killing?"

"Mostly wealthy individuals. Usually a lot more well off than your guildmate; the kind that live in the mansions on Ilanar Hill. Half a dozen or so-been quite the rumor mill starting about why they'd be targeting them."

"Seems like the people who own a house like that could spring for a personal guard," Andren said.

"They did," Odellan said. "Some of the best, in fact. We're not just talking about rank and file warriors. These assassins cut through druids, healers, paladins-even one particularly unfortunate dark knight."

Andren perked up. "I don't like the sound of that. Why was the dark knight 'particularly unfortunate'?

Odellan shrugged. "He must have given them a hard time; there wasn't much left of him by the time we found them. They either made an example of him or worked out some frustration on his corpse."

Cyrus squinted, counting the number of hand prints on the walls. "And you're sure it's them?"

"I'm not sure of anything," Odellan said. "Termina doesn't get much in the way of murders; nor does the Kingdom as a whole. Our worship of the Goddess of Life gives our culture more of a respect for it; the idea of taking a life is beyond simple scorn or punishment, it's anathema to our existence. The crime we deal with is larceny, fraud, smuggling, some bar fights and assaults."

Cyrus thought of the alleyways of Reikonos, of the bad ones where no one went unless they were ready for a fight to the death over whatever was in their purse. "Sounds idyllic compared to the Confederation."

"But fairly dull compared to what your guild does on a weekly basis," Odellan said with a hint of enthusiasm animating his face. Cyrus watched the guard captain, who looked to be in his twenties by human standards. "So are you the Cyrus Davidon who led the invasion that dethroned the Imperials of Enterra?"

Cyrus exchanged a look with Andren, watching the elder elf roll his eyes. "I am."

"I heard a rumor," Odellan said, "that it was you and your guild who fought the Dragonlord in the Mountains of Nartanis."

"We did," Cyrus confirmed.

"You'll have to tell me about it sometime," the guard captain said, his detached calmness gone. "I have to ascertain that the person who owns this home is still alive and look around to make sure no one's in distress."

"Sure." Cyrus pointed to the staircase. "Why don't we take a look at the hole they made in the cellar and we'll go up through to the house."

They descended to find a cellar much like the one in Vara's home. Dark, dank walls of stone surrounded an open space that had been used for storage. A few casks and crates were set against the walls and a half dozen bodies lay on the floor, bloody hand prints barely visible on the stone. A tremendous hole was blasted through one of the walls and a few members of Sanctuary and Endeavor were visible on the other side.

"What makes a hole like this?" Cyrus ran his finger along the rough edge. The wall was thick; the blocks used had been quarried to have smooth edges, but the hole was a jagged line all the way around the circle.

"Dragon's breath," Odellan said. Cyrus shot him a quizzical look and the guard captain chuckled. "Not that kind. It's an alchemist's creation, a powder, granules that you place inside a container with a string and you light it on fire and run. It explodes, leaving you with a mess like this."

Cyrus thought back to the fight in Vara's parents' room, of one of the assassins throwing something into the room that exploded. "They used something in the fight; it was small, and it exploded, but it made a big cloud of smoke. Nothing like the damage they did here."

"Sounds like they've got a few different tricks." Odellan stepped through the hole in the wall and looked around from the other side. "So you all heard it upstairs?"

"I didn't," Cyrus said. "I did feel the building shake, but not enough to alarm me."

"So your companions warned you that trouble was coming." Odellan was speaking almost to himself. "Can we go meet them?"

Cyrus gestured to the staircase and Odellan fell into line behind him. They reached the third floor and once again the members of Endeavor that were guarding the door parted so that the three of them could pass.

When Cyrus entered the room, Vara was still sitting on the bed, but she looked much more composed. Her hands were now in her lap, eyes alert. Catching sight of him as he walked in, she let out a small sigh.

"This is Endrenshan Odellan," Cyrus said by way of introduction. Odellan's eyes fell on Vaste, who leaned next to the chair that Isabelle was sitting in, and the captain's eyes widened in slight surprise.

"Pleased to make your acquiantance." J'anda had cast an elven illusion, stepping forward to grasp the hand of the captain.

Odellan's gaze was still fixed on Vaste. "I...can't say I've ever met a troll that wore the mark of a healer before."

"These old things?" Vaste looked down at his robes as if seeing them for the first time. "I took them off a chap I met in a dark alley...after I drained his blood, mutilated his body and danced naked around it for a bit."

"And he jokes," the Endrenshan said. He turned to Cyrus, almost plaintive. "Please tell me he's joking."

"Vaste is a healer, and yes, he has a somewhat warped sense of humor."

From behind Cyrus came a soft cough, just loud enough to be distracting. Turning, he saw Chirenya regarding him with great irritation. "Endrenshan Odellan, this is Chirenya. She's the owner of this home."

The elven woman crossed the distance between them, extending her hand to the guard captain. "Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Endrenshan. I believe I know your commanding officer, Oliaryn Iraid."

"That's like 'General' to humans," Andren whispered to Cyrus. "Probably in charge of the whole city."

Chirenya looked daggers at the healer. "The whole province, in point of fact." She turned her attention back to the captain. "I wish we could have met under more pleasant circumstances, such as the Officer's Ball."

"I am newly arrived from Pharesia, madam," Odellan said with a courteous nod.

"Really?" Chirenya's tone was of pleasant surprise, though Cyrus would have wagered every piece of gold he'd saved in the last few years that she already knew. "You must meet my daughters. This is Isabelle." She gestured toward the chair, where the healer raised a hand in a halfhearted wave. "She was injured in the attack, poor dear."

"So sorry to hear that, madam," Odellan said with a bow to Isabelle, who managed a weak smile in return.

"I wasn't injured at all, fortunately," Vaste said with a straight face. "In case you were worried."

"And my other daughter," Chirenya said, drawing Odellan's discomfited expression back to her, "Vara."

Vara stood from her place on the bed to greet the Endrenshan, drawing a double take from the guard captain. "Pleased to meet you," she said in a low, tired voice. Cyrus saw a slight laceration at her hairline, crimson streaking her normally yellow locks.

"Vara?" The captain's voice tremored with question. "Are you...?"