"Yes," Chirenya answered with a smile. "She is."

Odellan leaned in closer to Chirenya and lowered his voice. "Do you think that...she...might be targeted by this...Hand of Fear...?"

"Because she's the shelas'akur?" Cyrus said, louder than was necessary, startling both Chirenya and Odellan and causing both to look at him as though he had thrown something at them.

Odellan cleared his throat, a loud, uncomfortable noise, as the captain stooped to examine one of the bodies. Chirenya glared at Cyrus with an expression he recognized from Vara's face. The paladin, for her part, seemed to be regarding the whole situation with much more indifference than was normal for her.

Endrenshan Odellan pulled the cowl of the dead assassin's uniform back to look at the ears, running his finger up to the point. "Are all of these assassins elven?"

"All that we've seen thus far," J'anda answered. "I did a cursory look at the bodies downstairs and there don't seem to be any non-elves."

"I wish I could question one of them," Odellan said, his fingers on his chin in contemplation.

Behind the Endrenshan, Cyrus watched Vaste begin to speak under his breath, lips moving as the faint glow of magical energy gathered on his hands. It built to a crescendo, a stunning burst of light that cast the room in brightness. The troll blinked as he finished and nodded when Odellan turned to him in surprise. "Wish granted," he said.

Odellan's brow furrowed, uncertain. "What? AHHHH!" With a start, the guard captain jumped back as the body he had been inspecting jerked to life and grabbed his leg.

"There you go," Vaste said with a grunt of amusement. "Question away."

"Heal me...please..." The assassin's voice was a whisper, blood spurting from his lips.

"Looks like a lung wound," Vaste said, craning his neck to see from where he was sitting on the floor. "Painful."

Odellan looked in shock at the troll. "Aren't you...going to heal him?"

"After all the trouble we went to putting the holes in him, I don't think I'll patch them up. Besides," Vaste said, "if you interrogate him now, he'll be more apt to answer your questions."

"He's bleeding all over my floor," Chirenya said.

"Please," came the strangled voice of the assassin. "It hurts..."

"You stormed into this house intending to do violence to its occupants," Vaste said from the corner. "Did you not take into account the possibility that they might return the favor?"

Odellan cast a withering glare at Vaste, then knelt next to the assassin. "Who are you?"

The assassin's lips curled into a pained smile, blood dribbling down his chin. "I have no name. I am a Hand of Fear."

"So, more of a title then." Vaste nodded. "And a dumb one at that."

Cyrus held up his hand to Vaste. "Who is your leader?"

The dull eyes of the assassin met his, and from their exchange Cyrus looked away first; the assassin's brown eyes were soulless. "Our leader?" He coughed, bringing up more blood. "His word is death." Cyrus looked back to find the assassin fixated on Vara, who was meeting his gaze unflinching. "Yours. Your family's. And everyone who aids you."

"You're not in a good position to be making threats," Odellan said.

"Kill me; kill all of these." The assassin tried to wave around the room to his fallen brethren, but his hand flopped. "More will come. We will pursue you to the ends of Arkaria." The eyes glowed, still locked on Vara's. "Until the ends of time. We will watch and learn, and our next attack will be more powerful still." He coughed again and a geyser of blood flooded from his lips. "If necessary, we will kill everyone you love, one by one, to get to you. Just like we did with-"

The bloody smile on the assassin's face was frozen as a 'WHUMP!' broke the silence in the room. Odellan jumped back, a two-handed sword sticking out of the taunting elf's chest. Vara had drawn her blade and struck so quickly that no one had seen, let alone been able to stop her. She raised it again, and with a cry of rage brought it down and split the assassin's head from his shoulders.

A cool indifference played across her face, broken by a twitch of emotion, then another. Her perfect mask cracked, and one hand flew to her face, trying to cover it as she stood by herself amidst all of them. Cyrus watched and behind her hands he caught glimpses of her facade breaking.

"Out!" Chirenya's words were frantic, hurried, as she went to her daughter's side, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "Everyone out!" She looked to Odellan. "My apologies, Endrenshan, but of course we'll continue this some other time."

He nodded. "Yes, madam. I'll come calling tomorrow." Bowing, he backed from the room as the members of Endeavor cleared the path for him, followed by J'anda, Thad and Andren.

Vaste followed after reassurances from Isabelle that she was fine. Still clutching her side, the healer moved to her sister's other shoulder. Vara was deteriorating now, both hands before her face, a choked sob leaving her lips. He was alone in the room with the three of them and Vara's father, still unmoving on the bed.

"You too." Chirenya made a shooing gesture, crossing the distance between them and pushing him toward the door.

"It's not safe," Cyrus said, his protest weaker than he would have thought possible under the circumstances.

"I know you'll stand watch outside the door," she replied as she began to close it in his face. "Isabelle and I will handle this, as we always have. No one comes through that door. I know you'll watch it all night."

"I-" He didn't finish before the door was shut. He stared at it, amazed it was still in place after the battle.

As the sun rose over the wreckage a few hours later, he reflected that Chirenya was right-he did not move until well after sunup.

Chapter 18.

Isabelle emerged sometime in the late morning. She looked at Cyrus with surprise as she closed the door behind her; he caught a glimpse of Vara, asleep in a chair in the corner of the room. "I didn't expect you to be out here all night," she said. Warriors from Endeavor lined the stairwells and greeted her with enthusiasm until she gestured for them to quiet. "Aren't you tired?"

"I'm fine," he lied. "How's Vara?"

"She'll be all right." Isabelle flashed him a reassuring smile. "Vara doesn't come apart like that very often so it's all the worse when it happens."

"No, she doesn't show much emotion. Other than irritation."

"Walk with me," she said with a smile.

"Well..." He could feel the internal tension rising. He glanced at the door.

"My warriors will keep watch." She started down the steps and paused, turning to look back at him. "Come on then."

He followed as she strolled to the second floor. Having not seen it in the daylight, he paused, amazed at the damage. All the windows were broken and blood streaked the floors where the bodies were dragged out of the house during the night. There were holes in every wall, glass was scattered on the floor, couches were ripped, paintings knocked from the walls, and chairs overturned and smashed.

Isabelle moved closer to the window, looking into the house across the way. Several of its windows were also shattered. Cyrus caught sight of Martaina in one of them, her bow in her hand, watching. She nodded then returned to watching. The sound of ringing bells filled the streets. The tolling was constant, a melodic noise in the distance.

"You were fortunate to weather the attack with no casualties." Isabelle turned to give him a reassuring smile, then moved closer to the windows to stare down at the street below. Cyrus followed her and was amazed; the columns of Termina guards remained below, still in formation. At its head, standing at attention, was Endrenshan Odellan. On the side of the road was a wagon piled with bodies; the remains of the members of the Hand of Fear, stacked one on top of the other.

"Luck was on the side of Sanctuary." He bowed his head. "I'm sorry about the loss of your people."

He watched her pale cheeks for any sign of rage, but there was none. "These assassins are dangerous when they catch you by surprise, but after facing the Hand of the Gods, the Hand of Fear doesn't seem quite so frightening."

"I suppose it was different for Endeavor when you went through the Trials of Purgatory, but..." Cyrus stared out. "The Hand of Fear has killed more of our people than the Gatekeeper or the Trials ever did."

"We lost very few in conquering Purgatory," she said, "as we had several members of Amarath's Raiders advise us on how best to handle them."

Cyrus racked his memory, trying to remember what Vara had told him about their conquest and the subsequent purge of their ranks. "They came to you after Archenous killed their guildmaster?"

She nodded and looked to him, eyebrow raised in mild surprise. "She told you about that?"

"You sound surprised."

"I suppose I am. She rarely speaks of it to anyone. It's a good sign that after Archenous's betrayal, she's beginning to trust another man enough that she can talk about it."

Cyrus stiffened, sensing there was more to the story than Vara had told him and unsure of how to respond. "Well...when you're...betrayed, as she was...one would tend to take it...personally."

Isabelle laughed, a crackling noise lacking in any mirth. "I think you might be understating it, but yes, being betrayed by your first lover, a man who is to be your husband; being gutted and left alone to die in a place like Purgatory is the sort of thing most people would take personally."

A cold winter wind ran between the buildings and Cyrus felt the temperature drop in his armor, something that had precious little to do with the weather. So that's what happened.

Isabelle seemed to catch sight of something on his face that was unexpected. "She...didn't tell you all of that, did she?" Her head dropped as a hand came up to her forehead, hiding her eyes from his sight. "Bollocks."

Silence passed between them before Cyrus spoke. "Before that, was your sister...I mean, has she ever been..." He fought for the words, not sure how to ask the question on his mind.

Isabelle looked back at him, now impish. "Calm? Peaceful? Sweet?" She chuckled. "No, even before Archenous she was just as acerbic and more guarded than most." The amusement left her eyes and she became cold in an instant, as if all her joy had been taken by a single memory. "But he made her untrusting and sapped the vibrancy from her." Isabelle turned to him. "You have to realize that although to humans Vara is a woman, to elves she's still a child; not even lived a half a year if she had the lifespan of your people."

"That's..." He blinked. "Staggering."

"And yet she is a woman, mature-in spite of what our mother thinks-and able to make her own decisions." Isabelle straightened, her chin pointing as she looked at the building across the street. "I daresay that Vara has had to deal with more at her age than most elves ever have to, because of who she is and what it means."

"Because she's the shelas'akur?"

Isabelle turned to look at him, curiosity filling her eyes while her face remained cool. "Do you know what that means?"

"Only in the literal sense," Cyrus said. "'Last hope'."

The hint of a smile blossomed into a wry one. "You could have bluffed me. I might have believed she had told you."

"Twice in a row?" He shook his head. "You knew better this time."

"Probably, but I'm surprised you didn't make the attempt."

"I will find out," he told her. "Someone will let it slip, not knowing I'm around. Probably someday soon, since I'm surrounded by your people here."

Her fingers brushed against the destroyed glass hanging in one of the windows, causing it to fall and break. Without any visible reaction, she said, "When you do, I hope you'll keep the secret, for reasons that will become obvious. But about Vara...she has tremendous pressure on her, of a kind that may be henceforth unseen by anyone, even the Royal family members in the line of succession." Her finger carressed another piece of broken glass.

"What kind of pressure?" Cyrus stared at the blond elf, who seemed fascinated by the shattered glass.

"Three kinds. The first is societal. The shelas'akur is recognized the Kingdom over. They adore her for who she is."

"I've seen that," Cyrus said. "Elves have made mention of her being shelas'akur, even having not met her before."

"There's political pressure as well," Isabelle continued. "The King would love it if Vara were in Pharesia, operating as a member of his court." Her smile thinned, becoming less genuine and more rueful. "I doubt he'd feel the same after a week of her being there. She's never said it, but I know that's part of the reason why she left the Kingdom to study in Reikonos when she did."

"Huh?"

"By all rights, even with her magical abilities she shouldn't have gone to the Holy Brethren until she was nearer to thirty or forty; in fact, given her status, she would have been given instructors from the Leagues and allowed to train at home. Instead, she left for Reikonos at fourteen to become a paladin." She scoffed. "Realize that she took advantage of human standards when doing that-after all, humans may train from the age of six in a League, but that's not normal for an elf. I didn't start with the Healer's Union until I was nearing fifty."

"I didn't realize she had been trained in Reikonos," he said. "I assumed she'd learned in Pharesia or Termina."

"None of the Leagues train here," Isabelle mused, staring at the shard that she had plucked from the window. "Not anymore."

"In Termina?"

"In the Kingdom," she said. "Anyone who needs training would go to Reikonos. Which is why she was able to play off the humans who were in charge of the Holy Brethren in Reikonos, in spite of what I'm sure were screaming protests from the elves in the faculty about her being too young. Of course, that's nothing compared to the last source of pressure on her."

Cyrus waited a beat. "Which is?"

"Mother."

"She wasn't happy when Vara left?" He ran his gauntlet across the sill, brushing shards of glass out the window and onto the street below.

Isabelle's head turned to favor him with a pitying look. "What do you think?"

"She left to study in the human capital?" Cyrus rubbed the stubble on his chin in thought. "Your mother probably went rabid, foaming at the mouth."

"I did not." Chirenya's voice came from behind them, startling both Cyrus and Isabelle, who turned to see her staring at them from midway down the stairs. "But neither was I pleased that my daughter, barely capable of wiping her nose without assistance, took a horse from the stables-"

"One which was given to her as a gift," Isabelle said with muted annoyance.

"-and proceeded to travel hundreds of miles to a savage city with only a note to warn her parents what she was doing." The elven woman's hand was locked on the chipped and damaged guardrail as she descended. "Of course, I didn't see her for almost four years after that-"

"Because you were too stubborn to travel to Reikonos to see either of your daughters-"

"-and after, she showed up only sporadically, usually when she was in trouble." After taking her last step, Chirenya's hand left the banister and her arms folded in front of her, her gaze cold. "Like now, for instance. And of course, she continues to associate with bandits-"

"Excuse me?" Cyrus cut in, outrage edging his voice.

"You're excused; you may leave whenever," Chirenya replied before continuing argument. "Everything that's gone wrong in her life is all attributable to the choices she made from the moment she left."

Isabelle sighed, a deep, disbelieving noise. "I suppose if she'd continued to follow the path you'd laid out for her she'd be much better off."

Chirenya's eyes narrowed at her eldest daughter. "She'd have less scars." Bristling, she changed tacks. "Clean up; we're leaving in a few minutes."

Cyrus caught the eye roll from Isabelle as Chirenya turned to leave. Casting a look back over her shoulder, the elder elf spoke again. "You too, ox. Find a working faucet and clean yourself up; if need be, use the pump in the yard. You'll need to be presentable."

Feeling as if the rug had been jerked from underneath his feet, he stared at Chirenya, almost agape. "Where are we going?"

She frowned. "Are you deaf, ox? Are those tiny ears of yours insufficient to the task of hearing? Men are already such poor listeners; I imagine women with human husbands must be doubly frustrated at their lot. Do you not hear the bells?"