"You-and the old one as well."

Chapter 23.

Cyrus rode through the streets of Termina, having left the assassin in the hands of Odellan and his troops. Vara was sandwiched between him and Thad, with Longwell and Andren riding in front of them and Martaina behind with Isabelle. The silence was thick and the atmosphere almost as cold as the chill emitted by Vara. "You should not have brutalized him." Vara's words came flat, unemotional, and broke the silence with all the impact of the crack of a whip.

"Perhaps not," Cyrus said. For the past few minutes he had stewed in the memory of what he'd done and felt a hint of remorse-mainly because his efforts had yielded nothing. They were on the Entaras'iliarad, the road that stretched between the Chancel of Life and the center bridge that led back to Santir, and the crowds were enormous, filling the streets with elves wrapped up against the elements. He looked back at Vara again, his cloak draped over the simple cloth dress that was all that stood between her and the icy wind howling through the streets.

"Perhaps not?" Isabelle said. "I think you permanently damaged his face."

Cyrus grunted. "He's not the first. What do you think he meant by saying they would kill Vara and the old one?"

"Maybe he was talking about you," Andren said. "You're looking a bit worn around the edges of late, you know."

Cyrus fired off a rude gesture. "Is your wine-sodden brain capable of grasping that we have a serious threat?"

"Wine-sodden?" Andren said, offended. "I'll have you know I prefer ale."

"Old ones are a legend," Martaina said from the back. "Supposedly immortal, they were the first elves."

"So they're going to kill some immortal elf?" Cyrus pondered, talking almost to himself.

"Yes, except that the old ones," Isabelle said, "if they ever existed, are gone. We elves have a lifespan of six thousand years. That may seem long to a human, but I assure you, it's not infinite."

"Is it possible that they still exist?" Longwell asked. "I mean, would they look different? Or could it be that someone wouldn't know that they're immortal?"

"Yes," Isabelle said with measured skepticism. "I suppose it's possible in the sense that anything is possible; you could get hit by a dead griffon falling out of the sky right now-but it's not likely."

"In other words, you think the legend is bullshit," Cyrus summed up. With a start, he looked back to the Endeavor officer, who wore her customary smile of amusement. "Sorry, I forgot you're not one of my people; I wouldn't have sworn."

"I am familiar with the term, though most of the time I hear it in whispered breaths behind my back rather than to my face." She smiled. "But to your point, most elves would think the legend is 'bullshit' as you so eloquently put it; we live in our communities, and over the millenia we see our friends and neighbors age. Though you might think me still young-looking by human standards, elves can judge my age very close to the mark. It is subtle but noticeable among our own. I would think that someone who lived forever would be discovered after a few decades; perhaps a century."

Thad whistled. "That's a long time to us humans."

"But not to elves," Vara said. "Most elves live in the same communities all of their lives. Termina is unique in that it has attracted enormous population growth by becoming a thriving trade city; most elven cities are dying because people do not leave them except by death, and they do not relocate within them to other neighborhoods because of the rigid caste system. It creates a community wherein you know your neighbors and build a relationship with them from birth until death. Even here, to a lesser extent, it happens."

"So if I was an old one and I wanted to hide out, it wouldn't be practical to do so in the Elven Kingdom anywhere but Termina?" Cyrus chewed his lip as Vara shook her head. He thought for a moment. "Maybe Arbukant was an old one?"

"Yes," Vara said, "and maybe he was a dark elf in disguise. There are no old ones. It's myth and legend."

"Yeah," Cyrus muttered under his breath, "and there's no way goblins could be raiding convoys in the Plains of Perdamun."

"Let us call it unlikely," Isabelle said. "But assume he was-why would the Hand of Fear care if he was a thousand or ten thousand years old?"

"I don't know anything about what they want-other than Vara dead." Cy nodded toward the paladin, who shrugged her shoulders in a worn and noncommital way. "We don't know who they serve, what their agenda is once these assassinations are completed-or why they've been wiping out former members of your King's Court." He nodded at Vara again. "Or a potential one."

They lapsed into silence as they turned from the square onto a thoroughfare. Cyrus steered through the crowds, keeping watch for pedestrians. At one point, a small child darted into the street in front of him and he steered his horse out of the way at the last moment. He looked down at the little one-a boy, no older than five-and watched as his mother darted after him, thanking Cyrus with a stream of effusive words and begging his pardon a thousand times. Cyrus watched them retreat, and noticed the curve of the lad's ear; another half-elf.

"Be on with it, woman," Vara snapped at the mother elf. "If you keep apologizing to this lout, he'll get a swelled ego."

Cyrus looked back at the paladin, her cheeks red from the burn of the wind. "You don't even have an ounce of gratitude to me for saving your life back there, do you?"

She rolled her eyes. "As usual, you look for praise for doing what is expected. I almost wish you hadn't; then I wouldn't have to go through the motions of puffing you up into a bloated and gelatinous mass."

They rode down Vara's street and dismounted. The illusion remained intact, the facades switched for the two houses. The front door flew open as they approached and Vaste stuck his head out. "Hihi."

"Hihi yourself, you grotesque," Vara said. "Get back indoors before someone becomes suspicious."

"I will, after I've stripped naked and done a dance in the middle of the street," Vaste said. "I thought you might like to know-your father is awake and he's been asking for you ladies."

Cyrus turned to Vara. Her face was frozen, eyes squeezed tight from where she had just hurled an insult at the troll. She shivered in the breeze, and after a moment's wait she was in motion, running toward the door. Vaste ducked back inside in time to avoid being shoulder-checked by the much shorter elf.

"So she does have some emotion other than anger," Andren said. "Who knew?"

Isabelle laughed. "She does. Not much, but she does." With a nod to the members of Sanctuary around her, she proceeded toward the door, much slower and with more dignity than Vara had.

Cyrus watched the two of them go and turned around. "Be vigilant. We have no idea what will come next."

"I'm going to go out on a limb and guess...pineapples," Andren said.

"Pineapples?" Longwell's accent was even more obvious in his confusion. "What do pineapples have to do with anything?"

"Oh, they don't," Andren said. "I'm just sick of saying 'assassins'."

Cyrus shook his head and entered the house in time to see Vaste sitting back down at the table in the corner, the same warriors from Endeavor seated around him.

"This time will be different," the dwarf told him as Cyrus headed past them to the cellar stairs.

"Sure it will," Vaste agreed. "After all, you can only lose so many times in a row, right?"

He shut the door, making his way between the houses then up to the second floor of Vara's home and found himself hesitating at the landing. It's a family reunion, he thought. I'll wait for her down here, keep watch in case someone comes upstairs. He walked toward the sitting area and realized, not for the first time, that he hadn't slept since arriving in the city.

He positioned himself in a chair, his back to the broken windows, and felt his head rest against the padding. Just need to close my eyes for a few minutes, he thought. Or maybe an hour.

The fatigue from the battles of previous days and the ever-present pain from the wound in his shoulder finally caught up with him, settling over him like a blanket, and soon enough he was in a deep sleep.

Chapter 24.

"I think you've ruined my chair."

The words jolted Cyrus awake. He blinked his eyes and realized that he was cold, terribly cold, his cloak missing. He was seated, and his neck had a cramp from the position he'd adopted while sleeping. Bleary, he looked up to see the stern face of Chirenya leaning over him, examining the fabric of the chair next to his shoulder. "Your armor seems to be rubbing off," she said in annoyance. "Are you really so ridiculous that you took the time and effort to paint it black?"

"No," he said, his voice sounding far away as he tried to orient himself to his surroundings. "It was my father's, but it's the metal, not paint, because it's yet to scrape off and it's been hit quite a few times."

"Then what are you rubbing off on my chair?"

"Blood, probably," he said, hand finding his face and trying to rub the cobwebs away. He looked around the room, still wrecked from the battle the night before. He took it all in and looked back to Chirenya. "I kinda think this chair is the least of your decorating problems."

"Cheeky," she said, her eyes narrowing.

"Where's Vara?" he asked, now irritated.

"Still upstairs, with her father," Chirenya said, straightening up. "They haven't seen each other in nearly a year, you know."

"I can't imagine why."

"What is that supposed to mean, ox?"

"What is it with you and oxen? Did you have an affinity for romancing farm animals in your day?" Cyrus countered. "Is there a particular reason you don't like me, or do I just fall under your blanket contempt for humans?"

She glared at him. "You wish to have this conversation now, do you?"

"Why not?" he said. "I doubt I'll get back to sleep anyway."

"I have no problem with your people," she replied. "In my experience, humans are decent enough."

"Then what have I done to offend you? Is it that I guard your daughter? You'd rather her go wandering alone with these assassins after her?"

A sigh of deep disapproval came from the elf. "Don't be ridiculous. While I'm not pleased about the situation she's in, I don't mind that she's got a loyal bodyguard-no matter how ox-like he may be."

"Then what is it?" His words came out suffused with exasperation. "I realize you're a mean old hag to everyone, but you seem to have a particular disdain for me."

"Perhaps it's not for you," Chirenya said. "Perhaps it's more for your type."

"My type? Warriors?"

"That's a start. 'Adventurers' would better encompass it," she said with a haughty sniff. "I know who you are. I've met your kind before; the sort that thinks they're a hotshot, noble and ambitious, with plans to conquer the whole world in order to better your pocketbook. You travel Arkaria and use your considerable martial abilities to steal from unsuspecting dragons, goblins and gods. Oh, yes, you are noble indeed."

"What?" He blinked in outrage. "I've stolen from evil gods, yes, like for example the God of Death, the God of Darkness-you know, bad guys, in that they've been responsible for actual atrocities. I've stolen from the goblins, who, when they were the Goblin Imperium, not only fit the criteria of 'evil' but pretty much defined it, since a great many of their treasures came from convoys they'd destroyed and stolen from over the years. And don't get me started on the dragons I stole from," he said with a shake of his head. "They were plotting to bring about the destruction of the entire mortal world."

"Oh, yes, always a justification for everything. I'm sure in your mind you think you defend the less fortunate."

"I do," he said with annoyance. "I did save the world from the Dragonlord, after all. And I helped overthrow a nasty, oppressive regime that was choking its people and raiding convoys."

"And there was no benefit in it for you?" She looked at him triumphant as his face fell. "I thought so. My daughter and I have gone round and round about her choice of profession, and I doubt you'll say much to sway me. In fact, likely as not, it's her profession that has got her in this trouble."

"You don't know that," Cyrus shot back. "It could be because she's the shelas'akur. And you can't possibly hate me for being a warrior in her guild; I joined Sanctuary long after your daughter and have had no sway over her decision to remain with us or to be an adventurer."

"Fine," she snapped. "My issue with you is as follows-while I'm certain you make a fine plaything, Vara requires a husband. An elven husband."

Cyrus leaned back in the chair and emitted a short, sharp bark of a laugh. "I'm. Not. Having. Sex. With your daughter," he said with exaggerated emphasis. "She's made it quite clear that nothing will happen between us."

"Yes, I'm sure that's what she said," Chirenya replied with a slow nod.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Cyrus shook his head in exhaustion.

"Vara has been a rebel her whole life," came the measured response. "First she fought against the various social customs I expected her to observe; then she bucked the traditions regarding training of magic users by running off to the Holy Brethren at age fourteen; and then she went completely mad and joined a guild rather than use her abilities to serve her king and country." Chirenya's face was lit in the glow of a nearby lamp, serious and stern. "Then she brought home her fiance-a human, shirking all expectations once more. Worse, an adventurer-an egomaniacal, power-hungry bastard that ended up stabbing her in the back, almost causing us to lose her-" her eyes blazed-"the last hope of our people.

"So you see," Chirenya said, her calm restored, "I have my reasons for being displeased with both adventurers and humans that come home with my daughter." Her smile returned, polite. "I have no desire to see her tread the same path again."

"I'm not Archenous Derregnault," Cyrus said. "To confuse me with him would be a grave mistake in addition to being one of the most insulting things you could say to me. I would...NEVER...hurt Vara. And why do you keep going back to the romance argument? She and I are not together."

"You deny that you have feelings for my daughter?" Chirenya's hands cupped one another. "Because you should understand..." She lowered her voice, so low that Cyrus could barely hear her. "I had a fling with a human once-it lasted about forty years, and while immensely satisfying on a physical level, at least at the start, I got to watch him die in the end." The elven woman's face was grim. "For me it lasted the equivalent of six months to your race, and he had lived a lifetime. Elves have a concept-covekan. Have you heard of it?"

Cyrus felt an unexpected tightening in his chest. "Yes. It's the idea of a long-developed emotional bond between your people."

"Even if I were to ignore Vara's responsibilities as shelas'akur, my desire for her to embrace a less deadly career path and assume that you're a decent-nay, perhaps even wonderful-man, humans cannot become covekan." She drew herself up to her full height so that she could look down at him, a calm resignation upon her. "You would love her all your life and you would be nothing but a passing memory in hers, something that would wreck her heart and spirit for a hundred years or more.

"Suppose you should give her children?" She smiled, but it was a fake one, one that didn't even come close to touching her eyes. "You would wound her doubly; half-elves have less than a quarter of the lifespan of a pure-blood elf. You would bless her with children that she would outlive by several thousand years.

"Perhaps you think me cruel. I assure you, I am not; I am her mother, and I want what is best for her." Chirenya turned to leave, but looked back once more over her shoulder. "Protect her, Cyrus Davidon, protect her from harm. But remember this: the physical harm that will befall her would be nothing compared to the emotional harm of life with you. I don't hate you," she said with conviction as her hand slipped onto the banister and she began to climb the stairs. "But I love my daughter-both of them. And I, too, would do anything to protect them from harm."

Chapter 25.

Cyrus staggered out of the house, still exhausted, beckoning to Thad once he reached the street. The warrior trotted up to him, Longwell and a few others lurking nearby. "I'm going to get some sleep. Go up to the second floor of the house and wait there." He walked past them, then stopped as a malicious thought crossed his mind. "Sit on the furniture, relax, and keep an eye on things."

"Sit on the furniture?" Thad looked at Longwell with a guarded skepticism. "That sounds like something Vara's mother won't like."

"If she says anything to you, let her know I told you to do it."

Leaving Thad shaking his head, he opened the door to the Sanctuary safehouse. J'anda greeted him with a nod. "Come to rest? There's a bed in a room on the top floor that's unoccupied."

"How is that?" Cyrus shook his head, trying to clear it from the fog of sleep and the spinning caused by his argument with Chirenya. "We've got a ton of people here."

"Yeah," J'anda said, "but most of them sleep during the day, when we're least likely to be attacked by the order of shadowy assassins, and we moved about half our number over to the house on the other side, taking over for Endeavor. They had to reshuffle people after their losses in the attack."