"It could be anyone," Vara said. "For all their attacks, we still know next to nothing about the Hand of Fear."

Silence reigned for a moment as Terian scratched his chin. "I know something."

Alaric's words cut through the quiet. "You tortured one of them, didn't you?"

"Maybe." The dark knight's normally cool expression was even more reserved.

The fire crackled behind Alaric's eye. "I specifically told you-"

"You keep me around to do the things you're not willing to do yourself," Terian said, blazing defiance. "Protecting this guild from outside harm is my only priority, and if it's between bleeding some gutless assassin who had a hand in killing Niamh and waiting for the hammer to fall on another of my guildmates, it's an easy choice. Besides, it didn't even require that much effort. The last one we caught was human, a young one. Folded easy, because he wasn't a true believer like the others."

"Who's the master?" Cyrus leaned forward, intent on the dark knight.

"Not sure," Terian said, some of his smugness disappearing. "This human was seemed to be more of an initiate. Whoever they are, the Hand of Fear is running low on experienced assassins. This one was unsure of who they serve, only that 'the master is great and powerful and mighty' and all that crap. But he did know where the lair was, after some..." He looked away from Alaric's piercing gaze. "...coercion."

"I will not accept this sort of behavior, Terian," Alaric said in warning.

"If anyone ever kills another one of our guildmates this way, I suspect you'll accept it again," Terian replied. "Unless you'd like to see us keep losing people to these murderers."

"What you have done is beyond our code of honor." Alaric's voice carried a warning. "It is not how we comport ourselves in this guild."

"No? When it's them or us, I pick them to suffer and die every time. Sorry if that makes me cold, but that's how it is."

"We will discuss this further in private." Alaric's eye was narrow. "For now, we must eliminate this threat once and for all."

"Their base is in Traegon, in the Elven Kingdom," the dark knight said. "They used to have an army of master assassins. My sense is that they've gone through a lot of them lately, but we should still expect a tough fight. The initiate told me that there's a closed door in their headquarters, that only the initiated are allowed inside, and that they come back from behind it with orders from the master." He smiled. "So if we're lucky..."

"There's a portal just outside Traegon," Nyad said. "We can get my father's permission to strike; he might even add some of the army to assist-"

"No," Cyrus cut her off. "Get his permission, but don't let him tell a soul. Hand of Fear has shown a remarkable talent for learning things that they shouldn't know; they must have spies in his court. We can take a small army and hit them and maybe we'll catch this mysterious master at home."

Alaric turned to Nyad. "Go now. Every moment we wait gives the enemy further opportunity to place assassins within our walls again."

"Aisling is keeping an eye on everyone that walks through the door," Curatio said. "She seems pretty good at singling out the ones that are here for nefarious purposes."

"Which she should be," Vara muttered, "since she herself is here for nefarious purposes."

Alaric ignored her and turned his gaze to Cyrus. "Put together a small strike force-thirty or so of our most elite, in preparation to strike. Be ready to move as soon as Nyad returns." Cyrus nodded and Alaric turned back to face the occupants of the circular table. "If we are fortunate, this may be the last day that we need concern ourselves with the Hand of Fear."

Chapter 42.

"I'm going, right?" Andren asked as Cyrus sat at a table in the Great Hall, nibbling on a turkey leg that Larana had wordlessly set in front of him. He had smiled and nodded at her in thanks, and she retreated, casting the occasional look back at him. Even now he saw her through the open passthrough in the wall where she was hard at work in the kitchen preparing dinner and sending him furtive glances, looking away every time he caught her.

"Yes," Cyrus said, turning his attention to his oldest friend. "I need a few healers, so I think it'll be you, Erith and Vaste."

"Yes!" The healer pumped his fist. "Revenge for Niamh at last."

"This isn't for revenge," Cyrus said, setting his quill down in the jar of ink. "This is to protect our guildmates from further harm. This Hand of Fear, they intend to kill Curatio and Vara."

"Well, yeah," Andren said, looking insulted. "But I find no wrong in taking a bit of vengeance for our favorite druid."

Cyrus did not respond; Curatio had entered the Great Hall and was making his way toward them. Cy nodded at his approach and the elder elf slid a chair out and sat down. "I'm going with you," he said with an odd determination.

"I'm making a list right now," Cyrus replied, feeling the need for a sudden caution. "I...believe it would be safest if you remained behind, along with Vara."

The Healer shook his head. "I'm afraid not. I need to come with you."

Cyrus exchanged a look with Andren. "I have several healers," he began, "we can make it without your help."

"It doesn't matter how many healers you have. I'm coming along-exercising my prerogative as the Elder of Sanctuary." Curatio stood; his words had come out the same way one might deliver a simple statement. With that said, he turned and began to make his way back toward the foyer.

"I doubt we'll need your skills-" Cyrus said to his retreating back.

"Doesn't matter," Curatio called over his shoulder. "You'll have them." He disappeared through the doorway.

"I believe the Elder of Sanctuary just told the General how it is," Andren said with barely contained glee. "I can't remember you ever taking orders from anyone and liking it."

"I don't like it now, either," Cyrus said. "But he's more experienced than any of us and I'm sure he has his reasons."

"So is it true?" Andren's hand was wrapped around a horn of ale, and his light beard already dripped with the brew. "He's an 'old one'?"

"The last." Cyrus dipped his quill back into the ink and added Curatio's name to his list in small script at the bottom. "How would that feel, outliving everyone you've ever known?"

"Not fun. Not that all the elves I know are dead, but I've been shunning my own kind and hanging around you more-mortal races for a few hundred years now. While you certainly know how to have more fun than the elves, it tends to come to a damned abrupt stop far earlier than I'm ready for it to."

"Which reminds me," Cyrus said, a smile coming to his face. "We have a mutual friend; she helped me care for Vara and bring her back to health."

"Oh?" Andren took a deep slug from his horn.

"Yeah, her name is Arydni-"

The mouthful of drink that the healer had taken erupted from his lips at the mention of the Priestess's name, covering the table, the parchment and Cyrus's breastplate. Andren made a strange, deep choking sound, as though he had inhaled some of his beverage. "I guess you remember her," Cyrus said.

Andren coughed, pounding himself on the chest before taking his hand away and clutching the table. "It'd be tough to forget that one. I haven't seen her in about two millenia. Has she taken the turn yet?"

Cyrus raised an eyebrow at him. "You mean has she started to age to fit her years?"

"Yeah."

A flash of Arydni in her priestess attire, with her supple flesh and ample bosoms, came to Cyrus's mind. "She has not."

"Really?" The healer's voice carried a note of hope. "Maybe I should track her down after this. You know, reacquaint myself."

Cyrus looked back to the blank spot under Curatio's name on his parchment, dipped his quill and began to write another name. "I thought you had women enough to keep you occupied here in Sanctuary."

"I do," Andren said. "But Arydni was a whole different kind of woman. Not like these naive human girls I've been playing around with; she was almost three thousand when I met her, and the things she knew how to do..." He shuddered, a smile cracking his face as he stared off into space.

"Keep it to yourself." Cyrus shook his head. "I've already seen almost all of her; I don't need to imagine what she's capable of, it'll give me..." He let his words drift off.

"Nightmares?"

"Quite the opposite, more like." Cyrus shook his head. "Bellarum himself couldn't help me if I got caught muttering her name in my sleep."

"Yeah." Andren scooted his chair closer to Cyrus. "What's going on with you and the shelas'akur?"

"I don't know," he said. "She's been distant since her mother and father died. I won't crowd her now that she's been through all this; I'll just wait and give her time to figure things out." He shook his head. "It's not as though she's going anywhere, and if I were in her position I think I'd be wrecked, losing my hometown and both my parents in the course of a week."

"Yeah. Lucky for you that you don't have any parents to worry about." He shook his head. "Or a hometown, really."

Cyrus stiffened. "Reikonos is still my hometown."

"Really?" Andren's voice was measured incredulity. "If I'd have gone through what you went through at the Society, I'd have said good riddance and left the place behind the minute after graduation."

"Yeah." Cyrus felt a pang of bitterness. "It's done though. It doesn't matter. In the past. All that matters now..." He paused as he caught sight of a flash of blond hair, and a tight smile appeared on his face. "...is the future."

Andren and Cyrus remained silent and watched Vara storm her way through the Great Hall. Her hand toyed with the sword in her scabbard and she stopped at the edge of the table and looked to Andren first. "Drunk," she said to him with a nod of acknowledgment, then turned, focusing on Cyrus.

"Shrew," Andren said, drawing a withering glare from Vara and an eye roll from Cyrus. "What? She insulted me, I fired back."

"I stated a true fact about you." She cocked her head and glared at him.

"As did I," he returned and took another swig of his ale. "Would you rather I lied and called you 'sweetheart'?"

Vara let out a breath of exasperation and turned back to Cyrus. "I am coming with you to Traegon. There will be no argument."

"You sure about that?" Andren said, then buried his mouth back in his cup when she glared at him again. "Just asking."

Cyrus stared back at her, impassive, as she began to speak. "These monsters have killed one of our comrades while trying to get to me, drove me from my home and killed my mother." Her anger was white hot and visible on her face and in her mannerisms, the way she swung her finger around to point at Cyrus. "I don't care what oafish, protectionary nonsense you might have in your head about keeping me safe; I will be attending this attack, regardless of what you say-"

He didn't blink away from her assault, but reached down and grasped the list between his thumb and forefinger and lifted it with care to avoid the wet ink, angling the written words so she could read them, then pointed with his available hand to the line below Curatio's name.

She halted her tirade, confused, then followed his finger and stared at the parchment in concentration. "That says my name. Is that-that's the list for the raid?" He nodded, and a flicker of uncertainty was visible as she froze in place, finger still pointed at him. "That's...well, good."

He nodded. "I won't bother to try to talk you out of it, but I will ask you to remember that our priority is to capture or kill all the members of Hand of Fear in their base. No pursuing vendettas that may result in allowing any of them to slip the net, all right?"

She drew herself to rough attention, hands at her sides, her head held high and chin pointed at him. "I assure you that I am well in control of myself and will remember my duty."

"I'm sure you will." Cyrus lowered his voice. "Can we talk?"

Hesitation marked the paladin's body language, as she rocked back on her heels and half-turned. "I...think we should wait to speak until this is over. I..." She turned away from him and lowered her head. "...I have quite a bit on my mind at present, and I don't feel up to the challenge of a deep and thoughtful conversation."

Cyrus watched her and felt a ripple of concern roll through his belly. "All right," he said, even as a voice in his head screamed that it was not. "We'll talk after. Be ready to leave; as soon as Nyad returns we'll be teleporting to Traegon." He half-smiled. "Do you remember when we were in Traegon last?"

"We were only in Traegon once together," she replied, and began walking toward the exit. "And I can't recall anything of substance happening there." She did not say anything else as she left, wandering out into the foyer toward the lounge.

"Well, that sounded promising," Andren said the moment she was out of earshot.

"Shut up," Cyrus said, but the words lacked any conviction.

"It's almost as though the two of you got married or something," Andren said, drawing Cyrus's gaze. "About thirty years ago," he clarified, causing Cy to shake his head. "Seriously, even when she hated you she wasn't that cold and dismissive."

"She lost her parents and her home," Cyrus said without emotion, turning back to the parchment and staring at the names, trying to keep his mind away from anything else. "You'd be lucky to handle it half as well." He shook his head and tore the parchment in half. "Find these people. Tell them I want them to come with us."

"I'm drinking," Andren said, his voice approaching a whine.

"Take your mug with you and find them while I track down the other half. This is important. If you're in that much of a hurry to get back to drinking, hand off half of your list to the first person at the top of it and get them to do that for you."

Muttering all the way, the healer made his way out of the Great Hall as Cyrus gathered the other half of the parchment. He tried not to think about Vara, but failed. She's been through a lot. After Narstron died, I wasn't even half as functional as she is right now, and I'd just lost a close friend. She got to watch a guildmate die for her benefit, then saw her hometown overrun by enemies and watched both parents die. He shuddered and shook his head. If Reikonos had been taken by the dark elves, it'd be enough for me to be edgy and isolated. She had a lot more happen than just that.

By the time he'd rounded up his half of the list and made his way back to the foyer, Andren was already sitting in the lounge. "See?" Cyrus asked him upon entering the room. "Was that so hard?"

"Nah," the healer said. "Easy as pie."

"I finished finding everyone on the list," Cyrus heard Longwell's voice from behind him and turned to see the dragoon carrying the parchment he had given Andren. "I told them all to assemble here, that we could get the call to go out at any time."

Cyrus stared down Andren, who looked back, unflinching. "See? It's done."

Cyrus sighed and looked around the lounge and foyer to see most of the people from his list already scattered throughout the area. Vaste and J'anda were lingering near the main doors with Erith and a few others, and Curatio stood in front of the huge hearth in the foyer, his back to the room, absorbed in watching the fire. Vara was seated in her usual place in the lounge, looking out a window, on the edge of her seat, rocking back and forth from nervous tension.

He heard the scuff of a boot on the stone behind him and turned to see Aisling seat herself on the arm of his chair, leaning in, her teeth flashing a wide grin. "Hi there," she said in a voice so low it sounded almost like purring.

"Aisling," he said. "Thank you for continuing to keep an eye on the front doors for us-"

"That's nothing," she said, dismissing him. "You haven't come to get the gift I have for you."

"Yeah...I don't want to be rude, but I'm not interested in-"

"I told you it wasn't that," she breathed in his ear. "It's this." Something slipped from her long cloak, a sword, glinting in the light of the dimming sun coming in through the windows on the far end of the lounge. "But you really should take me up on the other at some point, because it's not fair to knock it if you haven't tried-"

Cyrus's eyes alighted on the sword she held before him. Runed, the blade was massive, bigger than Praelior by a few inches, and glowed a faint red in the steel. It looked familiar and he studied it with curious intensity before looking up to Aisling, whose purple eyes blazed with excitement. "It's from the dark knight you killed on the bridge." She sighed as she looked at it. "The devilish part of me wanted to sell it, but I just couldn't." She thrust the hilt toward him. "It's yours; you did kill him, after all."

"But you brought it out of the city." He gazed at the glow from the blade. The light reflecting off it gave it an evil look, and he felt discomfort staring at it, even though he knew it was a finely crafted weapon.

"Even still." She rested it in his hand and forced the hilt into his other. "It's yours. I kept it for you; I know it's not as good as what you've got, but maybe you can give it to someone who will use it. Seems a shame to waste a weapon like this by selling it to someone outside the guild. It's near priceless."

"Aye," Cyrus said, lost in the red glow. "I carried out the morningstar that the Unter'adon tried to kill me with as well." He shook his head and closed his eyes, feeling his fingers close around the hilt. "I'm sure I can find someone who can use them." He nodded at the dark elf, who looked at him with expectant eyes. "Thank you."

"Cyrus." The calling of his name brought his attention to Alaric, who stood behind him. Cyrus got to his feet, nodding at the Ghost, whose eyes settled on the sword he held. "A fine weapon; tinged with the strength of Yartraak, if I'm not mistaken."

"The God of Darkness?" Cyrus stared at the blade in surprise. "It's not a godly weapon, is it?"