But I made a decision. Mother would have approved. My sorrow over losing him after a long, full life together would be worse than losing him before we had even begun. If I loved him this much now, how much worse would it get given a hundred years to compound? Putting an end to it now would hurt, certainly, but would I even notice next to all the other emotional agony I was experiencing?

He left. And I found out.

The answer was yes. Yes, I did notice.

And it made it ever so much worse.

Cyrus blinked back the tears again at her words. She felt the same way then as I did. Dammit. He brushed them away and turned back to the next passage, trying to keep his thoughts on what he was reading.

I watched him leave, with all the pomp and circumstance that Alaric could arrange. Cyrus rode out on that beautiful horse he always uses. I saw him go through the gate and look back. I could see him, and I could swear he was looking at me. After only a moment, he turned and rode away. I watched the formation halt a short distance from the wall, and a wizard teleportation spell swept them onward.

The next days were dark. I didn't leave my room or my bed. J'anda, Vaste and Larana kept showing up, the latter bringing food every time she appeared. She never spoke, but I saw the pity and sorrow in her eyes every time she looked upon me. I've heard it said she pines for Cyrus, and I knew every time she appeared that it was true. She would try and clean my quarters when she showed up, and she never fussed about talking, unlike the others.

After a week I found the strength to leave my quarters. All right, I was forced out of them by that relentless harridan, Erith. She stopped by and harrassed me until I finally cleaned up, put on something cloth and went down to the lounge one afternoon. It was abuzz with activity when I got there (damn Cyrus for putting that word in my mind) yet she and I found a quiet place to sit and talk. Nothing deep-mostly superficial things-but I had a cup of ale, and it was the first time I'd felt...alive...in forever.

I noticed a dark elf standing by the door. He was tall for his sort, lanky, with distant eyes but a familiar look. I saw Alaric cross the foyer and speak with him at some length, taking an envelope from him. Then the dark elf departed.

I have known Alaric for...years. Years and years. He remains mostly an enigma, even to me, but this time I knew something was wrong. His hand hung at his side, and even with his helm on, I could almost see him flinch.

I walked away from Erith in the middle of a sentence. Alaric seemed not to notice me, even as I drew close to him. He continued to stare at the words on the page. "Hello, lass," he said. "It's good to see you up and moving again."

"I could hardly stay down forever."

"No," he agreed, "you could not."

"What have you got there that has you so distressed?" I stared at him, watching for his reaction.

He forced a smile. "Good news, certainly. We only ever get good news around here. Especially of late."

"We rarely get good news around here," I said, snatching the envelope out of his grasp. To his credit, he didn't try and stop me. "Especially of late."

"Let me summarize," he said. "Terian's father has died."

I started to hand the letter back. "That's a tragedy. Are you going to send a messenger to deliver it to him?"

His eye flickered, and I caught a hint that made me stop before giving it back to him. "I think not," he said.

I don't know why, but I felt a sudden chill, perhaps from standing in front of the main door. I looked at the parchment I held in my hands, and something told me-compelled me, really-to read it.

Dearest Terian, I am writing to inform you that your father was killed in action with the dark elven army during the invasion of Termina. He fought and died with so many of his comrades in arms, taking the Grand Span that allowed our forces to march into the center of the city. As the foremost dark knight in our country, the Sovereign immediately declared a holiday in his honor, and pronounced whoever killed him a war criminal of the worst kind, and surely marked for death.

Unfortunately, his priceless sword, the one passed through our family for generations, was lost with him...

I looked up from the parchment, looked at Alaric, and I knew he saw the despair in my eyes. "Was it you?" he asked.

"No," I replied. "I fought him, certainly. He was a beast, the strongest dark knight I've ever battled. He set upon Cyrus when he was wounded, and nearly killed him before I intervened. He almost killed me as well but Cyrus stabbed him through the back." I blinked in disbelief. "We had no idea he was Terian's father..."

"Nor could you have," Alaric said. "Terian and his father parted ways many years ago, and on less-than-agreeable terms. I know after he left us two years ago, Terian attempted a rapprochement with his father that did not go well for either party, but..." He shook his head. "I do not know how he will take this news."

"That's why you're not sending him a messenger," I said. "You're afraid of how he'll react. When he sees this letter, he'll know it was either me that killed his father..." I let my words drift off.

"Or Cyrus," Alaric said. "Or some combination of both. I would rather wait and control his reaction, to have him here, surrounded by those of us he has known for so long when he finds out, rather than have him learn of his father's death by Cyrus's hand at some ill-timed juncture, when he might be predisposed to..." Alaric paused, searching for the right words, "...reckless action."

"You mean revenge." The words were cold when I said them.

Alaric did not blink. "I mean revenge." He took the letter back from me and tucked it behind him, along with his hands. "So long as we do not inform Terian, everything should proceed apace." He shook his head. "Though I consider him a brother, the dark knight is dangerous and unpredictable at times and I will not have Cyrus or you anywhere nearby when the truth is told. By holding off, we keep him-all of you, really-safe." He folded his arms. "They will proceed on their mission without news from us. It will be better for all if we hold off on this news until they return."

Alaric is usually spot-on in his predictions. He has a keen observatory eye for the nature of us mortals, probably from long experience-or possibly some undisclosed skill that allows him to look into the heart of a person. In this case, though, he didn't misjudge a person so much as he mistook an event. After all, he couldn't have known that Aisling had brought back Terian's father's sword from Termina. He couldn't have known that Cyrus had not only shown it to Terian, but given it to him, not realizing that he'd grown up around it, and knew his father's sword when he saw it-and knew that if his father was parted from it, it wasn't willingly. Or while he was still alive.

We didn't find out until much, much later how very wrong Alaric was.

Cyrus closed the book. His mind was strained, having read for hours. He felt a throbbing behind his eye, a little pain that told him he was overwhelmed. Emotions tugged at him, he felt his breathing get ragged, and he felt himself reach for his sword in anger, then stop. Then he reached for it again and touched the hilt, felt the power surge through him, and he pulled it away only through sheer force of will.

I can't believe she...didn't tell me...I didn't know...Thoughts flew through his mind, whirling, driving him to distraction. A flash of anger was hot, and he turned and punched the wall behind him, cracking the stone. He punched again, this time at a bookshelf, and it broke in an explosion of wood, splinters flying everywhere. She didn't tell me...she didn't...Another flash of pure rage took hold of him and he threw the diary as hard as he could.

It flew across the room and hit the painting that hung above the hearth. When it impacted, the frame splintered and broke in two. The bottom half fell, bouncing off the mantle to the ground. The top half hung at a tilted angle, and the painting that the frame had sheltered fluttered down, coming to rest facedown on the floor.

Cyrus blinked. Behind the hanging vestiges of the frame was an indentation in the wall that the painting had covered. A small shelf was secreted behind it. He crossed the gap to the fireplace and stared at it. The shelf was small, recessed a few inches; just enough to hold the contents.

A book. Worn, aged and ragged, he lifted it from the shelf and opened it to the first page.

Here begins the account of Alaric Garaunt, Guildmaster of these halls, and the first of my name...

He read the next page, and a feeling ran through him-a chill as certain as if he had run through the rains outside-and he sat down once more and let the fire wash over him as he read the old knight's tale.

A Note to the Reader

If you enjoyed this book and want to know about future releases by Robert J. Crane, you can CLICK HERE to sign up for my mailing list! I promise I won't spam you (I only send an email when I have a new book released) and I'll never sell your info. You can also unsubscribe at any time.

I wanted to take a moment to thank you for reading this story. As an independent author, getting my name out to build an audience is one of the biggest priorities on any given day. If you enjoyed this story and are looking forward to reading more, let someone know - post it on Amazon, on your blog, if you have one, on Goodreads.com, place it in a quick Facebook status or Tweet with a link to the page of whatever outlet you purchased it from (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Apple, etc). Good reviews inspire people to take a chance on a new author like me. And we new authors can use all the help we can get.

Thanks again for your time.

Robert J. Crane P.S. Keep reading - as a bonus, at the end of this ebook you'll find a preview of the first three chapters of my foray in urban fantasy, Alone: The Girl in the Box, Book 1. I'm told it's quite good, but let me know what you think.

Acknowledgments.

Here we are again, the third time around (this series, not counting short stories), and I again have a mountain of thanks to dispense. So let's get to it, shall we?

First, major gratitude to the inestimable Heather Rodefer. This time she not only fulfilled the function of first reader (again) but also was responsible for finding the cover art. For her extraordinary beyond-the-call-of-duty efforts, I hereby award her the designation of my Editor-In-Chief.

Next was the contributions of Shannon Garza, who once more contributed a weather eye (or two, she's not Alaric, after all) to finding errors that no one else seemed to find. She also helped me keep on track with the emotion of the story, letting me know when if I was resonating the way I wanted to be. Also, I owe her my apologies, because Niamh was based largely on her. Sorry, Red.

Last of the editing trio, thanks goes again to the knowledgeable and brilliant Debra Wesley whose wide breadth of knowledge about all things, from the mundane to the arcane, helped me create a better manuscript. Who else would keep me informed about the running abilities of horses and the growing patterns of grasses?

Also, thanks to Kari Layman, who may or may not have read this book at some point in time; I'm not really sure. Better safe than sorry, though, especially with her. She will cut you.

I'd like to thank Patrick Ashton, Trevor Norman, Sam Best and Brittany Scott for helping to get my books out there in one way or another. Much appreciated, folks.

The cover art was once again handled on the second edition by Karri Klawiter of artbykarri.com, who has quite a prodigious talent for making my books look pretty.

Editing, formatting, all the stuff that holds the book together, was done by the great Nicholas J. Ambrose, as always.

Last of all, I'd like to give my grateful thanks to my mom and dad, wife and kids. As always, it's all for you guys and because of you guys.

About the Author.

Robert J. Crane was born and raised on Florida's Space Coast before moving to the upper midwest in search of cooler climates and more palatable beer. He graduated from the University of Central Florida with a degree in English Creative Writing. He worked for a year as a substitute teacher and worked in the financial services field for seven years while writing in his spare time. He makes his home in the Twin Cities area of Minnesota.

He can be contacted in several ways: Via email at cyrusdavidon@gmail.com Follow him on Twitter - @robertJcrane Connect on Facebook robertJcrane (Author) Website robertJcrane.com Blog robertJcrane.blogspot.com Become a fan on Goodreads http://www.goodreads.com/RobertJCrane Cyrus Davidon Will Return in CRUSADER.

The Sanctuary Series, Volume Four Fate and choices have placed Cyrus and Vara a world apart; Cyrus finds himself embroiled in a conflict in the land of Luukessia, defending the people against a tireless, implacable foe while suffering through his own doubts and personal struggles in the wake of Vara's decision.

Meanwhile Sanctuary faces a growing crisis as the war consuming Arkaria deepens and comes home - The Sovereign of the Dark Elves has his eye fixed on Sanctuary itself and it remains up to Vara and Alaric to keep the guild safe against the onslaught of armies.

Coming Fall 2012 The Sanctuary Series Epic Fantasy by Robert J. Crane The world of Arkaria is a dangerous place, filled with dragons, titans, goblins and other dangers. Those who live in this world are faced with two choices: live an ordinary life or become an adventurer and seek the extraordinary.

Defender The Sanctuary Series, Volume One Cyrus Davidon leads a small guild in the human capital of Reikonos. Caught in an untenable situation, facing death in the den of a dragon, they are saved by the brave fighters of Sanctuary who offer an invitation filled with the promise of greater adventure. Soon Cyrus is embroiled in a mystery - someone is stealing weapons of nearly unlimited power for an unknown purpose, and Sanctuary may be the only thing that stands between the world of Arkaria and total destruction.

Available Now!

Avenger The Sanctuary Series, Volume Two When a series of attacks on convoys draws suspicion that Sanctuary is involved, Cyrus Davidon must put aside his personal struggles and try to find the raiders. As the attacks worsen, Cyrus and his comrades find themselves abandoned by their allies, surrounded by enemies, facing the end of Sanctuary and a war that will consume their world.

Available Now!

Savages A Sanctuary Short Story Twenty years before Cyrus Davidon joined Sanctuary, his father was killed in a war with the trolls and he has never forgiven them. Enter Vaste, a troll unlike most; courageous, loyal and an outcast. When Cyrus and Vaste become trapped in a far distant land, they are forced to overcome their suspicions and work together to get home.

Available Now!

Crusader The Sanctuary Series, Volume Four Cyrus Davidon finds himself far from his home in Sanctuary, in the land of Luukessia, a place divided and deep in turmoil. With his allies at his side, Cyrus finds himself facing off against an implacable foe in a war that will challenge all his convictions - and one he may not be able to win.

Coming Fourth Quarter 2012!

Alone The Girl in the Box, Book 1 Sienna Nealon was a 17-year-old girl who had been held prisoner in her own house by her mother for twelve years. Then one day her mother vanished, and Sienna woke up to find two strange men in her home. On the run, unsure of who to turn to and discovering she possesses mysterious powers, Sienna finds herself pursued by a shadowy agency known as the Directorate and hunted by a vicious, bloodthirsty psychopath named Wolfe, each of which is determined to capture her for their own purposes...

Available Now!

Sample Chapter Available at the end of this Book!

Untouched The Girl in the Box, Book 2 Still haunted by her last encounter with Wolfe and searching for her mother, Sienna Nealon must put aside her personal struggles when a new threat emerges Aleksandr Gavrikov, a metahuman so powerful, he could destroy entire cities and he's focused on bringing the Directorate to its knees.

Available Now!

Soulless The Girl in the Box, Book 3 Available Now!

Family The Girl in the Box, Book 4 Coming Fourth Quarter 2012!

Trust The Girl in the Box, Book 5 Coming Fourth Quarter 2012!

A sample of ALONE: The Girl in the Box, Book 1

One.

When I woke up, there were two men in my house. As alarming as that would be for most girls, for me it's doubly so; no one but Mom and I are allowed in our house. No one. That's rule number one.

I sensed them creeping around in the living room as my body shot to instant wakefulness. It probably sounds weird, but I could hear them breathing and an unfamiliar scent filled the air, something brisk and fresh, that brought with it a chill that crept into my room. They did not speak.

I rolled off my bed, making much less noise than either of them. I crouched and crept to the doorway of my room, which was open. It was dark; dark enough for me to tell they were having trouble seeing because one of them brushed the coffee table, causing a glass to clatter. A muffled curse made its way to my ears as I huddled against the wall and slid to my feet. We had an alarm, but based on the fact that a deafening klaxon wasn't blaring, I could only assume they must have somehow circumvented it.

I didn't know what they were looking for, but I'm a seventeen-year-old girl (eighteen in a month, and I guess I'd say woman, but I don't feel like one is that weird?) and there were two strange men in my home, so I guessed their motives were not pure.

How did they get in? The front door is always locked see rule number one. I peeked around the doorframe and saw them. The one that hit the coffee table looked to be in his forties, had a few extra pounds, and I could tell, even in the dark, that he had less hair than he wished he did.

The other one was younger, I guessed late twenties, and his back was turned to me. They were both wearing suits with dark jackets, and the older guy had shoes that squeaked. Most people wouldn't notice, but right then I was hyperaware. He put a foot down on the linoleum in the kitchen and when he went to take another step there was a subtle sound, the squeal of rubber soles that caused those little hairs on my arm to stand up.

I weigh a hundred and thirty-seven pounds and stand five foot four. The old one was over six feet, the younger a little taller than me. The young one held his hands in front of him, probably because his eyes still hadn't adjusted.

What do you do in a situation like this? I couldn't run; I'm not allowed to leave the house. That's rule number two, courtesy of Mom. So when she's at work, I'm at home. When she gets home from work, I'm at home.