"I'm not going back." Vara's voice rang through the room. She lowered her head. "I can't go back." Cyrus watched her, looking at the cheeks tinged with red, and knew she was thinking of Niamh.

The Ghost of Sanctuary leveled his eye on her. "I will spare you the requisite speech about how you are not responsible for what happened to Niamh." Cyrus caught a glimpse of Vara's staid expression as it crumbled. "I will cut to the point-since you left, we have had four more...altercations...with members of the Hand of Fear."

Vara's head snapped up but Cyrus spoke before she could. "Was anyone hurt?"

Alaric shook his head. "Three of the attempts were assassins trying to sneak through the gates, unaware that you had left. The fourth..." he sighed, "made it within the walls, disguised as another applicant when Terian managed to ferret him out."

"They will not stop coming." Vara's voice took on a tone of quiet defeat. "Who knows how many of them there could be?"

"Many," Curatio said. "Nyad spoke with her father, the King of the Elves, and he sent us all that they've collected on this cult. They've been operating in the Kingdom for over two thousand years-" He stopped when Cyrus let out a low whistle. "That's nothing for elves, remember-and it would seem they have grown in strength in the last two centuries." His lips drew a grim line across his face, the same as they had any of the times Cyrus had seen the healer deliver bad news.

"Why the last two hundred years?" Cyrus broke his silence as Curatio's eyes darted to Vara. "You're only twenty-nine." Cyrus looked at the blond hair on the top of her head as she fixed her eyes on the tabletop.

Curatio cleared his throat. "Once again..."

"Not up for discussion?" Cyrus turned to Alaric. "I suppose you know."

The Ghost shrugged his shoulders in a way that, to a stranger, would have indicated that he had no idea what was being discussed. Cyrus caught the familiar flick of Alaric's eye as he looked down that told him that the Sanctuary Guildmaster was being less than forthcoming. "It is irrelevant. What matters is-"

The door opened, and a figure was silhouetted in the daylight that flooded into the room. The sun shone off red armor, casting a tinged glow in spots of maroon on the walls.

"Thad," Alaric acknowledged the Sanctuary warrior. "Please, join us."

"Can't; I've come to get you." The big human closed the distance between the door and the table in only a few strides. "Everything is in place. Aisling confirmed it, and we're ready."

Cyrus's ears perked up. "Aisling is here?" Vara turned to him, her gaze so intense he feared a fire spell might have been cast upon him. "I was just curious," he said with a slight stammer.

"Yes, I daresay she is curious as well-about how it would feel to rut in the dark with you like a wild beast." Every word dripped with caustic malice.

"Well, honestly, who isn't curious about that?" Cyrus said, his tone light. The withering glare he received in return forced him to look back to Thad. "What's going on here?"

Thad looked to Alaric before speaking. When the Ghost gave a subtle nod, the warrior answered. "Based on comments made by the captured assassins, we think the Hand of Fear has figured out that Vara is no longer at Sanctuary. We ran into a few of their people coming in from the portal the day before yesterday, but we couldn't be sure, so we've kept a low profile."

Cyrus remembered the mobs surrounding the wagons outside, refugees swarming over them for food and supplies. He pointed toward the door. "You call that a low profile?"

Alaric responded, "That is only a fraction of the force we have in town. Once we realized that the enemy was watching, we knew we couldn't lead them away until you got here. Nor could we confirm that they were assassins until-"

"Vara arrived, and you watched who was watching her." Cyrus nodded at the Ghost with a grudging respect. "Aisling can pick a suspicious figure out of a crowd like nobody else."

"And there you go, wondering what it'd be like to rut in the dark with her." Vara's voice rang off the bare walls. "I don't trust her nor her supposed ability to pick assassins out of a crowd. She's more likely to find the firmest, meatiest, most pigheaded warrior in the land-"

"Are you calling me firm and meaty?" Cyrus looked at Vara, who flushed in embarrassment. "As to pigheaded, I'd say it takes one to know one-"

"Children." Alaric's voice contained a hint of impatience coupled with urgency. "Aisling is quite adept at singling threats out of a crowd, as she has demonstrated on numerous occasions. I trust her judgment."

"So long as you don't trust her with the contents of your purse."

Ignoring Vara's riposte, Alaric continued. "We'll take care of this threat, but before we do, I need to ask you-have you considered where you are fleeing?"

Cyrus looked to Vara. "We have."

Alaric nodded. "May I suggest a brief stop?"

Vara looked at the Sanctuary Guildmaster with a wary edge. "Where?"

"I am not an assassin. But if I were, I would surmise that Sanctuary is the most likely place to catch you unawares." Alaric's hands met in front of him, fingers steepling, as they often did, when he was making a point. "Failing that, next I would try-"

Vara's complexion deadened as she wilted in her chair. Her voice cracked when she spoke. "Home."

The Ghost did not flinch. "I sent J'anda and Vaste along with a detachment of our best to Termina to keep an eye on your parents, but your mother refused our help, and nearly attacked J'anda."

Vara's words came out in a low, almost croaking tone. "My mother would not accept Sanctuary's assistance if she were in flames and we promised to extinguish them."

Alaric nodded to her in deference. "We have maintained a garrison in the house across the street after paying the couple who live there to quarter our forces, which they were only too happy to do when the situation was explained to them. Vaste has checked on them several times since then-"

"If she stabbed at the dark elf, I can only imagine what she'd do to a troll," Cyrus muttered.

"There has been no answer but audible swearing behind the door," Alaric said. "Your family has been warned, but your mother has not taken this threat seriously."

Vara closed her eyes, arms folded on the shining breastplate. "I need to go to them. I need to convince my mother." She blinked. "And perhaps my sister as well..."

"Isabelle has been warned," Alaric said, "and Endeavor has increased their guard. As an officer in Arkaria's foremost guild, I would imagine she is safer than most. Nonetheless, perhaps it would be best if you went to Termina to speak with your mother before going on to whatever destination you have chosen."

A bristling, aggravated feeling rushed through Cyrus at the thought of hiding, quieted by his knowledge that they were up against a foe that did not show its face until it was ready to strike-and that by then it might be too late to save- "Aisling has picked out three in the crowd outside," Thad said. "They're watching the front door, so I suggest we go out the back."

"Let us not delay." Alaric picked up his flagon and drained the last of his mead before replacing the vessel on the table. "There is, after all, no telling how much time we have before these assassins make a hasty mistake."

Chapter 10.

They left through the back door after Thad and Cyrus made certain it was clear, surprising the innkeeper as they passed her. Alaric handed her another few pieces of silver as Cyrus emerged into the sunlit yard behind the tavern, Nothing but fields extended to the horizon.

Cyrus held open the door for Vara, who was still paler than usual. The fading light of day gave her skin a washed-out, almost sickly appearance.

Thad halted them once they were outside. "Someone should wait with Vara while we get rid of these assassins." Cyrus tried to signal the younger warrior to shut up, but to no effect; Thad stared at Cyrus's motions with a look of curiosity that took his eyes off the elf in front of him.

Vara's face turned from pale to an angry red flush. "I'm not some scared, weak little princess, hiding in the shadows of my stronger brethren." She raised an open palm and a blast of force slammed into Thad, causing his arms to pinwheel and the warrior to land on his rump.

She took two steps forward to sneer at him. "Do not make the mistake of believing that because I ran from these cesspools that I did so out of fear for anyone but my comrades; I am a paladin, a holy warrior in the service of Sanctuary and Vidara, the Goddess of Life, and anyone who steps into my path should prepare themselves accordingly."

Cyrus stood back, arms folded, along with Alaric and Curatio. Vara whirled around to face them, her anger yet unspent. "I hope none of you-"

"Lass," Alaric began, interrupting her building tirade, "the three of us have known you long enough to recognize that when you set your mind to a course of action, no matter how ill-advised, it will be unchanged. We have foes to deal with." The Ghost's hand found its way to his sword, and he drew the runed blade, holding it in front of him.

They followed Alaric around the side of the inn, through an alley that led to the main road. The noise of the crowd was still resounding, shouts of jubilation, laughter and glee echoing around them.

Thad leaned in behind Cyrus, Curatio separating the two warriors from Vara in the narrow passage to the street. "You know, it's a wonder she hasn't killed you in the last few days."

Cyrus snorted. "I'm not dumb enough to provoke her wrath unless I'm ready for it."

"There is no preparation for my wrath," Vara said without turning around. "And you're plenty dumb enough."

"How did she hear us?" Thad said, his voice low. "I was whispering and there's a full scale riot of joy going on not a hundred feet away. I could barely hear my own words!"

Curatio shot them a sympathetic look as Vara cast a gaze of annoyance as she pointed to one of her elongated ears. "These? Not just for decoration."

Alaric eased into the crowd, which filled the street to the alley. Cyrus brushed past Curatio, who gave him a reassuring smile as the warrior followed Vara. With a glance back, he confirmed that Curatio stopped at the mouth of the alley, his hands moving to flip up the cowl on his traveling cloak then returning to the folds of his robe where, unlike some healers who preferred to remain unarmed, Cyrus remembered he kept a mace.

"You're not laboring under the delusion I'm some damsel in distress, are you?" Cyrus turned back to see Vara peering at him, question in her eyes.

"Not at all," he said, talking over the raised voices on the street. "I'm just here to help a guildmate in dire need."

"I am not in dire need-"

"Well, you're in some need."

Mollified, Vara turned her attention back to the crowd. "Can you spot the assassins from here?"

Cyrus scanned the crowd, trying to take in the small details; happy faces, children darting through the multitude, their voices raised in laughter. The smell of fresh baked loaves of bread wafted through the air coupled with a smell that he knew was Larana's meat pies; a combination of beef, lamb and chicken in a thick crust of delicious dough, one of which could feed several people. His mouth watered; it was his favorite dish long before he joined Sanctuary. He felt the people brushing against him in the crowd, refugees with an air of hope so distant from the ragged desperation of the ones that they had encountered for the last few days that it was almost unrecognizable.

And yet, in the crowd, there were small holes in the atmosphere of festivity. A man was stock still near one of the wagons, his eyes fixed in their direction. Another, near the door of a house on the other side of the street, was focused not at all on the loaf of bread in his hands but directed to casting furtive glances at Vara.

"I see some of them," he said. "It's the ones that keep looking at you."

"And you don't allow for the possibility that they could be simply admiring my resplendent beauty?" The tension in her voice was the only hint she might be joking.

Cyrus replied in a low undertone, "Their eyes are hardened, sunken; these aren't men who could appreciate beauty in any environment, resplendent or not. They're intent on a purpose and it involves you in an unpleasant way."

She turned away from him so that only her profile was visible, and he watched her look resolve. "I'm certain that their intentions and mine are not matching, so let us dispense with these murderers."

"Yes, let's-" Cyrus was interrupted when out of his peripheral vision came a blur of speed, a brown cloak on a direct line for Vara. A dagger was already extended from the sleeve and Cyrus caught only a glimpse of a man's face as he moved past the warrior. It was contorted with a look of unrepentant viciousness, sadistic glee lighting up the dark-circled eyes as the elven assassin swept toward his unknowing target.

Cyrus's hand was already on Praelior and he felt the familiar sensation of time slowing down. The blade was drawn and moving, flashing through the air in a crosswise cut that opened a gash across the ribs of Vara's assailant, spinning him to his knees. Cyrus brought his sword across the throat of the elf as Vara turned in surprise.

A hush fell over the crowd followed by the first scream, then a hundred others. The calm and docile refugees, so contented only a moment before, saw the peaceful calm shattered and almost as one tried to scatter from the violence in their midst. Cyrus looked to the places where he had seen assassins, but they were all swept up in the movement of the throng, all gone.

One of the wagons flashed and a forked streak of lightning shot from the window. Cyrus could see Larana, her expression one of pure fury, as the bolt struck a figure whose cloak caught fire, forcing him to the ground. Another arced past Cyrus into an elf that was charging at Curatio, a dagger raised above his head. The healer waited with his mace in a defensive posture, but the lightning sent the assassin flying into a wall.

Cyrus turned back as a cry of alarm came from behind him. He was already in motion, his sword up, as he sprang forward, pushing Vara to the side. Distracted by the assailant attacking Curatio, Vara had turned her head as another assassin broke free of the fleeing crowd.

Cyrus brought his sword forward in a blocking motion, batting aside the first dagger of the assassin with his right hand as he interposed his body between Vara and the elven attacker. The assassin was knocked off balance, but brought around his other dagger in a glancing stab that skipped off the metal plating on Cyrus's upper arm and funneled, by pure luck, into the gap beneath his pauldrons.

He cringed as he felt the blade bite into the meat of his left shoulder. Warm blood spurted out of the wound as he slammed his sword into his assailant's face. The assassin's hand slipped free of the dagger's grip, leaving it buried in Cyrus's arm.

The refugees had dispersed, leaving behind a handful of cloaked elves and a near-empty street. Cyrus saw Sanctuary guild members led by Ryin Ayend coming into the village at the north end; the opposite direction from which he and Vara had entered, but they were fighting against the fleeing crowds.

Cyrus maintained a defensive posture, his back against Vara's. Two more elven assassins advanced toward them as he flinched through the pain and felt a burst of lightheadedness.

"Shall we show them the error of their ways?" Vara said.

Cyrus gritted his teeth, the pain in his arm bringing tears to his eyes. "Sure. Why not."

Vara slashed at the assassin closest to her, causing him to take a step back. Cyrus did not wait to see how the next round of her battle went; his foe moved toward him and Praelior came up of its own accord to fend off the assassin's attack. Every clash with the elf's blades jolted him, sending waves of pain radiating from where the dagger was still buried in his shoulder.

Cyrus glanced back; Curatio and Thad were engaged with more assassins that had sprung out at them while Alaric was fighting off two assailants simultaneously. Vara was holding her own against the other, but was in no position to assist him. The pain in his arm was becoming an unstoppable agony, even with the aid of Praelior's mystical strength. He suspected that without it, he would be on his back, helpless.

His assailant struck again and again, each blocked by Cyrus but battering the warrior back toward the inn. Cyrus countered with a clumsy swing, but the blow pushed the assassin back only a few steps, and at the cost of Cy's footing. The warrior fell, the front of his armor a bloody mess, his black plating slick. The smell of it wafted up and his eyes felt heavy. He raised Praelior in front of him, fending off two more attacks by the assassin, whose angular features were cracked by a smile.

"I see you've felt the kiss of black lace," his assailant taunted him. "The mighty Cyrus Davidon, General of Sanctuary, brought low. Not quite so unstoppable without a healing spell, are you?"

"That's not what makes me unstoppable." Cyrus tasted blood in his mouth. His armor felt heavy, and the mild ache in his knees from the position he was in was nothing compared to the screaming pain in his left arm.

"Oh, no?" The assailant grinned as he closed, his boot landing on Praelior, knocking the blade into the dirt.

Cyrus slumped back, looking up and seeing the overhang of the roof of the inn above him. "No...I'm just a so-so warrior..."

"Any other confessions before you die?" The assassin laughed and raised his blade.

"You're about to get perforated with knife blades," Cyrus said, his words slurred. "And I'm going to enjoy it."

The assassin paused, a look of confusion on his face as from above them a shadowed shape detached itself from the roof, flying through the air. The elf looked at the sudden flash of motion. Cyrus reached up and batted the blades aside, knocking them from the assassin's grasp as the shadow slammed into him.

Aisling landed with her weight on her daggers as Cyrus fell over into the dirt, clear of the dark elf's attack on the unsuspecting assassin. He saw her action as if she were moving at half speed; her weapons plunged into the guts and neck of the elf, his grin supplanted by an openmouthed expression of shock, then dissolved by the torrent of blood that spurted from his body at her assault. The dark elf landed with both knees and the force of her impact hid the fact that she stabbed the assassin a half dozen more times in the seconds that followed.

With the lithe grace of a cat, Aisling moved from a crouch to standing, facing away from him. His eyes blurred as she stood silhouetted against the sun, her dark blue skin giving her the appearance that she was a human shrouded in semi-darkness.

Cyrus looked past her to see Alaric, locked in combat with two of the remaining assassins, his sword dancing to either side, keeping them off balance, whirling to avoid his offensive thrusts. A concussive burst of force shot from his hand, clipping one of the combatants and freeing him to focus on the other for a few seconds; all he needed to strike a killing blow on the first before returning to the second and finishing him off as well.

Cyrus glanced back to see Thad and Curatio making quick work of one of the remaining assassins as the remainder of the Sanctuary force arrived. Curatio broke away and came to his side, followed by Vara. The paladin dropped to her knees at his side, Aisling behind her but standing at a distance.

"You silly bastard," Vara said under her breath. "I took mine out without difficulty, but you have to go and get impaled."

"He didn't get wounded by the last one," Aisling said from behind her, every word drowning in accusation. "He got stabbed when trying to keep you from getting knifed in the back." The dark elf kicked at the dust at her feet. "It wouldn't have happened if he hadn't had to save you."

"And where were you while we were fighting them off?" Vara shot to her feet, tense and facing Aisling, who recoiled and dropped her hands to where her daggers rested in her belt.

"I was on top of the inn, waiting for an opportunity to be of use," Aisling shot back, her purple irises seeming to glow in challenge. "And I was, just in time to save his life."

"We have no time for this," Curatio called to the two women as he knelt next to Cyrus. The healer's hands removed Cyrus's pauldrons, then unstrapped one side of his breastplate and backplate while Vara returned to his side and removed the other. Cyrus gritted his teeth again, the pain mounting.

Curatio frowned as he looked at the wound. "Knife went in the shoulder but it skipped off the bone and slid here." The healer's finger traced a line along Cyrus's skin that roared with pain as he did it. "Probably hit an artery." Curatio grimaced and pushed down so hard on Cyrus that motes of light swirled in front of his eyes. The healer's hand re-entered his vision a moment later, a dagger clutched in it. With a sniff, his frown deepened. "Black lace."