Crusader: The Sanctuary Series, Volume Four (30 page)

After a few seconds, Cyrus felt an impact, and then the body went limp. He rolled it off and sat up, tossing the body aside, the putrid smell of rot in his nose. His hand came up and brushed his hair out of his eyes.

“You all right?” Martaina was at his side, her bow in her hand.

“I’m fine,” Cyrus said. He looked to his left to see Longwell, spear in hand, the pointy end still buried in the creature’s fat neck. It lay next to him, pressed to the ground. “What the hell was that?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Longwell said, wriggling the tip of his weapon in the creature’s neck. “As far as I know it’s not native to these parts.”

It was upright, its skull and eyes staring blindly up at them. The eyes were still black but unmoving now, and lifeless as well. Cyrus leaned over and stared into them, and something prickled in the back of his mind. “This thing is …” he shuddered. “There’s something very disturbing about this creature.” He blinked.
And familiar,
he thought.
Something very familiar about it.
“Anyone ever seen anything like this before?”

“Not that I can recall,” Curatio said, on his horse a few feet away. “But it seems … I don’t know, there’s something I can’t quite put my finger on, but it seems like something I’ve run across at some point before.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Longwell said, peering at it. “But I didn’t want to say it, because I know damned well I’ve never fought one of them.” He poked at it again, causing the body to wriggle with the motion. “I wonder if there are more?”

“It was a nasty bastard,” Cyrus said, standing. “But pretty weak overall. If it hadn’t gotten me off my feet, I don’t think it would have been a huge challenge.” He stooped and picked up his helm. “Speaking of challenges …” He turned his head and saw Partus a few feet away, Terian standing next to him with a sword across the dwarf’s neck. “There you are, my half-sized, bearded nemesis.”

“Here I am,” Partus said, his eyes still staring at the creature. “Not planning on going much of anywhere, either. I don’t care what you say, that thing damned near got me, and if there’s any more, I’m not looking to face them alone, though I might have made a better show of it if your wizards hadn’t cessated my damned spells. Anyhow,” the dwarf said, hands up, “I suppose I’ll be coming with you.” He looked up at Terian. “Unless you’re planning on being done with it right here and taking my head off.”

“So very tempting,” Terian said, and let the blade drift into Partus’s neck.

“I think not,” Cyrus said. “We’re not executioners.”

“Well, then,” Partus began to stand, and Terian kicked the dwarf’s legs out from under him, causing him to fall. He lay on his back, staring up. “Oh, so that’s how it is, eh? Are you quite finished?”

“I could stand to do it a few more times,” Terian said.

“I’ll just bet you could, you blue-skinned sadist. Not a great surprise to me that a dark knight feels the need to poke at me when I’m unarmed and surrendering; it’s not as though you’d stand a chance when I have my weapon in my hand,” Partus said.

“I’m more than a match for you, Partus,” Terian said coolly. “I just never did like you is all, so I’m taking this opportunity to get a few digs in for all the joy you gave me back when we were Alliance officers together.”

“I hear a lot of talk from you, Lepos,” Partus said, his ruddy complexion dark, “but I’m without my hammer, your sword’s at my throat and your wizard’s got a spell preventing me from sending you back to Arkaria in one good jump. Why don’t you just be a good lad and hand me my weapon and I’ll empty your head with it, just like I did your friend there.” He pointed to Cyrus, his small eyes fixed on Terian.

“Enough,” Cyrus said. “Bind him, gag him, and put a rock in there first so he can’t move his tongue around. We don’t need him hitting us with a spell if he can cast sublingually.” Cyrus smiled. “Better still, strap his hands around his neck; if he wants to cast a spell he can take his own head off and solve our problem of what to do with him.”

“What about this thing?” Aisling was on her hands and knees in the grass, next to the creature. Cyrus blinked in surprise. He hadn’t even noticed her there.

“What about it?”

“Maybe we should bring it with us?” She ran a finger along the flesh of its arm. “I know there are some strange and fanciful creatures in the world, but this is unlike anything I’ve seen. Might be worth taking a closer look at with a dagger. Especially,” her eyes flashed, “if there are any more of them out there.”

“I don’t see reason to concern ourselves overmuch,” Cyrus said, “but better to be overprepared than under, I reckon. Bind it, too, just in case, and bring it along on the back of your horse.”

“My horse?” Aisling said, looking at him with equal parts disbelief and offense. “Why mine?”

“Because as the brilliant originator of the plan,” Cyrus said with a smile, “you get to carry it out.” He sniffed. “Also? That thing smells.”

“Great,” Aisling muttered under her breath. “Because I need more reasons to help you find me unappealing.”

Cyrus ignored her, whistling instead to Windrider, who came to a halt beside him. He patted the horse and climbed up in the saddle. “Mendicant,” Cyrus said, and waited for the goblin to appear out of the clump of the Sanctuary party, which had gathered behind him, between where they stood and the hill that he had charged down, “do you think your horse can bear the weight of you and our prisoner?”

“If we don’t run him too hard,” the goblin warned. “It’s been a long day, though, and we’ll be needing to rest the horses soon.”

“It’s an hour or so back to the edge of the swamp and a little farther to the crossing,” Cyrus said. “Let’s make camp once we’ve met up with the rest of our army, give our horses a night of rest.” He frowned, adjusting himself in the saddle and feeling a dozen aches and pains. “And ourselves as well. We’ll make our way back to Vernadam tomorrow.”

They took a few minutes to get situated and give the horses ample time to drink from a small stream of fresh water, and then started back. The journey took hours, and seemed slower than the trip in, the party mostly quiet from the fatigue of traveling through the night on the evening before.

Cyrus found himself riding next to Aisling and Martaina at one point, as the two trackers attempted to steer them clearly back toward the plains. “I never did get a chance to ask you,” Cyrus said to Aisling, startling the dark elf, “what was your impression of the Galbadien rulers when we were at Vernadam?”

Her eyes became snakelike as she studied him. “I came to make my report and found you … otherwise occupied.”

“You say that like it’s a curse,” Cyrus said mildly. “You’ve been badgering me for two years to loosen up, and now I have. Perhaps it’s a sour taste in your mouth, some envy that springs from deep within.”

Aisling let out a sharp exhalation of breath, almost like a hiss, and rolled her eyes. “You presume too much. Just because I’ve been honest about my interest in you, don’t assume that I’m so petty and insecure that I can’t handle even the thought of you pleasuring yourself with another woman.” She held her head high as she spoke to him. “I’ve offered in the past to bed you and another woman at the same time, though something tells me that the Baroness wouldn’t be much interested in that.”

“Fair assumption,” Cyrus said. “But still, I point out, your reaction to this turn of events is rather …” He thought about it, trying to find a diplomatic turn of phrase, “… sharp. Less than pleasant.”

“I beg your pardon, my Lord of Perdamun,” Aisling said, bending at the waist in a graceful bow that saw her nearly fold double yet not lose her balance on horseback. “My intention was not to be acute in my response to you. If I was, I apologize. Perhaps I was merely dismayed that after so many times offered, it seemed that you might finally be coming around—and you did, but with someone else.” Her eyes flashed again as she stared at him, and he caught a flippant toss of her white hair. “Forgive me for not quickly adapting to the new state of things.” Some of the acid was leeched out of her words, but enough remained that Cyrus felt the burn of it.

“I … can’t say I feel nothing for you. I am warming to you, but …” he pulled back, not wanting to finish his sentence.

“You felt more for her?” Aisling did not bother to hide the bitterness; she wore it plainly. “I can’t fault you for that; it’s not as though you can control the direction of your feelings. But it does hurt.”

“I have to ask,” Cyrus said, feeling the pull of a question within. “What is it about me that draws you so? You tried to seduce me, even though you knew I was in love with Vara. Now I’m with another woman, and still …” She blanched and he stopped speaking.

There was a pregnant pause before she spoke. “You asked, and in your question you have your answer.”

He thought about it for a moment. “I don’t understand.”

“You’re guileless,” she said with a sigh. “There’s no deception within you when it comes to personal matters. In battle you’re cunning when need be, but you’re straightforward in all else—you go right at what you want, no treachery, no trickery.”

Cyrus raised an eyebrow at her. “What about Vara? I danced around her for ages.”

“Not exactly.” She steadied herself on the horse. “That wasn’t guile, that was a form of cowardice.”

“I don’t know whether I should be offended by that or not.”

Aisling shrugged. “You didn’t think you had a real chance with her. When it became obvious she’d warmed enough to you, you tried. Good effort, but it would appear she needed more time. That’s not on you, that’s on her. You threw yourself into the path of a god, ready to die for her. It’s hardly your fault that she became fixated more on what she’d do after she lost you than what she’d get from being with you.”

“That … was sweetly poetic,” Cyrus said. “But I think you give me too much credit.”

“Nope,” she said, voice flat. “Unless you didn’t jump in front of Mortus’s hand, the credit is yours. You were willing to die for her; she was unwilling to live past your death. Kind of a peculiar irony, but there it is. Not all that surprising, though; human and elven ideas about death are dramatically different. Probably has something to do with your lifespan.”

“Not for me it doesn’t,” Cyrus said. “For me it’s training and doctrine. The God of War doesn’t suffer cowardice—at least, not on the battlefield,” he said, face flushing at the recall of Aisling’s earlier mention of his cowardice. “That means committing to the fight, above all else, including one’s life.”

“I don’t hear you talk much about your religion,” Aisling said, matter-of-factly. “One might conclude you’re either not terribly faithful or you’re just not much of an evangelist.”

“Following the path of the God of War is who I am,” Cyrus said, a little miffed. “I don’t evangelize because no one wants to hear about the glory of battle, the sacrifice of blood on the altar of combat. Most Arkarians consider that savage behavior.”

“I wouldn’t mind hearing about it sometime,” Aisling said, “but I doubt you’ll get me to change my lacksadaisical worship of Terrgenden to a lacksadaisical worship of Bellarum.”

Cyrus chuckled. “Now who’s the unfaithful one?”

She smiled. “I never said I was faithful. But I would say I’m worth it.”

He laughed again. “Well, I’m not sure I am.”

“From what I heard the other night, you are,” Aisling said, a little regretfully. “And what girl wouldn’t want a man who’s willing to die for them? What you did that day in the Realm of Death confirmed everything I’d felt about you from the beginning. Vara is more the fool for letting you slip away.”

“It’s kind of you to say.” Cyrus steered Windrider out of the swamp as they reached the edge of the plain. The horse whinnied in gratitude when they reached dry land and Cyrus patted him on the back of the neck. “Soon, old boy. You’ll get unsaddled and brushed out, and we’ll get you taken care of. Just a little farther back to the crossing.”

“Sir.” Longwell drifted toward Cyrus, Partus trussed up and gagged on the back of his horse. “Now that we’ve won the battle, my father will want us to stay for a spell, to enjoy at least a moon of feasting and celebration for winning the war.”

“Winning the war?” Cyrus looked at him in askance. “We broke one of Syloreas’s armies, but surely they must have more manpower somewhere. This army was hardly the be-all, end-all.”

“I suspect they do have more, yes,” Longwell said. “It was a weak offering, and uncharacteristic of Unger not to have led the battle himself from the front. For him not to be present at all is simply bizarre.”

Cyrus shook his head. “I can’t imagine he thought that was wise strategy, sending only that many and no more. Unless perhaps Actaluere drew him away with an attack, I would have thought he’d throw everything he had at this fight; after all, he was inches from defeating your Kingdom. That’s hardly the moment to pull back and be cautious.” Cyrus thought about it. “Is it possible he brought another army around wide and flanked us, attacking Vernadam?”

Longwell thought about if for a moment and then shrugged. “I can’t see what good it would do him. He might conquer the town, but in order to take the castle, he’d need time, which he wouldn’t get if we beat his other army in the field. He’d get flanked while trying to mount a siege of the most impregnable fortress in the land.” Longwell shrugged again. “Not the wisest course, and Briyce Unger is no fool. No, more likely he’s into something else, though I can’t imagine what.”

A fearful wind was whipping across the plains now and it brushed through Cyrus’s hair with all the enthusiasm of a cat at play with yarn. The green grasses came up to the knee of his horse, and the smell of the animals, wet with the travel through the swamp, followed them. He could hear the chatter behind him and the rustling of the grass in the breeze, as well as the occasional whinny. The plains lay uneven all the way to the horizon, and Cyrus could see the river ahead.

A thought occurred to him and he turned back to Longwell. “Your father greeted you with great enthusiasm when we arrived the day before yesterday.”

Longwell’s jaw tightened under his helm. “Aye. I expect he was quite pleased that I returned, especially seeing how I was at the head of an army that could save his realm. Even as … distracted … as he is nowadays, it had not escaped my father’s notice that Syloreas was about to conquer his Kingdom.”