Crusader

Chapter 103

The next day was a long battle, one that grated and dragged along him, like a whip taken to flesh. He could feel the pain in his muscles at the close of the day, the smell of death fixed in his nose as though he had swallowed it, the stench hanging in the back of his throat and threatening to gag him with every breath. The sound of swords tearing flesh was in his ears as was the guttural screaming of the scourge, their cries echoing in the night even now, far behind the lines. Cyrus was arrayed in a council, Curatio and Martaina with him along with Terian. Opposite him were Longwell and Ranson, directly across, Briyce Unger to his left and Milos Tiernan to his right, a fearsome scarring present on Tiernan’s face.

“Before we begin,” Tiernan said, nodding in acknowledgment to Cyrus, “I owe you my thanks for saving my sister.”

“I only wish it hadn’t cost you Caenalys in the process,” Cyrus said. Tiernan’s jaw clamped shut; he said nothing.

Silence reigned for almost a full minute. “Well, we’ve come to it at last,” Unger said. The mountain King’s shoulders were slumped, as though one of the fabled avalanches had finally come down on him.

“Aye,” Longwell said. “Our flat ground is done; from here to the bridge it’s a swampy corridor of peninsula. Our last advantage is gone.” He made as if to turn and look to the fields of recent battle. “It was a good fight while it lasted, though.” He turned serious, sober. “We could have the dragoons dismount and fight as foot infantry-”

“Foolish,” Unger said, shaking his enormous head.

“A waste,” Tiernan agreed. There was a somber spirit of dejection upon them, but Tiernan seemed to brush it aside. “The time has come to plan the next phase. To see our people safely across to the west. We have the foot troops to hold the last of the peninsula for a time.” The King of Actaluere set his jaw. “I’ve discussed it with my men, and many of them have no desire to leave these shores. I mean to stay, to water these last miles with my blood and tears, and to give our people as great a head start as we can.”

The silence filled the air. “I never thought an Actaluerean would leave aside merchant sensibility for something so …” Unger smiled, “… deeply felt. I’ve lost my homeland. Few enough of my people have made it over that bridge.” He shook his head. “I have no desire to keep fighting this battle into a new land when I’ve already lost my own.” His eyes flicked toward Longwell.

“Aye,” Samwen Longwell said, and Cyrus saw the full weight of a crown that wasn’t there, weighing down his head. “I have seen things … done things … to try and save this land … things I don’t wish to carry with me to the west. I was born in Luukessia, and I wish to die here.” He looked up at Cyrus. “Will you lead my men-my dragoons-into the west and help them to protect our people as best you can? We will buy you as much time as our bodies allow,” he said with a grim smile.

Cyrus looked from Tiernan to Unger then to Longwell. “I obviously can’t stay with you gentlemen, much as I might like. My land has yet to be hit by these things, but we all know it’s coming. Yes, I will protect your citizenry in their retreat with everything I have left,” he said, without much feeling. “I’ll take whatever men you have who don’t wish to die in the last defense of Luukessia and into battle in Arkaria.” He settled in, a glum feeling hanging over him. “And perhaps we’ll … find a way, over there, to stem the tide of these things. If they follow.”

“There’s no guarantee they will, after all,” Longwell said, but with enough of a kernel of disbelief that Cyrus knew that the dragoon didn’t believe it either. “If we give you enough time, perhaps the smell of life will be lost among their fear of the waters.”

“A faint hope,” Cyrus said with a slight smile, “but one I’m clinging to right now.”

There hung a moment of silence as the four of them all looked to one another. Tiernan broke it when he stood first, and gestured toward Cyrus, who stood and stepped closer to take the King of Actaluere’s outstretched hand.

“I trust you’ll continue to see to my sister,” Tiernan said, “and make certain she’s kept well out of the danger that comes?”

“I will,” Cyrus said.

“Your word,” Tiernan said firmly. “I’d like it, please.”

Cyrus felt a pinch inside. “I give you my word I’ll protect her for as long as I’m able.”

He smiled tightly. “Thank you.” He shook Cyrus’s hand hard and stepped aside.

Unger stood and stepped over to Cyrus. “Thank you for believing me when no one else would. Without your help, we’d not have gotten much of anyone out of Syloreas before the fall.”

Cyrus felt a clutch of pain inside. If not for me, you’d still have a Kingdom. “I’m sorry we couldn’t do more.”

Unger gave a slow shake of his head. “You’ve done quite enough. More than I likely would have done were our situations reversed. I’d have fled and not looked back.”

Longwell stood last and his crossing was slow, the King of Galbadien looking down at his feet, his helm clutched under his arm. When his head came up, Cyrus saw him biting his lower lip. “I owe you great thanks for all you’ve done. You’ve shown me a world I never would have believed. That you came here in the name of our friendship, out of loyalty to me, when you didn’t need to-it means everything.”

“I wish I’d had purer motives in doing so,” Cyrus said.

“Whatever your motives when you started,” Longwell said, “you stayed when you didn’t have to. You went north to Syloreas when you had no reason to think you were responsible in any way. And you’ve fought-ancestors! How you’ve fought.” He seized Cyrus’s hand, hard. “I believe in you-that if anyone will find a way to stop them, it’s you. If anyone could hold that bridge …” Longwell’s face tightened. “Well. I’m sorry I won’t be there to help you this time-”

There came a crack from behind Samwen, and the dragoon slumped, falling abruptly to Cyrus’s feet. Ranson stood behind him and unclenched his gauntlet. “Enough of that,” the Count said. “Take him with you, would you please? This is not a place for a young man to die, especially one whom you know could help you hold that bridge.”

Cyrus looked at the fallen figure of Longwell, out cold on the ground. “You could have … made your case to him about that.”

Ranson scoffed. “I’ve served his family for all my life. Served Galbadien for my entire life. I’ll die here, willingly, but I’ll not have the last vestige of our old ways destroyed because he’s got a foolish desire to spend himself before his time. If he truly wants to die, he can do it across the sea-after he’s ensured the safety of our people. It’s his last duty as King of Galbadien.” Ranson cocked an eyebrow. “You tell him I said that, when he wakes up.”

Cyrus looked between the Kings of Luukessia. “All right. We’ll pull back to the bridge with the dragoons and any men you want to send our way, and we’ll hold there until the last are on it. After that, we’ll go and cover the retreat-and hope that we make it far enough, fast enough to leave those bastards behind.”

“We’ll give you all the time we can spare,” Milos Tiernan said. “We’re placing the last of our Kingdoms in your hands-the last of the Luukessians. I dearly hope you’ll save them.” He looked from Ranson to Unger, then back to Cyrus. “After all,” the King of Actaluere said with a smile, “you are our last hope.”