Crusader

Chapter 104

With the dawn they were headed west, Cyrus and the Sanctuary army, on a slow march along the road. The sound of combat faded behind them as the morning wore on, and they set out pickets that night after sunset. The territory was familiar in appearance, the coastal ground they’d trod in their first days in Luukessia. The crickets sang in the grasses, the winds blew sea air fresh across them from the south, a salt breeze that reminded Cyrus of the boat, or of a day on the beach long ago-the first day he had been in Luukessia. The swaying grass and short sight lines reminded him of plains, just briefly. Of home. Or whatever Sanctuary is to me now.

There was a sound, a low moan. Cyrus turned to look and saw Longwell clutching his head nearby, stirring from the place where he was bound with rope. He had been thrown unceremoniously on the back of a horse and left there for a good portion of the day after a healing spell from Curatio. Cyrus had looked at the damage done by Ranson before the healing spell had been cast; privately he did not envy the dragoon.

“What happened?” Longwell said, trying to sit up and struggling against the rope.

Cyrus looked him over. “Ranson knocked you out and asked me to take you with us.”

Longwell blinked and looked at the ropes that bound him. “You must surely be joking.”

Cyrus shrugged. “I think you’ll agree I haven’t been in much of a joking mood of late. More brooding, I think.”

“Are you going to let me loose?” Longwell said, struggling against the bonds that bound him under his armor.

“In another day or so,” Cyrus said, taking a drink from a skin of water and then holding it up to Longwell to let him sip from it. “Wouldn’t want you trying to escape and go back to throw yourself into a massacre, after all.”

Longwell finished his drink, giving Cyrus a measured glare. “So this is how you would treat me, after all this time? Bind me like a criminal?” He eyed Terian, who sat nearby and cocked his head at the comment. “Sorry.” He switched his gaze back to Cyrus. “You would strike my ability to choose for myself?”

“Yep,” Cyrus said. “I hope you understand. I’m going to need your help on that bridge.” He favored Longwell with a look, a cool, understated one.

“I … what?”

“The bridge,” Cyrus said. “I need someone at my side who can handle this situation. Someone who’s been in a fight like this before because if these things end up crossing, we’re the last line of defense. Your horsemen are going to be useless in a fight of this sort. The Sanctuary army can do some good if we fail, but we need to be the stone wall upon which the scourge breaks-for as long as it takes to get your people off that bridge and headed north to the portal, where we can evacuate them quickly.” He took another sip. “Hopefully some of them have already reached the other side and started to head that way.”

“You want me by your side for this again,” Longwell said, letting his bound hands hang in front of him.

“I need your help,” Cyrus said. “You, Scuddar, Odellan,” he darted a look backwards, “Terian, probably. This could be days of fighting. I have a lot of veterans thanks to our army being in a near-constant battle these last few months, but I need an elite, a front rank that won’t buckle, no matter what.”

Longwell settled, his struggle with the bonds done. “It almost sounds as though you mean to try and drive them back; to stand and fight and make them feel the pain and blink.”

Cyrus looked at Longwell out of the corner of his eye, just for a moment, then back to the dark, swampy night. “Maybe I do. Maybe I do.”

Longwell gave a short nod after a moment of thought. “Very well, then. I cede the wisdom of your proposal. I will fight alongside you on the bridge.” He held out his hand. “You may release me now; I won’t go anywhere.”

Cyrus pulled the water skin from between his lips. “I know you won’t. Because you’re going to stay roped until we get to the bridge.”

Even in the dark, Cyrus could see the disbelief as Longwell’s face fell. “What? But I gave you my word.”

“Yeah,” Cyrus agreed. “But a man desperate to die in the defense of his homeland might be possessed to say some untruths. After all, who’s gonna care if he lied after he’s dead?”

“But,” Longwell said, sputtering, looking around for some sort of support. “I’m the King of Galbadien!”

“Right you are, Your Majesty,” Cyrus said, and bowed his head. “Would you like some more water?”

Longwell’s expression turned from disbelief to fury, then slowed to irritation, then finally to a long, sustained eyeroll. “Very well.”