Crusader

Chapter 118

Cyrus

There were slaps on the back enough to satisfy the largest ego, but Cyrus felt them hardly at all and not because of his armor. He watched as the dark elves were broken in their advance, driven out of the wall, leaving their dead behind them. Aisling had kissed him, he dimly remembered, but his thoughts were not of her, not at that moment-they were on the dead.

And Alaric.

“I need healers,” he said, taking the first strides down onto the lawn, caked so thickly with bodies it could scarcely be believed. “We need to work starting at the gates and move inward, I need resurrection spells-” He paused, and noticed Andren at his side. “Hey.”

“Oh, and a fine hello to you as well,” the healer said, glaring at him. “Remember when you said you would be back in a few months? You know, something on the order of a year ago?”

“I got a bit sidetracked,” Cyrus said. “You know, there are a lot of people here who could use your talents-”

“Fine,” the healer huffed. “But don’t be thinking that our conversation is done. We need to have a discussion, you and I.”

“I look forward to it,” Cyrus said, exhausted, as the healer moved away, upturning bodies as the members of Sanctuary began to look among the dead for their own. Calls of finds filled his ears, but he filed them all away, not really taking anything in.

A horseman appeared in the dimness, under the light of the moon, dismounting as he reached Cyrus. Cyrus blinked then recognized was Odellan by the winged helm. He greeted the elf with a nod. “Report.”

“They’re broken and fleeing,” Odellan said. “You were right; they were utterly unprepared to be flanked while they were trying to lay siege to the keep. We rode them down, took minimal losses, and our men are running them through the plains even now, making merry slaughter of them.” He sighed and looked at the gap in the wall where the gate had once stood. “They won’t get away, you know. Our Luukessian cavalry friends seem to be relishing the opportunity to pay us back for their perceived debt. They’re pursuing with an aggressiveness I’d find disquieting if not for the fact that the dark elves are completely in disarray. One of our thrusts hit their command tent and cut it to pieces. There are the bodies of at least four generals on the pile, along with more adjutants and colonels than I’d care to count. High-ups in their army, too, ones I read reports on when I was an Endrenshan.” He looked out over the chaos. “They must have placed most of their force here in the Plains of Perdamun. We’ve dealt the Sovereign a hell of a blow tonight, and it’ll be all the worse when we’ve finished. He’ll be lucky to get a thousand of them back at the rate we’re riding them down.”

“Good,” Cyrus said numbly. “I need a Council meeting of … whoever’s left.”

Odellan nodded at him. “I’ll see who I can rally together for you. A time?”

Cyrus looked at the destruction around him. “Give it an hour. That’ll be enough time to bring back all the dead that’ll be coming back.” He saw Erith Frostmoor casting a spell in the distance as members of Sanctuary dragged the bodies of their comrades over to her. “Odellan-make sure any of our Luukessian friends who might have died in the charge get brought back, will you?”

“I already have soldiers bringing their bodies together,” the elf said and saluted with a tight smile. “It was a great victory, you know. The scourge and the dark elves vanquished in a single day.”

Cyrus nodded as the elf walked off into the Sanctuary foyer. Then why does it feel like a defeat? He recalled the bridge, Alaric disappearing as the stone broke apart around him and he fell … Right. That’s why.

He looked up at the moon, staring at the pale disk hanging in the sky above. It almost seemed as though it were slightly red, tinged with blood. He stared at it for only a moment more before he began to pick his way through the bodies, moving aside the countless corpses of dead dark elves in hopes of finding a few familiar faces before it was too late.