Crusader

Chapter 63

Vara

Day 29 of the Siege of Sanctuary

The convoys had armed escorts now, almost a hundred soldiers of the dark elven army led by officers on horseback, their troops following behind them in their leather armor that was as easy to punch through with a mystical sword as unguarded flesh. Vara stared down at them, Vaste next to her squinting through a gnomish spyglass.

“This will likely only work once in this place, you realize that?” The troll asked, not breaking away from the spyglass.

“Not being an idiot, I do recognize that.” She considered some form of physical reaction, like hitting him on the shoulder to let him know what she thought of him, but decided against it. Too much like Cyrus. “Although if we covered our tracks exceptionally well, we might be able to pull it off twice before the Sovereignty becomes wise.”

“Perhaps,” Vaste said. Below them lay a caravan, making its way into a short canyon where the road dipped into the plains to follow an old riverbed. “You seem to have no shortage of ideas to help us wage this little war of ours, but it’s disturbing to me how many of them have been borrowed from Goliath.”

“We go with what works,” she said. “How did they manage it? Casting fire at either end of the canyon to spook the horses and then riding through?”

“Something along those lines,” Vaste said, and she caught the unease in the way he replied. “They managed to turn it into a perfect ambush, save for the fact that Cyrus got inside the perimeter of their fire and played merry hell with the goblins until they retreated. I must suggest we do not allow something similar.”

“As I saw it,” Vara said, trying to remain patient, “he was only able to do that because of that wondrous horse of his. Any other horse would have been frightened away from jumping over a wall of fire. Soldiers would similarly know better than to try it in most instances. Besides, my intent is to merely contain the convoy while we eliminate their escort.” She stood and dusted off the plains dirt that clung to her armored greaves. “As always, the drivers are free to go.”

“As you say,” Vaste agreed, but the unease was still there; she knew him well enough to hear it.

She whistled to the others and took up position on her horse. The Sanctuary raiding party was already disguised on either side of the road before the gulch; half a hundred rangers hiding in the brush with bows and arrows, and helping to conceal three wizards and four druids. Vara watched from the ridge above, some fifty warriors behind her ready to ride on her command. A neat pincer maneuver if ever there was one. With their escort wearing little in the way of armor, the arrows will do their bit while the wagons are contained by the fire. We sweep down and mop up their resistance, and leave them mourning the disappearance of their ill-gotten gains. She let her hand drift to her sword hilt then stopped herself. I am not Cyrus Davidon, and I need not adopt his more obvious mannerisms. She pondered for a moment, then wondered idly: Does he touch the hilt of his sword not only out of nervous habit but to enjoy the faster reflex it offers? If so, that might explain a choice riposte or two he managed to get out when verbally cornered …

“Shall we go?” Vaste asked, now back on his horse.

“Too soon and we risk being seen, thus spoiling the ambush,” Vara said, holding up her hand to keep the raiding party halted. There were another fifty or more horses with them, those belonging to the rangers and spellcasters below, and the smell of horse was strong here. “Too late and we’re of little use-though I suspect we’ll be of little enough use anyhow, given how well set-up this ambush is.”

“Well set-up is not well executed,” Vaste said, and there was a rumble of disquiet from the troll.

“What is your difficulty?” Vara asked under her breath, moving her horse close enough to him that only he could hear her whisper.

“Hard to explain,” Vaste said, quieter still. “I recognize that we’re in a bit of box here, and that what we’re doing is necessary to draw pressure away from the siege, but there is something about using strategies that were first employed by Goliath while trying to sully our honor that I find damned disquieting in general.”

“So it’s a silly moral issue, is it?” she asked, and found she had drawn a frown from him.

“I have no moral objection to what we’re doing here,” he said. “We’re attacking convoys of dark elves who are blockading us and stealing the goods that they’ve plundered from the farmers of the plains. If I have any objection, it’s that I wish we had thought of the idea ourselves instead of having to steal it from the most loathsome sacks of treacherous flesh that are still strolling the land of Arkaria.” He blinked, and looked pensive. “Speaking of which, where is Goliath strolling nowadays? You can’t tell me there’s a war consuming the land without them trying to get a piece of it.”

“I bloody well wish they were strolling into the Realm of Death, enjoying the lovely taste of those fiends that our army is facing on the other side of the world,” Vara said, no longer bothering to constrain her loathing. “I suspect they’re still where they were when last we heard about them-hiding under the Sovereign’s considerable skirt, doing whatever bidding he has for them.”

“Does it not disturb you to think about what he might be bidding them do?” Vaste’s angular face was filled with curiosity. “They’re amoral, desperate, and quite powerful. Hardly one of the big three, but still strong enough to cause enormous problems for whoever crosses their path. And if they’re in the service of the Sovereign, and his eye is fixed upon us-”

“No time to discuss that now,” Vara said, and started her horse along the ridge. “The ambush is about to begin.”

“I understand,” Vaste said, “of course you’re incapable of discussing something like this when you’re riding a horse toward battle. You probably have to mentally prepare to eviscerate a dark elf or something. Don’t let me interrupt that level of deep thought with something as frighteningly trifling as one of the largest and most powerful guilds in the land being deployed by our enemies to aid in our destruction. It’s really not worth giving much consideration to, come to think of it.”

She rolled her eyes, though he could not see it. “I don’t see much that we’re able to do about it at present,” she said, allowing her steed to take her at a gallop toward the gulch far ahead as the first wagon in the convoy disappeared into it. “Perhaps if you’d care to raise it in Council later …”

“I’d really rather annoy you with the thought,” Vaste said. “I suspect the others will find it just as disquieting, but it’s much more fun to watch you squirm and pretend you want to think about killing people rather than consider it.”

“You’re an arse,” she said simply. But after a moment, she conceded, “And quite correct.”

“Thank you.”

The last wagon of the caravan rolled into the gulch and a wall of flame leapt up under the belly of the officers of the escort force, causing their horses to throw them. Vara could hear the sound of the armored lieutenants hitting the ground even from a few hundred feet away and over the first exclamations of the soldiers lined up in ranks. The sound of their cries took a turn for the more desperate and pained only minutes later, however, as the first arrows found their targets. She estimated something approaching a third of the soldiers fell with the first volley; half again as many fell with the second, leaving the escort in disarray, the back ranks breaking and even causing a few of them to run back down the road.

As if that would save you, she thought as she swept into the first of the runners. Her sword came down on him, hard; he had been looking back, not even seeing her until she was upon him. Blood spattered her horse’s hair and was joined by more as she rained down death upon the second runner. She did not stop, riding her horse into the dark elven soldiers who still maintained their lines, after the third volley of arrows had landed. She cut a bloody swath through them as the rangers emerged from hiding at either side of the road and joined the melee.

Is this how you would have done it, General? She cut loose on another unsuspecting dark elf from horseback. He had been distracted by the rangers coming out of hiding, uncertain of where to turn. He lost his head for his transgression-not that he would have kept it had he been paying full attention, but still. Is this how you would do it, Cyrus, were you here? Would you run our enemies to ground, ambush them, and drag them in different directions the way I am? Or would you have a different strategy, something so brilliant that it would take my breath away at the knowledge you came up with it yourself?

She let out an audible curse, an elvish one that came from no particular setback in the battle but from a very deep place of dissatisfaction within her. Her blade came down on another dark elf, this one prepared with his sword waiting to block it. Her blade broke his weapon, went through his skull, and well into his torso before she pulled it back. Damn you, Cyrus. Damn you for leaving me to do these things, to become what you were supposed to be. Damn you for-

She stopped before she brought down her sword again, this time almost striking another dark elf, but this one not wearing the leather and seal of the Sovereign, but a hood and cloak that denoted a ranger, one dressed like a member of Sanctuary. “Sorry,” she muttered in apology upon seeing his face. “I didn’t mean to … sorry.” She looked around from the Sanctuary rangers on foot, their knives and short blades glistening with the dark blood of their enemies, then back to the warriors who had ridden into their enemies ranks on horseback; there was no sign of injury, though plenty enough of them had blood on their horses and selves. There was no crying left, no sobbing of the wounded or wailing of the dying. She looked to Vaste, but he merely shrugged, as if to say, We’re done.

“Secure the convoy,” she said loudly to one of the warriors nearest her, a capable human named Jet Tindar. “Don’t kill them unless you have to.” With a nod, Jet rode on, the warriors on horseback following him as the flames that blocked the gulch diminished at their approach. “The rest of you-let us try to clear the signs of our attack as best we can, and take the bodies with us so as to not give away our tactics.” She felt the dull clack of her jaw. “Perhaps we can do this very same maneuver again in a week or two, to the same effect.”

She pulled the reins and guided her horse away as the rangers moved into action, pulling the bodies together for transport. She didn’t watch, unworried that the job would be done correctly, the blood would be covered over by a second group after the first had teleported out with the wagons, the corpses and the majority of their force. Would you have done it this way, Cyrus? How would it have been different if you were here, instead of fighting over there? She felt an involuntary twinge in her cheek; as small as even it was, it was more emotion than she would have preferred to be displayed on her face. … and how would it be different for me … if you were here …?