Crusader

Chapter 83

Cyrus

The battles were long, the snow was deep and the cold was bitter. Cyrus had come off the front line after just under twenty-four hours; he had fought through the night, slaughtering more of the scourge than he could count. It was midday now, the snows had stopped but the wind blew, causing it to drift, blowing sideways over the flat lands upon which they battled. His nose was cold, frigid enough to feel like it was frozen stiff, but he sat in front of a warm fire now, a mile behind the battle, and heard the sound of the war in the distance.

“This is a peculiar way to fight,” J’anda said in the midday gloom. The clouds hanging over them were meager cover, casting a shroud of grey over everything. The enchanter had bread in his hand, nibbling at it. “I have never been part of a battle so large that it rages while you can leave it behind, take a break, use the latrines, then come back to find it still going.”

“It’s not exactly like anything I’ve ever done before, either,” Cyrus said, Aisling next to him, chewing on the nub of bread she held in her hands. “Can you imagine taking a breather like this in the midst of fighting the Dragonlord? Or the goblins in the depths of Enterra? Or on the bridge in Termina?” He shook his head and sipped from a skin of water that had been filled by Nyad with a touch and a word as he passed, dragging himself off the front line of battle.

“These things are utter madness,” J’anda said, looking to Curatio, who sat next to him, unspeaking, and Terian, who sat idly, not saying anything but staring at his gauntlets. “They throw countless numbers at us, watch them get ground up and die, but throw more yet. I was not exaggerating when I said that I could not determine how they think. There is no guessing, not from what I saw inside the mind of the one I tried to commune with. If our soldier was right, that there is a General of some sort out there, that may be the key.” He looked to Cyrus. “My view was somewhat obstructed, sitting in the back of the lines and of very little use for the first time in my life. Did you see it while you were up there?”

Cyrus thought about it for a minute then shook his head. “I saw something out there, big, but far in the distance. It never got close enough for me to catch much more than a shadow, even in the best light today.”

“I saw it,” Aisling said.

“Me too.” Terian did not look up from his gauntlets.

“Must be nice to have such fine eyesight,” Cyrus said. “What did it look like?”

“Like one of them,” Terian said, waving his hand in the direction of the battle, “but writ large; four legs, walking around like a dragon without wings. It kept low, though, lower than I think it normally would have, like it knew we had archers and it wanted to be low profile. It was out on the edge of sight, and it stayed there during most of the fight.”

“Most?” Cyrus asked.

“It came closer once,” Aisling took over for Terian. “Not much, but a little. At the beginning of the fight, when we got to the front of the line. That’s when I noticed it, when I felt its presence. After that it receded, like it didn’t want to be seen.”

Cyrus chewed that one over for a minute. “You think this thing is the mastermind? The brain of the operation?”

Terian chuckled. “If this operation has any brains other than the ones it eats on the field of battle, yes.”

“What if we made a direct assault at it?” Cyrus asked.

“Sounds like a fine way to lose your body,” Curatio murmured. “Have you seen what happens when these things start to lose any ground? They throw more at you, more of their numbers. Failing that, they hit you on either side, drive back the lines around you so you end up bulged, in a little pocket, sticking out like an arm, Then they winnow it, chopping into the sides at your weakest point until they can surround you; then it is over.” He slapped his hands together and the echoing noise was loud enough to startle Martaina, who had been sleeping nearby, into jumping to her feet, bow drawn and arrow already nocked. “Sorry,” Curatio breathed, and the ranger nodded, replaced the arrow and bow across her chest, and lay back down.

“You don’t think it’s possible to stage an assault on that thing without getting swallowed by the scourge army and destroyed?” Cyrus asked, chewing on a stubbornly hard piece of bread. The grains cracked in his teeth and the yeasty flavor lingered on his tongue. He stook a swig out of the water skin to wash it out.

“I think that you’re talking about trying to storm something alive as though it’s a fortification,” Curatio said carefully. “It moves, Cyrus. Let us assume you managed to cut your way across the field of battle towards it: what’s to stop it from retreating once it realizes what you’re up to? Soon enough you’re on a chase to wherever it leads, which, by the way, is halfway to perdition and with the whole of its army surrounding you.” He angled his head. “Unless you have some idea of how to escape that, which I am unaware of.”

Cyrus ran a hand over his chin, brushing the crumbs out of his beard. He let the faintest hint of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, and stared straight ahead as the others gradually stopped what they were doing and looked at him, at the curious hint of something long gone, now appearing upon his face. A smile? How long has it been …

“Well, you know … I actually do have an idea …”