Crusader

Chapter 85

“Mortus, you bastard,” Cyrus said as the Drettanden-scourge turned to come at him again. “What the hell were you doing with these things?”

“Feeding off of them,” Curatio answered, and Cyrus heard the tension in his voice. “Ten thousand years in the Realm of Death being used like that and I expect you’d be a bit put out as well.”

“God of Courage,” Cyrus said, whipping Praelior in front of him. “Well. I believe I’ve killed gods before.”

“Don’t-”

Curatio’s words were lost as the Drettanden beast charged at him again and Cyrus answered with a bellowing warcry of his own and charged, feeling the strength of Praelior. Fear is weakness, fear is undue caution, fear of pain is deadly …

He vaulted, leaping as the enormous scourge put its head down to ram him, dragging his sword beneath him. This is how I used to fight, when I was fearless. No timidity, no concern, no worries to bog me down. No … He blinked, and thought of Vara. No worries for the future. He whipped the blade around as he landed on the other side of Drettanden, and dragged a cut through the beast’s hindquarters. “Of all the gods I’ve met,” Cyrus said as he came back to his feet and the creature came around with a roar, “you’re actually only the second-most dead.” Cyrus frowned. “Does that mean we’re going to see Mortus dolled up like this?”

“I rather doubt it,” Curatio called from across the field, “since it would appear he was the one trapping the souls that have been loosed here. It would have been difficult for him to trap himself, what with being preoccupied with dying and all, especially since these lot were breaking free roundabout that very time.”

“Are there more like you?” Cyrus asked, waving the blade in front of him. “Alaric said that other gods died.” There was a bellow from the Drettanden creature at that, and he came at Cyrus again, faster this time, if it was possible. Cyrus started to throw himself to the side and run his blade out but the head came to meet him, the snout landing hard on the inside of his ribcage. Cyrus felt it hit, sending pain shooting through his side and a sudden numbness in his arm. His blade was at full extension; he had been aiming Praelior for the creature’s eye as he dodged.

The stinging agony of the blow sent a numbness up his arm, and when he felt the beast’s snout come up it jarred his already loosened grip. Praelior went spinning into the air and so did Cyrus, but in the opposite direction. He hit the ground hard, at a bad angle, and heard his shoulder break as he did so, rolling poorly out of it in a way that snapped his neck to the side and left him with a tingling numbness below his waist. That … was not good …

He rolled as best he could; his eyes alighted on Praelior on the other side of Drettanden. It was aglow, shining against the white snow. Cyrus breathed heavily into the mush pressed into his beard and tried to lift himself up, but failed. A healing spell landed upon him and he felt his strength return, the feeling in his legs come back and he was already in motion, clawing back to his feet, making his own charge at the beast, which was distracted, torn between him and the sword. A flare of flame caught it in the face and turned it away from him, toward the blade, as Cyrus slipped between its legs and leapt for it, landing in a desperate roll as his fingers clinched around the hilt.

He came up with the blade pointed back just in time to see the creature charging again. His sword caught it full in the face as it hit him, and he felt the full fury of its effects this time. There was no abatement of the blow, the full force of the multi-ton creature hit him with solid bone against his armor. His armor held, but pushed the impact into his chest where he felt his ribs shatter against the padding.

Cyrus maintained his grip on Praelior but little else; he was flung through the air in much the same way a doll tossed by a child in rage might. He watched himself arc over the line of his forces, saw them stare at him as he flew overhead like he was on a Griffon or some other such beast. The ground came at him, suddenly, and he was reminded of riding the back of Ashan’agar when he hurtled toward the earth-