Crusader

Chapter 87

Cyrus

The darkness was total, complete, save for the flashes of spells around him. The battle had gone on for days. They had not seen the Drettanden beast, not since the first time, but that had been plenty enough. Cyrus had died, killed upon impact with the ground, and when he woke up later, behind the lines, he’d found only Calene Raverle at his bedside.

“What happened?” he’d asked in a grog.

“You died,” she said simply and handed him a skin of water, which he drank from. The sounds of battle had carried from beyond. He had not asked her anything else, the strike of swords and cries of wounded answering all his further questions and filling in any gaps.

It was days later now. Cyrus had lost count of how many times he’d stood on the front lines since, sword in hand. Drettanden was out there, he could feel the creature instinctively, but it kept well back from the fighting. And a good thing, too. I need another clash with that beast like I need to be splattered all over the snow.

“Second rank, coming up!” came a call from behind him. Odellan, he thought, as he swung his sword through the face of a scourge. Time for relief. Cyrus eased back into a defensive posture, hacking apart the next scourge to jump at him. It was all he did, anymore, hit these creatures with his sword, stare into their black and soulless eyes and hit another one. Kill it, kill the next, kill another. Day after day until this moment had come. He found a dry sort of relief sprinkle over him at the thought of going back behind the lines, of eating something, even bread, possibly some hard cheese. There had been nothing but cheese, all the meat having been consumed by the refugees, but that was to be expected. Bread was enough to go with, bread and water and perhaps some jerky or salted pork every now and again.

Cyrus let himself fade between the next rank of combatants as the second rank took up the battle, and he let his shoulders slump as he placed Praelior back into his scabbard. How long has it been? Did I ask that this morning? Or was it last night? Two days ago?

It was dark enough that he could not see the horizon; a few torches lit the way for him, the people behind him carrying them to brighten the battlefield, to cast a little illumination on the moonless night. Heavy clouds hung overhead, and the smell of unwashed armies was heavy. Infection, pain and death were faint, but stronger the farther one got behind the lines.

“How long have we been doing this?” Terian asked, rattling into place beside Cyrus.

“Three weeks,” Curatio said, “this time.” The elder elf walked slower than usual, his seemingly inexhaustible nature oddly subdued; Cyrus suspected he had been burning life energy again. That’ll cost him over time. Even he can’t do that forever without repercussions. Can he? “Three weeks since we started the defense of Enrant Monge.”

There was movement all around them, the armies holding the fight to the field. “I could use a break,” Cyrus admitted, and he saw a flash of green ahead in the darkness as a shadow broke toward him, female. “Nyad,” he said, acknowledging the wizard with a nod. She hobbled toward him with her staff, coming from behind the lines with a few others, looking only slightly less haggard than he himself-though she probably just finished a rest. Bad sign for all of us, I think.

“I have a message for you,” she said, brushing blond hair back behind her pointed ears. He watched the motion she made, and it stirred Vara to his tired mind, if only for a second. “The Kings of Luukessia request your presence for a moot.”

“A moot, eh?” Cyrus asked. “I suppose it’s about time we discussed strategy, seeing as how we’ve been going about this for a few weeks without much success.” She shrugged, and started to brush past him. “Is that it?” he asked, watching her go.

“That’s all I’ve got,” the Princess of the Elven Kingdom said, favoring him with a weary smile, “but then I’m rather tired.”

“Aren’t we all,” Cyrus said as he started his path back to the rear of the lines, a few others in tow, “aren’t we all.”

He found J’anda waiting beside a fire with a few loaves of bread that he wordlessly handed to the new arrivals as they strew themselves around the campsite. The dark elf’s face flickered in the light, and he wore no illusion of late. I wonder why not? He doesn’t go to the front because there’s no use for him there, you’d think all he’d have to do is sit around and play with illusions. Cyrus took the bread offered to him wordlessly. “I have a meeting to attend-I’m sorry, a moot.” His fingers came up to his eyes and tried to brush away the sleep, but found only dried blood encrusted on his forehead. I don’t even know if that’s mine or not. “I’ll return when I’m done.”

“I was figuring you’d just collapse wherever you were standing when it was over,” Terian said, staring down at the bread clasped between his gauntlets. He stared at it as though it were an adversary; Cyrus knew well what he was feeling, as the taste of it had grown quite old for him as well. “You know, from exhaustion.”

“I’ll be waiting for you to get back,” Aisling said, her eyes glistening in the firelight.

“Or possibly something venereal,” Terian muttered. “I don’t know where you find the energy,” he said, a little louder.

Cyrus didn’t answer, instead turning his face toward the largest fire behind the lines, a roaring blaze off in the distance. It was a bonfire, almost, and he could see a few figures gathered around it. That’ll be where they are, he thought, taking the first trudging steps toward it. I hope they speak quickly, though I have my doubts that they’ll do any such thing.

The snows had grown deep around his feet but were packed down from having an army treading constantly over them. He heard the crunch with each step and huddled tighter against his cloak, trying to find shelter within it from the wind. He tried to keep his head down, eyes directly off the fires that punctuated the dark around him. The moonless night gave him little enough to see by, and every time he gazed directly into a flame he was forced to blink the afterimage of it out of his sight for a few seconds in order to see the path he was walking. The only good news is that every bit of foliage that can be burned has already been cleared to do so. I expect they’ve taken to chopping down the woods around Enrant Monge itself by now, sending it north to us by wagon along with whatever meager supplies they have remaining.

His nose adjusted to the cold air, to the smell of wood fires burning and nothing cooking. The army was subdued. All joking and laughter seemed to have fled long ago, blanketed over and suppressed like the night sky that wrapped the world above them. They are weary. These men have fought for weeks, some of them for months. If I’m this tired, I cannot imagine how someone like Odellan feels, having done this now for so long.

He reached the fire at last, the largest one, and there was a small circle of men in armor standing guard around it. They didn’t stop him, stepping aside when his face became visible. He entered the circle and found Longwell sitting on the ground next to Tiernan, both facing the roaring flames. Briyce Unger was there as well, though he was standing. Cyrus did not bother greeting them with anything more than a nod before dropping onto the melting snow next to Longwell. He heard the light squish of the muddied ground, and realized that he truly did not care.

“I see you’re in as fine a state as the rest of us, Lord Davidon,” Milos Tiernan said.

“Indeed,” Longwell said, scarcely turning his head, “we are truly a kingly lot, we masters of Luukessia. Sitting here, far from our halls-” He looked at Unger, a look laced with profound apology, “we who still have halls, that is-sorry-and watch our lands swallowed up a day at a time.”

Cyrus felt a stir of pity. I’ve felt the same, remembering the dark elves coming to Reikonos. Home. He felt a slight pang, deep within, buried under layers of weariness. It’s been so long. “How many more days until we reach Enrant Monge?”

“One,” Unger answered, waving behind them. “You can’t see it now, because of the darkness, but we’re in sight of it.”

“In sight of it?” Cyrus sat up, a cold clutch of surprise pushing back the weariness. “The refugees-”

“Evacuated,” Tiernan said, staring into the fire. “They’ve been moved south, toward Actaluere.” The King of Actaluere looked up from the flames. “Does anyone want to say it yet?”

There was a pause and a silence, then Briyce Unger spoke. “You speak of the fact that nearly half of Luukessia has been devoured by these things.”

“Aye,” Tiernan replied. “I received a messenger from Grenwald Ivess today with missives from border towns to the west; the scourge advances along a line, taking the towns south of Actaluere’s border with Syloreas. They are eating my realm now, and my citizenry are moving south as quickly as possible.” He looked expectantly at Longwell.

Longwell was glum, but did not look up from the fire. “Much the same to the east. They will be at Harrow’s Crossing in another few weeks. Their advance is slower there, in fewer numbers, but enough to consume what remains. The villages and towns have emptied, and the people are in full flight before them. They seem to be following the lead of the battle here, letting their fellows who hammer us on this front be the guiding force for their advance. It gives us time to evacuate the cities and towns, but … to what purpose?” Longwell gave a weary shrug. “We are soon to run out of land to give them in exchange for the time we buy.”

Briyce Unger waved into the darkness. “It seems likely that they’ll take Enrant Monge within a day or two of enveloping it-which I suspect will be tomorrow evening, the following morn at the latest. We’ll be forced to divide, or perhaps retreat and reform beyond it, adapting to the woodlands to the south as we make our moves.” He shook his head. “This is a slow-burning nightmare, like watching Syloreas swept away all over again. I see these things when I sleep, like the avalanches in the passes near Scylax, and everything they touch as they rumble down is dragged with them, to the underworld. Ancestors,” he cursed. “We shan’t be making so much as a stop to them. We’ve fought them from Filsharron and have yet to stymie them to delay for so much as a night. They come on, more and more. How many have we killed now?”

“Hundreds of thousands,” came Tiernan’s hollow reply. “A million or more, perhaps. How many can there be?”

“Of the dead?” Cyrus asked. “Because that’s what these things are, the dead, unleashed, furious, ready to consume the still-living. Countless dead. The spirits of all your ancestors and mine, for all we know, unremembering-” He thought of the Drettanden beast, of the attacks it mounted on him, holding the sword that had once been wielded by the God of Courage himself. “Or perhaps not unremembering but beyond reason. Mad with desire and craving life, that elusive thing they’ve lost.”

“We cannot reach the portal,” Unger said quietly. “All hope of that is lost. So what now?”

“Keep running,” Tiernan said. “Go south. Buy time until we can find some new stratagem.”

“There is no new stratagem,” Longwell said, his voice edged with sorrow. “This land will be destroyed, filled with the bodies of the dead, with the wreckage of those creatures as they continue to eat us piecemeal.”

“Do not lose hope,” Cyrus said, but weakly, as though he did not feel it in himself.

Longwell let out a short, sharp bark of a laugh. “Why should I not? Tell me, Cyrus, what is there left to hope for? What is there to believe in besides a long, slow death? Every inch of Luukessia will be covered in these things, and where have we to go? What have we left?”

“Your people,” Cyrus answered. “They live yet. They look to each of you for guidance. Show them the way to safety.”

“There is no way to safety,” Unger said quietly.

“Arkaria,” Cyrus said, and the three Kings looked to him. “You are correct, they will continue to come. But perhaps, if we can keep going south, leave the lane of retreat open to the Endless Bridge, we can allow your people to escape. Perhaps if-”

“Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps,” Longwell said, and Cyrus could hear the light desperation in his voice as well. “Perhaps we can get to the bridge, perhaps we can herd our entire surviving people over it-those who haven’t dropped dead from exposure, from lack of food, from the journey of miles to get there from all over the land-and then we give them … what? A fool’s hope that we can defend the bridge against the onslaught of these things that cannot be stopped? A frantic hope that perhaps they won’t follow?”

“What else would you have them do?” Cyrus asked. “Lay down in the snow and wait for death?”

“I could at least believe in the truth of that,” Longwell said, folding his hands before him, rubbing his fingers together before the fire, as though he could feel no warmness within them. “I do not believe we will survive these things. I do not believe we were ever meant to.”

“A strange thought from a man who only a year ago told me that he didn’t believe in gods that controlled our actions.”

“It’s been a long year,” Longwell said and didn’t look up.

“Even if we could get … a portion of our people to the bridge,” Tiernan spoke up, “and that’s a very large ‘if,’ considering that those traveling from the north have been walking for months already, we could still march them into Arkaria and have these things follow and be no better off than we were before. We would only be prolonging the inevitable.”

“What is the alternative?” Unger said, and Cyrus was surprised at the strength of the Sylorean King’s conviction. “To yield all hope up as lost?” Unger reached back for his maul and slapped the handle against his hand, a whomping noise that did little more than cause Tiernan and Longwell to look at him. “If we are to lose Luukessia-and I agree, it seems likely-I mean to make these beasts choke on that loss. I won’t simply bow down and be chewed up by the unrelenting mouth of this thing. I will take as many of them with me as I can, and I’ll fall to my death proud that I went to my last breath fighting for something greater than those things will ever conceive of-my people. My land. My Kingdom. My brethren. Come to it, these things die like beasts, all trying to chew up their next meal. I’ll take my death and go willingly, as a man, and for a reason. For Luukkessia.” Unger set his jaw and slapped the handle of the maul against his palm again.

There was a silence until Tiernan spoke. “I’ve never much seen the margin in war. Nor in these endless battles we fight; oh, certainly I’ll take what I can get, expand my territory and my tax revenue, but I never understood the call to war. But this … this slaughter they intend for us, this is truly the most grotesque thing I can remember.” He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back over his shoulder. “I swore when I took the throne to do my best by my people. I never thought it would require much more than fighting you lot,” he waved a hand from Unger to Longwell. “Now we find ourselves staunchest allies, with an enemy that the three of us combined may not be able to defeat. I will fight these things to the death. I gave a sacred oath to protect my Kingdom, and I took it meaning every word I said. I will not go back on it now simply because all that I anticipated has faded away and drawn me into something unimaginable.” He pointed toward the southwest, toward his Kingdom. “They are good people, my citizens. Hard workers, not all virtuous but on the whole good people, unworthy of the fate this scourge would visit upon them. I would be a willing sacrifice to stop these things, to stem their advance. I would die in the fight with these monsters, but not til I’ve given every last drop of my blood for these people.” He stood. “I never thought I would say that. Never thought I’d ever see an enemy so horrid that I would stand with the two of you and be willing to die to stop it, but … here we are.”

Cyrus waited to see if Longwell would speak. He did not, and after a moment Unger spoke again. “Should we even try to defend Enrant Monge when the moment comes?”

“If the pattern holds,” Cyrus said, “they’ll envelop it, and perhaps crawl over the top, I don’t know. If we defend it, expect to die doing so. Enrant Monge is nothing compared to Scylax.”

“You need not worry about Enrant Monge.” The voice came from behind them, and Cyrus turned, blinded by the light of the fire still flashing in his eyes. When it faded, a grey cloak was obvious, and a bearded man emerged from the darkness.

“Grenwald Ivess,” Briyce Unger said, stepping forward to offer his hand. “What brings you out of the castle?”

“It has hardly escaped our attention that you are nearly upon us,” Brother Ivess said, keeping his hands joined together within his sleeves. “I came to speak with you, to discuss our next moves.”

“We have decided to retreat toward the Endless Bridge,” Tiernan said, still standing, his back now to the fire, shadowing the man. “We will reform south of Enrant Monge and continue the defense, fighting for every inch of ground to give the people time to make their escape.”

Grenwald Ivess gave a short nod. “You are brave, I will give you that. The Brotherhood will remain at Enrant Monge as you withdraw, and we will buy you the time to remake your formations.”

“That is unnecessary,” Unger spoke, his beard shifting as he ran a hand through it. “With the Arkarian magics to cover our retreats and hold lines, you should leave the castle. It is vulnerable and will cause you naught but death when they come. Get your men out, head them toward the southwest, and have your soldiers help the civilians make their way.”

Ivess stood still, but Cyrus noted the subtle vibration of his body under the robe. “I’m afraid I cannot do that. The Brotherhood has kept Enrant Monge against all challenges for ten thousand years. We will not abandon it now.”

There was a moment of silence before Longwell spoke. “Brother Ivess, the purpose of Enrant Monge was unity of Luukessia, is it not?”

“It is,” Ivess replied.

“We have achieved unity,” Longwell said, gesturing to Unger and Tiernan. “We stand united against the darkness before us. There is no need for your Brotherhood to die now for a place, even Enrant Monge. The people of Luukessia are the true beating heart of our land, not some castle, no matter how old it is. We could make much use of your soldiers in our retreat.”

“And you shall,” Ivess said. “I will send seven hundred and fifty of my thousand with you. The others have all refused to leave. We will remain to defend Enrant Monge against this enemy.” He held up a hand as the three Kings began to speak as one. “You must remember, our order is old and set in its ways. To die in defense of Enrant Monge is no great burden for us. It is what we have been living for all our lives. And it is a small thing, really, having seen this day come. You are quite right,” he said, looking to Longwell. “We have sought the unification of Luukessia for ten thousand years. Though this is not how we would have hoped it would play out, it is what has happened. Those of us who remain will do so gladly, having known our purpose was fulfilled and that we stood against the single greatest threat our land has ever known.”

“I feel as though I should clap,” Longwell said, finally standing for himself, “but I suppose instead I will have to content myself with bidding you farewell, Brother Ivess.”

“I am not leaving quite yet,” Ivess said, and then looked to Tiernan. “I have some unfortunate tidings to deliver as well.” His hands emerged from his sleeves, breaking them apart, and he handed a small envelope to Milos Tiernan, who took it and walked back to the fire with it in his hands, ripping it open to pull free a letter, which he proceeded to read.

“What is it?” Unger asked under his breath.

“I am not free to speak for the King of Actaluere,” Grenwald Ivess said. “If he means to have you know, he will-”

“DAMN THE MAN!” Milos Tiernan’s voice echoed across the camp. He took the note, crumpled it and tossed it into the fire.

“Luukessia is already beset upon by the most fearsome beasts we have ever known,” Unger said, “and we’ve just decided to tell every man, woman and child of our Kingdoms to flee to the edge of the sea and cross it on a bridge that will take us to a foreign land that likely has no place for us. Something tells me that whatever the contents of that letter, they would have to be powerfully bad tidings to agitate King Tiernan after all that’s already transpired here tonight.”

Tiernan paced, staring for a moment at the flames, regretfully, as though he could snatch back the letter he had cast into it. Grenwald Ivess stared at him quietly, as did Longwell, while Unger stood with his arms folded. “Well?” the King of Syloreas asked. “Out with it.”

“Hoygraf,” Tiernan said, and it came as more of a curse than any word Cyrus had ever heard spoken. A flash of irritation passed through him, and he thought of the dark haired Baron-Grand Duke, he corrected himself-and thought of the faded memory of the last time he’d seen the man, knife in hand.

“Oh, yes, that pestilence,” Unger spoke again. “What is your dear brother-in-law up to now? It must be a powerful irritant if it can inspire such rage in you after we’ve already had such a down evening-”

“Oh, it is,” Tiernan said, now pacing before the fire. His head snapped up and he looked to Cyrus. “You.”

Cyrus blinked at him. “Me, what?”

“You must come with me,” Tiernan said, and took two steps forward to grasp Cyrus by the forearm. Cyrus did not stop him, but stared in mild curiosity at the King’s grip on him.

“Come with you where?” Cyrus asked. “We have a battle ahead of us, in case you forgot? So unless it’s to the front-”

“To Caenalys,” Tiernan said, and Cyrus could feel the slight squeeze of the King’s hand even through his armor.

“Your capital?” Cyrus asked. “Any particular reason why?”

“The weather there is bound to be better than it is here,” Unger said under his breath.

“Because that’s where Hoygraf is,” Tiernan said. “He’s taken my sister and captured my city with his forces,” Cyrus felt a cold sensation plunge through him in spite of the warm fire nearby. “He holds her hostage, claiming to be the new King of Actaluere.” Tiernan’s cold eyes burned into Cyrus. “He says that if I attempt to reclaim Caenalys, he will kill her.”