Crusader

Chapter 8

“General,” Odellan said in a low whisper of his own, so low it was almost inaudible to Cyrus’s ears. “You are wounded, sir. You are wounded in a way that no healing spell can cure. The cut runs deep, to the quick of you. That is to be expected. But you are still the same man who undertook this mission, and whatever your reasons, I know you and I have seen what you believe borne out by what you do, which is the truest guide.” Odellan’s finger came to land on Cyrus’s black breastplate and tapped on it, twice, for emphasis. “This wound will fade in time, and you’ll be left with what was inside all along-a purpose forged in fire. No matter what else happens, you’ll do your duty. I’d stake my life on it-and I have.”

“I hope you’re right,” Cyrus said, not feeling the same certainty as the elf. “I certainly hope you’re right.”

Cyrus shuffled to the officer’s fire and noted a few others standing around it-Nyad, her red robes billowing around her like a cloak, Ryin Ayend standing next to her, too close to merely be considered friendly or familiar. Curatio and J’anda were there, J’anda watching Cyrus, a light smile upon his blue face. Samwen Longwell waited with them as well, the long handle of his lance resting against his dark blue armor. He was careful to avoid running it across the white surcoat he wore over his ensemble. “General,” Longwell said with a nod.

“This is where I take my leave of you,” Odellan said in a whisper.

“Stay,” Cyrus said, turning back to him. “I’d like you to sit in on this.”

Odellan hesitated, clearly torn. “I’d certainly like to. But I am a new recruit in this guild, and it would be improper for me to be sitting in on a war council not a week into my tenure here. Other recruits would be most aggrieved if this particular honor bestowed me came to their attention-enough so that it would cause complaints to come your way, surely-”

“Send the complainers my way,” Cyrus said in a low, gravelly voice. “I may even invite them to sit in as well, if ever they’ve led an army against a horde of dark elves.” He smiled at Odellan, causing the elf to return one weakly before Cyrus turned back to the waiting Council. “Hello, all,” Cyrus said, then paused. “J’anda,” he said to the enchanter, who inclined his head and smiled back at Cyrus, “I don’t recall you being with us when we left Sanctuary.”

“Indeed I was not,” the enchanter said with his customary smile, “but after a day or so of contemplation, I realized that heading into an unfamiliar land, filled to the brimming with men and armies, you may have need of my particular skills.” He bowed with a flourish.

“Well,” Cyrus said with a slight shrug, “I can’t say I’m sorry to see you.” He looked around the impromptu circle. “Before we get started, I want to apologize for my … reclusiveness on our journey thus far.”

There was an air of discomfort around the fire, the officers shifting their gazes to each other, wearing pained expressions, until Terian spoke from behind Cyrus. “Somehow we’ve managed in your absence, oh great and mighty.” The dark knight brushed past Cyrus, the point of his pauldron clanking against Cyrus’s armor. “I think we all expected that what happened between you and Vara would put you out of commission for a while longer.” His eyebrows arched upward, almost leering. “Did you manage to put her behind you or does she remain on top-metaphorically speaking, of course,” Terian said with a wicked grin. “We all know that you didn’t actually get that far-”

“He didn’t?” Nyad turned to look at him, her mouth agape in a way that made her look slightly mawkish. “I’d heard you and she had finally consummated your torturously prolonged courtship after we got back from Pharesia!”

Cyrus felt a flush of red run through his cheeks and looked down.

Before he could answer, Terian spoke again. “Hah! The last time Cyrus had relations was probably back when there was only one position.” There was a glimmer of spite in Terian’s eye as he turned to look at Cyrus, something beyond the give and take that they exchanged along with their usual banter.

Cyrus shook it off, pasting a fake smile on his face as he feigned amazement. “There’s more than one position now? What new devilry is this?”

“That’s enough,” Curatio said, stern in a way Cyrus hadn’t heard from the elder elf before. “We have things to discuss, and I’m certain that if Cyrus wishes to talk about his personal matters in Council … well, I would immediately suspect he was some sort of enchanter masquerading as Cyrus.”

“It wouldn’t be me,” J’anda said. “I have many less depressing people to be if the mood strikes.”

“Thank you, Curatio,” Cyrus said. “I think there was a word of support buried in there, somewhere. But you are correct, we have matters to discuss. We enter hostile territory tomorrow.” He looked to Longwell for confirmation.

The dragoon swung his lance around and buried the three-pronged head into the sand, where it stood upright. “We are already within the bounds of the Kingdom of Actaluere, but their nearest village is quite a few miles from here and we’re unlikely to run across any patrols this far out. Tomorrow, and every day that follows as we go deeper into their Kingdom, the greater chance we stand of running into hostile forces.”

“Can we go around their Kingdom?” Nyad asked. Her face was screwed in concentration, as though she had other questions waiting to bubble forth. “After all, as I understand it, we’re not here to combat these people.”

“You are correct,” Longwell said, his lilting accent stirring the words pleasantly. “My father’s Kingdom-called Galbadien, by the way-is not at war with Actaluere. But neither are we allies. The King of Actaluere is Milos Tiernen. He is a younger man than the other two Kings of Luukessia, and cunning. He spent a few years on a galley trader, doing business with the gnomes across the Sea of Carmas, and he learned to be even more shrewd than he already was. He controls the area north of here for quite a distance yet, and we’d have to skirt a very narrow border between his land and the northern King’s-that’s the one my father is at war with. The northern Kingdom is called Syloreas, and is ruled by a very grizzled man named Briyce Unger. He is completely without guile, a conqueror born, and he and my father have squabbled over their borders since each of them took the throne only a few years apart from each other. His men are the ones we are here to fight.”

“What can we expect in terms of resistance as we cross Actaluere?” J’anda shifted his sandaled feet on the beach.

“Hard to say,” Longwell said, looking at each of the Council in turn. “Each of the keeps throughout the Kingdom would fight for its own defense unless they summoned aid or the King were to call them together for some purpose-invasion, war, whatnot. Each of the three Kingdoms in Luukessia is much the same, more fragmented and feudal than Arkaria by far. The Kings rely on their barons and dukes to keep the order in their own lands.”

“So even after we cross their borders, it would be a while before they could bring their full might to bear-if they were of a mind to,” Odellan said, his fingers resting on his chin, deep in thought.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I thought this was to be an officer’s meeting?” Ryin asked. “May I ask why a new recruit is here?”

“Sure, ask away,” Cyrus said. “The fact that they’re so divided works to our advantage. We’ll be halfway across Actaluere before they can put up an army worthy of our concern.”

“Do not rule out treachery,” Longwell said. “I would not put it past King Tiernan to attack us in the night, when we least expect it.”

“That would be to our advantage as well, I suspect,” Odellan said.

“Excuse me,” Ayend said in annoyance. “But I’ve yet to get an answer to my question.”

“Yes, you did. You didn’t ask why Odellan was here, you said, ‘May I ask why a new recruit is here?’” Cyrus shrugged. “Subtle distinction but important to getting the answer you seek-in one case you’re asking for permission to ask a question, in the other you’re asking the question.”

“I should have expected nothing less from a petulant child-” Ryin let out a snort of disgust.

“I’m having a strategy meeting to organize the next phase of our march,” Cyrus cut him off, cool as steel. “If you want to have a temper tantrum about why a man who has led an army is sitting in on my planning session, I suggest you do so while teleporting yourself back to Sanctuary.”

The silence hung in the air until Terian broke it. “I haven’t had this much fun since that time I got kicked out of the guild for standing back and letting Orion squabble with that dipshit gnome. You two should fight; I put my money on Cyrus.” Terian looked to Cyrus, who met his gaze. “Maybe after you’re done kicking his ass, he’ll let you relieve your tension with his wizard squeeze.” The dark elf waved vaguely at Nyad. “Unless you’re just saving it all up for battle. Which would explain a lot, come to think of it-”

“Enough.” Curatio’s voice crackled across them all. “Ryin, Cyrus is General and in command of this mission. Including a former guard captain of the elves who is quite experienced is a wise and prudent course of action; surely you must see that.” Curatio’s tone was soft, but Cyrus heard the iron beneath it. The healer’s eyes cut over to Cyrus, ignoring Terian entirely. “General, if you’d care to continue.”

“Not much more to say, I think.” Cyrus looked around the circle. “We’ll travel by day because it’s an easier march. I’ll want watches around the clock, sentries keeping an eye on everything-and no one on watch more than one night in a row. We need everyone well rested. I also want outriders scouting during the day, experienced rangers who will know how to escape getting caught by hunting parties. We’ll stay in villages and inns as much as we can manage, buy local goods and food, spread some gold around, which will be good for us and for the locals. Hopefully that will give Milos Tiernan cause enough to let us pass uncontested.” He turned to Longwell. “How long will we be traversing Actaluere?”

Longwell frowned, pensive. “I would say nearing two months. Perhaps a month and a half if we make haste, but two months is more probable. I suspect it will be a week, two if we are fortunate, before Actaluere becomes aware of our presence here. After that,” he shrugged his shoulders lightly, “another week perhaps before they challenge our resolve, if it comes to that.”

“We’ll make ready on the morrow, then,” Cyrus said. “We’ll need to be vigilant as we cross their territory.” He turned his head to Nyad. “We won’t be going around. I’ll have Martaina organize the rangers for what we talked about. She is the most senior ranger with us, yes?” Catching a nod from Curatio, he went on. “Odellan, Terian, Longwell and I will coordinate with the warriors and other front rank fighters, setting up watches and preparing for the imminent conflict with Actaluere’s army.”

“Let me caution you,” Longwell said, “I was guessing when I said how long it would take for them to rally. It could be shorter. They could band together two or three holdfasts worth of knights and infantry and make a challenge to us tomorrow if they saw us walking about.”

“Duly noted.” Cyrus gave Longwell a curt nod. “We’ll prepare as if they’ll be waiting for us behind every corner, and we’ll march as quickly as we can without causing our army to wear out. The next two months will be hard, harder on morale than on our bodies, methinks. They’ll grow lean from the march, but it’ll be the mind that feels the friction of this before their feet do, this constant motion forward. Our army will tire of looking around every turn in the road for the enemy, and complacency will set in. We need to remind them of the urgent need for constant vigilance, especially among the veterans, the watchers. They’ll be the most prone to overconfidence.”

Cyrus turned his eyes toward the berm and the trees beyond. “They’re out there, somewhere, and we need to march out of here tomorrow as though they know we’re already here and that they’re waiting for us in ambush. We need to carry that feeling, without fatigue, for the next two months.” He looked back at the Council, at all of them, saw the disinterest in Ayend’s eyes contrasted with the rapt attention from Odellan. “Because the only threat to us now is that we don’t-and then they’ll overwhelm us when we least expect it.”