He gave her a wan smile and turned back toward the officer’s fire, Odellan at his side. “Even if I forgot, there seems to be no shortage of reminders.”
“These people love you, General.” Odellan said it with quiet certitude. “The veterans, the ones who came to help you train the newest, they have been through fire and death with you and have followed you off the very map.” He shook his head. “I wish I had commanded such loyalty when I was in charge of the Termina Guard.”
“I daresay you commanded more in your last battle,” Cyrus said. “My people have a very good chance of resurrection if they should fall. Your men knew that the fight for Termina would cost many of them their lives and they stood with you anyway.”
“They fought for King and country and for their homes, for the lives of their brethren,” Odellan said with a quiet shake of his head. “That is a powerful motivator, and one that is lacking in guilds such as Sanctuary. At first blush, I should think guild life would be the purest sort of mercenary company, a people banded together for mutual gain, undertaking adventure, exploration and battle in the farthest and most dangerous reaches of the world for the wealth and riches they can reap. Yet it is not so.”
Odellan’s mailed fingers rested on his helm, his eyes seeming to trace the lines of the carving upon it. “I watched Sanctuary stand against the God of Death-a god! Something not seen by living eyes in generations of your people! Yet it was not Sanctuary that broke but Mortus. Of those who stood with you, only one of them shouted in fear, and none of them lost command of themselves or ran. I should imagine that any mercenary company would have trembled when he descended from the air above us. I would think that even the Termina Guard, who held against the certain death that the dark elves levied against us, would have quailed at the sight of a god, of death, of the endless sleep.
“You say that these people stand with you because they know there is a chance of resurrection if they fall. I remind you that many of them stood with you then, in the Realm of Death, when there was no chance at all if they died. It is not because of King or country or riches or gain that the army of Sanctuary stood with you then or that they are with you now, here beyond the edge of the world.” The fire in Odellan’s eyes burned brighter. “They believe-in you, in the cause, in what we are doing here. The veterans believe enough that they would die for it.” Odellan turned his head and looked back to the still-burning fires that littered the beach. “The newest have been sent here to find that conviction for themselves.”
Cyrus stopped and looked with Odellan down the beach, at the thousand souls under his command, waiting for his word to march forward on the morrow, into battle, pain, and possible death. “I don’t know what kind of belief I can give them.” He shook his head, and the little mirth that he had felt when talking to Martaina dissipated like a wisp of smoke after a fire has been put out. “I’m carrying a weight of my own right now. I’ll do my duty, help forge them in battle and keep them from danger as best I can, but … belief?” Cyrus shook his head. “That’s something they’ll have to figure out for themselves.”
“You’re right, they do,” Odellan said. “But you will show them the way.”
“I don’t know how I can do that,” Cyrus said, “when I’m not sure what I believe in anymore.”
“You still hold true to duty-honor-purpose. These are things you wear like your armor.” Odellan stared at Cyrus, and Cyrus looked back at him. “You are here at a time when you’d almost assuredly like to be elsewhere. You’re doing your duty to your guild and holding true to a friend who asked for help.”
Cyrus cleared his throat. “It sounds pretty when you say it like that, and I told myself the same when we were leaving Sanctuary, that I was here to do my duty and fight for the guild and what we stand for.” He looked back at the bridge, the long stone causeway that stretched over the horizon, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “But I had a long time to consider it on the bridge. I don’t think that’s why I’m here anymore.” Cyrus heard a hollowness in his words, in his tone, something brittle and empty, and the slow dawning within him of something he had yet to fully admit to himself.
Odellan stared back, impassive. “Why do you think you’re here?”
Cyrus looked back at the bridge again, the endless bridge. The seas were so blue beneath it, the skies only a slightly lighter shade above the horizon. And in the distance, far in the distance was … nothing. Nothing visible. His horse was nearby. He could climb on Windrider and ride, just ride-
“You certainly said it well when we left,” Odellan said, jarring Cyrus away from his thoughts. “You spoke of duty and nobility of purpose, of helping others in need, and you said it with conviction enough that I believed you.” The elf didn’t look judgmental, and he said it matter-of-factly. “So if that’s not why you’re here, then what is it? What compelled you to lead us over the bridge, if not your honor and desire to help a friend?”
Cyrus saw in his mind’s eye the image of himself on Windrider’s back, of a long gallop down a winding road in a far off land. He saw villages, mountains, forests and cities. Castles passed him by and he rode through jungle and swamp. Nothing he saw was familiar yet all of it was. Behind him, all the while, was the specter of something else, something that drove him onward, that would not let him rest.
“I meant it when I said it to them,” Cyrus whispered, meeting Odellan’s gaze at last. “I just … I don’t know that I believe it anymore. I feel … empty inside, like all the wine has been poured from my cup and there’s not enough left but to ripple at the bottom when something happens-as though the littlest things can bring me only the slightest of joys now. A month ago, a year ago, I would have come here for duty, for honor, for all those things.” He shook his head ever so slightly and a pained expression crossed his face, anchored in place by the realization that had now fully formed within him. “But that’s not why I’m here now.
“I’m here because I’m running-from her.”
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.
