the remainder of Syloreas’s armies, we have as many troops as we’ll be able to muster and can fight them on as near to even footing as possible. Besides, remember these creatures thrive on broken ground. They took Scylax without much effort, after all.”
“I haven’t forgotten that, either,” Cyrus said, “and apparently they scaled a mountain to do it. No, flat ground does work best for us, for our mounted cavalry. I find it a bit mystifying that Actaluere would choose to join with us, seeing as the Baroness was such a sticking point for them-” He stopped, having caught the waver in Martaina’s expression, the subtle move of the muscles around her right eye. “She was returned to them, wasn’t she? Back to the Grand Duke?”
“She went back to Actaluere, yes,” Martaina said carefully.
“They took her?” Cyrus asked, and started to sit up again, only to feel the strength of Martaina’s foot hold him down once more. “Took her back to him?”
“She went back to him voluntarily,” Martaina said.
There was a silence that filled Cyrus’s ears, as though the sounds of the horses and men outside had ceased. All talk and chatter and the smell of infirmity that filled the wagon was gone. “To save her people, then. To free the army of Actaluere to action against the scourge.” He felt himself relax, his body limp against the padding that separated him from the wood floor of the wagon, and the deep dissatisfaction grew within even as he tried to shut it up. “And
“Let her? No,” the ranger said. “She argued forcefully to be allowed to. Forcefully enough that Curatio did not oppose it nor did any of the other officers.”
Cyrus was quiet for minutes, the wheels bumping him along every few seconds as the wagon hit ruts in the road it traveled. “I can’t decide whether I deem her incredibly brave or deeply stupid. Perhaps some combination of both.”
“She went into it knowing what she was doing to herself,” Martaina said, and he saw the restraint again, the mask, keeping her emotions in check. It was a mask made of thousands of years of experience at keeping others from her thoughts. “I don’t believe you could ascribe stupidity to any part of her judgment process save one, perhaps.” Her eyes narrowed at the last.
“And that part would be?”
“I decline to say.” Martaina’s head swiveled again to the back of the wagon, to the flap, and remained fixed there as they bumped along in silence.
Chapter 54
Vara
The horn sounded in the early morning hours as Vara lay in her quarters, the fire going low across from the foot of her bed, the crackle not disturbing the sleep she wasn’t getting anyway. Her thoughts were far away, as usual, which was why she wasn’t sleeping. The soft pops from the fire were soothing in their way, and when the horn reached her ears it took a moment to realize that it wasn’t that far off-from the wall, it seemed, though she was dazed enough that she believed at first that it came from over the plains.
When it was sounded again, this time inside the halls of Sanctuary with the guards taking up the call of alarm, it was enough to stir her from her reverie.
Her bare feet hit the cold floor as she disentangled herself from the blankets that covered her bed.
Her footcovers and underclothes went on first, followed by the armor, which took a while to strap on. The last thing she placed was her helm, which she detested and usually preferred not to wear. It was a shiny thing, like the rest of her ensemble, and covered the top of her head, leaving only part of her face exposed. It strapped tightly under her chin, and carried a movable crossbar that folded down over her nose for use during battle. She folded it down now after tucking her ponytail out the back, and made certain that the metal girding the strap was properly placed to defend against glancing blows under her chin. It met up with the gorget that protected her throat, and left only the space from her chin to her eyes unprotected.
She swung open the door and almost collided with the bulk of Vaste as she did so. The troll stopped himself in mid-stride, and Vara threw out an arm to his ribs, smacking him with her mailed palm as she tried to come to a stop before running into him. She looked up to his face and found him looking down at her. “Watch where you’re going, troll.”
“I was,” Vaste said, “which was why I stopped when you threw yourself into my path. You, on the other hand, I wonder about. Can you even see with that monstrosity fastened to your head?” He waved a hand in front of her face, as though she were blind.
Vara felt a surge of irritation. “I have always possessed a helm to go with my armor, you rancid goat bladder.”
“Perhaps,” Vaste said without umbrage, “but I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you wear it before. You typically go hatless, the better to allow your flowing golden locks to distract your enemies, I presumed. Much the same reason your breastplate is molded to be aptly named-another way to keep them focused on-”
“Ye gods! Will you ever cease your damnable vexing of me?” She didn’t wait for a response, instead turning to head for the stairs, back in full flight as her feet tramped along the stones, issuing a loud clang with every step.
“I don’t foresee a time when I’ll stop making wry observations about the situation around me, no.” Vaste’s words were dry though loud enough to be heard behind her over the sound of her steps. The staircase further down was swarming with people, the members of Sanctuary turning out, the alarms still ringing in the air over the raised voices below. “Perhaps when I’m dead, which, hmm, maybe you’ll get your wish-”
“Don’t jest about that,” she snapped, turning to face him. “I may be thoroughly irritated at you a majority of the time, but don’t confuse that with genuinely wanting you dead. If I genuinely wanted you dead, I would have smote you down myself, long ago. We are in dire times, and if this alarm means what I think it does-”
“I believe there might have been a word of caring in that fusillade,” Vaste said, halting only for a moment before sliding past her on the staircase with surprising agility. “Buried deep, perhaps, but I caught a grain of it hidden in the depths of the vitriol. Could it be you are fond of me, Shelas’akur? That my wit amuses you-”
“You annoy me on a near-constant basis,” Vara said, now trailing behind Vaste’s wide strides as they came down the staircase. “But-”
“Oh, fear not,” Vaste said, “I’ve always known that you’re not quite the demon you pretend to be. However, if I’m not much mistaken, this sudden softening of your armored persona has less to do with this siege and perhaps more to do with a certain General’s absence-”
“Shut your slack-jawed mouth,” Vara hissed, and Vaste did not turn nor stop on the stairs to answer her. He did, indeed, shut his mouth, and they began to slow as the crowds clogged the stairwell, members rushing down to the foyer below. She resisted the temptation to hit the person in front of her with a hard shoulder check in order to send them all collapsing like dominos down the stairs. Dominos she could run over in a dash to get there faster.
“Apparently we need wider staircases,” came a voice from behind her, almost as acerbic as her own. She did not need to turn to know that the speaker was Erith Frostmoor. “Or smaller trolls.”
“As though I’m the problem here rather than the dark elves that won’t leave us be,” Vaste said, turning his head to give Erith a blank look. “You know, those hideous creatures that seem to have it in for the whole world, starting wars and unleashing aggression on everything and everybody-”
“Fine, fine,” Erith said, squeezing up against Vara in a way that made the paladin yearn to thrust an elbow into Erith’s nose to get her to back up and leave some space between them. “It’s not just you, then-it’s the disorganized way in which we’re all scrambling to get into defensive positions.”
“And the fact that we’re having to go to defensive positions to protect ourselves against the dark elven
