Crusader

“Just as well,” Cyrus said. “We wouldn’t want to inflame that long-buried conscience of Cattrine’s brother, after all. It might interfere with the plottings of the King of Actaluere.”

“I did what I had to do, and I thought that perhaps you, as one who I had heard held some affection in your heart for Cattrine, might do me some small service and allow her a measure of happiness. I apologize, sir, for confusing you with someone who cared for her.” He pulled the tent open and let it flap shut behind him.

Cyrus sat there in the empty tent for a long time after that, pondering what reply he might have made. Ultimately, he said nothing to the empty tent, though much to himself on the inside.

Chapter 59

Vara

Day 5 of the Siege of Sanctuary

The northern Plains of Perdamun were sun-kissed, the late-summer light bounding over them just as the horses of Vara’s expeditionary party did. It was nearing daybreak, and the shadows were diminishing as the light increased. A fresh smell was in the air, the aura of dew and horse, of farm and field, and Vara steered her animal across the flat ground, the hoofbeats of a hundred following close behind her.

“This is such a clever idea,” Vaste’s voice grated at her from her right. “I really love the thought of the hundred of us being out here, all alone, in the middle of a territory crawling with dark elves. It’s a smart idea, too, running out of our safely defended keep in order to sow discord among our enemies’ supply lines, in hopes they won’t capture and kill us. Very clever.”

“It was exceedingly clever,” Ryin Ayend said without a trace of irony. “Though I know you’re being sarcastic, Vaste, it really was a good idea.”

“Me?” Vaste asked, his expression clouded with a sour look. “Be sarcastic? Surely not. But if I were, perhaps it’s not so much that I dislike the idea as I dislike the fact that I’m forced to rise before dawn to help execute the idea.”

“I had just assumed that riding the horse as you were,” Vara said, “you were experiencing some early saddle soreness that was making you complain in an infantile manner. Either that, or the conjured bread we’ve been eating of late is causing you some mild colic.”

“I am not experiencing colic or any sort of saddle soreness-yet,” Vaste replied. “I do expect that once we’ve engaged the enemy a few times and they begin to reinforce their convoys with extra soldiers, I’ll begin to experience some digestive disturbances, though.”

“I’m certain that will be to no one’s advantage,” Ryin muttered as they came over a slight rise in the plains. “Up there.” He pointed to a line visible in the far distance.

“That’d be our first convoy, I suppose,” Vaste said. “Can you tell if it’s the dark elves from here?”

“It is,” Vara replied. “At least ten wagons, no visible column of soldiers marching with it.” She let herself smile then stopped when she remembered that there were others with her. “I believe it is time to show these dark elves the error of their ways.”

“You make it sound as though we’re going to hand them a list of table manner faux pas they committed at a dinner party,” Vaste said. “And if that’s the case, I would like to add that drinking directly from the soup bowl is considered bad form, though not nearly so much as scratching yourself in inappropriate places with your dessert fork.” After drawing a long, uncomfortable look from both Ryin and Vara, he hastened to add, “I learned that one from hard experience myself.”

“Let us have at them, then,” Vara said, and urged her horse into a gallop. “No survivors in military garb. Let any civilians have the opportunity to flee but don’t hesitate to kill. We can always resurrect any casualties later.”

“Says the one who doesn’t have to drain her magical energy to bring them back,” Vaste murmured.

“Keep your wits about you,” she ordered and then glanced at Vaste. “Oh, it’s you. I forgot. Never mind, then.”

“I’m actually very witty,” Vaste said, “though you’d need to loosen up by a considerable margin to appreciate it.”

“Oh, I appreciate it,” Vara said, her horse already hard at work, running full out. “If only I could be as amusing as you.”

“I read once that brevity is the key to wit,” Vaste said, his voice barely audible over the hoofbeats of the entire raiding party. “Perhaps you should talk less.”

They rode hard across the plains, the steady pace carrying them toward the slow-moving wagon train on the road ahead. It was only when they were a few hundred yards away that the convoy began to realize that there was danger afoot, and they hurried to move the wagons along but by then it was far too late.

The wagons were all flat-bedded, stacked high with barrels and crates. Dark elves sat up front in ones and twos, Vara noted as she assessed the threat. There were a half-dozen horsed soldiers with them, their armor of the boiled leather variety. Not a spellcaster among them and woefully underdefended, prepared only for angry farmers upset at the theft of their crops. That will change after today.

She raised her blade above her head and let loose a warcry. It annoyed her a second after she did it; it was far too close to something Cyrus Davidon would have done. Loud warfare is the province of the savage and unskilled. I have other means at my disposal.

She extended her blade as the dark elven soldiers lined up on horseback in a rank two wide, forming a spear as though to charge into the Sanctuary force. She let the tip point just between the first two, and then whispered the incantation she had learned shortly after she turned sixteen. A ripple of air flew forth, channeled from her hand down her blade, her spell sending a burst of concussive force at the riders.

Her blast hit the first of them as the horses made to swerve; they did not make it in time, and the riders were thrown, coming hard to the ground in a crunch of breaking bones and falling animals. Her spell carried through them and smashed the next in the rank, and the next, all the way to the fourth row. Only four remaining now, Vara thought as she sent her horse onward over the fallen enemies. She raised her blade and jerked her horse left, dodging the attack aimed at her by the first of her remaining opponents. She caught him flush against the gap between his leather armor and steel helm, and there was a gasping noise as he hit the ground. She readied her sword again and struck back at the final horseman still in the line, dealing him a glancing blow.

Once she passed, she pulled on the reins with her free hand and brought her horse into a quick turn. Her army of a hundred had finished the last of the dark elves. She turned to see the convoy trying to get away still and sent her horse galloping after it. She pulled aside the first wagon and aimed her sword at the dark elf sitting atop it. His hands came up in front of him, shaking, and Vara could see the age on his lined blue skin, the corners of his eyes with the crow’s feet radiating from them. She did not say a word, merely maintained pace with the wagon and the man brought it to a stop. A few of the wagons behind his tried to escape off the road, and she watched them fail, one of them even losing a wheel trying to break right over a bumpy field. The Sanctuary raiding party was around them in force and they were outmatched.

“Step down,” she said to the man atop the wagon she had stopped. “I won’t harm you or your people, so long as you make no threatening moves. There was the crack of a lightning spell heard several wagons back, and she rolled her eyes. “As I said.” She pointed toward the field to her left. “Go stand over there. Run in fear for your life if you must, but don’t come near the wagons.”

The older dark elf nodded as he climbed down and then turned and sprinted across the field with more speed than she would have given him credit for, given his skin and the salt-and-pepper coloration of his hair. She shrugged and walked around the back of the wagon, where Vaste had already hoisted himself up and had opened a barrel. “Wheat,” the troll said, “grains, oats, all manner of excellent suchness.”

“Oh, good,” she said, and found herself leaning against the side, “and I was somewhat worried we’re ambushing a train filled with women’s clothing or something of the sort.”

“Why, are you looking for another dress?” Vaste asked, not looking up from the crates that he was inspecting. “All in all, not a terrible harvest if we managed to get eight wagons of this stuff. Not enough to bring