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.
“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?”
