Crusader

“It has hardly escaped our attention that you are nearly upon us,” Brother Ivess said, keeping his hands joined together within his sleeves. “I came to speak with you, to discuss our next moves.”

“We have decided to retreat toward the Endless Bridge,” Tiernan said, still standing, his back now to the fire, shadowing the man. “We will reform south of Enrant Monge and continue the defense, fighting for every inch of ground to give the people time to make their escape.”

Grenwald Ivess gave a short nod. “You are brave, I will give you that. The Brotherhood will remain at Enrant Monge as you withdraw, and we will buy you the time to remake your formations.”

“That is unnecessary,” Unger spoke, his beard shifting as he ran a hand through it. “With the Arkarian magics to cover our retreats and hold lines, you should leave the castle. It is vulnerable and will cause you naught but death when they come. Get your men out, head them toward the southwest, and have your soldiers help the civilians make their way.”

Ivess stood still, but Cyrus noted the subtle vibration of his body under the robe. “I’m afraid I cannot do that. The Brotherhood has kept Enrant Monge against all challenges for ten thousand years. We will not abandon it now.”

There was a moment of silence before Longwell spoke. “Brother Ivess, the purpose of Enrant Monge was unity of Luukessia, is it not?”

“It is,” Ivess replied.

“We have achieved unity,” Longwell said, gesturing to Unger and Tiernan. “We stand united against the darkness before us. There is no need for your Brotherhood to die now for a place, even Enrant Monge. The people of Luukessia are the true beating heart of our land, not some castle, no matter how old it is. We could make much use of your soldiers in our retreat.”

“And you shall,” Ivess said. “I will send seven hundred and fifty of my thousand with you. The others have all refused to leave. We will remain to defend Enrant Monge against this enemy.” He held up a hand as the three Kings began to speak as one. “You must remember, our order is old and set in its ways. To die in defense of Enrant Monge is no great burden for us. It is what we have been living for all our lives. And it is a small thing, really, having seen this day come. You are quite right,” he said, looking to Longwell. “We have sought the unification of Luukessia for ten thousand years. Though this is not how we would have hoped it would play out, it is what has happened. Those of us who remain will do so gladly, having known our purpose was fulfilled and that we stood against the single greatest threat our land has ever known.”

“I feel as though I should clap,” Longwell said, finally standing for himself, “but I suppose instead I will have to content myself with bidding you farewell, Brother Ivess.”

“I am not leaving quite yet,” Ivess said, and then looked to Tiernan. “I have some unfortunate tidings to deliver as well.” His hands emerged from his sleeves, breaking them apart, and he handed a small envelope to Milos Tiernan, who took it and walked back to the fire with it in his hands, ripping it open to pull free a letter, which he proceeded to read.

“What is it?” Unger asked under his breath.

“I am not free to speak for the King of Actaluere,” Grenwald Ivess said. “If he means to have you know, he will-”

“DAMN THE MAN!” Milos Tiernan’s voice echoed across the camp. He took the note, crumpled it and tossed it into the fire.

“Luukessia is already beset upon by the most fearsome beasts we have ever known,” Unger said, “and we’ve just decided to tell every man, woman and child of our Kingdoms to flee to the edge of the sea and cross it on a bridge that will take us to a foreign land that likely has no place for us. Something tells me that whatever the contents of that letter, they would have to be powerfully bad tidings to agitate King Tiernan after all that’s already transpired here tonight.”

Tiernan paced, staring for a moment at the flames, regretfully, as though he could snatch back the letter he had cast into it. Grenwald Ivess stared at him quietly, as did Longwell, while Unger stood with his arms folded. “Well?” the King of Syloreas asked. “Out with it.”

“Hoygraf,” Tiernan said, and it came as more of a curse than any word Cyrus had ever heard spoken. A flash of irritation passed through him, and he thought of the dark haired Baron-Grand Duke, he corrected himself-and thought of the faded memory of the last time he’d seen the man, knife in hand.

“Oh, yes, that pestilence,” Unger spoke again. “What is your dear brother-in-law up to now? It must be a powerful irritant if it can inspire such rage in you after we’ve already had such a down evening-”

“Oh, it is,” Tiernan said, now pacing before the fire. His head snapped up and he looked to Cyrus. “You.”

Cyrus blinked at him. “Me, what?”

“You must come with me,” Tiernan said, and took two steps forward to grasp Cyrus by the forearm. Cyrus did not stop him, but stared in mild curiosity at the King’s grip on him.

“Come with you where?” Cyrus asked. “We have a battle ahead of us, in case you forgot? So unless it’s to the front-”

“To Caenalys,” Tiernan said, and Cyrus could feel the slight squeeze of the King’s hand even through his armor.

“Your capital?” Cyrus asked. “Any particular reason why?”

“The weather there is bound to be better than it is here,” Unger said under his breath.

“Because that’s where Hoygraf is,” Tiernan said. “He’s taken my sister and captured my city with his forces,” Cyrus felt a cold sensation plunge through him in spite of the warm fire nearby. “He holds her hostage, claiming to be the new King of Actaluere.” Tiernan’s cold eyes burned into Cyrus. “He says that if I attempt to reclaim Caenalys, he will kill her.”

Chapter 88

Cyrus’s walk back to the fire that he shared with the others was long and stumbling. The cold bit at him in a way that felt foreign, as though he hadn’t been exposed to it for weeks now. His eyes even felt cold, the air freezing the moisture within them. He cracked his knuckles and moved his tongue around in his dry mouth, as though the bread he’d eaten had formed a coating of yeast around it. The smell of the cold air and the dead around him was overwhelming, and he felt himself stagger from the weariness.

She’s his problem now. She’s the one who went willingly back to him-for whatever reason. He mentally kicked himself for even thinking it. She went back for Luukessia. To save her land, to turn her brother loose for war. She went back for-

“Are you lost?” An arm snugged into the crook of his elbow, giving him strength. He smelled the surprising scent of sweat and-faintly-greenery.

“Martaina,” Cyrus said, recovering from a near-stumble. “Watching out for me again?”

“Someone has to.”

He took a few steps with her. “You heard?”

She had her cowl up, but he could see her lips present themselves in a pursing motion. “I did.”

“You have an opinion.”

She smiled, and at this she was almost impish. “Have you ever met a woman who didn’t?”

He chuckled in spite of the fatigue. “You think I should go to Caenalys.”

She waited before answering and came to a halt, their boots crunching against the packed snow, which still gave a little at every step as Cyrus put his weight onto it. “I think that if Milos Tiernan goes to retake his capital in order to save the hundred thousand people that live within the walls, if he doesn’t have some form of magical assistance, then Cattrine Hoygraf will be quite dead by the end of the endeavor.”

“I see,” Cyrus said, and nodded. “And that raises the likelihood that Hoygraf’s army will cause even more damage in Caenalys before he is defeated.”

“Tiernan will have to pull more away from this battle in order to break open the city walls and save those people from Hoygraf’s delusions,” Martaina said. “The man will make Caenalys a mass grave site, bottling himself