my men, and many of them have no desire to leave these shores. I mean to stay, to water these last miles with my blood and tears, and to give our people as great a head start as we can.”
The silence filled the air. “I never thought an Actaluerean would leave aside merchant sensibility for something so …” Unger smiled, “… deeply felt. I’ve lost my homeland. Few enough of my people have made it over that bridge.” He shook his head. “I have no desire to keep fighting this battle into a new land when I’ve already lost my own.” His eyes flicked toward Longwell.
“Aye,” Samwen Longwell said, and Cyrus saw the full weight of a crown that wasn’t there, weighing down his head. “I have seen things …
Cyrus looked from Tiernan to Unger then to Longwell. “I obviously can’t stay with you gentlemen, much as I might like. My land has yet to be hit by these things, but we all know it’s coming. Yes, I will protect your citizenry in their retreat with everything I have left,” he said, without much feeling. “I’ll take whatever men you have who don’t wish to die in the last defense of Luukessia and into battle in Arkaria.” He settled in, a glum feeling hanging over him. “And perhaps we’ll … find a way, over there, to stem the tide of these things. If they follow.”
“There’s no guarantee they will, after all,” Longwell said, but with enough of a kernel of disbelief that Cyrus knew that the dragoon didn’t believe it either. “If we give you enough time, perhaps the smell of life will be lost among their fear of the waters.”
“A faint hope,” Cyrus said with a slight smile, “but one I’m clinging to right now.”
There hung a moment of silence as the four of them all looked to one another. Tiernan broke it when he stood first, and gestured toward Cyrus, who stood and stepped closer to take the King of Actaluere’s outstretched hand.
“I trust you’ll continue to see to my sister,” Tiernan said, “and make certain she’s kept well out of the danger that comes?”
“I will,” Cyrus said.
“Your word,” Tiernan said firmly. “I’d like it, please.”
Cyrus felt a pinch inside. “I give you my word I’ll protect her for as long as I’m able.”
He smiled tightly. “Thank you.” He shook Cyrus’s hand hard and stepped aside.
Unger stood and stepped over to Cyrus. “Thank you for believing me when no one else would. Without your help, we’d not have gotten much of anyone out of Syloreas before the fall.”
Cyrus felt a clutch of pain inside.
Unger gave a slow shake of his head. “You’ve done quite enough. More than I likely would have done were our situations reversed. I’d have fled and not looked back.”
Longwell stood last and his crossing was slow, the King of Galbadien looking down at his feet, his helm clutched under his arm. When his head came up, Cyrus saw him biting his lower lip. “I owe you great thanks for all you’ve done. You’ve shown me a world I never would have believed. That you came here in the name of our friendship, out of loyalty to me, when you didn’t need to-it means everything.”
“I wish I’d had purer motives in doing so,” Cyrus said.
“Whatever your motives when you started,” Longwell said, “you stayed when you didn’t have to. You went north to Syloreas when you had no reason to think you were responsible in any way. And you’ve fought-ancestors! How you’ve fought.” He seized Cyrus’s hand, hard. “I believe in you-that if anyone will find a way to stop them, it’s you. If anyone could hold that bridge …” Longwell’s face tightened. “Well. I’m sorry I won’t be there to help you this time-”
There came a crack from behind Samwen, and the dragoon slumped, falling abruptly to Cyrus’s feet. Ranson stood behind him and unclenched his gauntlet. “Enough of that,” the Count said. “Take him with you, would you please? This is not a place for a young man to die, especially one whom you know could help you hold that bridge.”
Cyrus looked at the fallen figure of Longwell, out cold on the ground. “You could have … made your case to him about that.”
Ranson scoffed. “I’ve served his family for all my life. Served Galbadien for my entire life. I’ll die here, willingly, but I’ll not have the last vestige of our old ways destroyed because he’s got a foolish desire to spend himself before his time. If he truly wants to die, he can do it across the sea-after he’s ensured the safety of our people. It’s his last duty as King of Galbadien.” Ranson cocked an eyebrow. “You tell him I said that, when he wakes up.”
Cyrus looked between the Kings of Luukessia. “All right. We’ll pull back to the bridge with the dragoons and any men you want to send our way, and we’ll hold there until the last are on it. After that, we’ll go and cover the retreat-and hope that we make it far enough, fast enough to leave those bastards behind.”
“We’ll give you all the time we can spare,” Milos Tiernan said. “We’re placing the last of our Kingdoms in your hands-the last of the Luukessians. I dearly hope you’ll save them.” He looked from Ranson to Unger, then back to Cyrus. “After all,” the King of Actaluere said with a smile, “you are our last hope.”
Chapter 104
With the dawn they were headed west, Cyrus and the Sanctuary army, on a slow march along the road. The sound of combat faded behind them as the morning wore on, and they set out pickets that night after sunset. The territory was familiar in appearance, the coastal ground they’d trod in their first days in Luukessia. The crickets sang in the grasses, the winds blew sea air fresh across them from the south, a salt breeze that reminded Cyrus of the boat, or of a day on the beach long ago-the first day he had been in Luukessia. The swaying grass and short sight lines reminded him of plains, just briefly.
There was a sound, a low moan. Cyrus turned to look and saw Longwell clutching his head nearby, stirring from the place where he was bound with rope. He had been thrown unceremoniously on the back of a horse and left there for a good portion of the day after a healing spell from Curatio. Cyrus had looked at the damage done by Ranson before the healing spell had been cast; privately he did not envy the dragoon.
“What happened?” Longwell said, trying to sit up and struggling against the rope.
Cyrus looked him over. “Ranson knocked you out and asked me to take you with us.”
Longwell blinked and looked at the ropes that bound him. “You must surely be joking.”
Cyrus shrugged. “I think you’ll agree I haven’t been in much of a joking mood of late. More brooding, I think.”
“Are you going to let me loose?” Longwell said, struggling against the bonds that bound him under his armor.
“In another day or so,” Cyrus said, taking a drink from a skin of water and then holding it up to Longwell to let him sip from it. “Wouldn’t want you trying to escape and go back to throw yourself into a massacre, after all.”
Longwell finished his drink, giving Cyrus a measured glare. “So this is how you would treat me, after all this time? Bind me like a criminal?” He eyed Terian, who sat nearby and cocked his head at the comment. “Sorry.” He switched his gaze back to Cyrus. “You would strike my ability to choose for myself?”
“Yep,” Cyrus said. “I hope you understand. I’m going to need your help on that bridge.” He favored Longwell with a look, a cool, understated one.
“I … what?”
“The bridge,” Cyrus said. “I need someone at my side who can handle this situation. Someone who’s been in a fight like this before because if these things end up crossing, we’re the last line of defense. Your horsemen are going to be useless in a fight of this sort. The Sanctuary army can do some good if we fail, but we need to be the stone wall upon which the scourge breaks-for as long as it takes to get your people off that bridge and headed north to the portal, where we can evacuate them quickly.” He took another sip. “Hopefully some of them have
