Crusader

Calene seems to be adapting, but Sinora may be riding the wagon the rest of the trip.”

“Let’s talk about this later,” Cyrus said as a familiar figure rode up on a horse. Today her hair was down, wrapped into a ponytail behind her, the long brown strands standing out against the white shirt she wore. Gone was the dress, replaced by immaculate white breeches that went all the way to her ankles. Her boots were worn, brown cowhide, and she wore a navy overcoat that fell to mid-thigh. Her eyes were visible as she approached him, the green standing out against her garments and her face. A few stray hairs blew around the sides of her head as she brought her horse to a canter, then a stop next to him.

“Baroness,” he said. “A pleasure to see you.”

“I believe it’s soon to be simply Cattrine, if it is not already.” She remained proud, her head held up. “I have mulled over your offer and believe it is in my best interest to leave this place behind.”

“I see,” Cyrus said. “Very well then. Follow my commands and keep up.” He looked at her horse. “That looks like a solid animal; I doubt you’ll have any trouble in that regard.”

“Thank you, Lord Davidon,” she said, oddly formal. “I shan’t present any problems for you.”

“Good to know,” he said. “How familiar are you with the lands between here and Galbadien?”

He saw the first hint of emotion as the corner of her lip curled slightly in response to his inquiry. “I am an expert rider, sir. I have been over the entirety of Actaluere, from the southern shores to the northern and eastern borders. I have even been,” she said with a hint of pride, “all the way to the bridge to your land and on it, though only for a short distance.”

“The well-traveled sort,” Terian said as he mounted his destrier. “Which makes sense, considering who your husband was.” The dark knight smiled wickedly. “I bet he broke you in quite well.”

Cattrine’s eyes narrowed. “I think I hear an inference from you that I don’t care for, sir. Don’t think that simply because my fortunes have been lost in the last day that I’ll take any sort of insults from some blue-skinned devil. I am a lady, sir, and if you won’t accord me the respect due-”

“You’ll what?” Terian moved his horse close enough to hers to look her in the face, and Cyrus saw nothing but pique in the dark elf’s expression. Cyrus started to tell Terian to back off her, but there was a flash of metal and Cyrus saw a dagger at the dark elf’s throat.

“I’ll ask you to take a step back,” Cattrine said in a low voice.

“Get away from her, Terian,” Cyrus said.

The dark knight backed his horse away, a few steps at a time, and Cattrine sheathed her dagger under her cloak.

Cyrus cleared his throat. “I trust that the rumor of this will spread through the ranks-and let them know that the Baroness,” he heard her cough, softly, “excuse me, the former Baroness, is under my personal protection and any harm that comes to her will be revisited upon the giver a hundred-fold.” Cyrus turned his gaze on Terian, who was already glaring at him.

There was a ripple of quiet agreement, but no one said anything of distinction. Those close in attendance held the awkward silence until Cyrus broke it. “Is everyone with us?”

“The last of them are coming out of the castle now,” Longwell said, pointing to the drawbridge, where a few stragglers carried large burlap bags, and a few carried other outsized objects. Two men struggled with the Baron, dragging him over the drawbridge. Once he was over, they dropped him limply to the ground and left him there, filing away back into the neatly ordered rows of the army’s formation.

“Very well,” Cyrus said, and turned to Odellan. “Let’s start heading east. We’ve lost enough time in this place.” He looked around and caught the Baroness’s unflinching gaze and he blinked. “I mean … uh …” She did not say anything, merely stared at him with an eyebrow raised, without emotion until he looked away first. “I don’t know what I meant.” He looked back at Nyad and gave a subtle nod, which she returned. With a slight extension of her hand she pointed to the castle Green Hill-a hellhole if ever there was one-and Cyrus saw black smoke rise from within it, small puffs going up into the sky.

“All right,” he said, “let’s start this convoy moving.” He urged Windrider forward at a canter, following the muddy dirt path that cut through the green fields and hillocks.

He checked after a half a mile, just to be sure that the army had fallen in. It had, a long line of marchers, with a few wagons visible at the far back of the column, bringing up the rear. A few of the officers and veterans on horseback rode alongside the column rather than at the front with the other horses. Odellan and Longwell were the most obvious, their armor in shining silver and deep blue, respectively. Longwell’s white surcoat had appeared as clean as ever, showing no signs of the battle yesterday. Behind them, some distance back, a pillar of black smoke rose into the heavens.

Cyrus’s wandering eyes found Curatio in deep conversation with J’anda, the two of them especially cheerful this day. The sun shone down; Cyrus could feel the warm tropical air of spring and wondered if the mild winter around Sanctuary had broken yet, if the occasional patch of white, frosted grass that could be found in the mornings had disappeared. It was like seeing the first signs of age, the little bits of silver streaking hair, leeching the color from the strands.

He thought of Reikonos, of the bitter snowfalls that encased the city in winter, the white snows that would pile up while one slept, waking to find the world changed the next morning. He thought of the uneven roofs of the city, the high and low buildings situated next to each other, the towers beside one-story dwellings. He thought of the slums, of the deep valley that saw direct sunlight only at midday and of how bitter and dark it became in the winter. He wondered if the dark elves had surrounded the city or if the humans still held them at a distance.

Cyrus thought back to a winter in Reikonos, the worst of all of them, and it was like a thread of oddly colored string in a tapestry; unfamiliar, unmatching, that looked nothing like the rest of the weaving. When was that? I was young … first year at the Society? Yes …

“What were you thinking,” Terian’s voice whipsawed Cyrus out of his memories, “having her come along? Are you so hard up to get laid that you’ve taken to embracing the wives of your enemies before they’re even dead?”

“Are you a little testy because she held a knife to your throat?” Cyrus tried to keep his tone indifferent.

“That’s hardly the closest anyone’s gotten to me with a blade,” Terian said, and Cyrus heard the groan of metal in the dark knight’s gauntlets as he gripped the reins of his horse tighter. “We’re in the middle of this hostile Kingdom. Her husband ordered the capture of our people and personally tortured and beat them.”

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know,” Cyrus said.

Terian’s face turned a deeper blue, darkening, almost purple. “Then why did you have the wife of an enemy who you personally gutted and left to die a slow, torturous death come along with us? She could be a spy, she could be harboring a desire for revenge-she could just be here to try and get close to you so that she can slip a knife in your back.”

“She had a chance to do that last night,” Cyrus said. “She’s coming with us because with her husband’s death she loses everything. I offered her a chance to come to Arkaria, to make a new life in a place where she’s not reliant on a man for everything.”

Terian’s flush subsided and his face loosened, settling into a kind of disbelieving wonderment. “And you believed her? Did she try to sleep with you?”

“Lately, who doesn’t?” Cyrus asked warily.

“Umm, me,” Martaina said from over Cyrus’s shoulder. He looked back and saw the elf raise her hand in the air.

“I was joking,” Cyrus said. “But duly noted, and thank you.”

“I don’t know how to take that,” Martaina muttered under her breath. “But you’re welcome.”

“She tried to use her feminine wiles on you,” Terian said, bringing Cyrus’s attention back to their conversation. “She’s getting close to you to exact revenge.”

“Revenge would be easy.” Cyrus shook off the dark knight’s concern. “I’m not worried about that. And if she ‘used her feminine wiles,’ as you said, it’s probably because the women of Luukessia have no other weapon to use. We’re in a land where women don’t carry swords and are subject to men’s whims. What else are you going to use when force of arms is denied you? Sharp words?”

“I find they get me where I need to go.”

“Because you can use a sword to back them up,” Cyrus said. “The women of Luukessia have no such option; they’re not trained with weapons, and if you’re going to take a blade to a skilled swordsman, you damned sure better have the element of surprise on your side, otherwise you’re going to get cut into tiny fillets. So what else is