messengers have already come back to tell me we’ve dispatched a good many of them. They’ve no horses, no provisions, and we managed to kill their generals.” The count folded his arms in front of him. “I expect fewer than one man in ten who entered this battle on their side will ever see his homeland again.”
“I suppose that’s some sort of worthy accomplishment,” Cyrus said without any enthusiasm. “Kingdom defended, mission accomplished.” He felt the heart go out of his joy. “Now we can go home, I suppose.”
“I wouldn’t be so quick to leave,” Curatio said. “Partus is still out there and he can be one devilish nuisance if he were to rejoin the Syloreans.” The healer looked to the Count. “Do they still have a functioning army up in the north?”
The count shrugged. “Aye, they do. I’ll grant you, I still fear that half-man, but without an army at his back he stands much less chance of causing us ulcers.”
“Dammit,” Cyrus said. “Let’s get a tracking party together. Does he have a horse?”
“I didn’t see him take one,” Terian said with a shrug. “Doesn’t mean he didn’t get one later, but I think he went over the bridge on foot.”
“He won’t have made it far on those stubby legs,” Cyrus said. “We can run him down on horseback.” He looked around. “Where’s Windrider?” The horse appeared out of a cluster of mares a few feet away with a whinny, prompting Cyrus to smile. “Never far, that’s for certain.”
“I’ll go with you,” Terian said, sliding his blade out of his scabbard. “Should be easier to bring down a white knight if you’ve got a black knight alongside you.”
“All right,” Cyrus said with a nod. “Next time when I call for help, you’ll be there, though, right?”
Terian rolled his eyes. “No. I’m going to let you die, purposefully and horribly, just like this time. What do you think?”
Cyrus stared at him blankly. “Well … okay, then. Where’s Longwell?”
“Over here,” came a weak voice, and Cyrus turned to see the dragoon sitting with his head between his legs a few feet away, also covered in mud. Longwell’s head came up, also caked in mud, and he looked pale as a cloud. “Count me among those hit by that bastard’s spell; I went flying and my horse landed on top of me with all the force of a tree falling on a mushroom.” He put his hand over his mouth. “Ugh. Shouldn’t have mentioned food.”
“And Martaina?” Cyrus asked. “We’ll need a tracker.” A hand went up a few feet away from Longwell, and Cyrus barely recognized the elven woman; her garb was normally predisposed to blending in with the dirt and greenery of nature, but now it was caked in mud, along with her face and hair. “Did a horse land on you, too?”
“Not a horse,” Martaina said. “I’m pretty sure it was an elephant. At least that’s what it felt like when it hit me, after a nice, long, lazy end-over-end flight through the air.” She shook her head and looked at Curatio pityingly. “Did you resurrect my horse?”
“I did,” Curatio said, “but you’ll likely not want to be riding her for a bit. Keep in mind she probably feels as bad or worse than you do.”
“I’ll go with you,” Martaina said, “but I don’t know how well I’ll be able to track at the moment. It’s delicate, sensitive work, filled with subtlety and nuance.” She hung her head. “Right now I feel like I just want to fill a bucket with everything I’ve ever eaten in my thousands of years of life.” She retched. “Which would take quite a bit of force, and I feel it coming on.”
“I’ll go with you,” came a soft voice from behind Cyrus. He turned to see a shapely leg, clad in smooth leather, make its way in front of him. He raised his head to see Aisling, her arms folded across her belly, as though she were trying to push up her small breasts. “I’m a fair tracker; not as good as Martaina at her best, but good enough to sift out some dwarf from a running army of men.”
“You sure?” Cyrus asked as he hoisted himself up into the saddle. “I don’t want there to be any tension-”
“What tension?” she asked with a forced smile.
“I recommend you wait a little longer,” Curatio said, looking up at Cyrus on horseback. “Some of you are going to be feeling poorly for a while yet.”
“I can feel poorly sitting here on the ground doing nothing,” Cyrus said, “or on a horse, tracking down the miniaturized bastard who killed me. I pick the latter, if only because it dispels that ugly sensation that sitting on one’s backside brings when there’s unpleasant work to be done.”
It took a few more minutes to get a hunting party saddled and ready to ride. Cyrus looked around the battlefield, beheld the smoke and carnage. The dragoons had hit the Sylorean lines hard. With their retreat cut off by the spellcasters’ fire magic, the horsed riders had cut the unhorsed and lightly armored infantry to pieces. Even the men-at-war, wearing armor considerably heavier than Cyrus’s (and much more constrictive, judging by its somewhat primitive design) had been struck down by the dragoons, who had used their lances to knock over the poorly balanced warriors and finished the job later or let the mud do it for them.
The hunting party rode out across the bridge, Cyrus noting how badly muddied the grasslands had become. Horse hooves had ripped the soil, leaving dark marks where greenery had been only hours before. The smell of upturned earth had a rich, deep aroma that reminded Cyrus of the gardens at Sanctuary. The sky held a grey tinge, clouds masking the sun from shining down. It seemed appropriate to Cyrus that the sun shouldn’t shine down brightly, that the sky shouldn’t be blue; after all, thousands of men had died only an hour earlier.
“So this is it?”
It was Terian who spoke, jarring Cyrus out of his daze. He turned to see the dark elf keeping pace next to him. Martaina and Aisling rode in front, the former still looking as green as her usual clothing and the latter keeping a close watch on the muddy ground ahead of them. “We go home after this?”
“I suppose,” Cyrus said. “So long as we get this dwarf, then the Kingdom is saved. And we’re back to whiling away the days in the Plains of Perdamun, trying to find new targets to hit and places to explore for our own edification and whatever treasures we can pillory.” He shrugged. “Or I suppose we could get involved in the war again, though I doubt there’s much edification or gold to be had from walking that road.”
“I doubt we’ll avoid it,” Terian said. “The Sovereign is doubtless upset with us, to make no mention of the fact that you killed countless of his soldiers while defending Termina. It seems likely that my people will seek revenge if they know who inflicted those losses upon them.”
“I didn’t invade their territory looking for a fight,” Cyrus said. “The elves didn’t even invade their lands. The dark elves decided to start a war of conquest against their neighbors, and I happened to be standing in the way. You can’t tell me you wouldn’t have been on that bridge with me, trying to keep your people from raping and pillaging the town.”
Terian looked at him, hard, a strange burning in his eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was broken. “No. I can’t say I wouldn’t have been with you. After all, we are … friends. Comrades at arms.”
“And you wouldn’t have done it yourself, even if I hadn’t been there?” Cyrus didn’t look at the dark elf. “You wouldn’t have tried to protect those people yourself, just because it was the right thing to do?”
“I …” Terian choked down whatever he was about to say, and Cyrus turned to look at the dark knight, who was strangely animated; his mouth opened and it looked as though he were trying to speak, but nothing came forth at first. When it did, it was low, hoarse, and barely understandable. Cyrus had to concentrate to hear him, tuning out the sound of hoof beats, of laughter from Ryin somewhere behind him, of someone else heaving from atop their horse. “Dark knights aren’t quite as fond of hopeless causes or helping the defenseless as you are. I don’t … I mean, they were elves, and my people are enemies of the elves-”
“You work with elves every day,” Cyrus cut him off. “You’ve saved their lives. You’ve fought for them. You’re a member of Sanctuary, Terian. If you wanted solely to enrich yourself, the big three would gladly take you on. Hells, man, you could even make a fortune plundering in the dark elven army, like some others do.” Cyrus noted Terian’s face become stricken, but he went on. “But you’re here with us. You could be anywhere, but you’re with us. Not where you could become the wealthiest, not where you could seek the most power, but here in Sanctuary. Can you tell me why you’d voluntarily come back if not to ‘help the defenseless’ and fight for ‘hopeless causes’?”
The dark knight’s mouth opened and closed again several times, but no discernible noise came out that Cyrus heard. Terian’s eyes blinked repeatedly, and he finally stopped trying, closing his mouth, turning to look straight ahead. After a long silence he finally said. “That’s really an excellent question.”
