arm was wrapped around the neck of the creature and his right was clutching Praelior. He pushed his blade up, into the stout body of the thing, felt the give as he pushed it through the skin. He felt the monster buck and squirm as it fought his hold, the desperate thrashing growing more maniacal.
After a few seconds, Cyrus felt an impact, and then the body went limp. He rolled it off and sat up, tossing the body aside, the putrid smell of rot in his nose. His hand came up and brushed his hair out of his eyes.
“You all right?” Martaina was at his side, her bow in her hand.
“I’m fine,” Cyrus said. He looked to his left to see Longwell, spear in hand, the pointy end still buried in the creature’s fat neck. It lay next to him, pressed to the ground. “What the hell was that?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Longwell said, wriggling the tip of his weapon in the creature’s neck. “As far as I know it’s not native to these parts.”
It was upright, its skull and eyes staring blindly up at them. The eyes were still black but unmoving now, and lifeless as well. Cyrus leaned over and stared into them, and something prickled in the back of his mind. “This thing is …” he shuddered. “There’s something very disturbing about this creature.” He blinked.
“Not that I can recall,” Curatio said, on his horse a few feet away. “But it seems … I don’t know, there’s something I can’t quite put my finger on, but it seems like something I’ve run across at some point before.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Longwell said, peering at it. “But I didn’t want to say it, because I know damned well I’ve never fought one of them.” He poked at it again, causing the body to wriggle with the motion. “I wonder if there are more?”
“It was a nasty bastard,” Cyrus said, standing. “But pretty weak overall. If it hadn’t gotten me off my feet, I don’t think it would have been a huge challenge.” He stooped and picked up his helm. “Speaking of challenges …” He turned his head and saw Partus a few feet away, Terian standing next to him with a sword across the dwarf’s neck. “There you are, my half-sized, bearded nemesis.”
“Here I am,” Partus said, his eyes still staring at the creature. “Not planning on going much of anywhere, either. I don’t care what you say, that thing damned near got me, and if there’s any more, I’m not looking to face them alone, though I might have made a better show of it if your wizards hadn’t cessated my damned spells. Anyhow,” the dwarf said, hands up, “I suppose I’ll be coming with you.” He looked up at Terian. “Unless you’re planning on being done with it right here and taking my head off.”
“So very tempting,” Terian said, and let the blade drift into Partus’s neck.
“I think not,” Cyrus said. “We’re not executioners.”
“Well, then,” Partus began to stand, and Terian kicked the dwarf’s legs out from under him, causing him to fall. He lay on his back, staring up. “Oh, so that’s how it is, eh? Are you quite finished?”
“I could stand to do it a few more times,” Terian said.
“I’ll just bet you could, you blue-skinned sadist. Not a great surprise to me that a dark knight feels the need to poke at me when I’m unarmed and surrendering; it’s not as though you’d stand a chance when I have my weapon in my hand,” Partus said.
“I’m more than a match for you, Partus,” Terian said coolly. “I just never did like you is all, so I’m taking this opportunity to get a few digs in for all the joy you gave me back when we were Alliance officers together.”
“I hear a lot of talk from you, Lepos,” Partus said, his ruddy complexion dark, “but I’m without my hammer, your sword’s at my throat and your wizard’s got a spell preventing me from sending you back to Arkaria in one good jump. Why don’t you just be a good lad and hand me my weapon and I’ll empty your head with it, just like I did your friend there.” He pointed to Cyrus, his small eyes fixed on Terian.
“Enough,” Cyrus said. “Bind him, gag him, and put a rock in there first so he can’t move his tongue around. We don’t need him hitting us with a spell if he can cast sublingually.” Cyrus smiled. “Better still, strap his hands around his neck; if he wants to cast a spell he can take his own head off and solve our problem of what to do with him.”
“What about this thing?” Aisling was on her hands and knees in the grass, next to the creature. Cyrus blinked in surprise. He hadn’t even noticed her there.
“What about it?”
“Maybe we should bring it with us?” She ran a finger along the flesh of its arm. “I know there are some strange and fanciful creatures in the world, but this is unlike anything I’ve seen. Might be worth taking a closer look at with a dagger. Especially,” her eyes flashed, “if there are any more of them out there.”
“I don’t see reason to concern ourselves overmuch,” Cyrus said, “but better to be overprepared than under, I reckon. Bind it, too, just in case, and bring it along on the back of your horse.”
“My horse?” Aisling said, looking at him with equal parts disbelief and offense. “Why mine?”
“Because as the brilliant originator of the plan,” Cyrus said with a smile, “you get to carry it out.” He sniffed. “Also? That thing smells.”
“Great,” Aisling muttered under her breath. “Because I need more reasons to help you find me unappealing.”
Cyrus ignored her, whistling instead to Windrider, who came to a halt beside him. He patted the horse and climbed up in the saddle. “Mendicant,” Cyrus said, and waited for the goblin to appear out of the clump of the Sanctuary party, which had gathered behind him, between where they stood and the hill that he had charged down, “do you think your horse can bear the weight of you and our prisoner?”
“If we don’t run him too hard,” the goblin warned. “It’s been a long day, though, and we’ll be needing to rest the horses soon.”
“It’s an hour or so back to the edge of the swamp and a little farther to the crossing,” Cyrus said. “Let’s make camp once we’ve met up with the rest of our army, give our horses a night of rest.” He frowned, adjusting himself in the saddle and feeling a dozen aches and pains. “And ourselves as well. We’ll make our way back to Vernadam tomorrow.”
They took a few minutes to get situated and give the horses ample time to drink from a small stream of fresh water, and then started back. The journey took hours, and seemed slower than the trip in, the party mostly quiet from the fatigue of traveling through the night on the evening before.
Cyrus found himself riding next to Aisling and Martaina at one point, as the two trackers attempted to steer them clearly back toward the plains. “I never did get a chance to ask you,” Cyrus said to Aisling, startling the dark elf, “what was your impression of the Galbadien rulers when we were at Vernadam?”
Her eyes became snakelike as she studied him. “I came to make my report and found you … otherwise occupied.”
“You say that like it’s a curse,” Cyrus said mildly. “You’ve been badgering me for two years to loosen up, and now I have. Perhaps it’s a sour taste in your mouth, some envy that springs from deep within.”
Aisling let out a sharp exhalation of breath, almost like a hiss, and rolled her eyes. “You presume too much. Just because I’ve been honest about my interest in you, don’t assume that I’m so petty and insecure that I can’t handle even the thought of you pleasuring yourself with another woman.” She held her head high as she spoke to him. “I’ve offered in the past to bed you and another woman at the same time, though something tells me that the Baroness wouldn’t be much interested in that.”
“Fair assumption,” Cyrus said. “But still, I point out, your reaction to this turn of events is rather …” He thought about it, trying to find a diplomatic turn of phrase, “… sharp. Less than pleasant.”
“I beg your pardon, my Lord of Perdamun,” Aisling said, bending at the waist in a graceful bow that saw her nearly fold double yet not lose her balance on horseback. “My intention was not to be acute in my response to you. If I was, I apologize. Perhaps I was merely dismayed that after so many times offered, it seemed that you might finally be coming around-and you did, but with someone else.” Her eyes flashed again as she stared at him, and he caught a flippant toss of her white hair. “Forgive me for not quickly adapting to the new state of things.” Some of the acid was leeched out of her words, but enough remained that Cyrus felt the burn of it.
“I … can’t say I feel nothing for you. I am warming to you, but …” he pulled back, not wanting to finish his sentence.
“You felt more for her?” Aisling did not bother to hide the bitterness; she wore it plainly. “I can’t fault you for that; it’s not as though you can control the direction of your feelings. But it does hurt.”
“I have to ask,” Cyrus said, feeling the pull of a question within. “What is it about me that draws you so? You tried to seduce me, even though you knew I was in love with Vara. Now I’m with another woman, and still …” She
