short time he’d been gone, he’d missed having her travel with them, that he’d wanted to comment on something to her.
The journey passed quickly, especially after the rain, and the Forest of Waigh ended when they had only three hours of marching left to their destination. From the moment they left behind the tree-covered skies, Vernadam was visible in the distance, the towering top spire sticking above all else, a faintly shadowed pillar on the horizon that grew and grew as they marched closer. Sundown cast it in a shadow against the purple sky, a black outline of the tallest castle Cyrus had ever seen.
They reached the city not long after sundown to much jubilance and celebration in the street. Women leapt from the crowds and kissed the men in the column (some to great joy, some to great dismay) and Cyrus found himself pelted with flowers and the recipient of countless offered bottles, most of which he declined.
They halted in the square to cheers and adulation. The environment around them was stunning, excitement was rampant, and Cyrus could feel himself sucked into it, a heady feeling of being a part of something grand, once-in-a-lifetime. He dodged a group of Galbadien boys who chanted his name, “CY-RUS, CY-RUS, CY-RUS,” and thought quietly that they looked to be of an age with some of the newest recruits in his army. The village was entirely turned out, and the smell of strong wine was already pervasive in the street, along with good ale and some urine as he rode past an alley or two.
He shouted to Odellan. “Keep them in line,” he said, and saw the elf nod at him. Cyrus gestured to his officers to proceed, and they did, to muted cheers and a widening chant of Cyrus’s name that seemed to grow even louder as they exited the square and the village, ringing out even as they made their way up the path to Vernadam.
“Figures,” Terian said, muttering under his breath. “We all go out and fight the battle, and he’s the one that gets the cheers.”
“I don’t remember seeing you get your brains dashed out by a hammer for this victory,” Cyrus said.
“No great loss there,” Terian replied. “You didn’t have much in the way of them to start.”
Cyrus chuckled as they made their way up the winding path. It was darker, now, and the gates to the castle were visible ahead. The switchback sent them winding around at a slow canter, and Cyrus felt the discomfort in his haunches from all the sitting over the last months.
The gate of Vernadam was impossibly large, yawning, the portcullis up and inviting them in. Cyrus imagined trying to lay siege to this castle, to deal with the meandering path, to fight against the steep sides, or attempt to put a siege engine against the curtain wall. Even the thought of bringing a battering ram heavy enough to shatter the great wooden gates was laughable.
They went through the tunnel of the portcullis, into the courtyard, and Cyrus looked up to the stairs that led to the front doors. The doors were open, and a procession was making its way down, following the King. He was almost to the bottom, and in the bevy of servants and house guards was another face, a shining one, resplendent, really-Cattrine, in a green dress of the most elegant silk, waiting for him only a few steps behind the King.
Cyrus dismounted and one of the servants from the stables came and took Windrider’s reins from him. He waited until Longwell, Terian, and a few of the others joined him; Partus was paraded before them, looking murderously annoyed. Still gagged, the dwarf couldn’t say anything, but he grunted in irritation every time Terian poked him to move forward.
The courtyard was insulated from the breezes that had run so infrequently outside, and Cyrus found himself a little warmer as he took his first steps toward the King. He could see the Baroness, a glow in her eyes and on her skin, as he smiled at her and came before the King, who nodded at him.
“King Aron,” Cyrus said, “I present to you the dwarven mercenary who has caused you so many difficulties, as a sign, from us of the Sanctuary Army, that we hope your troubles with Syloreas are at an end after the battle of Harrow’s Crossing.”
The assembled servants and guards burst into spontaneous applause, encouraged by the benign smile upon the King’s face. When they had quieted, the King spoke, not taking his eyes off the dwarf. “Your gift is much appreciated, as are your efforts in these dark days, made light by your victory over our enemies. When my only son left,” he turned toward Samwen Longwell, who looked at his feet, “I feared the worst for my house, only to see the worst come after his departure. But what I thought would be our ruin became our salvation as he returned with you wonderful people of the west.”
The King raised his hands above him. “I declare the next thirty days to be a time of celebration and feasting throughout the Kingdom of Galbadien. Let all who are fit raise their cups to Cyrus Davidon, Samwen Longwell, and the heroes of Sanctuary, who have delivered us from our ancient foes! Let all who have lips to speak praise their names, and let us dedicate this time to salving their weariness, resting them from their troubles, and feasting them upon the most succulent delicacies our lands have to offer.” The King’s thin face was positively radiant. “This in the name of those who have ventured so far to offer a hand of friendship. This is your time.” He spread his arms wide, beckoning them forward to the castle. “We invite you to stay with us, and enjoy all we have to offer-in the name of our friendship.”
Thunderous applause greeted them, echoing forth in the courtyard from every servant and guard, as loud as in the open air of the square in the village below. There would be feasts, and songs, and plenty of wine, Cyrus knew, but his eyes were fixed on a point past the King, on a face still glowing, still smiling at him, and thinking of a time long past dinner and dessert, when the hours were late and the darkness was nigh …
… and he stayed awake long into the night, he and Cattrine, in each other’s arms-and even when the knock came at their door the next morning summoning them for breakfast, they were not quickly to be stirred or parted.
Chapter 22
A month passed in an eye’s blink, to Cyrus. He found himself in need of exercise beyond what the Baroness offered in their chambers in order to offset the rich delicacies that the King continued to feed them, and so he took up practicing with his sword in the courtyard every day before lunch and again before dinner. More often than not he was joined by the Baroness, clad not in her dress (nor in the much less formal attire she wore to their bed) but in the riding outfit she had donned during their journey from Green Hill, and he taught her the way of the sword, a day at a time, with a blade provided by the King’s armory as a gift.
“Not quite like that,” he said, behind her, pressed against her, steering her arm with his hand wrapped around hers. “Like this.” He made a motion and then drew back his hand, watching for her to make the same motion. She did, and he spoke. “Very good.”
“Such ample encouragement,” she whispered as she made the motion again, a short strike with the light blade, enough to cut a throat, if need be. “Do you teach all your students from this position?” She looked up to him, catching his eye, and he saw the hint of wryness in her smile.
“Not quite,” he said, rubbing himself against her, feeling her press back, and sensing the promise of something else later, something that would perhaps help defray the slow slide of lethargy that thirty days of idleness could bring a soldier. “But with you, I do prefer a hands-on approach.”
“Indeed?” she said quietly. “And where would you prefer those hands to be?”
He started to answer her but stopped when a stableboy passed by them on his way into the castle. The sunny day shone down on them from above, the white stones of the castle gleaming in the light. Cyrus looked around and realized that only a few souls were out and about today, which was unusual for the courtyard. “I’d prefer them be in several places at once, if I had my druthers,” he said once the stableboy passed from earshot. “But as I only have two, I can think of where I’d prefer they go first …” He whispered in her ear and she laughed, giving him a kiss on the mouth for his suggestion.
“Had enough for today, then?” he asked her when they parted.
