let his mind drift, thinking of her and Cattrine and Vara, interchanging the three of them in his mind and memory, imagining himself in bed in his quarters at Vernadam with Aisling, her blue skin pressed against him. Then it was Vara, her blond hair glistening in the light cast by the fire in the hearth, scars on her back and legs reminding him that it was in fact Cattrine that had been there with him, satiating his hunger, not Vara or Aisling.
He tried to shake the thoughts out of his mind, but neither the water he splashed on his face nor the rest he tried to take at night could keep them at bay for long. He spent long days thinking, not of what waited for him ahead nor of his companion travelers (save for when they spoke to him, which was more than they had in the last few months when he had a constant black cloud around him) but of Vara and her betrayal, and of Cattrine and her betrayal, and of Aisling, and the three of them, and all the things that he and Cattrine had done, all the little pleasures, of how he wanted to feel them again.
They journeyed across flat lands, plains, through forests that grew more lush and leafy as they went north. Summer was beginning to set in hard upon them, the sun beating down and warming the land. A week of vicious heat after leaving Enrant Monge became milder as they went on, easing into beautiful traveling weather.
Cyrus could see mountains in the distance after three weeks, foothills just ahead that made him remember Fertiss and the halls of the dwarven capital back in Arkaria. He could see snow-capped peaks, something that looked singularly out of place after the heat they had experienced only scant weeks earlier. The plains became greener as they went, nursed by flowing streams that came from the mountains. The land was verdant, reminding Cyrus of everything that Vernadam had been when they arrived, and even, vaguely, of the Plains of Perdamun, where he was certain it was now hot, hotter than what they had experienced at Enrant Monge or after it as they headed north.
The foothills became steeper as the mountains drew closer. Women remained the only thing on Cyrus’s mind, and in rapid succession they came and went in his head, Aisling, Vara, Cattrine. He wondered why Aisling would fit into his thoughts, and realized that she was one of the only women on the expedition with him, and the only one he truly knew other than in passing. At last he realized with a shock one night while staring at her as she sat at another fire, her back to him, that she was the only woman with them that he found remotely attractive. She had made suggestions to him in the past, things that made him warm in the night when he recalled the words. Now she said nothing to him, as though he were not even there.
“You may be setting some sort of record for sleeplessness.” The dry voice of Terian came from behind him and he turned to see the dark elf, sitting once more with his sword across his lap, a rag polishing the edge of the blade. “I remain amazed that you don’t fall unconscious on your horse each day as we ride.”
“And you?” Cyrus asked. “Do you linger, sleepless each night as I do? You must, if you see how little rest I get.”
“Aye,” Terian said. “I suspect I get a bit more sleep than you do, but perhaps not by much.”
“And what’s on your mind that keeps you from rest?” Cyrus asked, trying to turn aside the dark knight’s inevitable inquiry before it was made. “What halts the repose of the great Terian Lepos, isolates him from the nocturnal peace he craves?”
“Perhaps I worry about you,” Terian said with a wicked smile. “After all, the wheel has turned for you, my friend. After Harrow’s Crossing you seemed to be at an apex of happiness, such a contrast to the horror that was your glum state of mind on our journey leading up to that point. Then, with one little revelation, all your happiness was swept into the gutter like all the other rubbish and you were in the darkness of Yartraak’s despair again. One could almost feel sorry for you.” He shrugged. “If one didn’t know better, one might think that you were beginning to get as jaded as I am, as you’ve started to stare at our roguish ranger somewhat hungrily,” he nodded his head in the direction of Aisling’s bedroll, and Cyrus saw a shock of her white hair sticking out of the top of it. “You have the look of a man on a diet of barley corn who hungers desperately for meat. Or are you merely switching your affections once more?”
“I am …” Cyrus let his voice trail off, “… not certain of much of anything, but I doubt I have any genuine affection left in me at this point.”
“So rampant lust, then?” Terian said coolly. “I understand that all too well. I hope to find a soothing balm for that at the whorehouse in Scylax.” He rubbed the pommel of his sword. “I’m told they have quite a good one, at least according to a couple of the Syloreans I spoke with.”
“How lovely,” Cyrus said with only a dash of sarcasm.
“Don’t be so high and mighty with me, Lord Davidon,” Terian said, his face falling into shadow. “Now that you’ve awakened to what you’ve been missing all these years, I sense a craven desperation in you. Give you a few more days of staring at the dark elf girl and soon enough you’ll be thinking that a brothel would seem a sweet release.”
“I certainly hope not,” Cyrus said. “I don’t care what you do, Terian, but I’m not you. I don’t begrudge you your entertainments, but don’t fall into the trap of thinking that I’ll make the same decisions you do simply because I’m feeling unsatisfied.”
“You’ll see, soon enough,” Terian said with a small smile, a bitter one. “You could ignore it before, when you channeled everything into battle and into your idiotic feelings for Vara. Now that that’s all done, the Baroness opened your eyes. Sure, she stabbed you good, in the heart, but now you’re awake. You know people will betray you, that women will betray you, but you know what you want from them-at least part of it. She did you a favor, helping you get out of your chains and reminding you that you have a … pulse,” he said with a salacious grin. “Give you a month more of suffering in silence, bedding in common areas and you’ll either go crawling off into the woods to take hold of your own release or you’ll get smart and realize that the coin of the realm will buy you the same relief, and it’ll be that much better for being real.”
“I doubt there’s much ‘real’ about what you do in a whorehouse,” Cyrus said. “Other than feel really, truly cheated afterward.”
“Ah, there’s that sanctimoniousness again,” Terian said. “You think you’re better than me, I know, but you’re not, and the sooner you realize it the better off you’ll be. I’ve never had a whore betray me nor lie to me in a way that could hurt my feelings, bruise my ego, or stab me in the heart. I’ve never had a harlot turn down my coin nor send me running dejected to fight another man’s war in another man’s land, and I’ve certainly not had it happen twice in a row. If you lie down with dogs, you get fleas.” His smile disappeared, replaced by a thin look of malice coupled with warning. “And when you lie down with a woman and give her your heart, you get swallowed up, lost. You’ve seen it, you’ve felt it, you’ve lived it-what? Three times now? — yet still you ignore the lessons of your own experience. That makes you more a fool than any fool I’ve met, motley or otherwise.”
“Such a friend you are to me, Terian,” Cyrus said, “and so wise is your counsel. I won’t deny that after my time with the Baroness, I am … awakened … to possibilities again, as you put it. But I’m a man, not a beast, and my wounds are my own concern, as is satisfying my cravings, whatever they might be. I’d rather have some feeling to go along with that satisfaction, as a man, so I don’t simply rut in the dark with a stranger, like a beast.”
“Push comes to shove,” Terian said, “when you’re cold and alone after this long ride and the warmth of a friendly bed beckons to you, you’ll go to it, unquestioning, stranger or not, gold exchanging hands or not. I know you, even more so now, and I know what you’ll do.”
“You don’t know me, Terian,” Cyrus said as he settled back onto his bedroll. “You may think you do, but you don’t-not a thing about me, really. And I’m beginning to wonder if you ever did.”
Chapter 31
The ride got harder as the mountains rose before them. They cut across winding trails, over rough ground, and their pace slowed. Cyrus was thankful for Windrider’s sure footing, especially after one of his own warriors
