Crusader: The Sanctuary Series, Volume Four

by Robert J. Crane

  Cyrus coughed, and he felt the warm blood flow out of his mouth, onto the ground, turning the dirt red. He watched the little grains of sand float inside it. He felt something else, then, too, something around him—grey flesh, grey faces, horrible teeth, pointed and vicious, a bloody, disgusting spectacle that lingered in front of him, snapping at him, at his face, even as his vision faded into nothingness and he felt nothingness—save for the pointed, far off sensation of his flesh being torn by a thousand hungry mouths.

  Chapter 34

  “GET OFF!” A shriek echoed through Cyrus’s ears as a chill sensation returned to his limbs and he saw a flash of movement in front of his now-opening eyes. Aisling moved above him, her blades a dance of motion as she cut through three of the scourge beasts and kicked another so hard it flew through the air and into its fellows. Cyrus felt blood dripping out of his armor but realized his skin was intact, his flesh renewed, and looked up to see Curatio, far in the distance, beyond a solid wall of the scourge, a hundred of them separating him from the healer and the others. He jumped to his feet in a well-practiced move and his blade was already out.

  Cyrus heard the familiar whinny behind him and saw Windrider lift up and kick, stomping three of the creatures to death with rapidity, then back away from them to form a tight circle with Cyrus and Aisling. A wave of flame was burning through the flank of the scourge, the wall of beasts separating Cyrus and Aisling from the rest of the Sanctuary force.

  “There seem to be an awful lot of them,” Cyrus said, clutching Praelior and raking a circle around him, killing a half-dozen of the creatures as they began to surge in on all sides. “Not sure we can fight this many.”

  “Just you and I against the world?” Aisling asked with a hint of amusement. “I pity the world.” Windrider whinnied, drawing Cyrus’s attention to his neck, where stains of blood remained on his hide. “All right,” Aisling conceded, “us four.” She turned her head and attacked three of the beasts that came at her, her daggers a blur of motion, and there was a shriek as her horse was pulled to the ground, the creatures swarming over it, tearing it apart while Cyrus and Aisling fought off their advance. “Us three,” she amended. “But they’ll pay for that. That was the best horse I’ve ever stolen.”

  Cyrus flicked Praelior out in a defensive line around him as three of the scourge jumped at him, and he cleaved them neatly in two before taking the heads off two more that came at him. “Remind me to remonstrate you for thieving later.”

  “I might forget,” she said with a smirk. “I’ve never been much for sermons, especially from a man whose life I just saved. That was some damnably clumsy riding on your part. Why’d you pick now to fall off your horse?”

  “That was no accident,” Cyrus said. “Terian cut Windrider’s throat and cursed me.”

  “What?” she cried as one of the scourge leapt for her. Cyrus swung his sword and clipped the beast, sending it to the ground in a heap. They stood side by side, Windrider behind them, still stomping in a frenzy, keeping the creatures from pulling him down as they had Aisling’s horse. Cyrus watched the hooves land on another one of the scourge and cringed at the sight of its skull caving in, no blood oozing from it, instead a thick, black liquid puddled underneath the unmoving creature. “Why would he do something like that?”

  “You remember that sword you brought me? From that dark knight I killed on the bridge in Termina?” Cyrus’s gauntlet caught the bite of a scourge, and he twisted it, breaking the creature’s teeth as he jammed his sword down its throat then threw the corpse away.

  “Yeah? Oh. Oh! OH! That was his father? The dark knight?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Oh, wow.” Aisling slung her blades in a perfect arc, catching another one of the beasts as it attacked her. Her dagger ended up buried in its head, and her hand moved like lightning, catching it with three more thrusts along the neck and flank as it dropped. “Whoops.”

  “That doesn’t quite cover it.”

  “It’ll have to do until we get out of here.” Aisling’s back bumped against his, and Cyrus felt her push against him as the circle around them tightened. Cyrus looked to the side and saw Curatio and the others falling back, the numbers overwhelming them. Mendicant cast another spell, and a fireball flew toward them as Cyrus ducked out of instinct. It flew past and landed in a thick knot of scourge, exploding and sending bodies and limbs flying in all directions.

  “What the hell was that?” Aisling cried. “Is that goblin trying to add us to the corpse pile?”

  “No,” Cyrus said and pointed to where the fireball had impacted, “look!” He pointed, and only a few feet—and twenty or so scourge away—Mendicant had cleared a path for them. Beyond was open ground to the west, heading toward a mountain in the distance, but it was a long ways off, with plenty of room to outrun the scourge—

  “Windrider,” Cyrus said, but the horse was already kicking and bucking, making his way toward the open ground. “We’ll only have a moment here,” Cyrus said to Aisling, “you need to get on the horse first.”

  “Fine,” she said tightly and was gone, already slipping into the saddle, “but get your sweet ass moving, will you?”

  “I will,” he said, and tensed himself. With a deep breath that lasted only a second, he let out a bellowing warcry that echoed through the mountain pass and charged forward, blade in motion, clearing the way for Windrider and Aisling to pass. His sword moved with the fluid grace he had come to expect after so many battles with it at his side. The scourge seemed to move slowly, unable to keep up with his speed but overwhelming in numbers. His blade found target after target, casting the bodies aside, damaged or dead. He kept going, heard the horse at his back, until he cut the last of them down and broke free to open ground and he felt Windrider thunder along beside him. He hoisted himself up, sliding onto the back of the horse behind Aisling and they galloped away, thousands of the creatures following in their wake.

  Chapter 35

  The mass of the scourge moved in a fluid line, not interfering much with each other as they ran, more slowly, behind Windrider as he carried Cyrus and Aisling toward the top of the hill. Far, far behind them, Cyrus could see the line of the Sanctuary formation falling back, Terian watching him from a far distance, along with Curatio. “They don’t know that Terian tried to kill me, do they?”

  “I don’t think so,” Aisling said, “unless one of them was paying more attention than I was, and I doubt it because I was the first one to start back for you.”

  “Then he’s with them now,” Cyrus said. “Hopefully he doesn’t have any righteous vengeance he’d like to inflict on anyone else.”

  “It seems to me,” Aisling said, the wind blowing her white hair into his face, “he’s known for quite some time that you killed his father. I’ve seen him carrying that blade since before we left Sanctuary. So why did he wait until now to strike you down?”

  “I don’t think he did,” Cyrus said. “He let Partus kill me before, at Harrow’s Crossing.”

  “But he must have known you’d get resurrected,” she said, her hands clutching the reins, holding on tight as they continued forward. “He can’t have thought that would kill you.”

  “I don’t know what he’s thinking,” Cyrus said. “Maybe he didn’t want to get caught and waited for a moment he thought he could get away with it.”

  Aisling seemed to think about that. “He very nearly did; this was the perfect time. No one could have recovered your body from that onslaught, not with the numbers we were against.”

  Cyrus waited a beat before he answered her. “You did.”

  She kept facing away from him, looking straight ahead, the wind brushing past both of them as he realized for the first time that his hands were snug on her hips. “I’m no one,” she said. “At least to you I have been.” They reached the top of the hill and Windrider went on, west, toward the mountains in the distance. The mountain to the south of them was high, and a series of cliffs and gullies was visible to block them fro
m passage. “Can’t go south, can’t go north because these little bastards are pretty heavy thataway … same with east, since we just came from that direction.”

  “West it is,” Cyrus said, and Windrider galloped on, not waiting for any other word on the matter. They plunged into a copse of withered pines as the land slumped down, and Cyrus kept an eye on the ground above them on the hill. It remained empty for quite some time, until finally he saw the first of the scourge crest it, a mile or so behind them. “They’re pursuing,” he said. “Not very quickly, but they are coming for us.”

  “That’s of some consolation,” she said, “because I’m not planning to stop to let them catch up anytime soon. And I doubt your horse is going to stop for water until he has to, unless I miss my guess.” A breathy snort greeted her words. “Clever one, aren’t you?”

  They continued downward, along a loping plateau, still moving toward a mountain in the distance. “I’m hoping there’s a pass somewhere around here,” Cyrus said, “and maybe we can move ourselves around this mountain and join up with the expedition as they head south.” He shook his head. “I daresay they’ve shown the envoys enough evidence to bring armies back to help combat this threat.”

  “What is it with you and the word ‘daresay’?” Aisling asked. “You say it all the time. ‘I daresay’ this and ‘I daresay’ that. What does it even mean?”

  “It’s just a way of saying, ‘I think.’”

  “Then why don’t you just say ‘I think’?” She looked back at him, a little smile showing.

  “Because I’m being pretentious,” Cyrus said. “And you should allow me a little pretention in my life.” He felt a dark humor settle over him. “After all, I’ve been betrayed by a good friend recently, as well as by two women I cared for.”

  “I’ll allow you just about anything you want,” Aisling said. “It matters not to me, I was just curious what it meant.” She waited a moment further before she spoke again. “And it was ‘loved,’ not ‘cared for,’ if you want to be accurate about it, Mr. Pretentious.” She leaned her head forward, bowing it slightly. “You loved them, both of them, whether you want to admit it or not.”

  Cyrus swallowed, hard, felt the pain rise in his throat, the bile that told him she was right. “Yes,” he whispered. “I did. But at least they didn’t try to kill me, as my friend just did.”

  “Rough year,” she said. “Perhaps it’s the company you keep.”

  “I was beginning to think maybe it was me.”

  The skies began to darken after midday. Clouds rolled in and a light snow began to fall scant hours later. The woods became thicker, and the snow blew with the wind, causing Cyrus to remove his helm in order to see. They kept going, but had long since lost sight of the horde behind them. The last hilltop that Cyrus had sighted them from was now hours behind them, and visibility was so poor that even when they reached a high vantage point they could see only a little ways.

  “I don’t see them,” Aisling said, staring behind them. “When we find water, we should stop briefly before we continue.”

  “Agreed,” Cyrus said.

  They continued until past nightfall, and came out of the woods in a dark encroachment of rocks, leading a steep, impassable embankment. Windrider let loose a quiet whinny upon approaching it, scaring Cyrus for the implications.

  “It would appear that our journey west is at an end,” Aisling said. “And if we go south, I suspect that this ravine is the same one that kept us from making for the pass south earlier. Any suggestions?”

  “North or east,” Cyrus said. “We know for fact that they’re east, so the only alternative is north.”

  “The problem with that idea,” she groused, “is that we suspect that they’re north as well.”

  “Go with what’s suspected or what’s known?” Cyrus asked. “I know which I pick.”

  “Not fair. Not sound, either. It’s a choice between certain death and uncertain death, and I want to pick ‘neither.’”

  His smile disappeared. “Then you probably should have retreated with the others and left me behind.”

  The snow came down harder now, blowing in their faces as they headed north, across the hills. They crested another rise and Cyrus looked east, and in the distance, he wondered if the village that they had seen from the pass that morning was nearby, if it was somewhere out there, teeming with the scourge. “Do they eat people?” he wondered aloud.

  “Morbid thought,” Aisling said. “But I can’t say I haven’t had it myself. It seemed as though J’anda had something on them, had figured something out that he wanted to tell us, but the whole lot of them stopped it.” She held her breath for a moment. “Can’t pretend I’m not curious about what that was about.”

  “Nor I,” Cyrus said. “This snow is getting worse.”

  “It’s not even sticking to the ground,” Aisling complained, “but it’s turning everything to mud.” Windrider made a noise that sounded to Cyrus’s ears like assent. “This is going to slow us.”

  “I know Windrider can handle a long ride,” Cyrus said, “but it’s been months of walking, hell, almost a whole month now with only a day or two here or there for a break. This hard escape can’t have been easy on him.” The horse was stoic but turned his head to favor them with one eye.

  “What are you suggesting?” Aisling said, the coolness in her voice just covering the dread beneath.

  “I’m suggesting that if we keep heading north in this, we’re likely to blunder into the enemy. I’m suggesting that we find somewhere that looks safe to hole up for the night, and we take it.” He blinked the snow flurries out of his eyes. “We try and sleep in shifts, so as not to be surprised if these things track us like bloodhounds do.”

  “I don’t love the sound of that,” Aisling said. “Resting while we’re being hunted seems like a bad idea.”

  “And getting lost and falling in a ravine or having Windrider die from exhaustion seems like a better one?” Cyrus looked around. “We don’t even have any oats for him to eat, since the wizards are all gone and we’re isolated on our own.”

  “Perhaps some field grass?” Aisling suggested. “He could try and find it under the layers of mud.”

  “We need a rest,” Cyrus said. “Not so much for us as for him.” He let out a breath. “Maybe a little for us.”

  “I can’t imagine the conditions under which I’d feel I could rest right now,” Aisling said, and Cyrus felt the tension in her, pressed as he was against her back. “But I’d imagine that some reprieve is better than none. And,” she grudgingly admitted, “you’re right about seeing ahead. We’re more likely to stumble over the edge of a cliff in this mess than to be able to see clear forward on a decent path.”

  “Right,” Cyrus said. “There’s likely a place where that ravine shallows, and we might be able to cross it to get to the flatter ground on the other side, but we’ll miss it if we keep going in this.” He looked back behind them. “Also, we’re leaving tracks right now. It might be best to find a place to lie low, so we can give them a chance to cover over.” He shrugged. “Not that these things are trackers, but you can never be too careful when you’re surrounded by the enemy.”

  They kept on for a while longer, as the terrain got rockier. They came upon another sheer cliff face, having wandered to a point where the ground rose to the east forcing them along a path parallel to the ravine. They went along, now boxed in by a cliff face on one side and a ravine on the other, forced along a steadily inclining grade, the ground carrying them upward almost against their will.

  “I don’t like this,” Aisling said, so low that Cyrus almost missed it.

  “What’s that?”

  “Being trapped,” she said, pointing to the face of the rock to their right. “It’s too sheer. If they come at us from behind we have to run ahead blindly, we can’t even swerve right or left.”

  “Story of my life,” Cyrus said, and when she shot him a confused look, he went on, “Running blindly.”

&nb
sp; “Ah,” she said with a nod, “I thought you meant not being able to swerve left or right.”

  He thought about it for a moment. “That too, actually.”

  The skies were a deep grey, laced with swirls of clouds that stretched to either end of the horizon, punctuated by light streaming through the gaps between formations. The gaps between the clouds started to darken as the sun set. The cold air blew through Cyrus’s armor and he felt it all the way through, even over the sense of weary tension that had him in its grasp.

  Aisling’s breathing was something he could feel even through his armor, and the tension was noticeable from her as well. Her shoulders were upright, and when Windrider would occasionally take a jarring step, Cyrus felt her go taut in his grasp. He tried not to wrap his arms around her waist, but every now and again he was left with no choice as he leaned, sitting as he was off the saddle. Her hair blew in his face constantly, the white mane possessed of a smell that reminded him of herbs, for some reason, as though she had some sort of greenery in it even now.

  The howling of the wind was the only thing that surrounded them, blowing past, dampening all other sound. The canyon channeled it toward them, and Cyrus felt the razor claws of it, so shocking for a summer’s day, and he reached to the saddlebags for his cloak, tucking it around himself and Aisling as best he could. He heard her murmur her thanks as he drew closer to her, the night air gradually growing colder and colder.

  “Up there,” Aisling murmured, and her finger came up to point. “There’s something against the cliff face.”

  They drew closer and Cyrus saw it too. It was wooden, carved, and set up on small pillars, though broken and crumbling. “An old mine?” Cyrus asked.