The slow tapping of the rain on his helm died in the wee small hours of the next day. They had a lamp at the fore, and stars came out to guide them. Cyrus felt the press of the bench he was seated upon, and he kept an even stroke, matching his motions to the other men rowing with him, all swarthy men of the sea, with olive skin and dark hair.
There came a sound next to him as someone sat, someone covered in a heavy boat cloak, and when Cattrine’s delicate features peeked out from beneath the cowl he was unsurprised. “Hello,” she said just loud enough to be heard over the rain.
“Hello,” he repeated back to her. He let a healthy silence fall between them then thought to speak. “I’m sorry about—”
“I’m so glad you came,” she said, halting as they spoke over one another. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you. You were saying?”
“I’m sorry about Caenalys,” Cyrus said. “It feels as though everywhere we go, destruction follows—”
“The city was doomed,” Cattrine said. “If they hadn’t come with you, they would have been along within weeks anyhow, and it would have been just as bad.” Her eyes found his. “You saved my life, at least. I thank you for that.”
“It was the least I could do,” Cyrus said quietly, trying to focus on the steady rhythm of rowing. “I heard that you made a bargain for my life, to return my head to my guild for resurrection.” He lowered his voice. “A terrible bargain, with a terrible price.”
“It was not all for you,” she said, “though I confess your life was the thing that tipped the scales.” She stared straight ahead, toward the bow, and he saw her delicate features in profile. Her lip was still swollen, scabbed, and he could see by the lantern light hanging on the ship that her eye had a trace of black under it.
But she was still pretty. Still Cattrine. He resisted the urge to kiss her again and again. “I wish you hadn’t. Not for me.” He bowed his head, even as he kept the steady stroke of the oar going. “Why did you do it?” he asked, shaking his head, feeling the mournful sadness in his soul as he considered what she had likely been through. “For me—”
“Because I loved you, idiot.” She spoke in an outburst of relief, as though it were all she could do to get it out, and a sob followed it. “I did all I did because I felt it, as I thought you did, but did not wish to say it because of your beloved Vara.” Her hand came up to his face, stroked his bearded cheek. “I saw the struggle in your eyes the whole time we were at Vernadam, and I wanted to let you heal and become whole again before throwing another burden upon you.” She blinked and turned her head away. “It was the same reason I did not tell you who I was. I only wanted you to be able to feel … normal again. To begin to believe you could feel for another again.”
“I did,” he said quietly. “I did because of you. As hard as I tried to forget you, to stay away, I still found myself like a boomerang in flight, curving right back to where I had come from. He shook his head and felt the droplets of rain that had collected in his beard fall. “I … missed you.” He tugged in the oar, and laid it across his lap. He reached over and kissed her, fully, totally, and felt her return the same to him.
She broke from him quickly but with hesitation, her hand still held to his face. “Are you not with Aisling now?”
Cyrus paused, and felt his head bow unexpectedly. “I … I don’t know where I stand with Aisling.”
“Do you love her?” There was quiet expectation and disappointment in the way she said it.
Cyrus looked back to the rear of the boat, and Aisling was there, eyes closed, asleep. “I don’t know. I’ve come to a place where things have become beyond complicated. I don’t know how I feel about her. She’s been such balm to me over these last months, but it’s almost as though I’ve become so empty inside that it did me little good.”
“I wouldn’t tell her that if I were you,” Catrrine said.
“Not high on my list of things to do,” Cyrus said with a grunt. The ship bobbed in the water, and she leaned toward him. “I don’t entirely know where I stand with you, either. This land is about to fall.” He looked back. “I think there are other boats following us as well, which is probably wise on their part. There is little I recognize as safe, stable or normal right now. It feels as though everything is danger and trouble.”
“I don’t expect you to untangle all these emotions now,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “It’s quite enough that you came for me. To hear you say that you felt the same … it gives me the possibility of hope.”
Cyrus gave her a slow nod. “I’m sorry I can’t give you any more than that. I’m still … sifting through the wreckage inside.”
“And when you finish,” she asked, “what do you think you’ll find?”
“I don’t know,” he said with a shake of the head, slipping the oar back into the water and matching the rowing of the other men. “I’d like to believe in something again, something more than just fighting my way through life. I’d like a certainty to cling to, something that will always be around, no matter how bad things get. It used to be me; when things would get bad, I could look inside, and I knew which direction to go. When you worship the God of War, it’s a simple matter to just turn yourself toward battle. But it’s not that simple anymore. Now battle is a given, especially after these things,” he waved toward the dark shore, to their right, “came unto the land.”
“I’m not certain I understand,” Cattrine replied. “You believe in war, in conflict, in battle, yet … you look for what? Something else?”
“Something else, yes,” Cyrus said. “I let myself hope for a future with a woman I didn’t really have a true hope with. It shook my world. I believed in a greater purpose for myself through my guild, in the idea that I would fight to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves, but everything I have done in this last year has caused the opposite of that. It’s put more people in danger and makes me question everything about this purpose I embraced.” He shook his head. “Is there really any good I can do when everything I do seems to come out wrong?” He turned his head away from her. “That seems especially true when I consider the women in my life.”
“For my part,” she said quietly after a moment’s pause, “although I wished things had gone differently between us, I have never seen you do anything less than your best with what you had available at the time.”
“Isn’t that what all of us do, though?” Cyrus asked. “Our best? Most people’s best doesn’t involve releasing a plague of death upon an entire land, though.”
She didn’t say anything for a long space after that. “You couldn’t have predicted it. No one could.”
“You’re right,” he said. “But I’m still responsible. That means it’s up to me to salvage all I can from my failure.”
“How do you think … you’ll go about that?” Her eyes cast ahead, in the direction of an unseen shore.
“I don’t know,” Cyrus said. “I really … just don’t know.”
She laid a hand upon his shoulder. “I am grateful to you for coming, regardless of all else that has happened. These things you have become embroiled in, these matters of gods and the dead, are beyond my understanding and almost my belief. I only know that absent your arrival, these things would have swept us away completely. Had you not come to Caenalys, I would surely have died there.”
“You don’t know that,” Cyrus said, looking down, putting his shoulders into the work. “Your dear husband seems like the sort of crazed rat who might have abandoned the city given a chance. He might have dragged you into a boat and taken you off to the west.”
“Where we would still eventually be killed by those things, I’d wager.” She didn’t sound sad when she said it, though it was hard to be sure in the wind. “And if not, I’d still have been with him. I might have preferred to stay in Caenalys.”
Cyrus bowed his head. “I don’t know that I’ve done you any favors. What’s coming … if they manage to cross the bridge, I don’t think there is any safe
ground after that. Arkaria will fight them, eventually, if they have enough will left to do so after the war. It may be that I’ve spared you death in your homeland so that you can come and die in mine.”
She pursed her lips, thinking about it. “I don’t think so. Since the day I have met you, you have consistently defied all expectations, including mine. Even when I was certain I would never see you again, you came for me. Even when I thought all faith between us had been broken.” She smiled, just a little one. “I suppose what I’m trying to say, Cyrus Davidon, is that thus far, you’ve come through on every occasion for me.” Her eyes were deep, lost in his. “I believe in you. Perhaps more than you believe in yourself just now, but I do. And I believe that if there is any man, in any land, that can find a way to save us from this menace—it is you.” With that, she kissed him again passionately, with a hand on his cheek to hold his face. Then she broke from him with a lingering touch, a long one, and went back to the rear of the boat where the others waited for her.
For a long time after that, Cyrus continued to row his oar in time with the others—and let his mind try desperately to find a way to correct his gravest of errors.
Chapter 98
They made landfall a few days later. Because the peninsula that Caenalys was built on and the one that connected the Endless Bridge to Arkaria were close together, they made an easy transit of the shortest distance between the two, and came ashore on a beach that was overgrown with long, green swamp grass. Cyrus waded in and helped Cattrine onto the sulphur-smelling shore, where rotting seaweed lay upon the beach. It festooned the sands, a curious red and green tinge to it. The wind whipped along, carrying only the faintest bite of the winter that had picked at him for months; it was clearly spring, and in a southern locale. Now at least we don’t have to fight in the snow.
The boat crew launched off a few minutes later, leaving Cyrus, Aisling, Cattrine, J’anda and Martaina along with their horses on the shore. The sand was packed tightly beneath Cyrus’s boots, and every step yielded a little, reminding him of walking on shallow snow.
“We have four horses and five people,” J’anda said, turning his blue face into the wind and to Cattrine. “Why don’t you ride with Aisling, since she’s the smallest of us?” The enchanter turned to give the ranger a wicked smile and found her expressionless, though her eyes did tack toward Cyrus, hard and pointed. “I kid. I’m not that heavy, you can ride with me unless you’d prefer to strain his horse,” he chucked a thumb at Cyrus.
“That’s a very kind invitation,” Cattrine said with a bow of her head. “I accept, though perhaps after a while I will switch, just to spare your horses from such a heavy burden all day long.”
Cyrus left Aisling’s sidewards glare behind and climbed the berm at the edge of the beach, where a field of heavy, tall grass blocked the sight of the other side. Below was an easy spread, flatlands with sparse short grass interspersed with fields of longer grass and hummocks of trees. There appeared to be a coastal swamp in the distance to the left and almost out of sight, Cyrus could see a road ahead, at the edge of his vision. There was movement on it, a steady line of refugees trudging, their darker clothes and human shapes separating them from the horizon line. They stretched from one side of his vision to the other, trailing off, a sad line with only the occasional horse to differentiate from the stooped-back figures.
“It would appear that the evacuation of Luukessia is well underway,” J’anda said from next to him.
They climbed onto their horses, Cyrus leading the way as they galloped toward the road. Cyrus could smell the people as they got close; some of them looked to have been walking for a considerable distance. Cyrus passed a child who looked no older than eight, a ragged waif whose shoes were worn to holes. The animal skins he wore were from a mountain goat, as was the horn strapped to his back. Sylorean. Gods, how far has he walked?
There was a stir in the line as they approached, and fingers pointed toward J’anda as a whisper went through the crowd. Smiles appeared, and gasps of relief were heard. “Never seen a group of humans so glad to see a dark elf,” J’anda said as his hands began to glow, spells already being cast.
“I have,” Aisling said sardonically, “but it was at a brothel.” She kept a straight face. “It was pretty much exactly like this.”
“I’ll try not to be too insulted by that since these people are starving,” J’anda said, handing off a loaf of conjured bread to a family who held it up, crying with happiness. Cyrus saw the woman he handed it to immediately break it to pieces and begin to pass it around to a large group of children. He saw one of the boys in a ragged old surcoat with the livery of Galbadien upon it. This whole land, emptying.
There was a rising cry, and J’anda waved to Cyrus. “I think I’m going to be here for a while.”
“You,” Cyrus said to a man nearby, a swarthy fellow with dark hair and skin. “Have you seen any armies about?”
“Yes, m’lord,” he said with a bow to Cyrus as J’anda gave the man a loaf of bread. “The dragoons of Galbadien are just up the road a piece, perhaps a day’s ride. They were waiting on a flat stretch of land to hit those monsters that are destroying everything.”
“Who was leading them?” Cyrus asked, focusing in on the man.
“The King of Galbadien,” the man said with a bow of his head. “Saw him with my own eyes, the new one, the young one. They say the western army is farther out with the Syloreans and the rest of our Actaluerean army, fighting to hold the things back while we escape. The man shook his head. “I heard tell from a Sylorean that the monsters are all the way up to the neck of the peninsula and still coming.”
Cyrus felt a chill. “How far to the bridge?”
“Straight ahead, another day, sir,” the man said. “I’ve been there before, a couple times.”
Cyrus shot a look at his party. “We need to go.”
“I’m going to stay with these people,” J’anda said. “I’m of no use to you with those things anyway. I will walk to the bridge with these folk, keep them fed and try to do some good along the way.”
Cyrus looked at him evenly. “Are you sure?”
“I’ll go with him,” Cattrine said, and Cyrus heard the man he had been talking to whisper, “Lady Hoygraf,” to the crowd. “I can be of little aid to you,” she said, “but of much trouble were I to get in the way.”
“Get to the bridge,” Cyrus said. “If the dragoons are only a day away and the rest of the army only a bit past that, it’s not going to be more than a week before we’ve fallen back all the way.” He felt his jaw tighten. “If that.”
“Aye,” J’anda said. “Here.” He tossed them each a loaf of bread and looked at Cyrus seriously, the wind stirring his hair. “Take care up there. We’ll be waiting for you at the bridge.”
“Understood,” Cyrus said and urged Windrider forward, riding along the side of the road and listening to the crowds shout their joy at the sight of J’anda on his horse.
“I’m going to stay with them,” Aisling said, halting her horse just a few paces along. Cyrus pulled Windrider to a stop and came around to face her. “I’m not much use on the battlefield, not against those things. It’s a fight for proper swords and I’m really more of a daggers and sneaking kind of girl.”
“You’ve been doing pretty well so far,” Cyrus said, watching the dark elf’s eyes. She was cagey, avoiding his gaze.
“I’ve been lucky and good in equal measure,” she said. “But these things notice me more than most people, and I’m tired of pressing my luck. I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”
“All right,” Cyrus said with a slow nod. “We’ll see you at the bridge, then.”
“Yeah,” she said, and her horse moved forward alongside him. “We will.”
He stared at her for a moment, at her hard, flinty gaze, inscrutable as she was. “I’m sorry,” he said.
She didn’t seem to react, just kept watching him. “I know.”
He started to look away but didn’t,
keeping his eye on the purple irises that reminded him so much of a storm. “I don’t know … what I would have done without you on this expedition.”
“Died,” she said quickly. “That’s the short answer.” She let the slyest hint of a smile show through her grim facade.
“True enough. But I meant besides that.” He held out a hand to her, but she made no move to take it. “I meant … in all the other ways you’ve carried me through this time of trial. All the things you’ve—”
She leaned over and kissed him, maintaining her perfect grip on the horse. It was rough and heavy, a press with enough weight and feral savagery behind it that he wondered if she were about to bite him too. She broke from him and balanced back on her horse. “Don’t ever forget what I can be to you, then. Remember it while you’re mulling through … whatever you’re mulling.”
He gave her a slow nod of acknowledgment. “I will. Be safe.” He flicked a look toward J’anda and Cattrine, mobbed by the crowd, whose upthrust hands were gently clawing at them, waiting for bread. “Take care of them, will you?”
“J’anda I can promise I’ll take care of.” A dark look flickered over her. “The other … I’ll try.” She said it so grudgingly, it sounded as though she’d been turned upside down and had it shaken out.
“Yes,” Cyrus said. “Try. For me.”
There was a sigh of near-disgust and Aisling turned her horse around. “The things I do for you …”
Windrider began to move again without any action from Cyrus, and the warrior looked down in surprise. “Well, all right then.”
“You think they’ll be okay?” Martaina asked, coming alongside him as they rode, the wind coming from the north now, and carrying that faintest hint of the breath of Drettanden, that smell of death.
Crusader: The Sanctuary Series, Volume Four Page 80