Crusader: The Sanctuary Series, Volume Four (101 page)

“Ahoy!” Cyrus watched the boat as the oars stroked out the sides toward him. It was long, at least fifty feet in length, with a mast and sail and a few crew members. He swam up to it at the approach, seized the side and hauled himself out of the water with a hand from Martaina. He fell upon the deck and looked up to the pillared balcony far above. Drettanden remained, standing, head draped over the railing, eyes following Cyrus on the boat.

“That thing …” Cattrine said from beside him, “it seems quite fixated on you.”

“Yeah,” Cyrus said. “This is what happens when you insult a guy’s mother when you’re three. Old grudges die hard.”

She frowned. “You’re joking. This hardly seems the time.”

Cyrus shook his head, wiping water from his beard. “I don’t know what else to say.”

Cattrine stood as they came further out into the sea from the palace. There was light to their left, and Cyrus turned from looking at the crew of a half dozen rowers on the small lower deck to the city, where lights blazed, and his mouth fell open.

It burned. Half the city was on fire, blazing strips of light where smoke drifted in the corners against the walls. Against the fiery backdrop, figures were visible, running around on four legs, striking people down. The docks were a frenzy of activity, ships casting off, battles being fought. The fires cast light on the walls of the city, and Cyrus realized to some surprise that they crawled, covered over with scourge scaling them as easily as he might climb a ladder.

“Look at them go,” Martaina whispered, and the crew stopped rowing. Other boats were launching out of the docks as quickly as they could steer out of the harbor with crews rowing madly. Cyrus watched as a scourge ran to the end of the docks and leapt into a boat. The screams carried over the water.

“They came because of him,” Cyrus said, looking up into the air, to the outline of Drettanden, still watching him from the balcony. “He came because of me. We brought death to Caenalys.” He bowed his head and felt Cattrine’s hand on his wet hair, stroking it gently off his brow where it crept out from beneath his helm.

“It was coming anyway,” Cattrine whispered, and he felt her kneel next to him. “My brother would have laid siege to the city trying to get the walls open, and it would have taken months. The scourge would have come around behind him and taken his army then the city, anyway. She looked in concern. “Where is my brother?”

Cyrus felt a surge of guilt. “We rode ahead of his army three weeks ago. They would have arrived here in another week.” He swallowed heavily. “I don’t … I have no idea whether they met the scourge or not. We had thought these creatures bottled up, fighting our armies at Enrant Monge while we planned to evacuate the rest of Luukessia.” Blackness climbed into his mind.
They followed me. I changed the rules and ruined all our battle plans, all our assumptions. I’ve failed again, and hundreds of thousands have died for that failure.

“Where do we go now?” Aisling asked quietly as they sat there, drenched in the glow and the noise.

“West,” Cyrus answered, and he saw the men at the oars put them back in the water after a nod from Cattrine. “If the armies of Luukessia are still out there, they’ll have to flee toward the bridge. Hopefully we’ll meet up with them there.”

J’anda let the quiet remain in place for an additional moment before he spoke. “While I love the conditional ‘hopefully,’ what’s your plan if they’re not?”

Cyrus felt his jaw clench. “Then I guess we’ll have to cover the retreat of the last civilians ourselves … and hope the scourge don’t follow us over the bridge.”

He cast his eyes back toward Caenalys, even as they rowed away, past the palace and toward the west. The city burned, a little at a time. The air was cold, not like winter but the distant fires gave no warmth at all. The smell of death was heavy in the air, along with the smoke that came in drifts off the city. Cyrus sat there, dripping, breathing it all in, and watched as the Kingdom of Actaluere reached its end.

They rowed on through the night, through a swell and a rain that chilled Cyrus through, spattering on his armor. They went west, and when he took his turn at the oars, Cyrus felt the pull of them over and over on his hands, the knotty pine of the wood smoothed and making callouses in places he hadn’t had them before. The rain washed away the smell of death, sapped the salt from the air and went slightly chill but nothing in comparison to what they had braved in the winter up north. There was still the taste of salt permeating in Cyrus’s mouth from the air before the rain, and he rowed on, with the others, until he tired, then he clutched Praelior in his hand and pinned it against the oar, using the strength to keep going long past when he might otherwise have quit.

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.

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.