Warlord (22 page)

The titan fell to the earth with a significant thump, landing on his shoulders and head and then sagging, moaning in the night, arms flung wide and his eyes shut.

“Ahh!” another titan below shouted, though not too loudly. Cyrus ran down swiftly, passing Vara as she halted her own upward momentum and turned to join him, the rest of group A in tow.

“I’d tell you to slow bloody down,” she said as he darted past, “but it would seem you’re doing all the work, and I don’t mind that at all.”

“Just like—”

“Do not say—” she warned, the rest of her reply lost to the wind as he left her behind.

Cyrus rushed back to ground level to find one of the titans that had been sleeping was now quite awake, though bleeding heavily from a botched attempt to cut his throat. He studied the creature, watched the bluish blood pumping out from beneath its left hand, and he shook his head. “Wrong side of the throat to start on, people,” he said at a normal volume. He cast eyes behind him and saw a few of his finest warriors pulling the titan that had been on guard to the ground. It had only a hand up in the air, and a faltering one at that, coming under the attack of half a hundred blades.

That situation in hand, Cyrus threw himself toward the titan bleeding from the neck, darting in a zigzag pattern toward the creature. It followed him with dull eyes under a heavy brow, peering at him with a hint of fear.
You know death when you see it, don’t you?

The titan made to swing a fist at him, but its motions were slow and clumsy, and the first swipe missed wide of Cyrus, and indeed wide of where he had been during his entire run. The titan’s bleary eyes failed to track him, and so he moved in and cut the artery with a quick motion, moving around a thumb to do so. When he finished, he jabbed Praelior into the voice box and gave it a swift slice before throwing himself backward to avoid reprisal.

None came, and the titan made only one further attempt to speak, a gagging sound, ululating deep in the throat, before it slid slowly sideways to the earth and relaxed into death’s grip.

Cyrus surveyed the raw chaos of the watch post with reluctant pride. “Any deaths?” he asked, back to speaking normally.

“Not on our side,” Vara said from a few feet off. She looked to have been doing some surveying of her own, and her breastplate’s silver was still immaculate, bearing none of the glistening red that glinted on his in the firelight. She inclined her head toward the titan that had fallen off the platform. “I think that one’s still alive, though they’re working on it now.”

“Indeed,” Cyrus said, watching the group that had carved up the other sentry falling upon his. They had him surrounded. A few climbed atop him like tiniest children on an adult, and were stabbing furiously at any square of flesh they could find. Cyrus cringed at the image, trying to shake the thought of it out of his mind.

Vara’s gaze mirrored his own, and she puckered her lips. “It is a bit odd to see, isn’t it? Like a rebellion of infants slaughtering the grown-ups?”

“I was thinking the same and finding it highly disturbing,” Cyrus said, focusing on her. “We need to pull down the watch post and add it to the fire.”

“Don’t you think the other posts will notice that?” she asked, nodding at the large wooden structure. “It’s rather large.”

“Probably,” Cyrus said, taking a few climbing strides up as he looked out over the savanna. To the east and west, he could see more watch fires. The ones closest to them, in the north, were already glowing brighter. “But it’s what I told the others to do. The purpose of this isn’t just to piss off the titans, it’s to destroy the mechanism by which they’re enforcing their dominance here. Let them haul tons of lumber out to rebuild all we take; we’ll just come and do it again if they don’t guard carefully.”

“But your very plan hinges on them becoming so upset as to increase their guard,” Vara said. “Wasn’t that the purpose of all this? To draw them out the front door?”

“If the dragons can fulfill their end of the bargain, yes,” Cyrus said, staring out over the ocean of darkness across the savanna, the grass gently swaying below him.

She stepped up to his side. The sounds of dying titans far below had faded into the night, and now he could hear his army working at disassembling the tower—quietly chopping at the ropes that held it all together. “What if the dragons don’t intervene?” Her voice was quiet, hushed. “What if Ehrgraz can’t get them to do what you hope he will?”

“Then this strategy is even more important,” Cyrus said quietly, meeting her eyes in the dark, barely able to see the glistening blue save for by the power of a spell, “because if we don’t get the help we need, we’re going to have divide and conquer them.” He looked south, where he knew, somewhere far ahead, was Fortress Returron, and beyond that, somewhere in the dark, Kortran. “And with these titans … it’s a hell of a lot to divide and conquer.”

After they were done with the tower, the army moved on once again, swiftly and silently through the tall grass. They walked for a further three hours, maintaining a fast pace, with stops every twenty minutes for a short break and to allow Vara and Martaina to listen carefully to the wind. Each time they were rewarded with a quiet that indicated no guard patrols were moving, which was as Cyrus expected.

“The titans haven’t gotten used to having the Eagle Eye spell at their disposal,” Cyrus said after they had reached a point just below a hill that he’d noted on his map after his flight and confirmed with Cora through a few messages carried by her druid. “Either that or they don’t have enough spellcasters to spread it around.”

“If I were planning a war, I don’t think I’d care to hinge it upon that belief,” Vara said. When Cyrus looked at her blankly, she went on. “On them having few spellcasters, I mean. I’d assume ignorance first, and that they can adapt at any time.”

“That’s always how I plan,” Cyrus said. They sat between tall blades of grass, the small army spread out around them, huddled in silence as they ate conjured bread and jerky brought in their small packs. “I assume the worst.”

Vara made a face. “That explains the first several years of our acquaintance.”

“It was certainly a hostile series of encounters,” Cyrus said with a smile.

Vara started to make a reply and then stopped, and he could sense her ears twitching. “Small footsteps—one of the army groups, but they’re coming out of the west.”

Cyrus directed his eyes toward the grass to the west and stood, putting his hand on Praelior. Soon enough, he heard it, too, and waited, until a familiar, bucket-shaped helm peeked through the grass. Terian grinned, his mouth and chin exposed to the world. “We should really have set up a sign and countersign; who knows what loathsome characters could have come strolling into your camp—Malpravus? Goliath?”

“You,” Vara said, but it lacked much sharpness.

“Terian,” Cyrus said with a slight smile pulling at one side of his mouth. Terian strolled into their makeshift camp, an army of dark elves trailing in his wake, a slightly larger group than the one Cyrus had with him. Though they were armored poorly compared to Sanctuary’s group, they seemed heavy on spellcasters. Cyrus took it all in, and when Terian got close, he nodded at a thick cluster of enchanters that moved together, their robes looking particularly fresh. “I didn’t think nations were allowed to have this many spellcasters at their disposal under League law.”

Terian’s lips puckered and he reached up to scratch the back of his neck. “Well, Saekaj’s Leagues are in a slightly different place than the rest of Arkaria’s, in that they answer to the Sovereign.”

Cyrus took that in, but Vara beat him to the follow-up punch. “You’re saying that the other Leagues don’t answer to their nation’s authorities?”

“Nope,” Terian said with a shake of the head. “They answer to the gods.” He made an almost apologetic shrug. “Which, I mean, technically, answering to the Sovereign—well, it used to be the same thing …”

“That’s interesting,” Cyrus said and meant it. He watched the slow mingling of the Sanctuary group with the dark elven forces, an uncomfortable melding at first, the sides looking slightly standoffish or shy. “I have to admit, Terian … it’s a relief to see you.” He caught the curious look from the white knight. “I mean, I saw your fires on the horizon when your people took out the watch towers we’d assigned, but a part of me didn’t dare to hope you’d actually be here until now.”

Terian let out a low guffaw. “Hope? I imagine it’s not an emotion you’re used to associating with me at this point.”

“But once, yes,” Cyrus said, and he smiled ever so slightly, “and lately, again.”

Terian planted a hand on Cyrus’s shoulder, reaching up to do so. “We’ll keep working on that.” He looked around, his new helm snug upon his head, the axe on his back sticking far up into the air as though he were bearing a pole to hold a standard behind him. “Where’s the rest of your army? Things are looking a little spare around here.”

“Well, they didn’t have quite the short jaunt that we did,” Cyrus said, turning his head to look to the east. “We sent some to another portal closer to their targets, and of course we had some help out of Amti—”

“Which has arrived,” came a quiet voice from only a few paces behind Cyrus. He turned and saw Gareth, nearly blending in with the grass. Cora appeared at his side, her spell of invisibility dropping like water sloshing off her. Cyrus saw other elves, cloaked in what looked grass cloth, their movement in the still night the only thing to give them away.

“Cora,” Terian said warmly.

“Gods,” Cora whispered, taking a step toward. “Terian, is that you?”

“It is I,” Terian said, and she took halting steps forward until she embraced him, wrapping her arms around the armor. “I suppose I’m not as easy to recognize as I used to be.”

“You look very distinctive,” Cora said, pulling back and taking him in with a glance, “but, you are correct … you no longer look like the old Terian.” She tapped his pauldron, now smooth, though weathered. “It would appear you found an impressive chrysalis for your transformation.”

“I had one given to me,” Terian said with a muted smile, “at a cost most dear.”

“General,” came another voice from behind Cyrus. He turned once more to find Odellan approaching, footsteps as silent as Gareth’s, though his armor was covered in scarlet liquid, the blood tracing lines in the intricate designs. His helm was slightly off center as well, the wings pointed just a touch to the right.

“Odellan,” Cyrus said, acknowledging him. “I take it you were successful?”

“We destroyed our target,” Odellan said, easing into the small circle forming. He looked at Gareth and Cora, and gave each a nod before taking in Terian with a careful, considered look. “Isn’t that the armor of …?”

“Did you succeed in your mission?” Cyrus asked Cora and received a nod in return.

“It was a bit of a strain,” Gareth said, voice a little rough. Cyrus glanced around and saw Martaina standing a ways off with Andren, her eyes on Gareth.

“I suppose you’re used to hunting smaller game,” Cyrus said, turning his attention back to the ranger of Amti.

Gareth made a rough snorting sound that was near-silent. “Have you seen the beasts of these savannas and the jungle?” When Cyrus shook his head, Gareth went on. “The predatory cats we hunt are one and half times the size of a titan. They can swallow you whole.” He looked toward the hill just south of them, the one that stood between them and Fortress Returron. “Our only advantage there is that they’re solitary creatures.” He looked back at the assemblage. “Titans hunt in packs.”

Another few minutes passed in quiet conversation, and another few army groups trickled in, their leaders making their way to the circle of officers and leaders for the expedition. Cyrus listened to the conversation, Vara standing still next to him, only the occasional look passing between them. The arrival of Samwen Longwell, his spear tip bloody and crusted in dirt along with Curatio, white robes covered in red splotches, signaled the end of the waiting. Cyrus looked to the sky and saw no hint of dawn, which gave him a very slight relief.

“Looks like it’s time to begin,” he said, tracing his way to the center of the circle without hesitation. When he got there, he paused, reflecting.
I’m in the middle of leading an expedition that includes all the forces that Amti and Saekaj can spare, with their respective leadership here, listening to me.

And five years ago I was sleeping alone in a horse barn, in a bed barely big enough for me, with Andren and Narstron not ten feet away, broke, utterly desperate, and with not a follower to my name other than those two. Now I speak to the leaders of nations and command larger armies than anyone else
. He caught a glimpse of Vara watching him, and she quietly gave him a smile of encouragement, as though she could read what he was thinking.

Oh, how the wheel does turn. And swiftly, at that.

“You’ve all seen the plans,” Cyrus said, “so I won’t belabor the point. The tasks are assigned, and I know you all well enough to be sure you know your parts.” He saw a nod from Terian and got a more subtle one from Gareth. “When we go over this hill, everyone needs to take their positions slowly and quietly. You are all in charge of your own divisions, and they must move perfectly in synchronization for this plan to come out a success. If even one of our groups should move out of turn, or go before the attack is called, we risk the safety of this entire combined army.” He took a deep breath. “We have only a few precious hours until dawn, and we have another stop to make after this. Let’s get going.” With a sharp nod, he dismissed them and strode forward out of the camp, his force falling into line behind him without need of a word being spoken, the Guildmaster of Sanctuary on march with his army.

Cyrus waited under the last cover of grass, an even hundred yards separating him from the outer wall of Fortress Returron, the immense structure looking like a forest transplanted out of the south beyond Kortran, the trees the size of the ones around the Iliarad’ouran woods. They had clearly been harvested, had the boughs skinned off, been smoothed slightly, and driven hard into the ground to make a great wall around the fort. Stationed at six equidistant points around the wall were towers of the sort that had been built out on the savanna. Cyrus counted two titans per tower, on watch and in varying states of sloth. The two nearest him were laughing, and to his left, almost near the back gate to the south, the two atop that tower appeared to be sleeping on their feet.