Briyce Unger straightened, nodding at Longwell. “Every man I could summon to escape, save for those escorting our women and children south, I have brought here or to the to fight to our north. Syloreas has fallen, but our men fight on-for Luukessia.”
Milos Tiernan gave a sigh. “Every man I command, from here to the southern seas, I have summoned to me. Every one who has responded is here and is willing to fight to defend this place in the hopes that this scourge will never touch their homes or their families.” He hesitated. “For Luukessia-and for us all.”
“We commit to this fight everything that we have brought with us,” Curatio said, speaking in Cyrus’s place. The warrior considered standing and dismissed the thought; to move to the front would expose my back to Terian. Best to let Curatio do the speaking for us, since he is the Elder-and a better spokesman than I, in any case. “We have asked for additional aid and should it come, it will be pledged to your cause, to defend your land.” The elf gave a slight nod. “For Luukessia.”
Grenwald Ivess took it all in, and Cyrus had a feeling that the Brother was almost letting it steep like tea leaves in water, allowing the words to run into the ears of all present, to let them take it all in. “The Brotherhood of the Broken Blade has maintained Enrant Monge as the last vestige of the old world of Luukessia; the days when our Kingdoms were one. We have also kept our presence here to defend this remnant against those who would attack it. We have on the grounds over one thousand knights in our sworn service, volunteers all and well-trained. We commit them to this effort to save our homeland.
“I appreciate the sacrifices that all of you have made to come here,” Ivess said, “and to bring with you all you have. The people of Luukessia are losing their homes, their lands, and their lives at so startling a speed that it is barely fathomable. The men who stand before me are the last hope of this land. You men, who once upon a time vied for yourselves and your Kingdoms, I see now before me united against this common foe. It is well that you think of Luukessia at a time like this, even those of you who have been scarcely touched by this menace as yet.
“Let this be the place where the unity of Luukessia was made final,” Grenwald Ivess said, hitting his stride, his rich baritone echoing in the garden, “let this be the place where ten thousand years of bitterness and enmity were put aside for the good of our people. Let us unite once more in hopes that our combined efforts may stave off this disaster that brews, that sits outside our door even now. Let us gather together, stand together-that we may not be divided. That we may not fall.”
Chapter 79
The day was filled with planning; when night fell, it was almost sweet relief of its own kind. Cyrus woke in the middle of the small hours, Aisling settled in next to him in the quiet, nothing audible in the tower room but her breathing. The smell of the air was stale, and the last taste of the night’s stew was still with him. There was a chill in the room, as it had only a small hearth of its own and the fire had died down. He tossed a log upon it and stirred, feeling the slight weight of the poker in his hand as the ashes came back to life slowly over the next minutes and were roaring again soon enough.
Aisling did not move, and he watched her for a few minutes in the quiet, her white hair catching the orange glow of the fire. She looks so … small, he thought, and wondered about it only until he remembered that she was short, shorter than-
Cyrus’s fingers came to his face, rubbed his eyes, as though he could strike the vision out of them, rub the image of the blond-haired elf from them. It has been near a year since last I saw her. One would think I would be well and truly done with her by now. He looked back to Aisling, who lay under the blankets, her blue skin dull against the grey cloth. I am different. Things are different, now. She told me flatly that it would never work, could never work. He squeezed his bare hand against the cold stone floor, pressed it, felt the smoothness of it. Why is it so hard to be rid of her?
He stewed for only another minute before he stood, quietly dressed and went out the door. He gave a last look at his lover before he left; if she was awake, she had the good grace to say nothing. Another reason she’s vastly superior to … her. Sometimes I just need to be alone with my thoughts.
His steps carried him along the spiral staircase to a lower landing. The lamps were low, dim, and Cyrus saw a glow of color outside a translucent window, something faintly orange and red. He stopped at the landing and stepped toward the door, which he knew led outside, onto the castle’s interconnected ramparts.
With a squeak the door opened, and he grimaced at the sound. He shut it back carefully then looked around. The ramparts led in either direction; to his right he knew he could find himself overlooking the Garden of Serenity with only a few twists and turns. To his left, however, was the outer wall, and all that lay beyond. He went left, felt the chill of the night air. He drew his heavy cloak around him, trying to hold in the warmth escaping through the cracks in his armor.
His feet carried him along and he looked up into the sky, where an aurora lit the blackness like a fire of its own. It was a magnificent red and orange glow, shimmering faintly, stronger, like a snake of fire sliding its way across the night. He took a breath and exhaled, watching the air steam in front of him. The sky was clear above, but the wisps of clouds were visible in the distance, lit by the aurora. The smell of the night air drew into his nose, freezing it, giving it the smell of cold, all in itself. How is it that cold has a smell?
His walk took him around the perimeter; there were guards, here and there, and they nodded to him as he passed. He found himself at the east wall and looked out, across the small valley beyond. Lit campfires waited below, the entirety of Galbadien’s army laid out before him. Tomorrow they will move north, a half-day’s ride … and a day from now, perhaps two … it will begin.
He let his gauntlet slide along the uneven ramparts, clanking as he dropped it off a crenellation. He followed the curtain wall, though in truth it was all one massive structure. How has this stood for ten thousand years? It is the most magnificent and detailed castle I can recall ever seeing-other than perhaps Vernadam. He thought, too, of Scylax, high upon a mountain. I wonder what Caenalys must be like? Where she was raised-
He let out a small, angry hiss at himself. Can I not be rid of the thoughts of these women? It has been nearly five months since I have seen her, yet she does not leave me be, either …
He walked on toward the north, toward tomorrow. We set out tomorrow. We face them on the day after. He felt a chill, more than the cold. Can we best them? He did not press the answer to that question, almost afraid to know it.
Another guard passed with a nod. Their helms were a simpler things that partially covered their faces. Like the Termina Guard, Cyrus thought, and wondered if he should banish that thought as well, for all its unpleasant associations.
There was a figure on the northern rampart, on the wall segment that jutted out allowing archers to cover the north gate in a siege; the armor was familiar even at this distance, though Cyrus had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he had come to within twenty feet and not even realized it. The outline was visible against the aurora above, spikes shadowed behind hues of fiery orange and flaming red. His helm was off, lying on the nearest crenellation, a spiked crown of its own sort, as pointed as the personality of its wearer.