“Where the hell were those guys when we came into town yesterday?” Terian asked.
“I’m guessing they were set up to the north,” Cyrus said. “Probably positioned between where the enemy is coming from and Vernadam.”
Curatio rode up as they started around the switchback, heading down the path. The sky overhead had taken on some clouds, and the sun seemed to be trying to shine through them, but dimly. Cyrus caught a hint of dust as the wind blew across his face, the dry, earthy smell of dirt that came off the hill behind them.
“You ready?” Curatio said as he slowed his horse to ride next to Terian. “Head clear? Prepared for battle?”
“Quite so,” Cyrus said.
“And was the Baroness still aglow when you left her?” Curatio’s usual infectious smile had been curiously absent of late, but Cyrus saw the tug of it on the elf’s mouth, even as he looked straight ahead, giving Cyrus only a view of the healer’s profile.
“Been doing a little eavesdropping, Curatio?” Cyrus cocked an eyebrow at him.
“It wouldn’t take much eavesdropping to hear your conversation about ‘wagon rides,’ even if I hadn’t been quartered next door to you last night.”
They rode into the village. The army of Sanctuary was already assembled in formation, neatly ordered rows beginning at the square and leading all the way down the main avenue out of town. “I’ll need to talk with Odellan and Longwell as we’re riding,” Cyrus said as he rode down the street, the musk of animals filling the air around them, the hooves clopping. “No need to delay our departure, especially since it appears Count Ranson is already waiting for us.”
Cyrus rode down the line, the others falling in behind him, leading the procession past the rows of his army. He heard hundreds of greetings and acknowledgments of his presence, and smiled, trying to wave at as many of them as he could.
“You might want to cool it off with the excess enthusiasm,” Martaina stage whispered behind him. “You’re so damned happy this morning, they’re bound to wonder where their real general has gone.”
“I prefer going to war under the command of a testy general,” Terian said as Longwell and Odellan fell in behind them. “There’s something unseemly about storming into a fray of swords and arrows, blood and bile, with a guy who looks so damned happy.”
Cyrus rolled his eyes and rode on, past the villagers lined up on both sides of the streets. I wonder if they know how close their Kingdom is to defeat? I wonder if it matters? His thoughts were dark as he rode to the end of the line and the edge of the village. Where else could they go?
The steady sound of hoofbeats carried him forward as Cyrus led the procession out of town; ahead, Count Ranson waited on horseback with Odau Genner and a few of the other familiar faces he’d seen back at the castle.
“Good day, Lord Davidon,” Ranson said as they closed. “My army is assembled and ready to move.”
“Well, then,” Cyrus said, “let us not hesitate any longer.”
“As you are the leader of this force,” Ranson said, “you’ll be proceeding ahead of us, I trust?”
“Aye,” Cyrus said, and felt a stray droplet of rain splatter off his armor, touching his cheek as it splashed. “I trust Sir Longwell can guide us.”
“I’ll be accompanying you as well,” Odau Genner said with a nod, “if that’s all right with you, General.”
“Always room at the front of battle, less so at the rear,” Cyrus said, grinning at Genner in a manner that was not returned. He turned to the army following behind him. “All right, Sanctuary, let’s move out!”
Chapter 17
The ride was long, and by sundown Cyrus was weary of the journey again. They passed into woods called the Forest of Waigh, and the ground become uneven around them as they followed a road north. The trees were bunched close together, moss hanging from the branches, blotting out the sky at the highest levels of the boughs. Raindrops still made their way through, however, and a steady drizzle kept the expedition cool as they made their march.
After the sun went down, the rain seemed to come in torrents, wave after wave of water sluicing down on them, reminding Cyrus of the time he’d been caught in a riverboat during a storm.
“Ha ha,” Terian crowed as Cyrus passed him after inspecting the wet and weary column. “Not quite so happy now, are you, Mr. I-Just-Experienced-The-Long-Forgotten-Thrill-Of-My-Crotch-Last-Night-And-Can’t-Wait-For-More!”
Cyrus ignored him and they plodded on through the gathering darkness. The storm went on into the night, a driving rain that threw sheets of water onto Cyrus’s armor, the heaviest downpour that they had experienced since arriving in Luukessia.
“Our pace has slowed,” Longwell said as he and Odellan rode next to Cyrus. “Unless the rain lets up soon, we won’t be on the Fields of Gareme until long after midnight.” The dragoon looked at Cyrus, almost cringing from the fury of the rain pounding his helm. “And we won’t be in a position to hit their army until after sunrise.”
Cyrus cursed. “I guess we should have left last night.”
“I’m certain they’ll have scouts, sir,” Longwell said. “They’ll see us long before we see them; we need lanterns to travel in this dark, but a single scout doesn’t.”
“We have pickets out as well,” Cyrus said. “If we’re lucky, perhaps they’ll catch any enemy scouts before they get close enough to spot us.”
“Doubtful, sir,” Odellan said, raising his voice over the pouring rain battering their armor. “A scout could pass within yards of us without us noticing, but they’re not likely to miss an entire army tromping by.”
“I feel obligated to warn you in advance, sir,” Longwell said, “the dragoons will not be nearly as effective fighting on the plains after this weather.”
“What?” Cyrus stared at Longwell, questioning.
“The rain will turn the fields into mud,” Longwell said. “The dragoons will be at poor advantage if the army of Syloreas holds true to their usual tactics and carries spears. In a full out charge, dragoons can break through lines of spears, though with some difficulty.” He grimaced, his eyes hidden in the shadow his helm cast over them. “In this, it becomes unlikely they will be able to.”
“Damn,” Cyrus said. “What about bowmen? Surely they must have some.”
“Bows are not nearly so well loved here as you’d find in Arkaria,” Longwell said with regret. “They are neither as accurate nor as useful at range, and as such we have archers, but you’d be in a much better position relying on the Sanctuary rangers to fulfill any role you’d have in mind for my father’s bowmen.”
“That’s to both our advantage and detriment, then,” Cyrus said. “At least we won’t have to advance under volleys of arrows, but it would be awfully nice to be able to shower them with a hail of them.”
“With the accuracy of our rangers,” Odellan said, “we could use our archers to target their officers, perhaps? And these magic-wielding mercenaries that are of such concern?”
“Yes,” Cyrus said. “And we’ll be turning loose some spellcasters of our own. I doubt that they have a wizard.” He smiled grimly. “That bodes ill for them.”
They rode on through the wet and the night, the rain coming down around them with all the fury of a sky’s rage turned loose upon the earth. The ground turned to mud, the sky became black, and the lamps that were carried by the army forced Cyrus and the others on horseback to ride alongside the column, straining to see in the dark as the water that fell through the trees above continued ever on.