Warlord

by Robert J. Crane

  The titan’s reaction was immediate, all thought of the arrows and their shooter forgotten, he clutched at his crotch, falling to his knees as Vaste scrambled out of the way. Calene Raverle placed three solid bow shots right into the eyes, and the titan fell dead, his pain forgotten.

  “This is chaos,” came a small voice from next to Cyrus. He turned and looked down at Mendicant, quivering in his robes only a few feet from Cyrus. “Utter and complete.”

  “We tend to bring it with us wherever we go,” Cyrus said dryly, “like we carry it in our travel trunk, I suppose.”

  “Indeed,” Mendicant said and shot a spell of ice across the battlefield where it came to rest on a titan’s face, encrusting him from chin to forehead as he was reaching down to strike at Odellan, whose back was turned where he stood perched in the middle of the battleground. He spun at the sound and leapt up with the aid of Falcon’s Essence to smash the titan in the face, shattering the ice and part of the creature’s cheek with it. Cyrus caught a glimpse of skull, muscle and bone, along with bare eyes, bereft of the cover of lids, before the titan fell to the ground.

  “Where are the titan healers? That’s what I want to know,” Cyrus said, moving slightly to the side to give Mendicant a clear shot as he hurled another spell past Cyrus and into a cluster of titans running from behind the barracks. The spell burst in a cloud of green that filled the air with a noxious toxin, and when the titans emerged, they came out as green in the face as if they’d been painted by it, and all three fell to their knees within ten paces, only to be finished off by a raging army of dark elves.

  “In the barracks, I would hope,” Mendicant said, gathering his robes back around his tiny figure. “Burning to death.” The robes were streaked with mud that was visible in the light of the burning buildings. The fire had consumed the roofs of the barracks and the command post. The storehouse, however, was only partially lit, and while Cyrus wasted a second pondering what to do about it—

  “Look out!” Mendicant cried, but it was too late.

  A titan burst through a first-floor window twenty feet away from Cyrus, fully committed to his charge. Cyrus took him in with a glance as he flew forward, buttoned up with his armor on, not only the chestplate but the gauntlets as well. He flew through the air in a fury on course directly for Cyrus. The warrior froze, the speed of the titan carrying him unerringly forward.

  35.

  “Arnngraav, urnkaaav!” Mendicant cried. Cyrus’s mind tried to make sense of the exhortation even as he watched, still slightly stunned, as the titan dropped precipitously toward him. He had Praelior tightly clutched in his hand and was ready to spring to the side when a burst of flame the size of a steed bellowed forth from behind him and struck the giant full on, causing him to raise his gauntlets to defend his face.

  The titan’s maneuver failed. The flame shot past his weak defense, striking him full in the eyes, in the nose, the chin, and lighting his coarse beard on fire. He landed on his elbows just in front of Cyrus, sliding forward as Cyrus stuck out Praelior and jabbed, reflexively, into the titan’s closed eye. He pushed, hard, and the titan jerked only once before dying, laying his cheek in the mud and moving no more.

  “That was … a bit hairy,” Mendicant said from behind him. Cyrus turned to the see the goblin looking more than a little discomfited. He’d seized his robe by its front and was clutching it with clawed hands, carefully kneading the material between his fingers.

  “Aye,” Cyrus said, watching the wizard with care of his own, “but we made it through, you and I.” He pondered for a moment then asked the question on his mind. “When you shouted at him, was that—”

  Mendicant’s scaly skin flushed a deeper shade of green, almost imperceptible in the dark. “Please don’t tell anyone I did that.”

  Cyrus’s eyes narrowed. “That wasn’t just a goblin curse, was it? That was—”

  “Shhhhh,” Mendicant said, raising his hands in a panic, eyes wide and lit by the fiery backdrop around them. “I wouldn’t—please don’t say anything, I don’t want to be declared heretic—”

  “Your secret is safe with me,” Cyrus said with a smile. “It was an accident, but keep in mind that we regularly associate with people in our guild who have committed actual heresy. I doubt anyone will get much up in arms about you speaking a spell aloud while trying to save your Guildmaster—a dumb warrior with no use for magic—from a leaping titan. If they even knew about it—which they won’t,” Cyrus said with a smile, holding a single finger up to his lips.

  “Thank you,” Mendicant said with undisguised relief. “Truly, Lord Davidon, you are—”

  “Please do not pour ever sweeter compliments into his ear,” Vara said, strolling up to them. A quick glance confirmed for Cyrus that the battle for Fortress Returron was well and truly over. Every one of the structures ringing the wooden wall was fully engulfed in flames, fire pouring out the windows, roaring to the skies higher than five titans. “It makes him ever more insufferable to deal with, his ego expanding like the fortifications these grotesque creatures have placed across the savanna.”

  “My apologies, Lady Vara,” Mendicant said and scampered away without another word, his robes trailing behind him.

  “What was that all about?” Vara asked as they watched him retreat to stand by Nyad, who was some distance off in a small circle next to a dark elven spellcaster with a long white ponytail.

  “Mendicant just saved my life,” Cyrus said with a very slight smirk. “He’s struggling with it.”

  “I used to struggle with that very dilemma,” she said seriously. “More than a few times I found myself wishing I hadn’t.”

  Cyrus waited a beat. “But you’re glad you did it now, right?”

  She gave him a smirk of her own. “Most days.”

  “‘Most days’?”

  “Come along, Guildmaster,” she said, taking him by the hand, her gauntlets clinking with his. “This fight is over, but we have another on the horizon, and the light of morning is drawing ever nearer …”

  Cyrus took one last look around, surveying the chaos they had wrought. The beams of the nearest barracks were plainly exposed, the roof burned away. A look at the second barracks found it already collapsing in upon itself, fire blooming heavenward. No survivors there, he thought. He gave one look back at the storehouse and motioned to Larana as he passed her on his way out of the camp. She nodded once, his command understood, and he saw the brightness of her flames as she cast them at the last building in Fortress Returron.

  “All right, Sanctuary,” Cyrus said, lifting his hand and raising it up, sure that his command were being obeyed even without needing to look back to see, “let’s go make a hostile visit to Kortran.” He took a final look at the flaming wreckage of Fortress Returron and its thousand-titan garrison. “It’s time we teach the titans to keep their big, knotty noses the hell out of the north.”

  36.

  “That was so much fun,” Terian said, falling into stride next to Cyrus at the head of the combined army. Cyrus had judged Terian’s manpower to be somewhere in the ten thousand range, noting more than a few women in the dark elven army as well, warriors and rangers mostly. The Sovereign of Saekaj let out a deep sigh. “I’ve missed this.”

  “I suppose leading a nation doesn’t offer many opportunities to go out and destroy things,” Cyrus said, looking sidelong at Terian.

  “Not as many, no, now that we’re at peace.” He straightened up in his armor. “But that’s not exactly what I meant. I could lead an army anytime, I’ve certainly got one now.” He waved vaguely behind them. “And a pretty good one, at that, though they need some more training, and our spellcasters are almost all young.” He settled into a solemn march for a few paces before expounding further. “I mean I miss … this.” He cast a look over his shoulder at the Sanctuary army. “This feeling. Being here, not just by myself marching with an army, but—”

  “I know you what you mean,” Cyrus said, and looked back over his shoulder to see Va
ra nodding along, surely listening, only a few paces back. “Sanctuary was always a different sort of place. I’d applied to other guilds before, you know, before I took over the Kings of Reikonos, and it was always—stiff, formal … you know.”

  “They kept you at arms’ length,” Terian said, nodding. “You never felt like you belonged.”

  “Yeah,” Cyrus said with a nod, grass crunching beneath his feet. “That’s it exactly.”

  “You were blacklisted by the Society of Arms, Cyrus,” Terian said, pursing his lips as if in pain. “I don’t know if anyone ever told you—”

  “No.” Cyrus said, shaking his head. “That can’t be right. I graduated—”

  “And they blacklisted you immediately after,” Terian said. “That’s why you couldn’t get accepted to any of the guilds you applied to before Sanctuary. Grinnd brought me the record himself; it went out to every League in Arkaria.”

  “Why?” Cyrus asked, his surprise coming out in a whisper. “I—I made it through the gauntlet they made me run.” His voice rose with his emotions. “I passed every damned challenge they hit me with, and I—”

  “I know,” Terian said. “There was no further detail in the instruction, just, ‘Cyrus Davidon is not to be admitted to any guild, or they shall suffer a loss of—’ I forget exactly how they said it, but they made it sound like whoever took you in wasn’t going to get invited to any more tea parties.”

  “Must have been some good tea,” Cyrus said, a strong strain of bitterness running through his words.

  “Well, it all worked out, didn’t it?” Terian asked. When Cyrus looked at him with a half-irritated glance, Terian went on. “Think about it—what if you’d gotten into a bigger guild before you came to Sanctuary? You might have ended up in one of the big three at this point, and you’d be—I don’t know, an officer, maybe? Probably a really good one, or, depending on how the war treated you, maybe a dead one—”

  “Maybe,” Cyrus said, feeling a hard stab of disappointment. “I didn’t … gods. That explains a lot. So much, really. I thought maybe …” He rubbed his forehead, nudging aside his helm to do so.

  “I’ll admit, the whole thing makes me curious, too,” Terian said, nodding. “Unfortunately, my Society of Arms head is pretty new at his job, and the old one died in the war, along with most of the staff, so …” He shrugged. “Sorry I can’t give you more.”

  “Well, that certainly explains why I didn’t find a guild I could ‘belong’ with until Sanctuary invited me to join,” Cyrus said. “And like you said,” he felt a hint of great consolation, “if I’d taken any other path, I probably wouldn’t be walking here right now.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” Terian said, now suddenly all too serious. He turned his head back toward the south, and they continued their march through the night with the rustle of the wind at their backs.

  37.

  The gates of Kortran were enormous, but hardly an actual gate. It was, instead, a massive stone arch tall enough to accommodate several titans stacked atop one another. When Cyrus and his army approached, it was without fear, for the very obvious sentries posted at the gates had been slain, some eight of them, and all around them lounged a mixed army of Sanctuary and dark elves, standing in near-silence under the star-filled sky at the base of the mountain pass to the titan city.

  Standing in the shadows of the arch and visible only after they drew closer were five additional titans. Cyrus did not worry, since they were merely standing there, only a few arms’ lengths away from the army, but he did not truly relax until he reached the opening of the pass and saw, up close, the blue-robed enchanter standing beneath the mighty creatures. His back looked slightly hunched, but he still carried his staff, leaning on it for support. “Ah,” J’anda said, taking in Cyrus’s approach, “there you are. I feel as if I have been waiting all night.”

  “If your staff is anything like my sword,” Cyrus said, “it makes the passage of time seem too slow.”

  “I’m still getting used to that with my axe,” Terian said, casting a look at Cyrus. “I, uh … wouldn’t suggest you try using it in bed.”

  Cyrus did not reply, but a thunderous response came from behind him, unbidden. “You clutched your axe in an intimate moment with your wife?” Vara asked, voice a low hiss in spite of the force of her question. “You idiot!”

  “I didn’t think it through all the way,” Terian said, his deep blue skin darkening. “It sped up my reaction times on, uh … everything.”

  “Plus, you were clutching a weapon in the bedroom,” Vara said. “Hardly the most ideal or exciting marital aid.”

  “Depends on the marriage,” Terian said with a barely suppressed grin. “I can imagine that it’ll be ideal in yours.”

  “Wait, he’s married?” Cyrus asked, feeling as though he’d been lost several turns back in the conversation. “When did that happen?”

  “Years back,” Terian said, dismissing him out of hand. “Try to keep up.”

  Cyrus shook off that thought, standing under the archway and staring down the winding path into the mountainous valley. Kortran was somewhere ahead, hidden here in terrain so rugged that he could not see any other route through save for the road or Falcon’s Essence. “Huh,” he said.

  “Work through your shock at his marriage later,” Vara said, causing Cyrus to snap his head around to look at her.

  “I—what? No, I was thinking that I bet the titans don’t guard their northern approaches with bowmen even after this,” Cyrus said, inclining his head toward the city somewhere below, ahead of the turns in the road. “They’re very inflexible in their thinking thus far. I suspect they have towers set up in the mountains to the south to block dragon approaches, but I don’t remember seeing any from the brief look I got into the south mountains when I was on Ehrgraz’s back.” His lips twisted in a smile. “If we manage to pull this off, we might still have an opening into Kortran.” He paused, wavering. “Albeit one with an exceedingly long travel time.”

  “Indeed,” Vara said, “well, keep that one in your pocket for later.” She brushed her lips against his for a bare second. “For now, focus on the matter at hand, yes?”

  “That didn’t help,” Cyrus complained as she pulled away from him, but she did not look back, and he watched her cross to Belkan Stillhet, who stood with his own army group, which had been tasked with eliminating some of the eastern towers. He stood next to Scuddar, who had a group of his own, and Thad, whose earlier nervous glances at Martaina seemed to be stifled at present. The warrior looked calmly straight ahead, a satisfied smile on his face and his armor a darker crimson than usual.

  “Women are quite the mystery, aren’t they?” Terian asked, causing Cyrus’s head to whipsaw around.

  “I’m still stuck on the thought of you, married,” Cyrus said. “You, the man who visited whorehouses more frequently than he visited the latrine.”

  “I’m proud to announce that I evened that number out with my morning movement.”

  “It’s not morning yet,” Cyrus said, unable to hide his smirk. He looked at the assembled army making their way forward in loose lines, the last elements trailing out of the grass, and he held up a hand to silence them. Quiet fell, even among the dark elves that had never before seen him. “Down this path lies a sleeping city of titans. You’ve seen them by now, and you know the danger they represent.” He cast a look back down the strange path and realized something surprising. There used to be boulders down there—they’re gone. Titans must have realized they give cover to us little people. “This is a foe that thinks themselves prepared for us, that makes ready to come into our lands and wage war upon us.” He felt the lines of his face harden. “They think us food, like hares or chickens, something to make supper with. Make no mistake, they would feast on our bones, and those of our families, and every other person in the north.” He cast a sidelong glance at Cora, who stood next to Larana and wore a slightly perturbed look. “And everywhere in between,” he added hastily.
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br />   “The purpose of this strike is not merely to damage their capability to land such an attack,” Cyrus said, “it is to make them question why in the Realm of Death or Fire they would have thought it was a good idea to even ponder such a thing. I mean to make them fear us, fear us all. Let them find us a morsel unpalatable for their consumption, even more unpalatable than we find the idea of them flooding into our towns and cities.” He glanced at Terian. “Or else we’ll all be living underground soon enough.” He raised his hand and beckoned them forward, down the path to Kortran.

  “Nice touch,” Terian said, falling into line beside him, “I think it appealed to the greatest fears of my Sovarians, the idea that we’d have even more people squeezed down there with them.”

  Cyrus looked back and saw J’anda’s pets striding forth at the sides of the army. One of them had a strange shape atop its shoulders, and it took him a moment to realize the enchanter was riding the titan, legs spread around its neck, holding his staff high to urge it onward. “That’s a hell of a thing,” Cyrus muttered.

  “I’ve seen weirder,” Terian said, and nodded to Cyrus’s left. He turned and saw Fortin striding down the path, eyes forward, his face even more furious than usual. “Like that, for instance. Good morning, Fortin.”

  Fortin’s head swung around to take in Terian. “Good day, pretty thing.”

  Cyrus tried to decide what exactly Fortin meant by that and failed utterly. “You look ready for battle, Fortin. I trust you had a productive slaughter in the savanna?”

  “I killed several titans with my bare hands,” Fortin said, lifting his rocky fists up. They still looked a little damp, and the blood was unmistakable. “I look forward to killing more. Their skin provides a challenge, being so thick, but I find it to be a nice, rough surface to scratch against.” He looked down at his fingers. “I have honed claws upon their flesh.”