Crusader s-4

by Robert J. Crane

  “But it’s not suppressed anymore, is it?” She eased next to him, took a small piece of tinder and put it on the burgeoning flame. “You’re loosed, and you feel it now, the blood in your veins, and …” Her hand reached down, under his armor, through the gap in the chainmail, and he felt her warm touch on his side, on his skin, and somehow it lit a fire of its own in him. “You’re not cold to me like you were before.”

  “I’m not,” he admitted. “I was in love. I had no room in my mind, my heart, for anyone but her. But then I started to feel something for another woman, and it changed things. She changed things,” he corrected. “But she’s gone now, and I’m empty, Aisling, empty all the way to the bottom of me. Whatever is left is only desire, there’s no emotion behind it.” He looked into her eyes, warning her with everything he had. Turn back, understand how burned up I am inside, how cut up and bled out, there’s no feeling left, nothing for you …

  “I want it,” she said quickly, urgently, and she kissed him on the lips, a kiss he did not return. “I don’t care how empty it is, I want it. I’ve wanted it all along.” She kissed him again.

  “I feel nothing,” he said, stopping her. “There’s nothing in me, now. Whatever I had, the two of them took. It’s not fair-not to you, anyway-”

  “I’ll decide what’s fair for me,” she said, kissing him again, pushing herself into his arms. “I’ll decide what’s good for me, what I want.”

  “This …” Cyrus kissed her, felt her kiss back, let her hands run over him, taking his armor off, “… this is all you get, you realize? No emotion, no heart, just … the physical. It’s all I have left.”

  His armor dropped off, piece by piece, and her dark blue hands ran across his pale, hairy chest. She tugged him closer, letting her leather armor slip off over her head, exposing herself to him and pushing close. He could see the contrast now, the dark navy skin against his winter white; the night and day, the difference between her and the other women. “I want it,” she said again, and she helped him out of his pants. “I want it. To hell with the rest.”

  The fire had taken on a life of its own and burned, quietly, a slow roar next to them while the snow and wind howled outside the cave, and the warmth within took on a life of its own.

  Chapter 36

  Cyrus awoke to a long beam of light reaching across the dirt floor of the cave. He started to sit up and realized there was something on his arm; after a moment he acclimated to his surroundings and remembered why Aisling was lying across his body, her hair tickling his shoulder and her soft, steady breathing rising and falling against him. A forceful whinny behind him caused him to look over at Windrider, who glared at him accusingly. “I have no oats,” he said. “Maybe some grass.” A snort from the horse caused Aisling to stir, then sit up, allowing his arm to be free.

  “Good morning,” she said, blinking the sleep from her eyes. She pushed the stray strands of white hair off her face, tucking them behind her in a ponytail that she made by tying her hair with a string. “Did you sleep well?” she asked with a mischievous grin.

  “I did,” Cyrus said, trying to keep his expression carefully neutral, even as she let the blanket fall away from her chest, and the cold air became obvious. “Which is surprising, given that we’re in a somewhat sticky predicament.”

  “Mmm,” she said, stretching. “Were you talking about our escape and flight from the scourge or what happened last night?” She lay back across his chest for a moment, teasing him with a gentle bite to the ribs that caused him to jerk in surprise. She sat back up and laughed, looking at him with undisguised mirth. “Still so sensitive. We’ll work on that.”

  “You sure?” Cyrus asked. “I mean, what I said last night stands …”

  “I heard you then,” she said coolly. “I’m a big girl. I told you what I wanted all along, and if what you want from me is just the thrilling realm of a physical relationship,” she swung a leg over him, climbed on top and straddled him over the blanket, “then I promise, I can thrill you more than those other ladies could.”

  “Oh?” Cyrus said, leaning back on his arms. “As much as I’d love to test that assumption this morning, it’s going to have to wait. We need to get moving.”

  “Couldn’t it wait just a little while?” she asked, teasing one of his chest hairs by twirling it on her finger. “It wouldn’t take long at all … at least for me. You might take a little longer, based on what I’ve seen so far.” Her face split with a wicked grin, her eyes shining even in the light of the faded fire, burnt down to embers.

  “Later,” Cyrus said, and indicated for her to move. “I’m not immune to your charms, but I am possessed of a sense of self-preservation, and we have no idea how many of those things are out there nor where they are. We need to start hoofing it.” He looked to Windrider. “Literally, in your case.”

  They dressed quietly, Cyrus eating some bread from his saddlebag, giving some to Aisling, and then feeding the rest to a semi-appreciative Windrider, who still seemed to be glaring at him. Once they were done, Cyrus started toward the entrance to the cave but felt a subtle tug on his arm. He looked back to see Aisling, shaking her head at him. “Let me look,” she said. “You’re absolutely terrible at any kind of stealth. You’ll give us away if they’re out there.”

  He shrugged and stood back, extending his arm toward the entrance in invitation. Aisling crept to the side of the cave, hugged it, and seemed to blend into the shadows. He could see her move, slightly, every now and again, but only because he knew she was there and where to look. She crept to the entrance of the cave over the course of five minutes and looked out, avoiding the sunlight that was coming in. After a minute, she turned and slipped back toward him, taking another couple minutes to make it over to him.

  “Nope,” she said, her voice hushed “this is bad.”

  “Bad? Bad how?”

  “They’re out there,” she said. “About eighty, by my count, in a line, moving through the ravine below us, just over the ledge that goes past our cave. If we go out, they’ll see us. We need to wait.”

  “I don’t love that idea. What if they circle around and come check this place out? It’s not as though the entrance is well hidden.”

  “Agreed,” she said. “I was thinking … how about the narrow passage at the back of the cave? It might lead to another exit.”

  “And it might lead to us getting trapped in a tight space when they overrun us,” Cyrus said. “Plus, Windrider is gonna have a hell of a time fitting through there.”

  “So you’d rather go the way that we know includes scouts for the enemy?” She shrugged expansively, her white hair highlighted by the darkness. “Have it your way.”

  “No,” Cyrus said. “The other option is that we can sit here and wait for them. They may just pass by. Or,” he said with more of a smile, “we could fight. Though I’m not exactly sanguine about our odds, especially without a healer. Eighty of them is a lot, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there were more.”

  “So we wait?” She had her arms folded, looking at him with a sly expression, waiting to see what he said.

  “Hell, no. I’m terrible at waiting.” He sighed. “To the narrow passage. We can at least take a look around.”

  Despite a slight argument from Windrider in the form of resisting Cyrus’s attempts to pull him along gently by the reins, the horse did give in and follow. Aisling slipped into the narrow passage first, having to make little accommodation to enter, given her slight figure and short stature. “You want to go next?” Cyrus asked Windrider, who just stared at him. “Fine. I’ll do it.” He slid in, having to turn sideways to avoid an edge of rock that jutted out, but once past it, he found he could walk comfortably. Windrider followed, stepping over the obstruction, but the wide-bodied horse’s progress was slow, taking time and brushing against the walls of the passage. When it began to widen again, Cyrus checked and found a few places where the jagged rocks had broken the horse’s hide. “Sorry,” Cyrus said, patting Windrider’s neck
. “But it looks superficial.”

  “Cyrus,” Aisling hissed at him, a low noise that caught his attention. He trudged along the widening path of the cave, and realized for the first time that there was light ahead of them, coming from around a corner. Aisling was against the wall, he finally realized, blending with the shadows. He saw a dark blue hand beckon him forward, and he left Windrider’s reins behind, creeping up behind her. When he got close, she grasped him firmly, pushing him slowly against the wall, her arm across his chest. She held a single finger up to her mouth, then slid out from cover and inched around the corner.

  Cyrus edged up and looked around. Ahead was a slight drop, some form of embankment. He frowned; the horse would have some difficulty getting down that. He froze and caught his breath. Aisling was creeping ahead, and something was moving below. Two somethings, he realized, with grey, pallid flesh, and jagged teeth, rounded heads. A long, thick tongue came out of one of their mouths as it appeared to say something to the scourge next to it, a high, throaty screech from deep within that sounded like nothing Cyrus had ever heard before.

  Aisling jumped off the embankment just then, as Cyrus drew his sword, ready to join her. She hit both the creatures moments after reaching the ground, daggers sliding into the base of their necks, and both went limp without so much as a sound, falling from all fours to flat on the ground, overlarge tongues spread out on the dirt. Aisling looked back and beckoned him forward, and he grasped Windrider’s reins and began to gingerly make his way ahead. “Ais,” he whispered, “if there’s two, there’s more-maybe we should turn around.”

  She either didn’t hear him or ignored him, going forward more quickly than he could stealthily catch her. He followed, cursing her silently the entire time, watching every step, the low light from ahead the only illumination since Aisling had put out their torch after they emerged from the narrow passage. The light grew brighter as they went around another corner, and Cyrus found himself on the edge of a large chamber, an enormous, roughly circular room that had a sequence of stones that leveled down to the floor, a few feet below the cave opening that Cyrus stood upon. Aisling had already descended, her feet moving so quietly that Cyrus couldn’t have heard them even if he hadn’t been awestruck by the sight before him.

  In the center of the chamber was something very familiar; a portal, of exactly the same kind that dotted the landscape of Arkaria. Ovoid, standing lengthwise above the ground, like a door turned sideways, it was massive enough for ten people to walk through shoulder to shoulder, even if they were Cyrus’s size. His jaw fell open, and he stared at it; it glowed, the source of the light he had wondered at. Beyond it was another exit, a wider one, much larger than the tunnels they had just come from.

  “Ais,” Cyrus said, keeping his voice low even though he saw no sign of the scourge, “we need to get out of here. What if there are more?”

  She halted, but only after she had crossed the thirty or so steps to reach the portal. She ran a hand along the edge of it, as though she were feeling the runes carved along the side to make certain it was real. “Where do you think this leads?”

  A dark glow came from within the portal, something like mist with light shining through it; like clouds with the sun behind them. “I don’t know,” Cyrus said, “every time I’ve gone through one of these things when it’s active like this, I’ve ended up in the realm of one of the gods.”

  “Might be worth a look, don’t you think?” She looked at him, vaguely mischievous, and he suddenly found her deeply annoying.

  “No,” he said, “it isn’t. We have somewhere else to be getting to, in case you forgot. There are enemies all around us-”

  “Yes, they have this valley pretty well sewn shut at this point,” she said, letting her fingers trace the lines of one of the runes. What do you suppose our odds are of managing to slip through and get away from the hordes of these scourge that fill this place?”

  “They’re good if we face them on open ground-” Cyrus began.

  “They’re bad, because we’re outnumbered by a ridiculous amount and if we lose Windrider, we’re done.” She smiled again. “Now we have another option. Virtually certain death out there, or the possibility of death in here.” She gestured to the portal with a hand extending out to it, as though it were something she were revealing to him for the first time. “I know which one I pick.”

  “We only go to the realms of gods when we know they’re not home,” Cyrus said, his voice rising. “If this leads into one of those places, it’s virtual suicide.”

  “So is going out there,” Aisling said, and the smile faded from her face. “They’re hunting us and they will find us sooner or later if we stay out there. I know a hunter when I see one and those things are tracking us down. They’ll come, and they’ll overwhelm us and we’ll die a horrible death out here where no one will ever find our bodies.” She looked back to the portal. “If it’s down to that or being smashed by a god, I know which one I choose.” Before he could react, she turned, took one step away and looked back at him. “I guess you’ll just have to decide whether you’re willing to jump in front of a god’s hand for me.” Her smile twisted into something else, something sad, and she stepped into the portal and disappeared behind the misty light.

  Chapter 37

  Cyrus followed her only a moment later, after a pause and a curse, and he yanked Windrider’s reins to lead the horse through the portal. He felt the air distort as he stepped through, the world seeming to upend and twist around him, light blinding him, until his feet settled on solid ground and he bumped into something ahead of him, and realized it was Aisling.

  “Why does this look so familiar?” she asked, and Cyrus looked around the room they stood in.

  It was a massive chamber that drew off into the distance, a room longer than it was wide, with torches burning in sconces on all the walls. Cyrus could smell something, a faint dustiness, and display cases lined every wall, while others sat in the middle of the floor. A tingle ran through Cyrus as he stepped forward, pushing Aisling behind him. “Because we’ve been here before.” He looked around again, saw the balcony in the distance with the stairs leading up to either side of it, and felt a shudder. “This is Mortus’s treasure room.” He took a step forward and laid his hand on one of the pedestals. “We’re in the Realm of Death.”

  “Nice to see they left the lamps on for us,” Aisling said as she stepped up to join him. “But wasn’t this place filled with howling death when last we were here? Spirits of the damned, loosed upon the demise of their master?”

  “Yes, that’s true-” Cyrus said, and stopped. There was a faint rattle, something clicking slowly against something else, as the torchlight flickered around them as though stirred by a wind he couldn’t feel.

  “What?” Aisling asked, then froze at attention, listening. “Oh, gods.”

  The rattle got louder, and a howling torrent of fury burst through the door at the top of the balcony. Souls, the damned, the trapped remnants of the God of Death’s collection filled the air around them, a tornado of spirits, circling lower and lower.

  “Time to move,” Cyrus said, scooping up Aisling in one arm and pulling her back to the portal. Windrider was already turned and galloping through. Cyrus followed, letting the world distort around him as he stepped inside, and a moment later found himself back in the cave, in the circular chamber, and it was still empty. “That was lovely. If you ever leave me to jump into idiocy like that again, I’ll let you die.”

  “You should really save that kind of sweet nothing for pillow talk, darling.” Aisling’s ears perked up and she turned, backing away from the portal as flickers of light flashed from within it. “Can those things follow us here?”

  “I daresay we’re about to find out.”

  “Oh,” she said sarcastically, “is that what you think?”

  They backed away from the portal as shapes started to coalesce in the light, black shadows, and something began to emerge. A horrific screeching preceded it, as
though something had taken to tormenting an animal and refused to let it go. The first shape came through the portal and a shock of horror ran through Cyrus from top to bottom; claws and a four-legged appearance became obvious first, then the rounded head and vicious teeth, followed by the black, glassy eyes that had no feeling behind them. It skittered out, one of the scourge, followed immediately by more.

  “That’s-” Aisling said, her voice jerking to get the words out, “-the souls of the damned, from the Realm of Death, they turned into-is that-how is that possible?”

  “They’re taking physical form.” Cyrus’s voice was a low growl, and it came from a part of his throat that wanted to scream, something he never did. “They can’t come through as spirits, so they’re taking form, and …” He turned, and saw others coming through the big entrance. “We’ll never make it out through the narrow passage.” He tightened his grip on Praelior. “Charge the big tunnel-NOW!” His last word came as a shout and he ran, sword swinging as he did so, his blade striking out as his legs pumped, chewing up the ground between him and the opening that seemed to lead out of the cavern.

  The first of the scourge looked as though it was slithering toward him. He struck with his sword before it had time to react. More followed, countless, and he struck at them, too, using the speed Praelior granted him to stay a step ahead, clearing the tunnel, which although larger than the narrow passage, was only a few feet wide. They came at him a few at a time, but he moved on, driven, emotion bubbling over as he swung his sword. Daylight was ahead, and he kept on toward it-

  They broke out into the sunlight and Cyrus’s eyes fought to adjust to the brightness. The sky was clouded over, but still somewhere above the sun shone, behind a cloud, and he tried not to blink from it as he sliced through three more scourge. He could smell rotting flesh, it filled his nose and the still air around him, even as the cold and the snow were obvious, the ground covered with white for miles all around. He looked down from the abutment he was on, a craggy trail of rocks, and below was a path leading to a village, teeming with the scourge, thousands of them, making the thirty or so he had cut through in the flight from the cavern look like a miniscule number by comparison.