Master (Book 5) (28 page)

A glint of metal above the top of its head gave him pause and he realized what he was looking at. Vara landed her blow against the back of the troll’s neck a moment later, and another green head tumbled free in a slow, vertical spin. It landed at Cyrus’s feet, and Vara clanked to the ground a moment later, missing him by only inches.

He stared into her blue eyes, visible on either side around the nosepiece of her helm. Her eyes were wide, drops of dark blood spattering her pale cheeks as her lips were right there, only inches from his—

“Duck, you fool!” she said, and he felt her hard elbow reach up to knock him aside. He was already moving when her elbow hit him. His reflexes allowed him to roll with it, and he moved as she directed, sliding to the side.

He caught a vision of her blade arcing through the empty space that had been occupied by his body only seconds earlier. Her sword sparked in contact with the weapon of troll, driving it back even as her feet skidded backward from the impact. It was a contest of strength against strength; the only advantage for the troll was the lack of grip Vara’s boots provided.

The troll was smaller than Yei.
As though that says anything.
He was still larger than the majority of the trollish troops had been in the start of the battle, and Cyrus watched as Vara held firm, her stance tightening as they were both pushed back. She recovered in inches, the troll in a foot or two. He brought his weapon up again, and the stink of filthy troll breath flared to where even Cyrus could smell it a few feet away from their clash.

Cyrus saw the lines of Goliath closing on Vara from the other side. There were at least five warriors all in a row, on a charge, their weapons at the ready. Her hands were occupied keeping the troll from bisecting her with his weapon, and Cyrus could still see the heads of the other trolls moving toward them through the fight, only seconds away.
Those … I might be able to stop. Even as many as they are
. The thought was futile, though, and nearly died as he pondered the second threat.

The greater threat.

Because for the Goliath warriors coming for her—now only a blade’s breadth from her side—the seconds he had left would not be nearly enough to save her.

A bevy of arrows peppered the faces of the Goliath line, so fast that even with his senses enhanced by Praelior, each arrow appeared to Cyrus to land mere heartbeats after the last. They were perfectly aimed, perfectly timed, and took down all five Goliath warriors on the charge a second before they could strike down Vara.

For her part, the blond elf pushed hard against the troll that she was locked against, knocking him off balance to duck under his weapon and bury her blade in his guts. Her hand moved with lightning quickness, repeated stabs that caused the troll to shudder before he fell to his knees. Vara dodged out of the way just before his upper body keeled forward. He lay on the ground for a moment before a low flood of dark green blood began to pool out from underneath him.

“I suppose my purpose of sending shafts of wood through the air doesn’t seem quite so frivolous now, does it?” Martaina spoke from behind them, and Cyrus turned to see her with her bow in hand, green cloak billowing behind her.

Vara glanced at her, nodded, and said nothing.
Which, for Vara, is roughly the equivalent of a sloppy kiss of thanks. Well, almost.

“Martaina,” Cyrus said as he alighted his eyes back to the trolls coming toward them. “Signal the cavalry.”

He heard her sigh audibly behind him as he stepped up to stand next to Vara. The blond elf glanced at him then turned her eyes back to the trolls coming at them, only seconds away now—

A flaming arrow sailed overhead in a low arc, clearly not meant to do any harm to anyone. It landed in the chest of an elven warrior of Goliath, putting the lie to Cyrus’s passing thought about that. “Yeesh,” he said. “You see a flaming arrow coming, you’d think you’d move.”

“You would move,” Vara said, “and I would move, but the vast majority of these poor soldiers lack the speed to avoid such a thing.”

“Perhaps a shield,” Cyrus said as the trolls closed on them. There were few enough of them now, just three, and they had surged into the gap in the wake left by the Goliath warriors that Martaina had killed. “You could carry one of those and hold it aloft—”

“That sounds exhausting,” Vara said, as though they had no other concerns but their conversation.

“Yeah, I was never much for a shield either,” Cyrus said, and the nearest troll was finally close enough for him to see the missing teeth, the jutting lower jaw, the yellow eyes. He sniffed a hint of the foul breath, like dead things inhabited the places where his missing teeth had once stood.
And he’s not even close enough to really breathe on me yet.

Vara broke right as Cyrus took the troll on the left. He saw her move out of the corner of his eye, saw her lift her hand and smite the troll with her sword, cleaving a leg off at the knee. She struck it while it was down, twisting her blade to rip the limb free.

The troll lashed out with an uncontrolled kick that she barely dodged, but it also flailed its arms and knocked over the third troll coming at them. “Nice move,” he said to her as he tilted toward his foe to strike with a low slash to the gap in the hip armor.

“Mind your own battle, dimwit,” she said.

There was a clear circle around them now, the Goliath army giving them wide berth and funneling around Cyrus and Vara’s battle as though there were some invisible curtain wall routing them left and right. Cyrus knew it was merely smart movement on the part of the Goliath attackers—after all, who wanted to be hit by a flailing troll?

The troll Cyrus was facing brought a hand down hard and Cyrus blocked it with his blade, forcing the troll’s arm back. He struck for the hip again and was rewarded with another grunt from the troll. The gap-toothed grimace and yellow eyes were pointed toward him and a bellow filled the air, followed by curdled breath that nearly caused Cyrus to blanch.
Worse than being stabbed, almost.

He kept from gagging only barely and drove Praelior home to the hip one more time, this time opening up the already nasty slash fully and driving the blade all the way through. He felt the tip of Praelior exit the troll’s buttock and he brought it down with all his force. The troll staggered and Cyrus tugged his weapon free. The troll wobbled for just a beat before the leg tore loose completely and the beast hit the ground with a scream. Blood squirted from the green monster’s exposed pelvis, and Cyrus shook his head and grimaced.
Not a fun way to go down.

“You lollygagger,” Vara said, and he turned his head to see her shaking hers at him. She stood waiting, eyes thinly slitted, watching him. Her shining silver armor was completely green from the waist down, and he saw the trolls she’d faced lying finished on the ground. The rest of the Goliath army was still surging around them, though now Cyrus suspected it had more to do with the fact that the two of them had massacred every troll thrown their way.

In his ears hung a near-silence. Certainly, there was still the buzz of the battlefield and the cries of war and clashes of metal that came with it. But near to them there was a pocket of quiet, as even the Goliath warriors that charged round their small, peaceful space on the field kept their voices subdued. They made no war cry, just ran into the Sanctuary lines with eyes darting toward Cyrus and Vara. They ran headlong into spears and swords waiting for them, awestruck and frightened.

He saw this all in seconds, saw more than one of the Goliath warriors continue on in spite of the obvious reservations on their faces.
What horror would await them if they failed to charge?
he wondered.

This thought was interrupted by the long, low, blowing of a horn. It was followed again by another, then another. Cyrus felt the smile creep across his lips as it echoed through the air, and the area around him remained peaceful, free of any Goliath warriors.

The thundering of hooves was the next sound to break over the battle. Even knowing it was coming, he was not prepared. It started low and grew louder, coming to a crescendo as the horses drew in sight to Cyrus’s left. They swept along like the tide running up on the beach. The army of Goliath was driven before them like the grains of sand under the waves, hit sidelong and utterly unprepared. Few of them had spears; even fewer of them managed to turn them to make use of them.

The line of Goliath’s assault broke, their charge began to crumble. Warriors ran away from the coming cavalry, away from the heart of the battle, trying to find some escape.

The Luukessian cavalry had reached the area in front of Cyrus. Their swords and spears and axes rose and fell as they galloped across the field of battle. Blood filled the air in a haze, clouds of red and angry splashes of violence running along the length of the entire Luukessian column. The charge went on for long minutes, and Cyrus watched the whole time, Vara at his side.

Malpravus was visible, here and there, through the horses. He and Terian both were, though the dark knight less so. The dark elven army behind them—the last of the Sovereign’s force to throw into the battle—was already folding and running, their retreat obvious even through the charging line of horsemen that was even now snaking back around to pursue. This Cyrus knew because it had been his orders.

“Think they’ll catch him?” Cyrus asked, still watching Malpravus through the line of battle.

“Not a chance,” Vara said, oddly still. “He’ll run. Terian, too.” As if to emphasize her point, Cyrus saw a sparkle of light through the cavalry, and Malpravus was gone. “It would appear the day is won, General.”

Cyrus glanced at her—just out of the corner of his eye, almost afraid to look at her straight on. Her cheeks were flushed from battle and possibly more. “Indeed,” he said. “Looks like we’re almost done here.”

He watched the retreating columns of dark elves, falling back down the road into the forest, and saw the first sign of the cavalry’s long, charging column snaking its way onto the path to pursue the fleeing dark elves.
A whole army. They just threw away a whole army here. I wouldn’t have thought the Sovereign had any of those left to waste like this
.

“But we’re not done with the war, are we?” Vara asked. Her voice was cold and clear and lingered in the night—and he knew that she did not need him to answer.

“That took the piss right out of them.” Longwell was jubilant, and to Cyrus’s ears he sounded more alive than he had in roughly forever. “Nothing like a cavalry charge to put a damper on a dark elf’s day.”

“They do seem particularly susceptible to being run over by men on horseback,” Vaste said. “Though I suppose this time it wasn’t just dark elves, but the whole mixture of overlarge brutes that Goliath employs for their warrior corps.”

“The reason they’re particularly susceptible to men on horseback,” Vara said, sounding to Cyrus like she was explaining something very basic to a child, “is because they don’t carry spears among their warrior class. It’s hard to break the charge of a galloping army by holding out a sword and hoping for the best.”

“That was a very technically proficient explanation,” Vaste said, “but I think you left out the part where it’s difficult to maintain a formation when everyone in front of you is screaming, crying and dying from getting trampled by hooves.”

The battlefield already smelled of rotten, stinking death. Cyrus watched the Council members bicker with little interest. The black of night had settled in over them, and only a few hundred of the Luukessian dragoons were still riding scouting parties down the trail. A thousand campfires were spread across the meadow where the battle had been fought, and there were guards posted all through the woods and along the road to insure that the army was not taken by surprise. Cyrus had ordered a quiet vigil and suspected that his order was not received very popularly. Still, there had been minimal grumbling that he’d heard—not that many would have had the courage to complain to him.

“Do you think they’ll come back?” Vaste asked, and Cyrus glanced over to see the troll looking directly at him.

“Probably not,” Cyrus said, feeling the heat of the nearest fire cut through the cold night air. He looked back at Livlosdald keep and saw the light of the torches and watch fires up on the high walls.
Looks like they’ll see the dawn. And they wouldn’t have if we weren’t here
. “I would have to guess we killed greater than half their number. Goliath alone probably lost some four thousand.”

“Along with a goodly portion of the spell casters,” Vara said. “Too bad Malpravus escaped with their officers.”

Cyrus lapsed into a silence with the rest of them at that point, and the crackle of the fire filled his ears. He had checked carefully among the corpses, but there was no sign of Orion, nor of Selene. There were a few spell casters he recognized from the days before Goliath had broken from Alliance with Sanctuary, but very few. They were all much like Yei—he knew their faces, might have remembered their names, but they were little more than acquaintances. “You know who I didn’t see?” Cyrus asked, still contemplating. “Tolada. I wonder if he’s still in Goliath.”

“Hard to believe he could find a place elsewhere,” Vaste said. “Most guilds have basic competency requirements, after all.”

“We don’t, apparently,” Vara muttered.

“General.” Odellan’s voice caused Cyrus to tilt his head to look. The elf was making his way toward the officers’ fire from where the front line was still standing guard. “The dark elves have sent an envoy under flag of truce to discuss retrieving their dead.”

Cyrus stared at Odellan blankly. “Their dead? Since when do the dark elves care enough to retrieve their dead?”

Odellan shrugged, removing his winged helm. “Since now, apparently. They’ve sent unarmed men in empty wagons to do it.”

Cyrus blinked. Repatriating the dead was a long-held practice—for the humans and the elves, at least.
I’ve never heard of the dark elves giving so much as a blue fig for their dead.
He turned his head to face Erith. “What the hells?”