16. Chapter 16 #2
“How many people are we losing in that time? We can’t wait.
” The crowd rumbled their agreement. “We don’t want the Shadow King,” the man said, and the people grew louder behind him.
“We don’t want new schools.” Louder still they sounded.
“We want our families free.” And the night flamed alive with their rally.
“And they will be!” Cyrus called out.
The crowd quieted.
“You think I don’t know the pain of waiting?” Cyrus’s gaze burned into them. “You think I don’t know loss?”
Quieter still the crowd grew.
“You know where I came from!” He let his voice boom over them. “But look around!” He walked a large circle around the center. “Who else among you can bring down a kingdom?” he challenged.
Murmurs rippled through the masses again.
“I will destroy Serra!” he thundered. Shouts rang out in support. “I will get your families!” The shouts grew louder. “But I won’t stop there. I won’t stop until they all pay. Serra. The Shadowlands. All of them.” Cheers rang between his sentences.
“I will bring down every kingdom who has ever made us suffer!”
The crowd roared.
“Go home!” he told them. “Eat. Sleep. Train. Grow strong. And when it’s time, I will lead you to Serra myself.”
A thousand sounded like ten thousand, and their voices rose high into the night. They cheered him all the way back to the palace.
Once inside, Cyrus watched the torchlight fade as the crowd finally dispersed.
“I can’t believe you were able to settle them,” Everan said as he and Kord moved to his side.
“Why not? I’ll give them what they want.”
Essandra shifted uneasily as she crossed her arms.
“So, we’re really doing it?” Everan asked. “We’re going after Serra?”
“Soon.”
“Should I recall the army from Japheth?” Kord asked.
Cyrus shook his head. “No. When Gregor sends word, we need to be able to move.” He wasn’t going to lose his readiness against the Shadow King.
Kord’s brows dipped. “You mean for us to go to Serra with only half an army?” He said something else, but his words were drowned by the call that pulled at Cyrus’s mind.
It was Sid. Cyrus sighed, but he couldn’t ignore it. He turned away from Kord and Everan and reached out his mind.
“ Cyrus ,” Sid said as they connected. “ You’re going to have to do something. Things are getting bad. ”
“ Another village? ”
“ Worse. Bravat’s taking captives. ”
Cyrus froze. “ For what? ”
Sid paused. “ He’s taking women. For his own enjoyment. ”
A cold rippled through Cyrus. “And if they refuse? ”
“ It doesn’t matter. ”
That cold turned to a burn—a deep burn of building fury. “ Has anyone from the villages followed? Has anyone come for the captives? ”
“ There’s no one to come. He’s killed everyone. ”
His blood raged hot. This was what his lack of action had allowed.
“ Cyrus? ”
“Cyrus,” came Everan’s voice on his right. “What is it?”
“ I’m coming ,” Cyrus told Sid. Then he opened his eyes to Kord and Everan staring back at him.
“Get ready,” he told them. “We’re going after Bravat.”
“Wait—what?” Kord asked.
Cyrus looked at Essandra. “I need to get men to the stone circle.”
Kord swore. “Cyrus, you literally just had a mob at the gates calling for Serra, and a letter from Gregor is going to arrive any moment to call you against the Shadow King. You can’t just leave.”
“Bravat’s taking captives. This is my fault. I’ve let him go too long.” He put his hand on Kord’s shoulder. “You don’t have to go with me.”
Kord swore again and shook his head. “Let me get my sword.”
Cyrus took only nine: Orion and his team of four men, Everan, Kord, Essandra, and Jaem.
He also brought the dogs. Everan had encouraged him to bring more men, but the more he had, the slower they’d travel.
And he wasn’t trying to match the numbers of Bravat’s band of misfit followers.
He expected the drifters to run at the first sign of trouble.
In fact, he was counting on it. Cyrus was here for Bravat and Bravat’s men only.
There were thirty-three. With Essandra’s power and the dogs, Cyrus was confident it wouldn’t be a problem.
It required four trips through the portal to get them all to the stone circle, where Sid met them. Sid had run out of blood to be able to trail Bravat and navigate Cyrus to him. But he’d brought horses and held a small cage of half-feathered finches.
Cyrus eyed the birds. “Can they even fly?”
Sid shrugged. “The markets are sparse here. It was this or two chickens.” He nodded back at the horses. “And I could only get six mounts. Some of us are going to have to double.”
Cyrus led a horse to Essandra, and she crossed her arms.
“Are you all right sharing a horse?” he asked her. “Or would you rather ride alone?”
The sharp lines of her face softened ever so slightly. “I have the option?”
“You always have the option.”
She tilted her head as she glanced at the animal, then she drew her gaze back to him. Her brow quirked. “You’re sitting in front,” she said.
He couldn’t help a small smile.
They rode northwest. Time passed quickly. Despite their smooth-gaited horse, Essandra kept an arm wrapped around him. Her hand rested just above his belt, her fingers curled into his tunic. He tried not to read into it. Of course she had to hold on to him.
But she sat close against him.
Closer than she needed to.
Or maybe he was just imagining that. Still, her closeness felt good. Her warmth felt good. She smelled good. Cyrus reined in his wandering thoughts and forced himself to focus on the task ahead. He needed to find Bravat, then get back to Rael as quickly as possible.
They set a fast pace, stopping only to water and rest their mounts. Sid had said Bravat was about two days’ ride from the stone circle, and Cyrus wanted to catch up to him before that distance became longer.
They pressed on even as darkness fell and the Northern night grew colder. Essandra still lacked the power of a fire witch to warm them. Cyrus unfastened his cloak and turned and swept it around her.
She leaned back in surprise. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“I know.” Then he set his eyes forward again.
“Thank you,” she said. Her breath dusted the back of his neck, sending a prickle over his shoulders. She shifted slightly, leaning more into him, and adjusted her grip. Her hand slipped up to his chest. Warm. Soft. His fingers tightened on the reins.
“You’re tense,” she murmured.
“Am I?”
“We’ll find him,” she assured him.
Bravat.
Right.
The stars hung hidden behind the heavy clouds that stretched across most of the blue-black sky. When they reached a quiet dell, Cyrus called them to stop for the night. They made a fire and sat close.
“You still feeling confident?” Cyrus asked Sid. The last thing they needed was to be traveling in the wrong direction.
“More so now, honestly,” Sid answered. “We’ve passed a few familiar things.”
That was good.
Cyrus would use the birds in the morning to scout ahead. If they could fly.
As the sun rose, he was pleased to find they could. Well, some of them. He sent two into the air, holding back the rest. The ache in his head came almost immediately, but he ignored it. It was a small price to pay for sight.
Cyrus pushed the group’s pace hard again, sweeping the birds back and forth ahead of them in search of any sign of Bravat.
Visibility was good. The Mercian outer reaches were rocky and mostly barren, like a winter high desert.
Occasional pockets of trees scattered the landscape.
They passed two villages, both untouched by Bravat’s destructive tirade.
Cyrus led them wide, taking care not to be seen.
By midafternoon, the ache in Cyrus’s head had grown to a pulsing pain. He’d lost both his birds in the sky—he wasn’t sure of the reason. Maybe he’d pushed them too hard; maybe the bond had somehow slipped.
“You should give yourself a break,” Essandra said as he pulled two more birds from the small cage on Sid’s saddleback. They all stood along a stream, letting their horses drink their fill of water.
They didn’t have time for a break. He needed to find Bravat and get back to Rael. Cyrus marked the bird with blood and released it into the air. He hadn’t actually expected to find Bravat yet, but he’d hoped. He pushed the bird higher for a greater view.
Suddenly, a flurry of wings flashed, and his sight went dark. “What—”
His eyes darted to the sky.
“What’s wrong?” Essandra asked.
“I lost another bird.” Confusion flooded him.
“There,” Orion said, pointing, and Cyrus followed the line of sight to a white hawk dropping to the ground with the small bird in its clutches.
Anger blazed through him. Fucking hawks. He leaned and grabbed the crossbow behind Orion’s saddle.
“Wait!” Orion said.
But Cyrus didn’t wait, and he aimed and loosed an arrow, squarely hitting the hawk.
Orion threw up his hands as he shook his head. “Those are my mark arrows—don’t waste them on birds.”
Cyrus glanced at him. “Mark arrows?”
“You don’t survive a hit from one of those. They also pierce metal.”
Kord snorted. “Metal?”
Orion cut him a steely gaze. “Put on a breastplate. I’ll show you.”
Cyrus looked at the second bolt that sat pre-nocked in the double bow. His eyes traveled its sharp tip and barbed edges. He weighed the crossbow in his hand. “A nice bow too. Balanced.”
“Yeah, it is,” Orion said warily.
Cyrus didn’t give it back.
Three more downed hawks and a half day later, Cyrus found Bravat outside the ruins of a Mercian town.
Jaem had told him that Bravat was laying a path of destruction, but Cyrus hadn’t understood the magnitude.
Fires still burned across the southern quarter of the town, their embers casting a glow inside the charred remains of homes and market stalls.
The stone temple at the town center was still standing, but its stained-glass windows had been broken, and smoke billowed out one side from within.