Chapter 25 Syrus
Syrus
“Will he live?”
“It’s hard to say. I can’t identify what’s causing this.”
“How long until we know?”
“If he survives the night, he may make it.”
“The odds of that?”
Silence met that question.
The voices. He knew those voices. The words came in waves, echoing and distorted, as if he were underwater.
Fire burned through his body, raging unchecked within him.
Pain unlike any he’d known followed in the path of that fire.
He wanted to scream, to rage. He wanted to claw the agony from his body, but he couldn’t move.
He couldn’t even open his eyes. He could only lie there listening to those voices calmly discuss his death.
“What of the other one?” the first voice, the woman, asked.
“The guards are on alert and everyone available is searching for him.”
“And his accomplices?”
“Unknown.”
The words faded into nothingness, the words less than meaningless to his pain-wracked mind.
Something pulled at him, a gentle hand trying to guide him into the warm darkness, away from the agony tearing his body apart.
It would be so easy to just let go and put an end to this endless suffering.
His strength was already depleted, his body exhausted from fighting the flames trying to destroy him from within. Why not just let go?
“I never took you for a coward.”
Another voice, but this one wasn’t in the room with him.
This voice echoed in his mind, slicing through the pain with the blatant challenge.
Like the others, he recognized this voice, but where the first two left him feeling small and worthless, this one goaded him, pushed at him, urging him to stand and fight.
He was thirty-three years old, a leader who’d earned his rank through action, rather than his bloodline.
He’d spent the last fifteen years of his life as a soldier, first following orders, then giving them.
While he’d seen action along all the borders of Vaetreas, most of those years had been spent on the coast, dealing with the endless raids from the Canjiri.
Today was no different.
The Canjiri had miscalculated, not realizing he’d made an unscheduled stop at the barracks here in Altana, on the coast near the border of Nevarre.
The Tyjer River separated the two countries and they’d been allies for centuries, but recent trade disputes had caused enough tension that he’d decided to stop in and make sure the tiny garrison here was on alert.
It was a lucky move on his part. When the gray sails of the Canjiri appeared out of the fog, the soldiers were prepared.
The Canjiri depended on the element of surprise, allowing them a few vital minutes to grab what they wanted and run while the troops scrambled to face them.
This time, though, Syrus had them at the docks only moments after the skiffs landed, meeting the raiders with a show of force they were unprepared for.
A familiar boat at the end of the docks caught his eye and sent a bolt of anticipation coursing through Syrus.
Even from a distance, he could spot the tiny flowers painted onto the hull, cascading along the prow in delicate swirls.
As always, they appeared untouched by the ravages of the water, bright spots of color against the sun-bleached wood.
It only took a moment to scan the line of raiders and spot one who stood tall, shouting orders in lilting Canjiri to the faltering raiders.
That anticipation surged higher and he made quick work of sending the troops into action, leaving him free to cut across the docks toward the raider. They’d met in battle countless times by now and neither had come away victorious, something he was determined to change today.
He’d nearly reached the raider when a pained cry caught his attention and he spotted another Canjiri sprawled across the docks, a bloody wound on the back of his head, dripping down the collar of his lavender shirt.
One of his own men stood above the raider, sword raised to strike down the injured man.
Syrus moved quickly, his own blade clattering against the soldier’s. He put enough force behind it to knock it out of the man’s hand. Whatever self-righteous insult the soldier turned to spew at Syrus died on his lips when he saw who’d stopped him, but only just.
“There’s no honor in stabbing someone in the back while they’re wounded,” Syrus snapped before the soldier could recover his composure. “Our orders are to capture, unless our lives are in danger. I fail to see how he’s a threat to you right now.”
“He’s Canjiri trash.” Hatred burned in the soldier’s eyes, a fanatical fire fanned by the anti-Canjiri sentiment that ran so strongly through Vaetreas.
“I don’t care who or what he is. Stabbing someone in the back is not something trained soldiers do.” Syrus drew himself up to his full height, pulling all the power of his rank and title into himself. When he glared at the soldier, it finally seemed to sink in just who the man was dealing with.
“Sorry, sir,” he muttered, breaking eye contact.
“If I hear of this happening again, you won’t be walking away with a warning. Now go defend your city.”
The soldier mumbled what Syrus took as an agreement and hurried away, leaving Syrus alone with the injured raider.
He wouldn’t attack anyone while they were down, but arresting them?
That, he had no problem with. Keeping his weapon ready in case of attack, he grabbed the thin cuffs attached to his belt and went to one knee to reach the raider.
The head wound would need treatment, but at a glance, it didn’t look bad enough to leave the raider in serious danger.
Cool metal touched his throat, freezing him in place with one hand on the raider’s wrist. Even as alert as he’d been, he hadn’t heard anyone approach, which meant it could only be one person.
Carefully turning his head, he looked up to see the raider from before standing above him, curved blade in hand, his hazel eyes narrowed as they darted between Syrus and the fallen raider.
“I never took you for a coward,” he finally said, clearly coming to the wrong conclusion.
Syrus owed nothing to this raider, least of all an explanation, and he certainly didn’t need to justify himself to a man who’d come to pillage and steal, and yet…
“His injury is not my doing. He’ll receive medical care in prison, though.”
The raider snorted, lips twisting into a smirk. “Assuming you manage to arrest him.”
They both knew how this would play out. The raider took a step back, allowing Syrus to get to his feet and meet him in even combat as they had so many times before.
Syrus knew the raider’s style, but the same could be said for the other man.
He had strength on his side, but the raider was faster, leaving them in a constant stalemate.
The fighting continued around them, but Syrus’ attention focused solely on the man in front of him as they circled and parried, blades flashing, neither able to land more than a superficial blow.
The fight ended as abruptly as it began, when a voice called out something in Canjiri and the raider disengaged. A tiny cut marred his cheek where Syrus had nicked him, barely more than a scratch.
“Until next time,” the raider smirked, then turned and ran for the waiting ships.
Syrus gave chase simply because he always did, even knowing he’d never catch the raider before he slipped away.
True to form, the Canjiri raiding boats were already halfway out to the Straits before he reached the end of the dock.
Going after them was pointless unless he wanted to risk his men in the dangerous waters.
From his vantage point, he watched the flower-painted ship disappearing from view, while the raider tended to the man Syrus had intended to arrest.
Until next time, indeed.
All those years and he’d never realized how much he looked forward to fighting Eiri. He’d told himself it was the thrill of fighting someone who matched him so evenly, but had it been more than that all along?
The pain ratcheted up, wiping the thoughts from Syrus’ mind in a blaze of agony.
The darkness returned, beckoning him closer, promising an end to the suffering.
His heart stuttered in his chest, weakening as the poison ravaged his body.
The voices were gone, and he knew he was alone in this place, abandoned to his fate.
He didn’t have to keep struggling. What was the point?
“Stand up and fight.”
He recognized the voice this time.
Eiri.
His husband. The man he’d known for ten years without truly knowing him at all.
He was twenty-five years old and finally leading troops on his own for the first time. Scouts had spotted Canjiri sails off the coast of Recyth only minutes ago, meaning he had to get his soldiers assembled and moving fast.
By the time they reached the port, the raiders were already there, their sleek boats weighed down with bags and crates looted from the city.
Several had already left, racing back to safety with a speed unmatched by any other sailors on the waters.
Some residents fought back, mainly those whose businesses had just been raided, but most of the people of Recyth had taken shelter in their homes to wait out the raid, long used to such things.
Syrus took it all in at a glance, his training taking over.
He’d been fighting the Canjiri for seven years now, but this would be his first time making the calls.
Mages to the docks to attempt to slow the fleeing skiffs.
Half his troops to guard the residents against any surprise attacks.
The other half to the docks to fight the remaining raiders, with him in the lead.
Most had fled at the sight of the soldiers, as they always did. The Canjiri would pillage innocent merchants without hesitation, but ran when met with an actual fight.