Part III

Ballad of mortals and machines

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First, the pain.

It comes quickly, throbbing through Kyros’s chest like a second heartbeat. He opens his eyes slowly, only to shut them against the scorching light.

Is he dead?

Probably not. Dead people do not hurt like this. His bones seem to be shaking from his flesh, muscles and skin jumping as the world rocks beneath him.

Then where is he?

Wheels squeak. Down below, gravel pops. He's in a cart.

But why? And since when?

Kyros tries to get up but his body does not respond. He is bound in something and from the dampness, sweating through it. There is a sour smell in the air and for a horrible second, he thinks it's coming from him.

The shaking gets worse and so too does pain. Kyros hears a horse neighing and something more musical.

Humming?

His eyes creak open.

The light is painful but does not last. Soon, Kyros is able to make out grooves and circles on the oak planks above him. They are old. Most have entire manuscripts of cracks running across them, some so deep they let in the sunlight. One of the rays is shining directly into his eye, but when Kyros tries to turn his body locks up in pain.

He must’ve made some noise then, because the shaking stops abruptly and Cathra appears next to him, touching his face with her cool fingers.

“Stop moving so much,” she says, giving him a playful flick on the forehead. “You’ll mess up the bandages otherwise. I’m not a passable healer on my best days, so for your sake don't make it worse.”

At the sound of her voice, Kyros feels his panic subsiding. His heart is another beast though. Kyros finds his breathing quickening as he stares at Cathra. Her hair is loose, tumbling over one bandaged shoulder. The rest of her is just as free. Her doublet has been torn almost in two so the right side of her chest and waist is exposed. If it isn't for her bandages, Kyros will be seeing a lot more than he bargained for.

"I thought I’d never see you again," he says.

“That's a bit dramatic,” Cathra says. “But you did take all fifty whereas mine were cut short.” She fills him in quickly about the happenings after he passed out on the poles.

It takes a moment for Kyros to process it all. “The city people helped us?”

“I heard this from Bartholome,” says Cathra, “but it really was a Blood Devil who attacked the Knight’s headquarters.” She laughs, though there is not much humor in it. “It might even have been the Blood Devil I failed to kill. Blast the goddesses. I don’t know whether to thank the Twins or curse them.”

"I'm going to do both," Kyros says. Just then, a sudden onset of intense pain grips his abdomen and the world dissolves.

When Kyros opens his eyes again, Cathra is leaning right over him, wiping a wet cloth across his forehead. The coolness is heavenly but Kyros cannot feel anything other than heat. From this angle, he has a clear view into the torn part of Cathra’s doublet, and if he chooses to let his eyes wander downwards…

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out. “I should never have promised we’d get the Blood Devil. It was stupid.”

“It was,” Cathra agrees, soaking up the sweat from his brows with the cloth. “But what’s done is done. All we can do now is get stronger. Then, we get our revenge.”

Kyros tries to speak, but Cathra is scrubbing at his cheeks and it hurts.

“Bartholome died to save us,” she says. “So did Charley.”

The name brings to mind a grinning boy with his nose stuck in his father's ledgers, counting the General Store's earnings for the day.

"Who killed him?" Kyros asks.

Cathra rings the cloth dry and hangs it next to the water bucket. “I don't know, but I swore that I will avenge them and all who sacrificed for us.” She wipes her hands on her legs and stands. “That's why we have to hurry and get to the north. The Battlefront is expecting us.”

“We’re still going?” asks Kyros. “Why?”

Cathra gives him a tired look. “Because no household in Gandolia will harbor traitors. But the Battlefront does not care about past misdeeds as long as we swear the proper allegiances. Right now, we need a place to gather our strength more than anything else.”

Kyros tries not to dwell on the precarious state they are both in. Instead, he uses the last of his conscious strength to look at Cathra.

“Cathra,” he says, “I promise from here-”

“Shh.” Cathra puts a finger to Kyros’s lips, her expression growing serious. She tilts one ear towards the ceiling. “Do you hear that?”

Kyros starts to shake his head before his ears pick up something. Voices. Or is it the wind?

Cathra withdraws her hand and keeping low, shifts towards the only window in the cart, hiding below the curtain. She silently slides out the dagger strapped to her thigh and waits.

A breeze pushes into the window. There are sounds of shuffling coming from outside. The curtain moves. Gloved fingers poke through, parting the cloth aside.

Cathra explodes upward. She punches the dagger into the hand, nailing the arm to the ceiling. The arm's owner starts to scream. It is a man's voice. He starts to thrash, trying to pull his hand out. Blood pours down the dagger’s handle. Cathra yanks out her sword and pushes it through the cart’s wall, skewering the person on the other side.

Kyros hears the unmistakable sound of flesh splitting open. The hand stops moving.

Chaos begins. The cart rocks as swords and spears crash through its walls. Splinters fly as men start hacking away at the flimsy wooden planks.

Crouched over Kyros, Cathra tries her best to strike back but with every blade she deflects another takes its place.

Kyros strains against his bandages. His wounds burn. “Give me a weapon!” he says but Cathra is not listening to him.

"Wait here!" she says and charges out of the cart, yelling profanities at their attackers.

The clash of steel rings loud. Amidst shouts and screams, Kyros struggles to stand. He rips off the heavier layers of bandages and only then he can move freely. He grabs the dagger pinning the dead man’s hand. As he yanks it out, the arm slides back limply through the window.

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“Kasphare!”

Fire roars against the side of the cart, illuminating the holes made through the walls. The screams get louder. Kyros staggers out of the cart, flinching at the light.

Surrounded on all sides of him are flat desert roads, pockmarked by rocks and cacti. The front of the cart is empty.

On the road, Cathra stands encircled by a group of armed bandits, dancing around their weapons like a being made of water. One by one, the bandits lash out at her only to be brought down in a spray of blood and fire.

But Cathra is grossly outnumbered. There are ten men surrounding her, with more emerging from the hills. They pour out from hidden outcrops, rusty weapons and broken armor gleaming under the hot afternoon sun.

One of the bandits gets a lucky shot in. His sword glances off Cathra’s blade and slices into her thigh. Cathra staggers, giving just enough room for a spear to knock her off her feet.

Not thinking, Kyros leaps from the cart. He lands on top of the nearest bandit and they both go down. The man tries to get up but Kyros has his dagger at the man’s neck. With a violent jerk, he opens the man's throat.

Seeing this, a few bandits break off from Cathra and run up at Kyros.

Kyros gets to his feet, dagger in hand. A slash comes at his head. He backs out of the way, using his dagger to fend off the blow. Pain tears across his chest but he forces his arm up to block the next hit.

Another roar of fire blossoms across the battlefield. Cathra is back on her feet, flames licking along the edge of her sword. Around her, blackened bodies writhe in dying agony. She spots Kyros and charges, eyes blistering with furry.

The first man to turn from Kyros loses his head in a flash. The second blocks with his sword, at the loss of his sword and sword arm. Kyros manages to catch the third man in the gut, but the dagger doesn’t pierce any vitals and the man leaps back, taking the dagger with him.

"Damn you," the man grunts, clutching his gut. "I'm gonna enjoy-"

Cathra doesn't give him time to finish before dropping his head to the ground.

Cathra drops to a knee. Kyros starts moving towards her. "Cathra-"

“Get behind me!” Cathra gets up and positions herself between Kyros and the on-coming bandits. They're running across the dirt plains now, their numbers in the thirties, maybe more.

One of them looses an arrow.

It sails right over Kyros's head.

Cathra holds her sword with two hands and gets down in a battle stance. She’s shaking. Where she’s been cut, blood spills down her thigh and rivers down her leg, pooling around her boots. Another gash on her shoulder darkens across her doublet, staining her bandages red.

“No, Cathra,” Kyros says, “It’s my turn to protect you.” He moves in front of Cathra but she doesn’t let him.

“Are you stupid or insane?” she demands. “Get back!” More arrows fly at them now. Cathra deflects one with her sword. "I said get back!"

She raises her sword up towards the sky.

"Fathers of Old, lend me thy strength to purge the evil from this land."

“Stop! You're hurt!” Kyros reaches for Cathra but it's too late.

"Senkan Tenba!"

An inferno of fire twists out from the blade’s end, crawling over Cathra's body. She brings the sword screaming down, exploding a column of fire across the bandit's ranks.

But the bandits do not stop their attack. They leap over the smoldering corpses of their comrades and descend on Cathra.

Why are they not falling back?

It's then that Kyros realizes they are not fighting bandits, but barbarians.

Like a colony of bees they swarm. Every swing of Cathra's rends blood. Sparks fly as steel clash. Limbs are lopped off, men die.

Kyros tries to help where he can, but he has only a dagger and his captain is a dancer in the chaos, leaping over swords and weaving spells between her slashes. He can only step back and watch.

I’m useless to her. Worse, I’m slowing her down.

Soon, there are more dead men than living ones.

Then, the remaining ones finally start to break. Knowing that they cannot beat Cathra, they flee. Clutching their broken weapons, tripping over the still-burning bodies of their dead group members, the barbarian group backs away into the hills where they come.

“Next time!” Cathra shouts after them. “Bring a minotaur!”

When the last of the barbarians disappear into the rocks, Cathra digs her sword into the ground and collapses onto her back.

Kyros rushes over. “Are you alright?”

Cathra is panting hard. Her eyes are closed and her face is pale. Blood still seeps from her wounds and her hair is tangled from sweat. “Goddess,” she pants. “Honey. Now. Please.”

Kyros races to their cart. Inside a wooden box, he finds a book and a half-full wineskin. He pops open the skin and sniffs. Sweet. He rushes it back to Cathra, who gulps down three big mouthfuls while still on her back.

"Better than water," she says with a weak smile. She hands the wineskin back to Kyros. “Help me up. We need to get out of here before they come back.”

“Our horse is gone,” Kyros says, “and you’re in no condition to walk.” He looks around the rock-infested flat lands helplessly, praying that the horse did not run far. It's only now that he realizes where they are. “You took the Bladed Road?”

“I didn’t want to risk you getting an infection through the swamps,” says Cathra. “I knew I can take on any bandits. I didn’t think… we'd meet deserters from the castle. And so many, too.”

Kyros doesn’t know if he wants to hug Cathra or shake her.

“Blast it, Kyros,” Cathra says suddenly. “I think I’m dead. I can’t feel my face.” Color is returning to her face, but her words are becoming slurred.

“Your face is still there,” Kyros says, giving her cheeks a pinch. “It’s the Goddess Honey. Don’t fight it. You’re going to be alright.” He watches as Cathra’s breathing slows. Her eyelids flutter and her fingers twitch. For a second it looks like she’s going to try and get up, but the elixir works its magic and within a few heartbeats, she is asleep.

Kyros sits back. His own wounds have reopened and the pain is catching up to him. He looks at the wineskin but does not open it. He must remain vigilant, especially now. The barbarians might return to finish the job. If not them, then bandits surely will.

He needs to think of a way to get them both to safety.

Kyros stands and surveys the land around them. Flat and disinteresting, the only shade offered is from shrubs and withered trees. Jagged mountaintops outline the horizon to the east and west, funneling the Bladed Road towards the Dragonspine Mountains in front of them.

There is no way to go but forward.

A gust of wind brings the scent of blood. Kyros thinks he hears the faint sounds of a horse whinnying. He goes over to the cart and stands on top of it, peeling his eyes to stare out at the rocky outcrops.

There, a few hundred yards away, he sees the silhouette of a horse. Their horse.

Kyros hops down and begins to run but stops just as quickly.

Cathra.

He looks around for a place to hide her.

The cart.

Grabbing onto the back of her doublet, Kyros carefully drags the still unconscious Cathra over, crawling to get her under the cart. It’s barely enough to keep out the elements but Kyros is out of time. The horse looks to be getting further away. He checks Cathra’s breathing, then leaves the Goddess Honey by her side before scrambling out.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells her before heading for the horse in the distance.

If the animal has been spooked, it is calm when Kyros approaches. With minimal coaxing, he manages to grab ahold of the reins and starts to lead it back.

The road is rough, but when Kyros tries to mount the horse his chest feels like it’s going to tear open. He decides to continue on foot.

As he walks, he catches glimpses of brown-furred creatures darting within burrows, and makes a mental note to craft a snare once he and Cathra are back on the road.

He snaps a few twigs from passing shrubs and pockets them.

The cart looks just as he left it. The carriage is riddled with holes and one side is even blackened from Cathra’s fire. But it is the only thing they have and judging from the size of the snow-covered mountain peaks, there's at least a week’s distance left for them to ride.

The horse starts to huff in protest at the stench of death, so Kyros leads it around as much of the carnage as possible, murmuring soothing words to it. He straps it back to the front of the cart.

Cathra’s sword is still stuck in the ground. Kyros pulls it out. He recognizes Frostbane and wonders how Cathra got it back from the Headquarters.

Maybe the city folk stole it for her?

He decides to ask her later. Kryos makes his way over to the cart and squats down, ready to pull Cathra out again.

Only she isn’t there.

Kyros stares at the empty spot beneath the cart. The four wheels are intact and have not been moved. The cart is where he left it. Even the wineskin has not been touched. He springs up, knees cracking against the cart.

Pain sets in. Panic overrides it. The battlefield has not changed but even if it has Kyros isn’t sure he knows. He searches around wildly. Nothing moves but sand blowing across the rocks.

Sweat drips down his face.

“Cathra!” His voice cracks as he shouts. “Cathra!”

Only wind answers him.

“Cathra!”

The horse whinnies and starts to trot away, pulling the cart with it.

“No, wait!”

Kyros goes to pull the horse back and something crunches under his shoe.

He looks down.

A hair comb, blue with silvery crystals, sticks out from the dirt. Kyros picks it up.

Is it Cathra’s? No. She wears her hair in a bun at the back of her head. Then who’s…?

A horn blow strikes through the air.

Awwooooooo

Kyros spins around. Bandits. Or barbarians. Even more than last time, they stream down the mountainside towards the road, spilling across the rocks with their weapons drawn. The horn blows again.

Awwooooooo

Tales of a northern barbarian tribe spring to Kyros's mind. He always thought they were just tales.

Awwooooooo

Clearly not.

They charge towards him, throwing clouds of dust high up behind them. Kyros scrambles up the horse and slaps its reins as hard as he can. The horse reels, nearly throwing him off. And then it plows its head down and runs.

Kyros holds on for dear life. He crams the hair comb deep inside his pocket and swears to the goddesses that he'll find Cathra, even if he has to spend the rest of his life looking.

But first, he needs to survive.