Read Crusader: The Sanctuary Series, Volume Four for Free Online Page B

breath, and it was almost as though he could feel sundown approach the way an old friend would come to visit. “It’ll be good for our morale, I suppose. And as you point out, we are likely to be under stress of worry from potential attack over the coming weeks. Very well. A day of rest is ordered.”
    Curatio’s hair was speckled with silver, but never had his age been more evident than when he smiled, very slightly, back at Cyrus, and the warrior knew he had been maneuvered most expertly. “Duly noted. I’ll take care of it.” With a slight bow, Curatio turned and began to walk away.
    “What would you have said if I’d ordered us to march on?” Cyrus didn’t watch the healer, but he heard Curatio’s leather shoes stop, the sound of the sand they kicked up on each step coming to a halt.
    “I would have tried to convince you, of course.” The healer’s answer was crisp, serious, and muffled because Curatio had not turned to face him as he gave his answer. The footsteps in the sand resumed, and Cyrus heard the elf move away, back to the sound of camps being set up and fire being started. He pondered Curatio’s answer again, and listened once more in his mind to the inflection. It had been very cleverly given, Cyrus thought.
    It was also, Cyrus knew, a blatant lie.

Chapter 6
     
    Thanks to the efforts of Martaina and a few of the more experienced rangers, there was indeed wild boar meat waiting for them the next day at breakfast. The smell of the roasting flesh awoke Cyrus, and he sat up to look at the fires along the beach. Many of them bore spits, and recruits talked while circled around them, their voices loud, with much merriment being made. Cyrus could see even at a distance that there were bottles being passed around, spirits of varying kinds that had made the trip from Sanctuary.
    Cyrus pulled himself up next to his fire, a small one down the beach from the others. Someone had added logs to it during the night and done so quietly enough that Cyrus hadn’t awakened. “Aisling,” he said in a low whisper. The next nearest fire was a hundred feet away, and he could see Terian’s shadow next to it in the pre-dawn light, his sword once more across his lap. Curatio and Longwell lay around their fire, still sleeping; he could tell them by their garb.
    He looked down the beach in the opposite direction. The angle of the curves on either side told him that they were on a peninsula. He snuck a look back at the joviality around the fires, at the silent stone bridge that watched over them, and began to walk, his boots kicking up sand. He looked again behind him; no one seemed to take any notice as his footsteps carried him away from his army.
    His hand fell to the scabbard and the hilt of his sword as though he were looking for reassurance. His blade, Praelior, was still there, ever-present and ready to be drawn. He felt the urge to pull it loose and practice with it. Later. When we’re out of sight of the camp, perhaps.
    Tall grasses reached out from the treeline on the berm above the beach, a deep patch of grass that looked as though it would stretch to Cyrus’s waist. The chirp of crickets from within was loud, and the trees hanging over the patch of grass waved in the wind, their branches rustling. Somewhere behind them, Cyrus knew the sun was beginning to rise, even though he couldn’t see it yet.
    “You’re not supposed to wander away from the army.” He turned to find Aisling standing behind him, a few feet from the grass, a thistle in her hair.
    Cyrus let his hand drift away from the hilt of Praelior, where it had come to rest when she had spoken to him. “You don’t think we can make an exception for the general who leads said army?”
    “Mmmm,” she seemed to purr as she considered it, her face pensive. “I think we’re in a foreign land with enemies an uncertain distance away.” He caught a glint of light in her eyes. “It would probably be better to play safe than be sorry.”
    He felt