Crusader: The Sanctuary Series, Volume Four by Robert J. Crane Page B

were leaving Sanctuary, that I was here to do my duty and fight for the guild and what we stand for.” He looked back at the bridge, the long stone causeway that stretched over the horizon, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “But I had a long time to consider it on the bridge. I don’t think that’s why I’m here anymore.” Cyrus heard a hollowness in his words, in his tone, something brittle and empty, and the slow dawning within him of something he had yet to fully admit to himself.
    Odellan stared back, impassive. “Why do you think you’re here?”
    Cyrus looked back at the bridge again, the endless bridge. The seas were so blue beneath it, the skies only a slightly lighter shade above the horizon. And in the distance, far in the distance was … nothing. Nothing visible. His horse was nearby. He could climb on Windrider and ride, just ride—
    But not back to the bridge. Not over it.
    “You certainly said it well when we left,” Odellan said, jarring Cyrus away from his thoughts. “You spoke of duty and nobility of purpose, of helping others in need, and you said it with conviction enough that I believed you.” The elf didn’t look judgmental, and he said it matter-of-factly. “So if that’s not why you’re here, then what is it? What compelled you to lead us over the bridge, if not your honor and desire to help a friend?”
    Cyrus saw in his mind’s eye the image of himself on Windrider’s back, of a long gallop down a winding road in a far off land. He saw villages, mountains, forests and cities. Castles passed him by and he rode through jungle and swamp. Nothing he saw was familiar yet all of it was. Behind him, all the while, was the specter of something else, something that drove him onward, that would not let him rest.
    Her.
    “I meant it when I said it to them,” Cyrus whispered, meeting Odellan’s gaze at last. “I just … I don’t know that I believe it anymore. I feel … empty inside, like all the wine has been poured from my cup and there’s not enough left but to ripple at the bottom when something happens—as though the littlest things can bring me only the slightest of joys now. A month ago, a year ago, I would have come here for duty, for honor, for all those things.” He shook his head ever so slightly and a pained expression crossed his face, anchored in place by the realization that had now fully formed within him. “But that’s not why I’m here now.
    “I’m here because I’m running—from her.”

Chapter 8
     
    “General,” Odellan said in a low whisper of his own, so low it was almost inaudible to Cyrus’s ears. “You are wounded, sir. You are wounded in a way that no healing spell can cure. The cut runs deep, to the quick of you. That is to be expected. But you are still the same man who undertook this mission, and whatever your reasons, I know you and I have seen what you believe borne out by what you do, which is the truest guide.” Odellan’s finger came to land on Cyrus’s black breastplate and tapped on it, twice, for emphasis. “This wound will fade in time, and you’ll be left with what was inside all along—a purpose forged in fire. No matter what else happens, you’ll do your duty. I’d stake my life on it—and I have.”
    “I hope you’re right,” Cyrus said, not feeling the same certainty as the elf. “I certainly hope you’re right.”
    Cyrus shuffled to the officer’s fire and noted a few others standing around it—Nyad, her red robes billowing around her like a cloak, Ryin Ayend standing next to her, too close to merely be considered friendly or familiar. Curatio and J’anda were there, J’anda watching Cyrus, a light smile upon his blue face. Samwen Longwell waited with them as well, the long handle of his lance resting against his dark blue armor. He was careful to avoid running it across the white surcoat he wore over his ensemble. “General,” Longwell said with a nod.
    “This is where I take my leave of you,” Odellan