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

and plants supplemented with conjured bread and water). In the afternoon there came another two or three more marches before they ended their day finding a suitable campsite.
    Some days they would make camp earlier or later depending on what the scouts told Cyrus. Good ground was critically important, and Cyrus planned their final stop of the night around finding defensible positions on level ground. Edible plants and game were plentiful, providing the army with sustenance and keeping the grumbling to a minimum. From time to time they stayed in inns, buying local animals from farms for slaughter, and ale from the tavern keepers, who seemed pleased at the amount of gold that came to them in exchange for what they gave. Complaints about the length of marches were more frequent, though after the second week only the most disgruntled even bothered any longer. Most took the long days in stride, accepting of the direction they were heading.
    “What do we do about the ones who want to go home?” Ryin had voiced the thought after only a day’s march past the bridge.
    “Tell them that the bridge is back that way,” Terian pointed behind them, “and invite them to be on with it.”
    As the second week died, Cyrus could feel the tension that had surrounded them upon leaving the beach dissolve, the quiet marches giving way to laughter and joviality, the evening campfires going from being solemn events where all were watchful to festive occasions.
    “I’m trying to decide if I like them better like this or worse,” Cyrus said to Curatio one night in the second week as they sat by the fire, Cyrus chewing on a roasted haunch from a herd of goats that Martaina’s rangers had bought from a local farm.
    “So long as the outriders and the watch take their duties seriously, we’ll be fine,” the elder elf told him. “This journey will be hard enough on their spirits and their bodies without driving constant fear into them. They wake early and go to bed early, and live their lives on their feet in all moments between. Remind the watchmen of their duty with all the fury you’d waste on the ranks of the army, and spare the others the misery.” Curatio took a sip from a skin of wine from the last village they had visited. “Their feet give them enough of that, I suspect—I’ve healed enough blisters in the last two weeks to know that much.”
    They passed a moment in silence, Cyrus chewing on a piece of meat. “Alaric sent more than half the Council on this expedition.”
    Curatio grunted in acknowledgment, and when Cyrus said nothing in response, the healer spoke. “Is there a question to go along with that observation?”
    Cyrus continued to stare into the fire that crackled and popped in front of them as it caught hold of a branch that had slipped to the edge of the fire. “He knew what happened between Vara and I, didn’t he? He thought I wouldn’t be up to the task of commanding the expedition on my own.”
    “Alaric and I did not part on the best of terms, so I wouldn’t feel qualified to tell you what he might have been thinking when we left,” Curatio said. “But I will tell you that the officers that are here volunteered to be here—in fact, every officer volunteered to come.” Curatio hesitated. “Save one, of course.”
    “Of course. She was hardly in a fit state to go on a long pilgrimage, after all.” Cyrus felt his lips become a grim line. “Nor do I think she would have wanted to be burdened by the company she’d have had to keep while on this jaunt.”
    “Alaric knows people,” Curatio said. “That’s his gift, really, to know people, to see into their hearts. It’s not some magical power, just a keen insight into the soul. If he sent more officers than was strictly necessary, it is not because he didn’t trust you. It’s because he sought to aid you in a time when he knew you would be going through great difficulty.”
    He looked at Curatio, who remained stoic, staring into the fire.