Warlord by Robert J. Crane Read Free Book Online

to his feet, and then a hard pressure closed on his leg as his feet were yanked from beneath him.
    Cyrus found himself dangling upside-down, like a plucked thread hanging from massive fingers. His blood rushed to the dome of his skull as he stared into mighty eyes and a cruel smile. “Not so much as you should know,” Talikartin said. “Not enough to keep to the ranks of your little army.” He spun Cyrus, hanging by his knee, and a cracking in the joint told the warrior everything he needed to about the strength of the beast that held him. As he came around he caught sight of the Army of Sanctuary facing a half dozen titans, Vara in the midst of them, looking across the square at him, the fire behind her casting her distinctive form in silhouette and reminding him for a brief flash of the first time they’d met.
    “A man of true strength becomes a warlord,” Talikartin said, staring at him with those massive eyes. “What are you called? Warden? What is that, but a glorified shield for the kingdoms of men and elves and other insects? Instead of taking what you want, you protect what others hold dear.” The titan scoffed, a deep noise in his throat. “How pathetic.”
    “Aren’t you called Talikartin the Guardian ?” Cyrus asked, dangling by his leg, preparing his next move, a swipe at the fingers that held him.
    “Do you know what I protect?” Talikartin asked and pulled him slightly closer to the eye. Or maybe I just poke him good, see what that gets me— “The plunder of a warlord so great that serving him is nothing but glory of itself. He is not a man, not a mite, and to do his bidding nets me everything I desire.” The titan grunted. “What has your service as shield given you, fool?”
    Cyrus’s breath caught in his throat as he started to respond, but he knew the delay was too great even before the first word left his mouth. “It’s given me—” Before he could even finish, Cyrus felt himself lifted high with shocking speed, as though the very force which held him to the earth had been reversed, and just as he reached a height and could see the whole of the Emerald Fields, of the battle—Sanctuary looked to be winning—Talikartin ripped him down, and Cyrus felt a great tearing in his groin as he was brought to the dirt again with a great and terrible smashing, like the time he’d ridden the Dragonlord into the earth—

8.
    Cyrus awoke to blood spouting out of his mouth, pain in his every limb, and a feeling like someone had ground up his innards under a stone press. It reminded him of drowning, but this time the pungent stink of his own blood was upon his tongue, in his eyes, red everywhere—
    “Hold on,” came Vara’s voice, as tight as a cursed belt, the life squeezed from it. He couldn’t see her, couldn’t feel her touch, couldn’t see any light but the orange of blazing flames tinted as sharply red as if someone had painted his eyes.
    “I don’t know if I can do this!” Andren’s voice came, strained. “I mean—he’s—he’s just—”
    “Just keep him alive for a moment, you great bloody idiot!”
    Cyrus tried to move and felt bones grind against one another, fresh pain surging through him. He could barely draw thoughts one to the other; it was all agony and paralysis, helplessness coupled with a feeling as though he couldn’t even move significant swaths of his body—
    “What the holy horned hell have you done?” Vaste cried, his voice so loud, so filled with fear that it was almost unrecognizeable.
    “Heal him!” Vara shouted, and something ran across Cyrus’s flesh, a tickle that did little to assuage his pain. “Just do—”
    “Are you jesting?” Vaste asked, and the panic was obvious in his tone. “I mean, me having to ask you this should—for the sake of the gods—do you have any idea what you’re doing —”
    “I am trying to save his life,” Vara said, low and harsh, most of it escaping like a hiss. “Why don’t you aid me, since you’re such