Warlord Read Online Free Page A

granted him to charge headlong into battle.
    “I know your mind,” Vara whispered at his ear. “But even you, with that sword, would find difficulty against an army of titans.”
    Cyrus nodded his acknowledgment, unable to find sufficient words to express the muddled rage seething under the surface. Titans are twenty feet tall and with all the proportionate strength that entails; a stray hand could cripple me with one good blow, and they’re not slow creatures, either. “I’ll maintain discipline,” Cyrus said at last.
    “I did not worry about it,” she said, “I merely wished to reassure you at following your better instincts. I know it is difficult. I, too, long to run ahead in order to inflict my singular rage upon these creatures, but without magical support, even we would be at a great disadvantage.”
    Cyrus breathed a hard breath, and it seemed to stick in his lungs like he’d taken in a bone that had lodged in his chest. The night sky was dark overhead but light in front of them, flames dancing into the night and giving the smoky clouds hanging ominously over the town a subtle glow. It brought to mind another battle he’d fought. “Does this remind you of—”
    “Santir, yes,” Vara said quietly. She was breathing a little louder now, not panting by any means, but he could hear her exertions. “On the night of the Termina battle.”
    The mere memory caused Cyrus to swallow heavily. “I hope we’re not walking into anything as bad as that … massacre.”
    They crested a small rise and the town came into view. At least a quarter of it was burning, flames billowing into the air in the northwest side of the main street. Houses farther off the avenue were catching as well, a stiff wind coming out of the east and carrying the fire between the wooden structures that made up the town. Large, shadowed figures loomed over the buildings and smaller ones ran to and fro in great numbers, their screams all blending together as the survivors attempted to flee.
    “Son of a bitch,” Martaina Proelius breathed, and Cyrus started slightly to find the elven ranger at his shoulder. She had her bow in hand and looked prepared to draw and fire it, even from here.
    “Hold,” Cyrus said and put up a hand that caught the glow of the fires and turned his skin a sickly shade of yellow. He spun and looked over the army behind him, straining to raise himself up slightly. They filled the ground behind him all the way to the portal, already numbering several thousand. A flash near the portal forced him to avert his eyes for a few seconds, and when he turned back he saw a few hundred on horseback, plainly teleported directly from the stables. “Thad, keep the cavalry out of the fight in town. The last thing we need is to have them riding down our own people in tight confines. Send them around on the northern reaches through the fields, see if they can rally survivors. Have them gather anyone they find and escort them back to the portal for evacuation to Sanctuary.”
    “Aye, sir,” Thad said, saluting sharply with the hand he did not carry his sword in. “Anything else?”
    “Where’s Odellan?” Cyrus called, and his eyes alighted on the familiar winged helm of the elf somewhere in the second formation that had teleported in. “Never mind. I’m sure he’s got his own group under control—just repeat my orders to him as he passes.”
    “Aye.”
    “Army of Sanctuary, on me!” Cyrus called and started forward again at a slightly faster pace. He came down the small hill toward the town, looking hard at the first of the titans ahead of him. He could judge the height by the size of the buildings it moved near. The beast was easily taller than a two-story building and tore through a thatched-roof hut with a fearsome roar. This one had gotten away from his comrades that were filling the streets of the town, dark, shadowed towers in the streets of this small city.
    Cyrus waited for the sound of the army’s motion to