Konstantins Crusade English version by E W (different e readers txt) 📖

disappear. From his appearance, the ma could probably not catch up to  him if he just hid between the tents. On the other hand…

 The Wizards cloak was now clearly visible, as was the golden mark of a drop of blood on it. The man definitely belonged to the Order. Running away from a magician even when he looked like he had fallen into a bucket of paint was not a good idea. And even if he did, that would raise questions. The whole camp was tense, due to the constant attacks. Cyrus sighed. Escaping the man was not worth catching a bullet, but just barely he thought, dropping back onto the stone as the man stalked and stumbled across the meadow. By the time he reached Cyrus, the mud clinging on his boots had already wandered its way up his trousers.

"Excue me ..." The stranger put his arms on his knees and tried to catch his breath. He was young, as Cyrus realized, his face under the broad hat with the peacock feather looked soft and the blue eyes awake and intelligent.  A few strands of pale hair protruded under the cap, and the ends of a long mustache fell almost to his chin. "You do not happen to be a Golden Guard?"

The man's voice sounded thin and high. Cyrus reminded it a bit of a mouse. The wolf did not know what he expected, but certainly not the question.

"Golden Guard?" He looked at the group of knights still sitting in the sun. Only the man with the dragon symbol on his temple looked over at them once, the rest did not seem to have noticed them yet.  "Are these the men there in the field? Then I'm afraid the answer is no. "

Cyrus took a closer look at his visitor.  The man really did not look like one of the Order's typical mages.

"Too bad. I really hoped to be able to talk to one of them alone. Yes, it would be really important for ... well, my report. "He pulled a small quill with a metal tip from his belt and tapped it against his forehead. And to Cyrus astonishment, an inkwell manifested directly in front of him in the air. Cyrus' feet tingled as if they had fallen asleep and the fur on his arms bristled. A magician indeed ... "By the way, I'm Anselm von Ansim. Very pleased to meet you."

He took off one of the heavy leather gloves he wore and held out a hand to Cyrus. What to make of it? The Wolf  asked himself silently. He still had no idea how to judge the man. At least he was not a threat. Or was he? After all, he was a magician. Well he couldn’t just stand here all day waiting for him to find out. Cyrus made an effort to pull himself together and took the offered hand.

"Cyrus," he replied curtly. "And why won’t you just go over to them if you want to talk?" And leave me alone? he added in his thoughts.

"Well ... um. I have to admit that ... So maybe I'm a little ... "He looked over at the group for a moment. "Intimidated."

Cyrus laughed. He could not help himself and for a moment he was almost certain that Anselm had to take that as an insult.

 "You're a magician," he finally replied. "What are you afraid of? One of you is as valuable to the officers as a whole damned company. If these men even think about laying hands on you, your grandmaster will probably have them hanged and quartered. So, who are these people that they scare you so much?"

For a moment Anselm did not reply. "So ..." he cleared his throat. "First of all, I am not a full wizard. Well maybe that's not quite true. My school is just very ... specialized. And personally sanctioned by the emperor. "

"What? Do you make inkwells from thin air for a living?"

The Wizard scratched his head for a moment. "Partly. I ... I will demonstrate it to you. Give me a minute. "Anselm seemed to pull himself together again and began rummaging around in a belt pouch until he finally unearthed a large sheet of parchment. For a moment he turned the piece of paper between his hands as if trying to align it in some way , then finally he had apparently  found the desired angle. "Do not move for a moment," he instructed Cyrus and before he even could ask what was going on, a flash of light broke from the wizard's fingertips. It was glaring enough to dazzle him for a moment, then it was gone.

Cyrus blinked. "What was that?"

"Well,  the Order calls it Luxomancy, and I've heard other less flattering names, like, “ the most useless magical school” , but ..." He turned the parchment leaf over and held it out to Cyrus. "I've never given much to that." Anselm smiled for the first time as the wolf looked at the parchment.

 It was not empty, but showed in close detail a picture of himself just as he had stood moments before, together with his surroundings and the tents in the background. Even a part of the bowl he had left on a rock was visible. And it was not just a picture, he realized. It was absolutely perfect, down to the smallest detail. The fine, black lines on the paper did not look like ink, but like charcoal powder, as if it had burned itself into the material. It was ... impressive, Cyrus thought to himself. Nice. Impressive things were to be found here without end ... but only few beautiful ones.

"Interesting feat," he said before giving the sheet back to Anselm, but the magician had not overlooked the fascination in his eyes.

"It's not just a feat. It's my job, "he replied with obvious pride. "I'm here to document this campaign for the Emperor and the people of the Realm."

Cyrus raised an eyebrow. "I would say that then the Emperor should have sent someone who is not afraid of the very men he is supposed to talk to."

"It's not the  men that cause me discomfort, sir." Anselm replied, looking challengingly at him as if to emphasize his point.

"Not?" Cyrus grinned, showing some sharp teeth. If that worried the scribbler, he had to admit that he did not show it. "But the golden guard is managing to do it?"

"The golden guard does not swear fealty to the Empire.. Or ... well, she just does not do it officially. It's complicated."

"I had heard so." The dragon emblem, Cyrus thought. The coat of arms was still wrong. "Is that why they wear the coat of arms of the old emperors?"

"I did not think you knew your history."

"Well, I'm full of surprises. So, what's up with that ... golden guard? "

 

"As I said, that's a complicated story." Anselm cleared his throat. "You've already noticed that they wear the coat of arms of the Ordeal Emperors. Do you know the name Macon Ordeal? "

"I hearedtheir leader is called Macon, yes. Should I?" The last name sounded familiar in a way, Cyrus thought. Even so, he did not seem to remember. "Something about horses ..."

Now it was to laugh at Anselm. "That should be the biggest understatement I've ever heard. Macon Ordeal was the founder of what is the golden guard today. Originally the remains of a cavalry regiment that opposed his father after the old emperor had frankly gone quite mad, along with some Cossacks from Hasparen. These men led the first rebellion against the Ordeal emperors in centurys. Later Macon claimed the throne of course, but his men stayed and over generations became part of  the horsemen of Hasparen. The Ordeal Emperors after  Macon recruited their elite cavalry from these tribes and this tradition persisted until Simon Belfare's great rebellion and the fall of the Ordeal dynasty. Thereafter, the former Regiments of the Ordeal Emperors were dissolved, along with the Praetorians and later transformed into the Emperors Guard. Or at least almost everyone. The golden guard fought Simon Belfare for a decade after he had secured the amber throne... now Belfare was not a merciful man. He gave the golden guard an ultimatum. Either they would surrender and, like the rest of the loyalists, disarm, or die. The Guard's response was ... clear. "

"I suppose they did not surrender."

Anselm looked a little embarrassed for a moment. " At the end of the battle, only about forty of them were left alive. nHowever, the Emperor had lost almost all of his men in Hasparen, and the Golden Guard had more than a few allies among the equestrian tribes and horse breeders of the province. He had won a victory threatening to cost him the entire region."

 "So he has pardoned them?"

"Right." Anselm nodded and shrugged. "Even though he did not really have a choice and the Golden Guard survivors knew that. So they could dictate the conditions to some degree. They would submit to the Emperor, but not lay down their arms. Instead, they would continue their role and serve as a cavalry unit under the new ruler. However, they have never really recognized him as emperor and continue to fight under the banner of the Ordeal emperors. Apparently, none of Simon's successors saw worth the effort to banish them and risk plunging the province into a costly civil war ...over what came down to a piece of cloth. You can say what you want about the Belfare, but they sure are pragmatists. "

"And what? You dare not go to them because you can not threaten them with the authority of the Emperor? "

The magician, or whatever he was, looked embarrassed for a moment, but did not answer. Cyrus sighed. He just wanted his rest. For a moment, he again considered just going away. Anselm could do little to stop him if he told him that was not really his problem. But somehow ... He really did not feel like playing the watchman for the man. The only thing was ... the man was likable. Maybe because he reminded him a little too much of himself when he first arrived here. Not consumed or resigned like too many others here. And apparently fascinated but also intimidated by everything here. He took a deep breath.  Way too similiar to him. The first opportunity to get out of the barracks. To be on open land again, instead of barred windows and heavy oak gates. Hard to believe that  thiswas only a few months ago. He felt old, Cyrus thought, and Anselm, measured by years, was perhaps even the older of them. But not by experience.

"And if I go with you?" He tried to sound friendly. He did not seem to succeed and for a moment he was sure that Anselm would refuse.

"You would do that?"

"Let me say it like this. It's your funeral. Either you go or I will drag you. "If he could not help liking the man, he would not allow him to back down now. "Your decision. But if you are scared of a few men in armor ... "

Anselm only smiled for a moment. "I thought I was disturbing you, you know."

"Oh, believe me, you do not want  know how I deal with people that  really annoy me. The last one got a knife in the chest."

The magician's smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. After a final moment of hesitation, he finally set off, Cyrus ahead of the field and the small group of soldiers armored in gold.