Konstantins Crusade English version - E W (ebook reader for comics .txt) 📗

The tallest of the figures was still a whole head shorter than he was, and seemed to be crouched and humped. That was not the strangest thing about them though. At first he thought of a Gejarn but the differences were too clear. Thin, reddish fur covered their bodies where they were not wrapped in colorful, but ragged clothes. Everything seemed too big, as if they had found it somewhere and tried to adapt it for their size.

One of the figures still held a drawn knife, but let it sink slowly now. Their faces were only half-visible, the upper half covered with masks made of bleached wood. Below them flashed golden, reptile-like eyes. And some thin, sharp teeth protruding from snouts opened in surprise.

Scales covered their faces where the coat of fur became less dense. And he realized that they were not bent over or hunched at all. The impression came from a crocodile-like tail, bulging out of their clothes that were obviously made for Humans not… whatever they were.

The stranger, still holding his shoe, took a step back ... and then, almost apologetically, held back the stolen goods while the other two sank to one knee. Anselm did not know how much he was allowed to read from their faces, but they looked almost… apologizing to him. Like a child you caught with their hands in a cookie jar.

"Thanks," he said uncertainly, as he took the boot back. Anselm did not know what else to say. The whole scene was just ... bizarre. Only a few moments ago, these four had talked about eating his supposed corpse, now they were kneeling before him.

"We have to thank, Lord Magician." Said the voice of the woman he had heard before and who had taken his shoes. But now there was fear in it. "We did not expect a high priest to visit us."

High Priest? Anselm hesitated to reply as he put on his stolen boot. At least they did not seem hostile to him, that was something after all. Better let them believe that he was ... whatever they thought he was, until he got out of here.

Maybe his magic had somehow impressed them? Anselm dropped his hands and at the same time extinguished the magical light. What now? , he thought. A battle was still going on above him, and the last thing he could remember was a giant golem almost killing him. And Cyrus. And Macon. Hopefully the two had also managed to survive.

He cleared his throat, put on a disarming smile, and asked, "Excuse me, I fear my presence here was not ... intentional. You could not show me the way out of here by chance? "

Apparently, the three figures in front of him had expected any answer, but that one.

"Well ... of course, lord. Just a moment ... "The thief turned to the other waiting creatures. “Ewec, Eleg, you both go back. I'm bringing our guest to the surface alone. "

"And you're sure you want to do that?" One of her companions, Ewec, if Anselm was right, looked back at him. "You may not come back. We all wandered out here."

"Yes, but because I wanted to take a look.", She replied. "I got us into this mess and I'll get us out again. It's enough if one of us pays for it. "

"They killed us for less ..."

Either she did not care that Anselm could hear her or they just assumed he did not care. They are afraid of me, he thought. Why? The answer made a bitter taste rise in his mouth. For the same reason people avoided him. Magician. All at once he wished he had not cast a spell. They were not hostile, Anselm thought. And now they were afraid of him. He would have liked to assure them that he would not hurt them, but ... would they bring him out of here, too, if they knew he was neither a priest nor meant any harm? Maybe, maybe not. But he could not rely on it. He was somewhere under Xihuitzin. Above him stretched a high, bricked vault. Water flowed through a wide channel to the right of the bricked walkway on which he and the three figures were located. Behind that everything was lost in the dark. By all the gods, he had landed in the sewers, he realized.

"I know, Eleg. But that's my responsibility. And this one is... kinda weird. "The woman signed  towards her two companions. "Go. Go already. And do not use light."

They hesitated for a moment, then turned slowly, one by one, and disappeared in the dark. Their footsteps could be heard for a while, then only silence and the steady dripping of water remained. He realized how long he stood and waited as someone cleared his throat next to him. Anselm looked down and saw the remaining stranger. She had a hand outstretched, as if she wanted to pull his arm to attract attention, but then dared no tot touch him.

"If you would follow me ..."

For a moment there was nothing but silence. All color seemed to have left the world. Everything was moving incredibly slowly for Cyrus. Macon's remaining Golden Guardsmen had been knocked down by the attack and their leader dropped to one knee. Some were dead, others laboriously scrambled to their feet again. Scattered Temple Guards stumbled out the back streets.  Macon got to his feet again, killing one of the men with casual ease.

But for Cyrus there was a only a feeling of emptiness left. His hands balled into fists. Anselm was gone. Just… gone… from one moment to the other. Why did he care, why had he been so stupid to take someone so inexperienced, no matter what Macon demanded ... He had allowed this to happened again. Someone was gone forever, and he had let it happen again. Had once more cared enough... that the loss hurt. How could he have been so stupid?

For a moment he only felt the familiar emptiness, the cold abyss of indifference into which he had fled too often. Not this time. Cyrus took a deep breath, looked up at the living statue, now motionless on the edge of the great square. But not for long, he thought. The cracks Anselm had caused seemed to close again, clumping together as if they were healing wounds.

But he still had the grenade Macon had given him. Cyrus allowed all his anger on himself  to find a new target. The monster in front of him. He drew fire from the abyss, hate ... cold, calculating anger. There was no friendship on a battlefield. Only people who would die again and again, no matter what he did. But he could make sure it was not for nothing this time, not because of the stupid orders of an officer...

Macon's voice finally brought Cyrus back to reality.

"To me!" Macon waved the banner over his head as a sign for his scattered men. Maybe the ghosts know how he managed not to lose the damned thing in all the chaos. A bullet crashed against the armor of the Hetman of the Golden Guard, causing luminous sparks to rise where the enchantments cast into the metal took their energy. "To me!"

The renewed exclamation finally broke the shock. Cyrus was surprised to find that he almost obeyed the order automatically. For a moment he wondered if he had not gone mad himself. His feet moved by themselves over the torn pavement of the square. And he was not the only one. A good twenty of Macon's guardsmen were still standing and trying to join their leader, who had meanwhile started driving back the scattered temple guards, even without their help. Two men with swords made from dark stone challenged him but fell within a heartbeat of one another.

What had they hoped to accomplish? Cyrus asked himself as he crossed a trench torn open by the last attack of the rock giant. They could not hurt Macon, even if the man would have been only half as good with the sword.  And he was damned good, Cyrus thought. The magically glowing blade danced back and forth between the remaining three Temple Guards, driving them back. The man moved as gracefully as if the golden armor he wore did not weigh anything, and even the golden wings on his back hardly seemed to hinder him.

Then he noticed the strange flicker that seemed to distort the air next to Macon. It was not the glimmer of hot air, he thought. It had a clear shape and moved purposefully into the man's back ... Without much thought, he leveled his pistol. He had no time to aim, had to hope that either he would hit or Macon's armor would protect him from a missed shot. And if not, somebody would have at least paid for Anselm's death. The thought came so suddenly that it frightened him. Ghosts what was wrong with him.

He had nearly shot an officer  this morning. Now ... Cyrus forbade himself to keep thinking about it and fired. The bang was barely audible in the general chaos, and suddenly a figure covered in dark scales crashed to the ground, where previously only a glimmer of air had been seen. The obsidian knife it had held in itshand fell to the ground. Macon turned to the fallen figure. Then he looked directly at Cyrus. The green eyes of the man found his and for a brief moment the wolf was sure  Macon knew exactly what he had just thought.

Then he slowly nodded to him and a thin smile appeared on his lips.

"Thanks.”

Cyrus returned the nod in uncertainty, bridging the last few meters between him and the hetman. It surprised him that he had reached him first. The remaining guardsmen were still busy fighting isolated temple guards or climbing over the rubble of the square.

"Come on!" Macon dropped the banner and  ended his last opponent with a backhand strike. "To me, I said! We have a giant to kill. Come on. Take this thing to the ground. Its in my way. "And with a look at Cyrus, he added," The damn Gejarn is faster than you. You want to be humiliated by a fleabag? "

With these words, the hetman stepped over his fallen opponent and ran towards the stone monster, which still remained at the edge of the square.

And suddenly I'm no longer sorry I wanted to shoot him, Cyrus thought before following him. Why? He could simply let the man run to his death.

The cracks Anselm had caused on the golem were now almost gone.

If anything, they should get out of her as long as they had the opportunity. He had little desire to find out if the thing was really dead or just recovering. And yet there was still that cold rage that drove him forward. In a few steps he had overtaken Macon, and when he looked back at the man, he realized he was laughing. Laughed ... For a moment he was not sure if Macon was not completely insane. And then he realized. That had been intentional ... Macon had wanted to provoke him, had spurred him , not to do what his gut