This delicate skull, that of neither a human nor a talon, defeated that fantasy, and all the others, and now young Bryan had to admit in his heart what he had been speaking openly for all these months.
“What thief, Father?” he asked quietly, falling to his knees but keeping the delicate skull steady before his eyes. “What thief has stolen your smooth flesh and drank of your blood? What talon sword or what magic? What carrion bird, what worm? I would strike them down, my father, every one! I would avenge your death, but hollow, I fear, are my words and my efforts.”
Bryan paused and rocked back, black despair nearly overwhelming him and allowing that cold chill to sink a bit deeper. Hollow indeed were his efforts, he thought, for no matter how many talons he killed, no matter whether he killed the wraith or the Black Warlock himself, it suddenly seemed to make no difference; the skull was an empty bone, lifeless, fleshless. The brain that had guided Meriwindle had been eaten by the worms. The warmth that had ever come forth from Meriwindle’s heart had been plucked by buzzards.
Bryan did not try to fight back the tears. For the first time since he had seen the smoke plume over Corning, the half-elf cried, truly cried, his sobs bending him low over the skeleton of his father. The chill of Mitchell’s mace retreated then, considerably, as if the powerful, real emotion gave back to the young half-elf a bit of his life force.
After many minutes, Bryan lifted his head and held the skull aloft before his wet eyes. “Farewell, my father,” he said quietly. “Your soul no sword could strike, no bird could peck, no worm could eat. Your soul could not be stolen by Thalasi, as your courage held firm against him.
“Courage,” he echoed softly, many times, that single word telling him who his father was, and who he must be. Eyes wide, he looked all around, up at the sky, down at the ground. “Be gentle, Death!” he cried at the top of his lungs. Then, in a lower, somber voice, “Never have you received so worthy a soul.”
And with that, Bryan laid the skull back down on the pile. He thought about burying the remains but dismissed the notion, realizing that this cairn of talon bones was more fitting a resting place for his gallant father. He let his hand slide over the smooth skull one more time, then he found his footing and started away. “Courage,” he said again.
Bryan, at last, had put his father to rest.
Now his thoughts turned to Rhiannon, and despair washed away, and all thoughts about the futility of his life and his efforts vanished. He could not help Meriwindle, but there were many alive because of his actions, and there were others, one in particular, that he simply would not allow to die.
One word became his litany as he forced one foot in front of the other, as he crossed through Corning’s eastern gate. One word, one denial, of all that seemed imminent.
“No.”
Chapter 10
By the Colonnae Trained
“OH, THERE IT is, I do daresay!” the wizard proclaimed, hopping up from his bedroll and jumping wildly, his huge sleeves flapping like the wings of a frightened bird. “I knew I would find it, yes I did, and not you, you silly ranger! Me before you, after all! Hah! Old man’s eyes aren’t so bad, then, eh?”
The ranger sprinted to the spot, dodging trees and skidding at last to the boulder tumble where he had left the sleeping Ardaz, the sheltered place that had served as their campsite the previous night.
“Hah!” Ardaz barked at him, snapping his fingers triumphantly in the air and standing tall indeed, his skinny arms crossed over his puffed-out chest. “An old man’s eyes see with the wisdom of ages, I say, I do daresay!”
Belexus looked around skeptically. They had set camp before sunset, and he had personally inspected all the area while Ardaz had unpacked the pegasus. The ranger could hardly believe that he had missed the telltale mountain face, the very focus of this difficult journey. Not quick to doubt the Silver Mage of Lochsilinilume, Belexus looked all around again, scanning slowly through each direction, and truly there loomed a multitude of towering peaks all about them; the shelter afforded by those walls of stone had been a primary consideration in picking this camping spot. So how had he possibly missed the most important view of the entire journey?
Or had he? he wondered after many moments of fruitless scanning. Finally, perplexed, the ranger turned to the wizard for clarification, for he could find nothing remarkable.
“Where?” he asked simply.
Ardaz looked around, his expression growing incredulous. “Well, I saw it. I did!” he protested. “And you know that I see what I said that I saw! Just after I awoke.”
“Dreaming the sight?” Belexus remarked, and despite his frustration that they were not, apparently, near the end of their journey, a smile found its way onto his face.
“After I awoke,” Ardaz repeated dryly. “Sitting here minding my own business, after all, and then, poof! there it was, an old man’s profile, not so far away. I am not crazy, you know,” he added in low tones.
Belexus glanced up to Desdemona, who was in cat form, lying in the sun across the top of one of the boulders. She regarded him and yawned profoundly, then stretched and rolled over, letting the warm sun-and it was indeed warm for the season-caress her ample belly.
“Oh, she’ll be a help,” Ardaz said with obvious sarcasm.
“Where, then?” the ranger asked again.
Ardaz hopped in circles, looking all around, eyes darting, arms flapping, scratching his chin repeatedly and muttering “How curious, how very curious” many times. Finally he settled and shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I did see it, after all.”
The ranger moved to inspect the wizard’s bedroll. “As soon as ye waked?” he reasoned.
“Well, and after a belch,” Ardaz replied. “But not too long a delay.”
To the wizard’s surprise, and confusion, Belexus then lay down atop Ardaz’ bedroll, then lifted his head just a bit. The ranger sat up quickly, smiling, then openly laughing, and the tone of his fit was more of resignation than of humor, as if to say, “I give up,” and not, “How amusing.”
“Are you to let me in on the joke?” Ardaz asked. “I mean, if I am the butt of it, after all, and since there is no one else for you to share it with.” As soon as he spoke the words, the wizard snapped a dangerous glare over the apparently oblivious-but Ardaz knew better-Desdemona. “And not a meow from you,” he said.
“Ye seen an old man’s profile,” the ranger explained. “Yer own.”
Ardaz snorted a dozen times, but lost his ire as Belexus pointed to a nearby wall of one of the boulders, its side covered by a cascade of ice.
The dumfounded wizard stuttered in protest, trying to refute the claim, but as he bumbled about, crouching to take the ranger’s perspective, he came to realize that Belexus had spoken truthfully. “Oh,” was all that Ardaz said.
Belexus laughed again, and now lost all of his frustration, allowing himself a bit of true mirth. The situation in all his world remained so very grim-the wraith, Andovar’s murderer, walked the world uncontested-but having the always-surprising Ardaz along on this long and perilous journey surely stole more than a bit of the tedium.
“I’ll play your fool, then,” the wizard said, seeming sullen. That mood lasted but a moment, though, Ardaz’ pout vanishing as the corners of his mouth inevitably turned upward. “My own profile,” he said suddenly. “Oh how jolly, how very jolly!”
It was a good laugh, a long laugh, followed by a hearty breakfast, after which Belexus announced that he would do a bit of hunting to try to restock their packs before they took to higher ground.