Silme rested a palm on Larson's knee. Her nod encouraged him to continue.
"Gaelinar said you met him in Japan. He didn't know why you came there."
"He didn't?" Silme seemed surprised. She stroked Larson's leg absently. "I came for him. When I realized I would need to contest Bramin's evil, I selected my repertoire of spells to counteract his, to protect innocents from his vengeance. He was always more powerful than me, both in magic and physical strength. I needed someone to even the odds. So, with the help of other Dragon-rank sorcerers and Vidarr, I identified our world's most skilled swordsman. I met with Gaelinar's lord, a loathsome weasel of a man, and asked him to free Gaelinar from his service." Silme's features screwed into wrinkles at the memory, as if she had tasted something bitter.
Larson glanced at Astryd who was smoothing stray strands of hair away from Taziar's lids. "And?" he prompted.
"Gaelinar's lord refused, of course," Silme continued. "Then the old fool tried to force himself on me."
Larson winced, wondering how any man could be stupid enough to try to ravish a Dragonrank sorceress. With equal speed, he recalled the mages were a Northern phenomenon, nearly unknown outside Scandinavia.
"I didn't mean to kill him," Silme said with honest regret. "I think he had a weak heart and my spell simply propelled him a bit closer to Hel."
Larson put his hand over Silme's. "Gaelinar believed his master died of natural causes."
"A necessary lie." Silme stared off toward the horizon. "If Gaelinar had known I took his lord's life, he would have been obligated to kill me."
Wind hissed through the snow, tossing flakes in a gentle spray. Larson remained in silent contemplation, wondering if Gaelinar could have avenged himself on Silme. The Kensei's dedication to Silme, his willingness to serve her even after death seemed beyond the realm of normal loyalty. Though Gaelinar had tried to hide and deny his morality, it came through in a thousand different ways: his selfless dedication to causes, his ability to tolerate and even find humor in Larson's disrespect. Larson could not help but wonder whether Gaelinar's pledge to a repulsive master would allow him to act against Silme. He doubted it. But we'll never really know.
"Any other questions?" Silme prompted.
Just one, Larson thought. But you can't answer it. I still don't understand why Gary Mannix wrote "rod" or rather, "rads" instead of "rifle" or "gun. " But that's another thing I don't believe I'll ever fully understand. Larson slipped an arm around Silme, drawing her closer. The warm reality of her nearness remained scarcely within his ability to believe. "No," he said. "That's enough." His words went beyond the reply to Silme's query. "That's enough," he repeated emphatically. "I don't care if I never see another dragon or hear from another god. We've saved mankind twice. Now, if the world doesn't mind, I'd tike to forget about Law and Chaos, about hopeless futures and doomed pasts, and especially about performing impossible tasks. I've got some 'happily ever after' time coming, and I'm going to share it with the woman of my dreams." He pressed his cheek to Silme's breast.
Taziar spoke. "Happily ever after time, huh? I've never heard it put that way."
Larson glanced at his small companion to find Taziar's blue eyes wide and sparkling with excitement. "I know just the place. Did I ever tell you about a city called Cullinsberg? Its baron has a bounty on me, but if we're careful, we should be able to slip past…"
Larson lost the remainder of Taziar's words to the distant roar of Hvergelmir. He studied the Shadow Climber for a long time before he laughed. It's not over yet. Not by a long shot.