“I must. First back to the city to gather a few things, then, as I said, on to the Conclave and, after that, back to Gwynned and-”
“More glory-seeking?” Serene pressed. “The name of Tyros must be on everyone’s lips now.”
He couldn’t hide his dismay at such a thought. “I am tired of glory, and I have seen what ambition can do. No, I thought I might find a more peaceful clime where my magic can be used to help heal the wounds of the war. Perhaps even somewhere near here.”
She glanced away. “Perhaps we’ll meet again soon, then.”
“I would like that.” Tyros truly hoped that they would. While it was too soon to say if anything long-lasting might develop between Serene and him, he thought that the potential was there. He thought the cleric acted as if she believed so, too.
Time would tell … and at least they had the time now.
They walked along, for the moment leaving the griffons to mourn alone. The woods felt fresh, alive, not at all like Castle Atriun.
He shivered, thinking of the fate that had claimed Leot and that had nearly befallen him as well.
Serene noticed the reaction and immediately put a comforting hand on his arm. “What is it, Tyros? What’s wrong?”
The wizard didn’t answer her at first, thinking of Valkyn’s foul spells and dark research. The destruction of the citadel had been so complete that little remained that might relate to some curious spellcaster the methods by which to recreate yet another monstrous fortress. However, as a precaution, when Tyros returned to Gwynned, he would make it his first duty to make certain that not even a single rune had survived. There could be no second Atriun.
“Nothing is wrong,” Tyros finally assured her. Yes, he would make certain such a horror would not be repeated. “Just a fading memory.”
And soon, if Tyros had his way, one forgotten forever.