The Eye of Everfell

"— not what I expected," the Difiju warrior said. He and his companion stood and nodded respectfully. "My apologies, Shama. I am shamed for my conduct."

Nyori nodded in return. "You did not know. There is no shame in that. I hope there will not be trouble for us as we continue our journey on the morrow."

"The word will be sent ahead, Shama. You will not be disturbed, I assure you." The others gazed at her in a reassessing way.

"Well." Rhanu's voice was dry. "That settles that. Perhaps we can eat now."

Meshella touched Nyori's arm reassuringly. "Don't let Rhanu fool you. He would never have let anyone be harmed while under his hospitality. He would have stopped them with just a few words. Rhanu is a hard man, but a just one."

Han returned to camp and dipped a bow to Nyori. "Your horse is tied with the others. She will be brushed and fed as well before we retire for the night."

"Thank you."

He grinned and passed her a deep wooden bowl and spoon. The steaming stew was thick and filled with large chunks of venison and spare on vegetables. Just the sort of thing a man would cook up. Still, she had been living on rabbit and dry bread for the last few days, so any change was a good one. She ate eagerly, impressed by the seasoning that made the food taste better than expected.

"What is a Shama?" Han gazed at her with familiar intensity. She had seen the same gaze from some of the men in Halladen when they thought she wasn't looking. It always stirred both embarrassment and a small thrill to find herself the object of attraction.

"We are healers and vision seekers. Keepers of lost arts and guardians of secrets. I can tell you no more than that, I'm afraid." She ignored Nando's sour grunt.

"Such is the Shama's burden," Ironhide said softly. "To hear but not speak, to seek but not share. For whom have the understanding but they?"

Han nodded. "We have Sovereign Ones in my homeland. They speak as you do, though are always in their autumn years. None so young and lovely as you, Shama. Meshella is the only woman I've had the pleasure of viewing since crossing the Dragonspine, and she bites." He winced as Meshella absentmindedly punched him in the arm.

"You must ignore this puppy," she said. "He is not yet weaned on his first taste of women."

Nyori felt her face flush. "Where are you from, Han?"

"Honguo."

Honguo. She had only heard of it from tales from traveling merchants and in exotic stories. It lay beyond the Eastland Wilds, so far from their lands that it had achieved mythical qualities when spoken of. Tales were told of strange creatures, flying men, and devastatingly beautiful women. Despite his foreign looks, Han was almost disappointing in the face of the stories.

"What brings you so far from your home?" she asked.

"Adventure." He smiled. "I have not much except my sword and my skill at using it. Fortunately, both are phenomenal."

Nando scoffed. "Skill? You're probably younger than Nyori. How much talent do you expect us to believe you have?"

Han grinned around a mouthful of stew. "Youth is my advantage. I have trained with a blade since the age other children play with stones. I am to swordplay what poetry is to words."

"You forget to add modest as well," Nando said.

Han paused in the act of lifting his spoon. "I'll wager my sword against yours I can disarm you in ten drumbeats."

Nyori studied Han. He was completely at ease, his eyes twinkling with amusement. She realized he wasn't jesting. He truly believed he was that good. Nyori cut Nando off just as he opened his mouth.

"We are not here to make wagers or contest any of you, Han. There is nothing that needs proving."

Han shrugged and continued eating. "As you say, Shama."

Ironhide looked disappointed. "And here I was looking forward to making a few easy tokes. Not to mention seeing young Nando graced by the spirit of humility."

Nando reddened, but Nyori caught him glancing at Han in an evaluating manner. It might have suddenly occurred to him that there might be good reason why Han could hold his own at such a young age in a band full of weathered warriors.

"I have not seen such a diverse band as this," Ironhide said. "How is it that so many different people have banded together just to hunt criminals?"

An awkward hush fell over the camp. Nyori held her breath as the band looked at one another. For a moment she thought Ironhide had somehow inadvertently insulted them.

Rhanu finally broke the silence. "We have all suffered…losses. When something you love dearly is taken, you look for something to fill that gaping hole. Something to keep you from sinking into the depths of despair. That common experience is why we have bonded."

"I thought you said you were hunting a pair of murderers," Nando said. "You make it sound now as if it is much more than that."

Firelight flickered in Rhanu's eyes. "Micholas! We are in need of entertainment. Regale us, if you will, with your bardic songs of glory and valor."

The Epanite man stood to the applause of the others in the band. Nyori looked at Ironhide, who shrugged as if to say: We have our secrets; let them keep theirs. They turned to listen as Micholas strummed his lute with expert fingers. He was garbed in a finely embroidered coat and trousers, better suited for a banquet than the hardy outdoors.

"Micholas once played in the court of the High Don in Epanos," Han said softly. "Or so he has said."

"What happened?" Nyori asked.

Han smiled sadly. "Life."

Micholas' eyes closed as the melody of the lute strings took him to another place. He sang in a tenor that soared, accompanying the plaintive tunes of his instrument.

Upon a rock amid a stream;
the lass sat down, her face serene.
The wind toned down, the birds fell silent;
the wildwoods waited, their voices quiet.
Her hair rippled and flowed like fire
as she sang sweetly of desire.
Her voice like razors, slicing deep,
so that the sky began to weep.
Her song was thunder in the rain
as words of sorrow she then sang.
Her fingers bled upon her lyre,
and swiftly set the world on fire.
Then at the last note of defiance,
the sky sagged in relief of silence.
And as the distant fires died,
the sun shined on a lass who cried.

Nyori applauded with the rest of the band as Micholas finished strumming and bowed in acknowledgment. She motioned to him. "That was very lovely. Who was she?"

Micholas smiled. "Ah, thank you, mistra. You inquire of the lass in the song? You have not heard The Tears of Fire before?"

"I don't think so," Nyori said. "Is it old?"

His fingers caressed the strings of his lute. "Very old. Perhaps that is why you have not heard of it. It belongs to the Age of Despair, where legend speaks of how Stygan the Dreadlord was deceived into entering the realm of Narak, where he was imprisoned for all time. This same woman was the one who betrayed him. Some say she did so out of spite, but we who sing the songs know better. Before spite there was love, love that Stygan trod on time and again. This woman led him into his prison in revenge, but wept for him after the deed was done."

Nyori closed her eyes, trying to picture the bittersweet scene. "What was her name?"

Micholas' fingers paused as he tilted his head back in thought. "That name is old as well, and nearly forgotten. But the old songs say her name was…Leilavin. Yes, that was her name." He looked at her in alarm. "Are you all right, mistra?"