Vasen said, “If the transformation runs its course-”
Gerak held up a hand. “Do not dare to speak what you’re thinking in my house, in her house. Do not dare.”
“That’s not what I was thinking,” Vasen said.
Gerak’s eyes widened, as if he were surprised that it was what he was thinking. “Who can heal her? Another of your order?”
“There isn’t time-”
“You don’t know that!” Gerak said, half rising from his chair; then, more quietly. “You don’t know that.”
Vasen conceded the point with a tilt of his head. He did not know.
“She’s pregnant with our child,” Gerak said, his voice breaking. He looked at Vasen as if the words were an accusation.
Vasen did not wilt, and he knew he would not turn his back on Gerak, on Elle, on their child. Perhaps Elle and the child could fight on long enough for them to get her back to the abbey.
“The Oracle might be able to help her,” Vasen said.
Gerak stared at him as if he did not understand. Finally, he said, “Oracle? The Oracle? The Seer of the Vale?”
Vasen nodded.
“Then. . you two are from the Abbey of the Rose?”
Again, Vasen nodded. Orsin held his peace.
Gerak sat back in his chair, his exhalation audible through his teeth. “Minser.”
The name sounded vaguely familiar to Vasen but he could not place it.
“Minser?” Orsin asked.
“A peddler. He-”
“Fat with a moustache and ready smile,” Vasen said, placing the name. “He made the pilgrimage to the abbey once. His aunt was ill.”
Gerak nodded. “The two men took him prisoner. They wanted him to lead them to the abbey.”
Vasen half rose from his chair. “What? Why?”
“One of them was seeking the Oracle, Minser said.”
Vasen stood fully, shadows swirling around him. “What would he want of the Oracle?”
“I. . don’t know.”
“I need to get back to the abbey,” Vasen said. “Quickly.”
“I’m coming, too,” Gerak said, standing. “And Elle.”
“Gerak,” Vasen said, trying to phrase the words gently. “I must move very fast.”
“So we’ll move fast. I know the terrain better than anyone.”
“Gerak. . ”
Gerak’s expression turned vacant, as if he were anticipating a blow. “Don’t you dare say it. Don’t. You are a servant of the light. Don’t say it.”
Vasen felt Orsin’s eyes on him, felt the weight of his words to Byrne before he had come to Fairelm-his calling was more than escorting pilgrims.
“I’ll help you bear her,” Vasen said. “And we’ll move as fast as we can.”
“I’ll help, too,” said Orsin, standing.
Together, the three men hurriedly built a makeshift litter for Elle and pulled her along behind them.
“These were good people,” Gerak said, as they picked their way through the streets, through the dead.
“We have no time to tend to their bodies,” Vasen said. “I prayed over each, if that’s any consolation to you.”
To that, Gerak said nothing, and Vasen could not blame him. There was little consolation to be found in the destruction of Fairelm.
Chapter Nine
They dragged Elle’s litter behind them, moving as fast as they could. Byrne saw them coming and raised his arm in a halting hail. Vasen waved in return and Byrne hurried out to meet them. His eyes went to Gerak, the sick woman, Elle, and questions raised his eyebrows.
Vasen did not waste words. “Everyone in the village is dead save these two.”
Byrne’s expression fell, although he did not look surprised. “Darkness falls. I am sorry,” he said to Gerak. “The woman?”
“My wife,” Gerak said. “She’s. . ill.”
Vasen said, “The attackers are headed to the abbey.”
That brought Byrne up short. “The abbey? Why?”
“They seek the Oracle. I don’t know why.”
“If they get to the pass, the spirits will stop them.”
“Maybe,” Vasen said, “But I’m taking no chances. You didn’t see the village, Byrne. These are not ordinary men.”
Byrne looked Vasen in the eye. “Well enough. Then we’ll stop them together. Come on.”
Byrne turned to go, but Vasen grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him around.
“We’ll stop them,” Vasen said, nodding at Orsin. “You have to stay with the pilgrims, Byrne.”
Byrne’s eyes narrowed. He chewed his moustache, spit it out, and said, “I swore to protect the Oracle, the same as you, First Blade.”
“And we also took a charge from the Oracle to protect Amaunator’s pilgrims. Would you abandon them to Sembia’s plains? Let them try to find their own way through the battle lines drawn across the Dales?”
Byrne colored, masticated his moustache anew, shifted on his feet.
“Say it,” Vasen said, and Byrne did.
“You stay with the pilgrims, then,” Byrne said. “You’re a creature of darkness, First Blade. You can lead them better through this. Even now you sweat shadows. Even now you-”
Too late Byrne realized what he had said. His eyes widened.
Shadows coiled around Vasen but he kept his face expressionless. He’d heard the words, or read them on the faces of his fellow Dawnswords, many times. He was the first blade, but he was apart from his fellows and always would be. Like Orsin, he was a congregation of one.
“I stand in the light, Byrne Neev. The same as you.”
“I’m sorry,” Byrne said, flushing, but Vasen ignored him and continued:
“Faith defines me, not blood.”
“I know, First-”
“And I’ve been in service to the abbey, and the Oracle, for much longer than you.”
“Yes-”
Vasen’s voice was rising as he spoke. “This decision is mine and you will abide by it.”
“Of course.”
“You will remain with the pilgrims.”
“Yes, First Blade,” said Byrne, chastened.
Vasen’s breath came hard. The shadows around him swirled, nearly touching Byrne. He closed his eyes, inhaled, and calmed himself.
“I’m sorry,” Byrne said, looking off to the side of Vasen’s face. “I spoke inartfully, with heat, and I regret it.”
“Words are not swords, Byrne,” Vasen said. “I’m uncut, and it’s forgotten.”
Byrne sagged with relief.
“Keep moving, as fast as they can bear. By now, the Shadovar know we’re out here. Watch for them. Watch for soldiers as you near the Dales.”
Byrne nodded.
“After you’ve gotten the pilgrims to safety, return to Fairelm and see to the bodies as best you can. They deserve what rest we can give them.”
“Well enough, First Blade.”
“The light keep you,” Vasen said to him.
“And you,” Byrne said, coloring as he spoke the words.
Despite the harsh words, they embraced. Vasen started to walk toward the pilgrims, but Byrne put a hand on his breastplate to stop him.
“Has the Oracle ever seen for you, First Blade?”
“Of course.”
“What did he say?”
The question took Vasen aback. “Each man’s reading is his own, Byrne.” “He told me I would not die while the abbey stood. Those were his words.” Vasen swallowed, nodded.
“I don’t know what to do with that,” Byrne said.
“Nor I,” Vasen said. “Let me tell the pilgrims I’m leaving.” “Of course.”
After he’d explained things to the pilgrims, Vasen said to them, “Byrne and Eldris and Nald will see you safely north. There’s nothing to fear. The light keep and warm you all.”
They returned his greeting haltingly, and he turned to go before they began to ask questions. A soft touch on his forearm brought him around. Elora stood there, concern written on her features. Her hand slid down to take Vasen’s.
“You shine, Dawnsword. Despite your shadows. Remember that. I wish you could have known my husband. He was a good man. Like you.”
Her words touched him. He bent, took her face in his hands, and kissed her brow. “Thank you, Elora.”