‘I have spent four years among your kind. Evaluating you. I have made my decision, and so now I return to my homeland to begin the preparations. As to what I am…’
Eremul blinked, astonished by what he was seeing. It wasn’t so much that Isaac was changing appearance as his brain was beginning to fill in the details it had somehow omitted before now.
Humanoid. Ivory skin. Slender, almost delicate limbs. Eyes as black as midnight… Sudden terror gripped him. He had never been subjected to a regard as utterly ruinous as that obsidian stare. Even Salazar had not unmanned him so effortlessly. The being behind that appalling scrutiny was so ancient even a Magelord’s lifespan was but a flicker of a candle in comparison.
Eremul felt warm wetness trickling over the stumps of his legs. He had pissed himself.
Isaac, or the thing that had called itself Isaac, seemed not to notice. It raised one slender hand and said, almost sadly, ‘Enjoy what time you have remaining, Eremul Kaldrian. Regrettably, no exceptions can be made in the coming crusade. Not even for you.’
He took a single step forwards — and disappeared. He fell away into nothingness.
Eremul sat motionless for a time. He glanced down at his soiled robes. Then he wheeled himself down to the docks, too terrified to even think about going back inside the depository alone. He sat there, staring out over the harbour, the sound of the lapping water below helping to calm his shredded nerves.
Movement caught his eye. He stared down at the dark water, mumbled an incantation to summon a globe of light and illuminate what it was. He saw, and his breath caught in his throat, and then he began to shake.
A moment later he held it in his hands. The creature was thinner than he remembered, barely more than a skeleton — and yet somehow, miraculously, it still breathed. How is it possible? I fumbled you into the harbour over three weeks ago!
The dog opened its eyes a fraction. It yelped pathetically, tried to lean forward and lick his face with its parched tongue.
Eremul held the pathetic creature close to him, as tightly as he could without harming it. You’re my little miracle, he thought, ridiculously happy. He turned his chair around and started off back to the depository, eager to get some food and water into the animal. The worst is over. It is time for us both to heal. Together.
He’d even thought of a name. It had come to him just then, out of the blue, and it felt so right that he could imagine no other being quite so fitting.
Tyro.
Brodar Kayne counted out the large golden coins. Twenty-five, just as he had been promised. He pulled the drawstring tight and hefted the pouch in his hand. It felt solid and heavy, like a job well done.
‘I trust you are satisfied,’ said the White Lady’s servant. It was a statement, not a question. He nodded.
‘Shame about Brianna,’ he ventured. ‘She was a fine figure of a lady. Er, speaking respectfully, of course.’
The pale lady didn’t deign to respond. He sighed and stared back towards the city. Sasha had left them a short while ago, saying she wanted to find Cole and check he was all right. He had mentioned he might not be here when she got back. In any case, he reckoned the two youngsters would manage fine without him around.
The fact was he’d already stayed for longer than he wanted. There was just one more thing that needed to be done.
The Wolf was sitting by himself on a small hill overlooking the city. Bodies were still being collected from the battlefield, hundreds of them, gathered in great heaps to be buried in or around Dorminia, depending on whether or not a corpse could be identified. A lot of them couldn’t, and that was the trouble with magic. As far as he was concerned, if you were going to take the decision to kill another man you had better be able to look him in the eye. It kept you honest. It kept you human.
Magelords and their ilk, they did things differently. And it was because of the likes of Salazar and the White Lady that five thousand fresh graves would need to be dug.
Jerek gave him a nod as he approached. The Wolf was in a bad state, his face a battered mass and several ribs broken, to say nothing of the other wounds he’d suffered over the last couple of months. Kayne had never seen him so beaten up, but the last thing he was going to do was offer Jerek any kind of sympathy. He might as well pour oil on a fire.
‘Here,’ he said, tossing over the bag of coins. ‘It’s yours. My half.’
His old friend glanced at the gold but didn’t say a word.
‘I’m leaving,’ he continued. ‘Heading north. Aye, back to the High Fangs. Mhaira’s still alive. I got no other choice.’
The Wolf stared straight ahead, his face as inscrutable as stone.
‘We went through hell getting this far. I couldn’t ask anyone to make that journey again, back the other way. I wouldn’t let ’em if they offered.’
No reply.
‘Call me a bloody old fool, I ain’t going to argue. I know I won’t be coming back. But some things a man just has to do. With fifty gold spires, I figure you can live well in one of the Free Cities.’
Jerek glanced at the bag of coins again. His silence was deafening.
‘Anyway. I know you ain’t much for tearful farewells and such. I don’t reckon either of us is. So I guess I ought to just say thank you. For everything.’
A single muscle twitched in Jerek’s cheek.
‘Right then. I’ll be going. Look after yourself, Wolf.’
He turned and ambled back down the hill. He supposed he could have waited until morning, but there was no time like the present.
He made it to twenty paces before the pouch struck him in the back. Golden coins exploded out everywhere, rolling all over the grass.
‘Fucking unbelievable. Two years travelling together. Fighting together. Almost dying together. And you reckon you can pull this kind of shit now? That ain’t fair, Kayne, and you know it.’
He turned. ‘Look, this ain’t your battle-’
‘Like fuck it ain’t. I got no more love for the Shaman than you do.’ Jerek was tugging at his beard, his face an angry snarl. ‘Did you hear him? Bastard called me a dog. I ain’t having that. I just ain’t having it. Someone needs to teach that prick a lesson.’
The rant went on for a good couple of minutes. Kayne waited until his friend had tired himself out and then nodded slowly. ‘Well. It sounds like you’ve made up your mind.’ He paused for a moment and scratched at his jaw. ‘But, uh, if you’re set on coming with me, I could use a hand gathering up this gold. Might come in handy in the Badlands and maybe beyond.’
Together the two began collecting the fallen coins. One had rolled some distance away. Kayne saw a young militiaman furtively reach down and pick it up while pretending to check his boots. He met the fellow’s eyes and gave him a look of calculated menace. The youngster blanched and bent down to replace the coin on the ground, but stopped as Kayne held up a hand, grinned and then gestured at him to take it. Enough women and children had lost husbands and fathers in the short conflict between the two cities. He reckoned a man was due a break.
The two Highlanders stashed the last of the gold and hefted their backpacks. Then they set off towards the north, to begin the first stage of an epic journey few had ever attempted and fewer still had ever survived.
Anyone party to the odd couple’s passing, such as a certain nameless soldier still musing over his good fortune, would have noted the ghost of a smile on the face of the older warrior.
In contrast, his companion wore a permanent scowl that, nonetheless, could not entirely mask the spring in his step…