Now, he watched and waited, not quite sulking, but definitely anxious to keep his distance from the Nyrondese party—especially Vaxor. A few times, he had caught the priest of Heironeous casting a stern gaze his way, and though he was able to meet the clerics eyes, he found himself shrinking inside, trying to hide his shame from that penetrating countenance. If the cleric had discovered anything, he did not, thankfully, confront him.
As time passed, Kaerion’s head began to ache and he found his muscles trembling, as much from the onslaught of nightmares and sleepless nights as from an absence of ale. Kaerion gritted his teeth and bore the pain. There would be time for indulgences soon enough. He just hoped he had the strength to survive until then.
A few nights before the group was supposed to leave the city, Gerwyth tapped Kaerion lightly upon the shoulder and pointed to a secluded corner of the suite. Phathas and Vaxor were engaged in a long discussion regarding the implications of a verse on some ancient scroll, and both Majandra and Bredeth were doing some final negotiations with one of the merchants who was providing the draft animals for their expedition. Alone and, truth be told, anxious for some company, Kaerion shrugged and followed Gerwyth. For once, the elf’s face did not bear a mocking smile. His demeanor was uncharacteristically serious.
Kaerion stared at his friend. The silence and hurt of the last few days stretched out between them like a yawning chasm. There had been several attempts at normal conversation between the two of them the day after their arrival in Rel Mord, but each one had ended with shouting and the same bitter feelings of hurt, anger, and betrayal. It took more than a few moments for the silence to break.
When it did, it was the elf who spoke first. “I hate seeing you like this, Kaer.”
His friend’s words were spoken softly, carefully, and try as he might to deny it, Kaerion could hear the concern in the ranger’s voice.
“You should have told me who we were supposed to meet, Gerwyth,” he replied. “You should have told me everything.”
The elf nodded and waited a bit before speaking. “You’re right, of course. I should have. It was wrong of me to hold back on you like that.”
Kaerion sat stunned for just a moment. In all the years that he had traveled with Gerwyth, this was the first time the free-spirited elf had ever apologized for anything.
“It’s just that I knew you wouldn’t come if I told you all about this job, and I knew I would really need you on this one.”
“There’s a reason why I wouldn’t have come, Ger,” Kaerion replied, heat building in his voice. “All of this,” he indicated the lavish room and the two nobles who dickered on oblivious of the two guides, “reminds me of the life I left behind, the life that my own mistakes destroyed. It’s like Galadorn….”
He paused for a moment after he spoke the holy sword’s name—even now, after everything he’d forsworn, he couldn’t speak about the blade without experiencing a frisson of awe and reverence.
“That sword reminds me of everything that I’ve lost. It’s a damned curse. The last and final punishment meted out by the god I betrayed. Only now, I have to spend months pretending to be nothing more than a hired sword while traveling with a pack of nobles and their Heironean cleric.” Kaerion pitched his voice even softer before continuing. “Do you know what Vaxor will do if he uncovers my sin?”
Gerwyth nodded and placed a hand upon Kaerion’s shoulder, giving it a companionable squeeze. “I do understand, Kaer. Truly I do. We have traveled many leagues together, my friend, and I have watched you suffer from the mistakes you’ve made. You have rebuilt a part of yourself from the ashes of your defeat, and that takes great strength and courage, whatever you may think. But a half-life is no life at all. I’ve seen the way you drink, hoping that it will fill the part of you that is still missing, the part that died over ten years ago. The time has come for you to stop running and face that darkness inside.”
Kaerion shrugged the elf’s hands off of his shoulder. “That is my decision to make, Ger, not yours. When I’m ready for such a journey, I’ll take it.”
“Perhaps,” Gerwyth replied, “if you were an elf, such a sentiment would hold true. But the life-flame of your kind burns fast, and I would not see you carry such pain to the grave. You are a true friend, Kaerion, and I will bend every ounce of my power to help you.”
“Like you’re doing with Phathas?” Kaerion said Bitterness burned like a hot coal on his tongue.
Gerwyth raised an eyebrow at his response. “Phathas is an old friend. And yes, I would do anything I could to help him—even brave your wrath.” A trace of that familiar mocking smile crept upon the elf’s face.
Despite himself, Kaerion found his anger abating somewhat. “You could have told me about Phathas,” he said with just a trace of pettiness.
“That was another lifetime, Kaer,” Gerwyth responded. “And truth be told, I didn’t think you’d be that interested. Besides, if I regaled you with all of the details of my life, you’d be half-dead before I finished.” His smile grew even wider.
“Yeah,” Kaerion replied, a grin forming on his own face, “no doubt from boredom.”
The elf’s almond-shaped eyes widened in a poor imitation of innocent shock, and he let out a sharp laugh before offering Kaerion his sword arm. “So,” he asked, “shall we still travel together as shield-mates?”
Kaerion regarded his companion’s outstretched arm. He was still a bit angry with Gerwyth, but only because the elf’s actions forced him to deal with things he had wished remained hidden. It was the way of friends to speak and act truthfully toward one another. He thought that in a strange way, by hiding the truth from him, Gerwyth might have been revealing an even deeper truth—a revelation that would not have been possible when the world existed in black and white.
Finally, Kaerion grasped the elf’s forearm. “Always, my friend,” he said. “Always.”
“Then come,” the elf said. “Let us lend our own considerable scholarship to the debate raging in this very room.” He slapped Kaerion once on the shoulder and then rose, heading toward Vaxor and Phathas, who were now engaged in a heated exchange over the scroll’s meaning.
May the gods have mercy upon all of us, Kaerion thought as he joined the trio.
Outside, the winter wind whipped hard against the painted glass of the suite.
Death lurked in the shadows of the room.
Durgoth couldn’t quite see the cloaked figures skulking in the dark beyond the pulsing light of the silver-wrought lamp, but he could sense their presence—crossbows poised, watching, waiting for a sudden movement or a silent signal. He knew that Jhagren detected their presence as well, for the monk sat completely and utterly still in his wide-backed chair, gazing calmly at the flickering shadows. The cleric had spent enough time with Jhagren to understand that this calm demeanor belied an almost unearthly focused mind and a body trained to uncoil like a serpent in an explosive attack at the first sign of violence.