The nightmare returned, and with it the temple-soaring archesand white marble walls arcing toward the heavens. He heard the singing once again, but this time didn’t revel in it. He knew what was to come.
And it did. All too soon.
He saw the gray-robed procession marching solemnly toward the altar, saw an emaciated figure he knew to be himself kneeling helplessly on the ground. When he looked for the boy again, he found him lying face up on the stone altar. The clerics around him had shed their gray robes. He looked on in disgust as he saw the mottled skin, jagged scales, and oozing pus that made up their naked flesh. These demons wore twisted mockeries of the human form. Many of them sprouted leathery tails that twitched and caressed their infernal companions, while a few possessed great wings that beat in time to the bass rumble of their laughter. The demonic monks reveled in dark joy around the altar, alternately fondling themselves, each other, and the object of their rite.
From this distance, Kaerion could see the boy’s face,frightened but expectant-sure that the paladin would summon forth his holypowers and rescue him. Kaerion reached for Galadorn, only to recoil as the sword’s hilt stung his hand like a giant wasp.
“Heironeous,” he accused the lofty balustrades of the temple,“why have you abandoned me?”
But there was no answer. He didn’t really expect any. He rantoward the altar with a strangled cry as one of the fiends raised a sharply-taloned claw in the air and brought it down across the exposed throat of the boy. The young lad did not even cry out as the demon ripped out his throat.
Kaerion, jolted awake by the splash of cool water on his face, cracked open his eyes to twin slits and surveyed his surroundings. Several lamps burned fitfully, and though their dim light assaulted his vision like three suns, he was able to make out the familiar interior of a caravan wagon.
Boxes and supplies had been moved to make room for the makeshift bed that he currently found himself in. Though soaked with sweat, a deep chill sent aches and shudders through his tired body, and he felt grateful for the pile of warm skins and blankets that covered him.
A shadowy figure moved softly in the wagon’s space, andKaerion opened his eyes as wide as their crusted lids would allow. Majandra moved closer to his bedridden form, bending forward to dab his sweat-slicked forehead with a rag. He tried to reach out and hold on to the bard’s hand, buthe felt entirely disconnected from his body, as if he floated in an empty space somewhere above his supine form; his hand did not respond. Frustrated, he could only lay still as the half-elf continued with her tender ministrations.
She smiled once and said something that resembled his name, but he could not make it out. A dull haze had begun to settle over his thoughts, and he felt himself falling back toward the waiting arms of sleep.
Memories of the events that had led him here washed over Kaerion in a rush, pulling him toward oblivion. He thought bitterly of the sacred sword that had betrayed him in a similar fashion to the way he had betrayed it. “Justice,” he tried to say as the thick blanket of sleep fell overhim, but the words never came out.
Time passed as Kaerion drifted in and out of consciousness-though how much time was difficult to determine. He sensed ratherthan felt the wagon’s movement, for the weakness and disembodiment he had feltearlier stayed with him. Once, he thought he heard the sound of rushing water, but it soon became difficult to tell, as the world around him swam in and out of focus, ending finally in familiar darkness.
He was surprised to notice the regular attendance of nearly every one of his companions. Even Bredeth came to sit with him. The young noble regaled him with his thoughts and hopes for the glorious battles and heroic deeds they would undertake on this journey, and though his visits tired Kaerion, he found himself oddly touched by the normally brusque noble’s concern. OnlyVaxor was conspicuous in his absence.
Thoughts of the Heironean priest only served to bring his true situation into complete focus. Surely the arch priest would understand the significance of the sword, and if he hadn’t condemned him to the others yet, hehad certainly passed judgment himself. Once his companions learned the true nature of his cowardice, he would be lucky if any of them would even speak to him again. For some reason, this caused Kaerion more sadness than he expected, and he lay there shaking with weakness and anticipated dread.
Kaerion awoke one morning to daylight streaming in through the now-open end of his wagon. A warm breeze blew softly through the space, carrying the perfumed scent of flower buds and grass.
“There he is,” a voice said from somewhere near the opening,and Kaerion recognized Gerwyth’s mocking tone instantly. “Glad to see you’refinally awake long enough to appreciate the weather,” he said, climbing into thewagon and taking a seat next to Kaerion’s bed. “Care to stop lazing about andfinally earn your keep?”
Kaerion smiled and looked up at his friend. A thousand retorts came to mind, but the parched desert of his mouth would not let any of these clever barbs escape. His struggles must have been easily noticed, for the elf chuckled once and then produced a skin of water, which he held gently to Kaerion’s mouth.
He drank greedily, letting the cold liquid linger in his mouth before swallowing it. He took several long draughts, surprised at the depth of his own need. Gerwyth let out another laugh and pulled back the skin all too soon.
“Easy, Kaer,” the ranger said, all trace of his formermockery gone. “Phathas says you must not drink too much too soon.”
Kaerion nodded and drew his hand across the cracked and dried tissue of his lips. “H-how long have I been sick?” he asked after a moment, hisvoice gruff and harsh from disuse.
“For some time,” the elf responded. “It is currently thethird day of Coldeven. You gave us all quite a scare.”
Kaerion stared at his friend in shock. Six weeks. He’d beenbedridden and sick for six weeks. No wonder the warm weather felt alien. It should still have been the end of winter, and here it was well into spring.
“How far have we traveled?” he asked.
Gerwyth looked at his friend for just a moment, and Kaerion could see the concern in his friend’s eyes. “We traveled across the confluenceof the Harp and Lyre rivers, turned south to skirt the Bonewood forest and made our way into the Rieuwood. We are currently about a week or so away from the southern border of the forest and Sunndi.”
So much time lost, so much of their journey completed, and he had spent it lying on his back like an infirm old man.
“Kaerion,” Gerwyth asked, interrupting his bitter thoughts,“what happened out there?”
Kaerion shook his head. “I don’t know. One moment I washaving a conversation with Majandra, and the next Galadorn burst into life.” Hisvoice became a whisper. “It hasn’t done that since… since Dorakaa.” Kaeriongroaned and tried to roll over, the surprise at being able to feel his body overshadowed by his current situation. “Now that they’ve seen Galadorn, everyonemust already know exactly what I am.”
“And what are you?” Gerwyth asked.
“I am a traitor, a coward, and a betrayer. I was once belovedof a god, Ger, a commander of legions, and a hero right out of a bard’s tale. Ithrew it all away. Turned my back on the god I served. I am nothing.”
“You are my friend,” Gerwyth replied, grabbing Kaerion’sshoulder with startling intensity. “You are brave and strong and noble in everyway that truly counts, and I would gladly lay down my life for yours.”
Kaerion lay there, stunned by the deep sincerity present in the ranger’s words and expression. Through ten years’ worth of travel, he hadrarely seen this side of the normally quixotic and carefree elf.
“That means more to me than you know, Ger,” Kaerion said,“but now that the rest of them have discovered my secret, they will have to turntheir backs on me. It is the Church of Heironeous that sponsors this expedition. Surely you see that.”
“The rest of our companions have not discovered your‘secret’, Kaer,” Gerwyth replied. “They have seen a sword, nothing more.”
“But they must suspect something, and Vaxor-”
“Suspicions are like goblins, or at least that’s what mymother always told me,” interrupted Gerwyth. “They breed almost everywhere, butfall to a single arrow easily enough. And do not trouble yourself about Vaxor.”
“The significance of Galadorn can’t be lost upon him,”Kaerion said. “He must know, and I’m sure that he will tell the others.”
“The priest has said nothing to the others,” the elf said,“and if he does, it will be your opportunity to confront the very thing you havebeen running from. That will be the true measure of your courage.”
Kaerion nodded. “Perhaps you’re right, Ger. Though what willthe others think of me? I’ve grown used to the rudeness of strangers, but not-”
“Those you care about,” Gerwyth finished. “Is it really theothers you care about? Or perhaps it’s the regard of a certain fiery-haired bardthat you’re really concerned with.”
Kaerion shifted uncomfortably in his bedding, feeling a hot flush blossoming on his face. He ran pale fingers though his tangled and sweat-crusted hair, hoping the movement would mask the red tinge he was sure marked his cheeks and neck. “Wh-what are you talking about, Ger?” he stammered.
The elf smiled, obviously enjoying his friend’s discomfort.“Come on, Kaer,” Gerwyth said, “I can track a brownie across rock-strewnfoothills. Surely I can see the obvious attraction between a man and a woman.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kaerion said inclipped tones. “There is nothing between Majandra and I.”
“And I’m a priestess of Lolth,” Gerwyth replied. “Gods, Kaer,I have eyes. I can see it clearly. You two care for each other-though whyMajandra would be interested in a brutish lout like you I’ll never know.”
Kaerion grabbed for the waterskin and took several more long swallows, ignoring the elf. When he was finished, he tossed the skin to the side. “Just leave it alone, Ger,” Kaerion said tersely. “Nothing is going tohappen between Majandra and I-especially not now.”
Gerwyth shook his head. “But why, Kaer? You’ve never taken anoath of celibacy. Just tell her how you feel. You must know she cares about you. Besides, if you get your feelings out in the open, you two can stop mooning over each other like a couple of lovesick-”
Kaerion tossed back his blankets in frustration. “Just…leave it be, Ger,” he said between clenched teeth.
The elf looked as if he would say more, but suddenly threw up his hands and stood. “Now I know you’re on the mend,” he said.
“Why’s that?” Kaerion asked, still somewhat sullen.
“Because you’re getting more stubborn and pig-headed everyday,” the elf replied. “Pretty soon you’ll be back to the mulish, dull-wittedhuman I’ve come to know so well.”
His friend’s words brought a ghost of a smile to Kaerion’sface. “And don’t you forget it either,” he said after a moment. “Now go-” hewaved an imperious hand at the elf-“and let me enjoy this beautiful morning inpeace.”
“As you command,” Gerwyth said, offering a mock bow that madeKaerion laugh. “But tomorrow you and I are going for a walk. Phathas says thatyou should be up and about more often, regaining your strength. Once we’re outof the Rieuwood, it’s a short journey to the borders of the Vast Swamp. I’mgoing to need the strength of your sword arm and whatever wits have managed to survive in your head if we’re going to make it to the tomb safely.”
Kaerion watched the elf as he stepped nimbly out of the wagon and into the bright spring day. The smile that played upon his face remained for a while, and he realized that his spirits felt lighter than they had in quite some time. Soon he would be out of this damned wagon, a useful member of the expedition again. After that… he grimaced. Well, only time would tell.
Majandra sat enjoying the fire that crackled fitfully in the small clearing. Around her, the members of their expedition shared light conversation and an even lighter skin of wine as they finished up the remains of the thick stew that had sustained them through much of their journey. Occasionally, the sharp laughter of a teamster or the whispered words of passing sentries broke through the pleasant din of conversation, reminding her once again of the serious nature of their expedition. She was glad, however, that such a distraction existed. Though the elves patrolled the forested depths of the Rieuwood regularly, danger still lurked within the shadows of its leafy bowers-dangers that could have followed them all the way from Rel Mord. She feltcomforted by the hushed tread of the guards as they stood watch against the night.
A cool breeze blew softly through the trees, rustling branches and limbs heavy with the rounded swell of leaf buds. Majandra closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, grateful for the early spring wind, so redolent with the fragrance of stem and flower and the blossoming scent of new life. A part of her felt deeply at home here in the wild heart of the Rieuwood, and she yearned to slip quietly away from the caravan and find a clear running stream where she could bathe beneath the soft moonlight and fall asleep on its mossy banks.
She opened her eyes and sighed, recognizing the familiar ache for what it was-the stirring of her elven blood. Away from the confines of citylife and unrelenting din of civilization, it was easy to imagine herself living permanently under nature’s roof. Not for the first time, she found herselfenvying her elven cousins. Her own half-elven heritage had often made her feel like an outsider. The elves of this forest, she knew, felt no such separation. Perhaps one day she would follow the call of her blood, but not now. The future of Nyrond was at stake, and she could not deny its need.
Majandra reached for her harp, comforted by its familiar curves and the grain of its polished wood. Half of Luna’s face moved slowlyacross the sky as the bard idly plucked at the strings of the harp, all the while listening to Phathas and Gerwyth regale the rest of the group with tales from their adventuring days. She enjoyed the distraction, weaving gentle melodies between the measured cadence of the ranger’s voice and the answeringretorts of both Bredeth and Vaxor.
It wasn’t until the wineskin had been filled, passed around,and filled again many times that conversation drifted to the topic that had filled Majandra’s mind for many weeks.
“So, Gerwyth, how fares our mysterious friend?” Bredeth askedin a voice roughened by too much alcohol. The young noble sat unsteadily on an old log, leaning across the glowing coals of the fire. In the dull light, his face looked flushed and puffy, the shadows adding years to his normally youthful appearance.
“Kaerion is doing well enough,” Gerwyth responded with asmile. “He grows stronger daily, and he should be strong enough to sit a horsein a few days.”
Majandra stopped playing at the sound of the dark-haired warrior’s name. She gave a quick look around and was glad to see that no one hadnoticed. The mundane needs of the caravan and the recovering fighter’s ownforays into the forest with Gerwyth had kept her from visiting with Kaerion these past few days. Though she tried her best to control her thoughts, she was surprised at how often they had settled on the wounded fighter during that time. She bent graceful hands back to the silver strings and began to play once more.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Bredeth said, “though I’ll be evenmore glad when we lift the veil of mystery surrounding Kaerion. Exactly who is he, Gerwyth? We are trusting our lives and the success of this expedition to both of you. Don’t you think we have a right to know?”
Majandra hummed softly in accompaniment to her harp, hoping that the others wouldn’t see quite how interested she actually was in the topicat hand. Vaxor, she noted, sat stiffly on the ground, arms crossed before his chest, a grim set to his features.
“You know me, Bredeth,” Gerwyth said. “I have shared freelywith all of you, but Kaerion-his story is his own to tell.”
Majandra nearly stopped playing again, for she was sure that the elf had cast a meaningful glance at Vaxor as he spoke.
“For now, he is simply a companion of this group, andhopefully a trusted one at that,” Gerwyth continued. “It was largely due to hisefforts that we survived the attack on the inn.”
“He is a skilled warrior,” Majandra found herselfagreeing-and nearly clapped her hand over her mouth in horror as Bredeth, Vaxor,and Gerwyth cast her a look. What was she, she thought bitterly, some lovesick serving maid?
“And a leader of men.” This from Phathas, who leaned forward,warming his hands over the glowing coals of the fire. “You can hear it in hisvoice,” the old mage continued, “he must have led many in battle.”
“Did you see that sword of his?” Bredeth said. “I’ll bet hestole it from some noble. I’ve never seen a blade quite like that. Certainly notin the hands of a commoner.”
Majandra nearly snorted. Before Gerwyth had scooped the sword up and wrapped it back in rags, she’d cast a good look at the blade, catchingsight of some of the runes that ran along its shimmering length. Dwarven runes. Ancient ones, dating back from before the Invoked Devastation. It was a weapon crafted by a master smith, and no doubt intended for royalty. Such blades were not so easily stolen.
“Kaerion is many things, Bredeth,” Gerwyth replied, echoingthe half-elf’s thoughts, “but he’s no thief.”
“No offense meant,” Bredeth replied to Gerwyth somewhathastily. “But I don’t understand what he’s hiding.”
“He’s seen more things than most people have to deal with inseveral lifetimes,” Gerwyth replied. “Give him some time. Besides, you’ll havemore important things to worry about in a few days.”
Majandra caught Bredeth’s questioning look.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“He means that we’ll be out of the Rieuwood in a few days andwell on our way to the Vast Swamp,” Phathas, who had quietly risen to his feet,said in a soft voice. “And that’s when things will become dangerous.”
Gerwyth offered the aging wizard a hand as he started back to his wagon. “Once we’re in the swamp, I’ll need everyone focused on survival. Nodistractions. Can you do that?” he asked the noble.
“Of course,” Bredeth said, and Majandra was startled by thesolemnity of the young fighter’s tone.
“Good,” Gerwyth replied before he and Phathas disappearedbeyond the firelight. “Do me a favor and make sure the sentries don’t needanything before you turn in.”
Majandra smiled as Bredeth mumbled a curse and stumbled off into the darkness, leaving her alone with Vaxor. The bard finished playing and wrapped her harp in its leather case. She had her own suspicions about Kaerion, based on her observations and Vaxor’s strange behavior, but nothing definite.The mysterious warrior’s story was beginning to unfold, she thought, but therewas still a long way to go to reach the ending.
Majandra stifled a yawn and watched the cleric for a few moments before getting up and heading toward her pack. By the time she returned with her bedroll, Vaxor had left. As she lay beneath the shining dome of stars waiting for sleep to come, she thought about their journey. She did not know what they would find within the ancient corridors of the wizard’s tomb, but shewas glad that they would have the protection of a certain dark-haired warrior.
The screech of a night owl echoed in the distance. “Good hunting, sister,”Majandra said softly, turning toward the remaining warmth of the fire.