Steel burned with silver fire in the harsh sun as Kaerionraised his blade to meet the descending attack. He cursed as the shock of the blow jarred fever-weakened tendons and muscle. He stepped forward and slightly to the side of his opponent, allowing the attacker’s sword to force his owntoward the ground. At the last moment, he withdrew his blade and spun away, hoping to catch his breath.
Sweat that had only very little to do with the blazing sun overhead streamed down his face, stinging eyes and leaving a sharp salty taste on lips pursed in frustration. He had discarded his normal mail shirt in favor of a lighter armor made from leather, but Kaerion still felt as if he were parading around in a set of full plate. Knees and shoulders protested, and breath came grudgingly, in ragged gasps. It felt as if a giant had him in a deadly bear hug.
Damned convalescence, he thought, all the while keeping a careful eye on his opponent. During the days since they had left the sheltered confines of the Rieuwood Forest, his strength had returned, slowly at first and then with more speed. Walks with Gerwyth, begun so gingerly at first, had turned into long, bone jarring rides, as the ravages of nearly two months of bed rest gave way before the restorative properties of warm spring winds and the rugged beauty of the Sunndi countryside. As the caravan continued on its journey, finally wending down into the humid arms of the Pawluck River Valley and its lush basin of trees and thick green undergrowth, Kaerion had begun his weapons practice in earnest, first privately and then with anyone who cared to test his returning skills. And here it was, just a few days before the expedition would reach the border of the Vast Swamp, and he still wasn’t at his best.
Kaerion grunted and shifted the grip on his sword. His wrists throbbed with an ache he hadn’t felt since his first days of sword training as asquire. He only hoped that his returning strength would be sufficient to protect his companions.
“Pay attention!” Gerwyth shouted, obviously mimicking thetones of an arms master rebuking a nettlesome novice.
A chorus of laughter and catcalls erupted from the knot of guardsmen who had come, with surprising regularity, to these daily training sessions-some to test their mettle against the recovering fighter, but most towatch two masters of the sword polish and hone their own breathtaking skills.
The weary fighter cast the guards a fierce glare, but they continued to jeer, some even offering him advice on his grip or his stance. He scowled again and shook his head. The early formality between the caravan guards and the rest of the expedition had dissolved beneath the tread of many miles and the assault of the elements, replaced now by an easy camaraderie. There were times, however, where he yearned for the quiet distance of those early days.
“Are you finally ready to yield, old man?” Gerwyth called outagain. “I’ll understand if your rather delicate nature gets the better of you.”
This brought another round of laughter from the assembled guards-laughter that ceased as Kaerion summoned his last reserves of strengthand launched a series of blinding attacks. The metallic clash of steel rang through the small clearing as the two combatants traded blows almost too fast for anyone to see.
Kaerion pressed forward, weaving a net of sun-kissed steel before him, trying to use his greater size and reach to his advantage. Sweat continued to pour from his brow, but he ignored it, concentrating only on his opponent. The elf crafted an almost perfect defense, meeting each of the fighter’s attacks with an economical grace. Kaerion could feel himself weakeningpast the point of his own endurance. He analyzed his opponent for any weakness, any misstep-for he knew that he had to end this fight in the next few moments.
He found his opportunity as he aimed a horizontal blow at the ranger’s head. Years of fighting alongside his friend had given him insight intothe elf’s style; he knew it almost as well as he knew his own. Thus, it was easyto predict Gerwyth’s response to the head blow. The elf dropped to hisknees-where he would aim a deadly thrust at his opponent’s unprotected belly.
Kaerion shifted his stance and redirected his attack as soon as he felt the elf commit to his defense. His blade slashed downward, meeting the elf’s outthrust sword and driving its point into the ground. Before Gerwythcould react, Kaerion lashed out with a booted foot and caught the elf in the chest. Gerwyth fell backward, his sword falling from his hands. The fighter moved forward quickly and laid the point of his sword at his friend’s throat.
Silence filled the clearing, broken only by Kaerion’s gaspsas he forced air into his lungs. The two opponents held their position for a few moments, eyes blazing.
“Rather inelegantly done,” Gerwyth remarked after anothermoment, “but effective.”
A cheer rang out from the assembled guards, and Kaerion could hear the sound of money changing hands. Despite his own aversion to gambling, he couldn’t keep a wicked smile from his face. He wasn’t surprised to see that samesmile appear on Gerwyth’s face as the elf motioned for some aid in getting up.
His smile never faltered as they pushed their way through the press of guards who offered their congratulations and good-natured sympathy to both victor and defeated alike. Kaerion accepted his accolades with shrugs as he fumbled with the straps that held his now sweat-soaked armor.
“You fought well,” Gerwyth acknowledged in a not-quite ruefultone. He led the exhausted fighter down a small path that meandered away from the clearing. “I’m thinking that you are almost fully recovered, my friend.”
Kaerion, distracted by the effort of walking and shedding his seemingly cursed armor, only grunted at the elf’s praise.
“I mean it, Kaer,” Gerwyth said, turning to assist him. “Idon’t mind saying now that I was very worried about you while you were ill. I’venever seen anything like it-not even magic seemed to help. And Galadorn, welllet’s just say that sword of yours has stirred quite a bit of interest.” Thislast was uttered through gritted teeth as the elf wrestled with the final attachment.
Kaerion let out a contented sigh, as much to distract Gerwyth from talk of his ancient blade as from the sheer pleasure of shedding the thick leather armor and underpadding he’d worn the last hour. The ensuing weeks ofsundrenched activity following his illness had darkened his skin to a rich, bronze hue, the even tan broken only by the puckered edges of battle scars that stood out angrily in the harsh noon glare. He stretched luxuriously, enjoying the cool sensation of wind across the sweat-covered expanse of chest, shoulders, and back, before clapping the elf companionably about the shoulder.
“I understand, Ger,” he said, “and I appreciate all thatyou’ve done for me. But-” Kaerion stopped, unable to put voice to his thoughts.He was indeed touched and grateful for the elf’s companionship. Even had he notrecognized the elf’s deep affection for him long ago, the ranger’s actions sincehis illness made it very clear. But there was still part of him that ached with a grief so deep he’d spent the last ten years trying to drown it with ale andspirits. Though he was surprised that his other companions hadn’t yet called himout, he waited in dread for the moment of revelation, the moment when the discovery of what he had done would shatter the fragile peace he’d found, andhis newfound friends would turn their backs on him. No. He wasn’t quite ready toface them.
The elf seemed to sense his mood and lifted one corner of his mouth in a smile. “It is I who understand, Kaerion,” the elf said softly, thenin a louder voice, “Come my loutish friend! Let’s see if you can move thathulking human frame of yours as fast as you move your mouth.” He pointed downthe path, where somewhere in the distance the burbling call of a swift-moving stream promised relief from the unrelenting heat of the afternoon. “First one tothe stream fetches dinner for the loser,” he said, and then swiftly disappeareddown a bend in the path.
Kaerion cursed and dropped his armor in an undisciplined heap on the rock-strewn trail. A few moments later, both he and the elf were wrestling at the edge of the stream, each declaring the other defeated. The ranger wrapped one leg around Kaerion and pushed, hoping to trip the less-agile human, but the stubborn fighter held on and both plunged into the stream.
“No fair!” Kaerion sputtered. The shock of the still-coolstream water on his sun-warmed body nearly made him gasp again, but he contented himself with sending a cascade of water into the surprised elf’s face instead.The sight of the normally immaculate elf, hair drenched and ears dripping water, sent him into paroxysms of laughter that continued for quite some time.
“It appears,” Gerwyth finally said after he’d attempted toquiet his giggling friend with a stern glare for the third time, “that the sunand spring wind have healed more than just an illness.”
Sobered by his friends words, Kaerion stared thoughtfully at the elf. “Leave it be, Ger,” he said after a moment, but smiled to soften theremark. He really wasn’t ready to talk about it, but it was difficult to stayangry at an elf who resembled a dried grape. His laughter soon returned, and with it, another round of splashing. Bush and tree alike were soon soaked as the combatants continued their heroic combat.
“So, I see now why Phathas insisted that we hire you two asour guides and guardians,” a voice broke through the sounds of battle. “We’venothing to fear with both of your prodigious talents to protect us.”
Kaerion stopped his attack and turned to stare in horror at the source of the voice. Majandra leaned indolently against a tree, arms crossed, one brow arched high. He opened his mouth to say something-anything-andnearly choked as Gerwyth sent another wave of liquid streaming into his face.
“Does the fair lady wish to join me in my battle against thisgrave evil?” the elf asked as Kaerion sputtered and wheezed, trying to clear histhroat and lungs of water. He could hear his friend’s slightly wistful tone andfought back a wave of annoyance. He was surprisingly relieved when the bard begged off, citing duty.
“And that goes for you two as well,” she said, still with atrace of humor in her voice. “Phathas wants you both to recheck the supplieswe’ll be taking into the swamp. ‘No sense coming all this way just to go intothe Vast Swamp unprepared,’” the bard mimicked the old mage’s didactic toneperfectly, and Kaerion found himself smiling despite the water running down his face.
“We’ll be there in a few moments, Majandra,” he said, finallyovercoming the last effects of Gerwyth’s surprise attack.
“See that you do,” she said with a smile and turned to walkup the path toward the clearing. “I wouldn’t want to earn Phathas’ scolding atthe moment. He’s positively impossible when he’s this close to the object of hislabors.”
Kaerion cast a final look at the bard’s retreating back, onlyto be surprised when she quickly spun and returned his gaze, her smile even deeper. Shaking his head at his folly, he turned from the bard and finally stood up. Gerwyth had already moved to the stream bank and had begun to don his soft leather boots. By the time Kaerion had joined him, the ranger was already fully clothed; he shrugged once in apology and made as if to wait for his friend.
Kaerion waved his friend on. “Don’t worry about me, Ger,” hesaid. “I’ll follow shortly.”
The elf nodded and shot Kaerion another wicked smile. “Justsee that you don’t tarry too long. I don’t fancy having to root through thosestifling wagons all afternoon by myself.”
Kaerion laughed and pushed Gerwyth playfully toward the path. “I’ll be there soon enough,” he said. “Besides, you’ll need someone to help youcount past ten.”
The elf chuckled and headed up the path, leaving Kaerion alone. The fighter stood for a moment, inhaling the rich scents of the river valley. By the time he reached the place where he had thrown down his armor, the sun had nearly dried all of the stream water from his body, leaving his skin feeling tight and slightly itchy.
Bending down to scoop up his hastily discarded armor, he reflected on his friend’s words. Perhaps the friendships that he had formed andthe peacefulness of the past several weeks had done what the last ten years couldn’t. As he had all but admitted to Gerwyth just a little while ago, hestill grieved bitterly for what he’d done. And yet, he’d not even been temptedto drown his sorrows in cheap wine since his illness. He felt those old wounds clearly, but it was as if they were not quite so raw and open.
Most surprising of all, Kaerion had even caught himself unwrapping Galadorn from its ragged hiding place and staring at it-willing it todemonstrate some sign of life, anything that would help him explain what had happened across the Nyrondese grasslands. The ancient blade represented everything he had lost, yet lately, he’d found himself absently tracing the hiltwith his finger, eager to feel its great weight in his hands.
When Kaerion finally reached the camp, his mind was caught in bemused thought. He looked at the faces that greeted him and saw friendship, good humor, and even respect-something he hadn’t ever dreamed of seeing again.Perhaps Gerwyth was right. Perhaps it was time for him to face his grief once and for all. The elf had proven a true friend and accepted him for all of his faults. Maybe his new companions would do the same. He walked toward the center of camp feeling more at peace than he had in a very long time-
Only to be brought up short by Vaxor’s intense scowl. TheHeironean priest had emerged from one of the caravan wagons and now fixed Kaerion with a furrowed gaze. His deeply lined face and set jaw reminded the fighter of the statue of Heironeous meting out justice in the High Temple at Critwall. In the grizzled cleric’s eyes, he could see condemnation andjudgment-anger at his impudence to try and hold a place in this company forwhich he wasn’t worthy.
Kaerion shuddered beneath that gaze as if the coldest winter wind had swept through the clearing, and in one moment, he knew that all of his hopes and imaginings were just that. He nearly stumbled as the familiar, cold hands of despair clutched around his heart. Muscles strained from exertion and immersion in cold water sent aches all throughout his body.
Hastily averting his gaze, he threw on an old shirt, tucking it into his breeches as surely as if it were the finest of armors. He had been a fool to think he could be forgiven. A damned fool.
He would not make that mistake again.