“We’ve got to try to find him, though,” said Gorm. “I mean, after all he’s done for us, we owe him that.”
“Do we?” asked Heraldin. “Do we really have to charge off to chase a Troll? Because I’d like to point out that you made us follow the Orcs, and then we ran after a liche, and neither of those chases worked out well for us.”
Gorm whirled on the bard. “He’d do it for us! He already has!”
“And look how it turned out for him!” Heraldin shot back.
“No, really…” Laruna mumbled.
“Laruna?” said Jynn.
The solamancer made a little gasping noise as she collapsed in the street.
“Poison.” Jynn’s voice was muffled and distant somehow. “The thrice-cursed Tinderkin poisoned his bolts.”
Laruna felt icy fingers of terror creeping over her, or perhaps that was the toxin. She watched Jynn as if through a mist, standing above her. He looked regal and frail all at once. She tried to reach out a hand for his, but the ice in her flesh kept her from moving. It took effort just to draw in labored breaths.
“A cure potion,” Jynn leaned down, and she saw worry painted across his face in deep lines. “We need a cure potion!”
“We ain’t had any for months.” Gorm’s voice drifted to her from the fog.
“Thrice-cursed bones of the Sten! Are you sure? Check again!” Jynn barked orders as he worked his arms under Laruna and lifted her. His classical wizard’s physique, however, was ill-suited to bearing her weight, and after a moment’s staggering he shouted, “Help me get her into shelter!”
She felt more arms beneath her, and her head was gently lifted to a place where she could better see Heraldin and Gaist holding her. She rolled her eyes toward Jynn, and the fear and anger welling up within her subsided a little at the sight of him. Gods, she wanted to hold his hand.
They carried her through a door, and possibly another. It was harder to see in the room. At Jynn’s direction, they laid her on a bed and propped her head up on an old pillow.
“No potions on me,” she heard Gorm say, and she could hear sorrow in his voice. “I don’t think we got any cures back at the camp, either.”
“Why, by the bones, wouldn’t we have cure potions?” Jynn clutched his head with both hands.
“We ain’t exactly well provisioned here,” Gorm said. “And elixir’s been in short supply, so we always bought that instead. Besides, curin’ poison is a simple spell.”
“For a solamancer or a cleric!” snapped Jynn. “Didn’t you think about what would happen if our healer got poisoned?”
“I’m sorry, lad,” said Gorm. “I… I’ll go check the guildhall. Maybe the Red Horde left potions behind in the vaults.”
Jynn looked back at Laruna, and she could see the fear and sadness on his face. “There’s no time.”
It was terrifying and infuriating to hear, but Laruna couldn’t react. It was all she could do to breathe and focus on Jynn. Gorm said something to the noctomancer, but Laruna couldn’t make out what.
“No. Leave us,” said Jynn.
Gorm must have replied, because a moment later the noctomancer turned to the entrance and shouted, “I said leave us!”
When he turned back to her, Jynn took Laruna’s hand in his own and looked into her eyes. She wanted to tell him the things that she’d never said aloud, that she felt things for him she had never thought herself capable of feeling. She saw all the same sentiments staring back at her from his glassy blue irises, and a moment of peace came upon her even as a tear ran down her cheek.
Then he let go of her hand. Her arm fell limply on her belly as he turned away from her. Laruna was confused, and all the more so for the clinical way he spoke to her next. “I wonder, is a secret really a secret if you intend to take it to your grave? If nobody knows a fact, is it really a fact at all?”
Dark mists were closing in around Laruna’s vision. She wondered why he’d stopped holding her hand, and what she had done to drain the warmth from his voice, and, perhaps most pressingly, why he had chosen such an inappropriate moment to wax philosophical on the nature of truth.
“I suppose I know the answer,” he said, rummaging around somewhere she couldn’t see. When he stepped back into her field of vision he carried a long riding glove made from smooth, black leather. “I suppose I’ve always known. I just wanted it to be different.”
Laruna tried to silence him, to get him to just hold her in her last moments, but all she could manage was a burbling gasp.
He looked at her again. His blue eyes looked cold and distant in the dim light, as though all the warmth and affection from moments ago had been packed up and set aside. “I would die, Laruna. I would let the world burn. I would give almost anything to keep the truth from coming to light. But not you. I couldn’t live with myself, and no afterlife could hold peace for me, if I let you die so I could keep this secret.”
Confusion and fear threatened to overwhelm what thoughts Laruna could manage, but she couldn’t form a coherent question when it took so much concentration just to breathe.
“This is going to hurt me far more than it does you,” said Jynn. With his right hand, he wove threads of noctomancy, pale green strands of wan light. The spell slipped in serpentine spirals from his hand to coil around his left arm, from the elbow to the tip of his fingers. As he finished the incantation, the weave melted into his flesh and vanished.
“Remember that when you think of me.” Jynn flexed his left hand experimentally, as if doing so for the first time.
The dark mists continued to close in around Laruna. She tried to focus on the wizard as he repositioned her arms. She felt the weight of his hand on her chest, just above her heart. It made it even harder to draw in air.
“Remember,” said Jynn again, and then he gasped. Laruna felt his hand jolt, saw his face shift between alarming shades of purple as the veins in his forehead surged into stark relief. She heard something wet and heavy drop onto the floor. Then she gasped too, and not just for the sensation of the cool energy flowing into her. Because now that the mists had stopped advancing and her breaths were coming a little easier, she could recognize the cure spell being cast upon her.
Jynn was channeling solamancy.
“Dawn’s coming,” Gorm said, tightening a strap on Jynn’s horse.
Nobody responded. Gaist stood a short distance away with the solemn silence of a funeral attendee. Heraldin sat near the back of the alley, plucking at a lute. Burt sat near the door, leaning against Patches. The Kobold had found the dog cowering behind a nearby dumpster, and now they watched the sun rise in silence.
“We should leave,” Gorm continued. “The guild’s sure to come soon, and we’ll want to be elsewhere.”
A sour note rang out, and the bard cut off the tone abruptly. Heraldin gave the Dwarf a sidelong glance, shook his head, and resumed picking at his lute.
“I meant after… ye know.” The Dwarf shrugged. “We’ll give Jynn time to make peace with things.”
He looked up at the ruined house. The mages had been inside for over an hour. If it wasn’t over by now, it would be soon.
Losing comrades was the worst part of a professional hero’s job. Some laypeople thought that honor would belong to dying at work, a fate that most professional heroes eventually meet. But death only happened on the last day of a hero’s career, while burying friends was something an adventurer would deal with over and over again.
Gorm could imagine what Jynn was feeling; the Dwarf had lost many colleagues over his career, and only three to retirement. But what he’d learned over the years was that there was no time for mourning in the field. Whatever killed your friend might still be around and hungry. You had to tuck your grief away until there was time to drown it in a tankard or three of ale.
As he thought about the fallen, one particular face stood out. With a heavy sigh, the Dwarf stamped over to lean against the wall next to Gaist. The weaponsmaster didn’t acknowledge his presence.
&nbs
p; “Back when we first met, in the Temple of Al’Matra, I always called ye Iheen,” Gorm said eventually. “And even when I started using your name, I thought it was just Iheen rebrandin’ or some marketing thing. I still thought… I thought ye were him. That I’d seen it wrong back in the dungeon of Az’Anon. That I didn’t watch him die.”
Gaist’s eyes flicked to Gorm, and then back to the red glow on the horizon.
“I wanted that to be true. And it was possible. We always were surprised at how many quests he got done. Ataya once swore he could be in three places at once, ye know. I suppose lookin’ back it… makes sense…”
Gorm trailed off as the weaponsmaster strode away to lean against a different wall. The conversation was over.
“Awkward,” Heraldin sang, without looking at either of them.
“Sorry,” Gorm kicked at a couple of stones in the alley. One of them caught his eye. He bent down.
A few odds and ends lay in a small pile amid the debris and bits of assassin. There were semi-precious stones, buttons, charms, and other bits that would have been unremarkable, save for the fact that they were uniformly one shade of purple or another. A few had shattered, and most seemed worthless, but among them he recognized a small figure welding a bent sword.
Gorm plucked the toy knight from the dirt. “This was Thane’s,” he said. “I think Kaitha gave it to him.”
“Oh?” Burt said. “He dropped that stuff just before—”
The Kobold was both interrupted and upended as Patches leapt to his feet in a flurry of excited barking. Gorm peered into the darkness where the dog was looking and saw a figure darting toward them.
“Is that…?” Heraldin squinted.
“Aye,” said Gorm, feeling the first twinge of relief in a long while. “Ho! Kaitha!”
“Gorm!” hissed Kaitha, running toward them with her head down. “Gorm! Is that really you?”
“Aye, lass. And glad to see ye, but—”
“We have to get out of here right now and go and run!” Words tumbled out of Kaitha in one long breath. “We have to run! I think there’s a Troll! I saw it!”
“She’s still stuck on that, huh?” said Burt, dusting himself off.
“Why are you all just staring at me!” Kaitha hissed, drawing close now. “I saw a Troll attacking a man and—”
“That man over there?” asked Burt, pointing to the broken figure lying in the street.
“Yes!” The Elf clutched her forehead. “Why is everyone acting so calm about this? What is happening? Did I really wake up here? Or is this another vision?”
“Deep breath.” Gorm held a hand out to her. “This ain’t a vision.”
“That’s just what a vision would say,” said Kaitha. “Although the tortoise was pretty up-front about things.”
Gorm brushed the comment aside. “Look, there’s a lot to tell, but, all in all, ye blacked out because of your salve addiction and wandered off. A friend brought ye back to us, but not before we lost our battle against Detarr Ur’Mayan.”
The Elf shook her head. “That doesn’t… who said anything about me and salve? And who would bring me back? And… and where did you get that?”
Gorm followed the Elf’s gaze to the toy knight in his hand.
“Awkward,” Heraldin sang again.
“Not helpin’,” Gorm growled from the side of his mouth.
“Not trying to,” the bard shot back.
“Where did you get that figurine?” said Kaitha. “I gave that to the King in the Wood.”
“I know, but I—”
Kaitha’s eyes narrowed to slits. “How did you know? Was he the friend who brought me back?”
“Aye, but—”
“So, you did see the King in the Wood? Or how else would you know?” the Elf pressed, stalking closer to Gorm. “Where is he now? Why would he leave? And it still doesn’t make any sense. If he brought me back to you, why did I wake up next to a Troll mauling a… a…pirate?” She stared at the corpse of Captain Jones. “I thought the outfit was part of the hallucinations.”
“Which is understandable,” said Gorm, hands out. “But that pirate was an assassin. They ambushed us while ye were still away.”
The ranger’s brow furrowed. “And what? A Troll just happened to walk by and maul him?”
“No,” said Gorm gently. He handed her the toy paladin.
“But then…” Realization spread over the Elf’s face at a glacial pace as the revelations crystalized. “So then he was… and a Troll made that garden… and then he… but I didn’t… and that’s why…”
“Easy, lass,” Gorm said.
“And then I… oh, gods, he was helping… he saved… but then I… and I…” Notes of despair crept into the ranger’s voice.
“Deep breaths. His name is Thane,” said Gorm. “He found ye in the Myrewood, but I didn’t meet him until we were back in Ebenmyre.”
“You knew that long ago?” Thunder roared in Kaitha’s voice as she turned back to Gorm. “How many times did I tell you about him? How many times did I set off to search for him? And you knew who he was—you knew him!”
“I know,” stammered Gorm. “But he didn’t want us to tell ye—”
“Us?” screamed Kaitha. “How many of you knew? Why would he hide from only me? Why would all of you help him?”
“And this is where it all blows up,” said Heraldin to nobody in particular.
At that point, the universe took a cue from Nove’s principles. The ruined house next to the heroes blew up.
A massive fireball sent the roof skyward and scattered flaming debris through the muddy streets. Embers rained down over the remains of the building, which was little more than a pair of walls propping each other up. As the dumbstruck adventurers stared, the door in one of the walls opened and Jynn stepped through. A magical barrier around the wizard winked out of existence as he pulled a black riding glove over his left hand. Behind him, wreathed in wind and flames, stood Laruna.
“You said there were no more secrets!” the solamancer bellowed at Jynn’s back. “You said I knew everything!”
“Laruna!” Gorm cried. “You’re alive!”
“That’s not the point!” growled the solamancer. “I could have been cured well before if he had been honest about being an… an…”
“A what?” Gorm glanced at the wizard, and then did a double take so hard he nearly got whiplash.
Jynn’s robes were changing.
A wizard’s garments always reflected his status within the Academy of Mages. Young mages were given enchanted robes, attuned to the network of magical ledgers that constantly recorded spellcasters’ ranks and titles within their respective orders. Jynn’s solamancy had radically altered his status within the Academy, and now his robes were following suit, so to speak.
The gemstone linings and elaborate gold trim had already been absorbed by the fabric of Jynn’s robes. Intricate designs faded and were replaced by ragged edges and tattered holes as his high councilorship was rescinded, his titles stripped away, and his membership within the Order of the Moon revoked. The iridescent purple dye drained from the garment. By the time Jynn was halfway to the horses, he was wearing the dusty, tattered gray robes of an omnimancer.
“Try not to stare,” Jynn said to the Dwarf tersely. “Surely you didn’t think you were the only one hiding things.”
“Why didn’t you tell me!” Laruna ran after the omnimancer. “It wouldn’t have mattered!”
Jynn stopped and turned to level a withering glare at the solamancer, skepticism pushing his eyebrows to new heights of condescension.
The fire around Laruna wavered a bit. “Well, I still would have… we could have…”
“As I thought,” said Jynn. He turned and walked away again.
“You should have told me!” Laruna sobbed.
“Did you know about the King… about Thane?” Kaitha interjected.
The flames around Laruna winked out as she noticed the Elf. “Kaitha? You’re back?”
“Did you know about the King in the Wood?” The ranger’s voice was as cold and hard as iron. “Did you meet him as well?”
“I… He…” The solamancer was overwhelmed by the conflict and her conflicted emotions. She turned away and disappeared from view in a pillar of crimson fire.
“Bones!” swore Kaitha, and Gorm could see tears in the corners of her eyes. She followed Jynn toward the rail where the horses were tied.
“Awkward!” sang Heraldin.
“If’n you’re not helping anything, shut up!” Gorm snarled at him.
The bard laughed bitterly. “We’re far beyond help, my friend.”
“Is all of my gear here?” Kaitha asked, rummaging through the satchels on her horse.
“Don’t do anything rash,” Gorm began.
“I have to go after him,” Kaitha said, slipping her jade bracers over scarred wrists. “I have to find him and… I have to meet him.”
“We’ll all go,” said Gorm. “We’ll make it right.”
“I won’t,” said Heraldin.
Gorm fought the overwhelming urge to wring the bard’s neck. “Lad, if ye open your mouth one more time—”
“I won’t be going either,” Jynn announced, climbing atop his own horse.
“But Jynn—”
“It’s fine,” said Kaitha, saddling her own horse. “You’ve all done enough already.”
“No, Kaitha. Jynn. Ye can’t split the party.”
“Gorm, there is no party,” said Kaitha, not unkindly. “A party is a team of heroes that works together. We aren’t heroes anymore, and can you honestly say this is working?”
“Could we ever trust each other again?” Jynn asked, staring at Laruna.
The flames around the solamancer subsided once more. The woman they left behind shook her head silently and made for her own horse.
“Did we ever really know each other at all?” Heraldin said, staring at Gaist.
The doppelganger turned away, eyes shut tight.
“Come on now. Don’t do this.” Gorm felt despair rising in his throat as he watched the other heroes pack their bags and mount their horses. “What about the Guz’Varda Tribe? What about stopping Detarr? We can get past all this.”
Son of a Liche Page 34