by Stefon Mears
“What else can we—”
“Nothing else is required of you,” the psychopomp said. “When I am finished here, I shall journey to the site that began your quest and do what needs to be done there.”
The psychopomp tilted his head to one side and added, thoughtfully, “and likely establish a shrine to commemorate the appearance of Zirtax in this world.”
“We’d make an offering,” Qalas said, “but—”
“But you gave your coins to those unfortunates in the streets. Have no fear. Those people need your coins more than this temple does, and your service is offering enough.”
The psychopomp swept his arm wide to the side.
“And now you should go. Food and lodging await you at the Red Briar Inn, courtesy of the temple.”
There was a door in the wall that had not been there before. If the entrance had been on the left side of the building, this exit would be in the front.
But then, Cavan supposed, it was still to the right of the entrance. If viewed from that perspective.
“May we at least know your name?” Amra asked.
“All psychopomps surrender our names when we devote ourselves to Istanlos.”
The psychopomp gestured again to the door.
Cavan, Amra, Qalas and Ehren each, in turn, thanked the psychopomp — Cavan included Reesa in his thanks, he hoped she wouldn’t mind — and trooped out through the door assigned for them.
They found themselves on the opposite side of the building from the door they’d entered through. And behind them, only the rough, mismatched stone of the temple wall.
Cavan stared at the wall a moment, blinking. He shrugged.
“To each god, their miracles,” he said, quoting a common phrase for anything that couldn’t be explained.
“Come on,” Amra said, arching an eyebrow at Cavan. “Reesa’s waiting, and you two need to talk.”
Cavan and Reesa didn’t have their talk until hours later. Well after everyone had bathed, and eaten, and had a chance to revel in camaraderie without the pressure of completing a task set by a god.
The jests flew fast, and laughter came easily now.
The Red Briar Inn was one of the finer establishments in Fieldsend. Three stories tall, built from an exotic purple hardwood that lent the fine furnishings a rich backdrop.
They each had their own rooms, with copper tubs right in the room, multiple shuttered windows with panes of fine glass, and the services of the inn washerwoman to tend their clothing overnight.
Best of all — in Cavan’s opinion — the rooms had wide, luxurious feather beds. The kind of bed he could stretch out on and sink into blissful slumber.
Or … entertain, for that matter, in perfect comfort. But he tried not to think too much about that when he bathed.
The five of them dined in a private room, where each of them had their own chairs, ornately carved to match the table. Their meal was roast pheasant with a spicy blend of vegetables and complimented the fresh, tasty bread perfectly.
And the ale was so strong and flavorful even Amra pronounced it worthy.
Finally, though, the meal was finished, and their dessert of apples and pears with honey devoured, along with a rich, dark coffee.
Ehren left the table first, saying something about reading, but Amra and Qalas followed shortly.
And then, Cavan and Reesa were alone in candlelight that should have been romantic.
“It seems wrong,” Reesa said. “That we should feast so, and sleep in such comfort, when there are those not so far away who will go cold and hungry. If the psychopomp had offered us the coin—”
“No coins changed hands,” Cavan said with a slow shake of his head. “The temple of Istanlos does accept donations, but it takes no payment for its services. Those who have been helped by His priests often make their own services available to the temple, as offerings.”
Reesa nodded, looking at the flames of the nearest white, beeswax candle.
Cavan wanted to begin, but he wasn’t sure how. That encounter with the vargamort, and the tales others had told of what forms the vargamort took for them, they’d troubled Cavan. He’d spent much of the last few days on the road thinking about why that was. Why he had seen Polli, and not Reesa, or anyone else.
Polli was nothing more to Cavan than a pretty barmaid he’d met once. He harbored no secret passion for her. He’d scarcely thought about her since the night they didn’t share, and he expected she’d thought of him no more frequently.
The only conclusion Cavan could draw was that Polli represented the fruit not tasted. They’d made an assignation, but not gotten to keep it.
It seemed most likely to Cavan that he had seen Polli, not Reesa, in the illusions of the vargamort because Cavan had not yet found the love of his life. Or at least, he certainly did not know Reesa well enough for her to hold that role.
But what he could be sure of was that he needed to know Reesa a lot better than he did before he could consider offering her any kind of commitment. And that would only happen if they traveled together.
An outcome Cavan considered unlikely.
But Reesa stared at the candleflame, and Cavan felt he had to begin the conversation.
“Reesa,” he started, but she cut right in.
“I’m not cut out for what you do,” she said. “The travel isn’t bad, but facing death that way. Laughing about it. I don’t know how you stand it. If we hadn’t been doing something so very important…”
“It’s not for everyone,” Cavan said. “But—”
“I don’t want to go to Sarkis, either. Besides, father will look for me there, and my presence would cause strife in the family, even if my cousins denied it.”
“Besides?” Cavan asked.
She turned to look at him now, her brow troubled but her eyes certain.
“I will stay here,” she said. “In Fieldsend. The poor need someone to champion them. I can do that.”
“That’s certainly a worthy cause,” Cavan said honestly.
“Let me be the one to approach the temple of the Green Lord, about the state of that area around the ruin. I’ll want their help in feeding the poor, and it may help if I can bring them news of a situation they’ll want to fix.”
“So—”
“I don’t expect you to stay here for me,” she said, reaching out and stroking his cheek. “Your path is out there. Perhaps when you are ready to settle down…”
“I’ll do so in Juno,” Cavan reminded her. “I’m to be count there, remember.”
“They have poor in Juno,” Reesa said, a touch of mischief in her voice.
“They do,” Cavan conceded, “but not on the streets like they do here.” And Cavan spent the next while explaining to her how Kent had arranged for housing and care for those in need, and how the mines always provided work of one sort or another.
“Juno sounds like quite a place,” Reesa said.
“It’s not perfect,” Cavan said. “No place is. And even Kent’s solutions aren’t foolproof.” Cavan shrugged. “It helps that the whole county of Juno has fewer people in it than this city.”
“But the effort is good,” Reesa said.
“So I suppose this is it then,” Cavan said.
Reesa blinked at Cavan with eyebrows raised high.
“Oh?” she said, her lips spreading slowly in a smile. “You planned on letting those wonderful feather beds go to waste tonight, did you? Because I thought—”
Cavan leaned in and kissed her.
Cavan, Ehren, Amra and Qalas left the inn the next morning, setting out east along the road before they would turn their course north again, toward the home of that dwarven smith.
Dawn was only cresting the horizon as they passed through the iron gates at the east end of town, and Ehren did not even need to ask. They all dismounted while Ehren made his prayers.
Cavan joined Qalas in bowing his head respectfully. It seemed the least he could do, all things considered.
Then, soon enough, they were al
l mounted again and trotting slowly down the road.
“I note we are four again,” Ehren said.
“Please,” Amra taunted, “Reesa can do better than this lug.”
“She’s staying to help the poor, isn’t she?” Ehren asked.
Cavan nodded. He expected more jokes or questions, but Amra changed the subject instead.
“Well,” she said through a deep breath. “I, for one, am glad to be about our own business once more, instead of doing the bidding of a god. I trust we can avoid making a habit of that.”
“We can if you can avoid cutting off the heads of any more ghosts,” Qalas said, holding back a chuckle.
“Cut off your head if you aren’t careful,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes, though her tone was playful.
Those two continued their back and forth, while Ehren sidled Highsun closer to Dzint.
“Are you all right?” Ehren asked.
“It’s better this way.”
“Doesn’t make it easy. If you need to talk.”
“I’m surprised he can talk,” Amra chimed in. “After the howling he was doing all night.”
“Honestly,” Qalas said, “it was like a two-wolf concert.”
“No,” Amra said, “that’s not it. More like a bull moose and a—”
Ehren clapped Cavan on the shoulder as Amra and Qalas found their avenue for teasing after all. For a moment, Cavan thought he had an ally, but then Ehren joined in the fun.
Cavan, chagrined, shook his head. He knew better than to interrupt. They’d grow bored of the game soon enough, if he didn’t interrupt.
Besides, that last night with Reesa had been worth all the teasing they could throw.
Now Cavan was on Dzint once more, surrounded by his friends, and riding for a purpose. The teasing was just part of the experience. And honestly, if they stopped altogether, he’d miss it.
Not that he’d ever tell them that.
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About the Author
Stefon Mears has dealt with air elementals, but not bound any. Stefon has more than twenty-five books to his credit, and he never stops writing. He earned his M.F.A. in Creative Writing from N.I.L.A., and his B.A. in Religious Studies (double emphasis in Ritual and Mythology) from U.C. Berkeley. He’s a lifelong gamer and fantasy fan. Stefon lives in Portland, Oregon, with his wife and three cats.
Look for Stefon online:
www.stefonmears.com
[email protected]
Also by Stefon Mears
Cavan Oltblood Series
Half a Wizard
The Ice Dagger
The Spell in the Blade (coming November 2019)
* * *
Spells for Hire
Devil’s Shoestring
Zombie Powder
Spirit Trap
Dragon’s Blood (coming December 2019)
* * *
The Rise of Magic
Magician’s Choice
Sleight of Mind
Lunar Alchemy
Three Fae Monte
The Sphinx Principle
* * *
The Telepath Trilogy
Surviving Telepathy
Immoral Telepathy
Targeting Telepathy
* * *
Edge of Humanity
Caught Between Monsters
Hunting Monsters
* * *
Power City Tales
Not Quite Bulletproof
No Money in Heroism
* * *
Devil’s Night
Portal-Land, Oregon
With a Broken Sword
Twice Against the Dragon
The House on Cedar Street
Stealing from Pirates
Fade to Gold
Sudden Death
On the Edge of Faerie
Confronting Legends (Spells & Swords Vol. 1)
Uncle Stone Teeth and Other Macabre Poems
The Patreon Collection Vols. 1-4 (Vol. 5 coming soon)
Published by Thousand Faces Publishing, Portland, Oregon
http://1kfaces.com
Copyright © 2019 by Stefon Mears
Front cover image © Jesse Lee Lang | Dreamstime.com (File ID: 100674946
All rights reserved.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.