The Last Swordmage (the swordmage trilogy)
Page 16
“Not this time, my brother. Where I must go, you cannot follow.”
* * *
The coach wound its way down the narrow path that lead to the cottage. It felt like a lifetime since she had last been here. After the battle, she hadn’t wanted to leave Dragonfell. It was irrational, she knew, but somehow, it felt as if leaving the place where the Captain would lay for eternity, she was abandoning him somehow. She felt a special kinship with the city and its people.
Tiadaria had passed the winter in the city, splitting her time in residence between the palace and Ecera’s inn. She had taken the time to explore the city and learn the history of the land from its vast libraries, its people, and even from the king. They had needed each other, those first few weeks. The Captain had been like a son to him, and a father to her. Together they had weathered the worst of their grief, coming into spring with a renewed appreciation for life and vigor. Though it was hard for her to say goodbye, she also knew it was necessary. Staying in Dragonfell meant living in the past and that was something she just couldn’t do.
Torus reigned in the horses and turned in his seat to face her. The battle and his loss had weighed heavily on him. The creases around his eyes were deeper and the eyes themselves were sadder. Still, he managed a smile for her.
“I could stay,” he offered tentatively. “You know, for a while. To get you settled.”
Tia laid her hand on his cheek, returning the smile.
“Thank you, Torus.” She patted his cheek gently, and then folded her hands around the letter that lay in her lap. “But that won’t be necessary. This is the only place that’s ever really been home.”
The mammoth man looked out over her shoulder and nodded. He swallowed hard. Tia looked down into her lap. Tears seemed to come much easier for all of them, these days. Holding the letter tightly, she dropped from the coach and went to the gate. The hinges were rusty and squawked in protest as she pushed it open. They would need to be oiled. There were probably a hundred little things that needed to be put back in order.
The little yard was littered with the debris of a full and harsh winter, but here and there the bulbous heads of flowers were beginning to poke through the ground. It would be summer soon, and all would be light and warmth. The gutters were choked with leaves and there were tufted of brown grass sticking up through the cobblestones. There was work to do here definitely, but it would feel good to set things right. The cottage was hers now. She had the deed in her hand and a letter, signed by the king, which named her as the Captain’s legal heir and successor.
Torus brought her trunk from the coach and sat it on the path near the door. She could tell it wasn’t comfortable for him to be here. He shifted from one foot to the other, peering around the little yard, looking anywhere but directly at her. How long, she wondered. How long would his ghost linger for all of them?
“Well,” he finally said, clearing his throat. “I guess this is it then.”
She nodded.
“I suppose it is.”
They stood in silence for a moment. Somewhere in the distance, a songbird whistled out its beautiful tune. The air was warm and thick with the smell of life and fresh grass. They stood, listening in silence, until the song faded into the distance. Torus cleared his throat, filling the space between them.
“I’ll see you around, Tiadaria.” His voice cracked as he turned toward the coach. “If you’re ever in Dragonfell…”
Tiadaria stepped up to him, wrapping her arms as far around his massive frame as she could reach. He patted her back with a gloved hand, as if he was afraid she was going to break apart. It was an awkward gesture, but one she appreciated all the same.
“Thank you, Torus,” she said into his chest. “Thank you for everything. I’ll come and see you soon, okay?”
“I’d like that,” he said, nodding. “I’d like that very much.”
He made his way back to the coach with jerky steps and climbed to the driver’s seat. He gave her a curt wave, flicked the reins, and was gone. Tia ran to the gate and into the road, watching the coach draw away until it turned onto the trade road and was gone. The cottage was quiet and still, save for the murmurings of the insects and birds.
Tiadaria was alone for the first time in months. Her fingers went to her collar, as they often did now when she was upset or nervous, tracing the smooth cool metal around the base of her neck. She missed the Captain so much that her heart ached almost constantly. There was an empty place where he had been and she wasn’t sure that place would ever be adequately filled ever again. The crushing pain of his loss, however, had passed. She could think about their time together without wanting to curl up and cry.
Walking to the door to the cottage, she fished out a tiny brass key from inside her tunic. Its length of black ribbon was worn, but the myriad array of gears, nubs, and depressions shone as brightly as ever. She slid the key into the lock and listened as the mechanism whirred and ground, clicked and tinkled. The latch gave and the door opened with a faint click.
Tiadaria was home.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-d329f0-a884-424e-40b5-4f86-ec25-0a9acf
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 13.08.2013
Created using: calibre 0.9.43, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Martin Hengst
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