by Dave Gross
"She is not from Kyonin," he said. "I don't know whether she holds such values, but she hates the demons. We could use more like her here at home, instead of charging off to join another nation's crusade."
"Indeed." Even while her kin scorned her as Forlorn, Oparal could live in Kyonin. As a half-breed, I was welcome only as a guest.
"Now I shall leave you to your work, as I must do some scouting of my own. I hope you won't feel the need to follow me."
"You have my word."
"Thank you, Count. My master will appreciate your discretion."
I suppressed the urge to ask whether he had reported my discovery of the aiudara to Prince Amarandlon. Of course he had. While he showed me every courtesy and even the semblance of friendship, Caladrel's loyalty lay with his prince.
Fimbulthicket busied himself preparing our evening meal. Supplementing our supplies with wild game provided by Caladrel, he had rationed the dry goods so efficiently that his pack still bulged with packages of dried beans, lentils, onions, and root vegetables. Since the attack that marked his transformation into a bleachling, however, he had occasionally forgotten to enliven the pot. Perhaps because he noticed I was watching, he made a point of adding a parcel of spice.
My exchanges with Kemeili and Caladrel disrupted the memory I held of the interior of the Endless Cairn. Fortunately, I had already sketched its features in my memory library. Closing my eyes, I summoned the ideal of my workplace to mind. Going to the easel where I kept notable sketches, I refreshed my memory. Opening my eyes, I set pencil to page and consigned the images to my journal.
By the time I lifted the stylus once more, I heard Radovan call out, "Hey, boss!" His face was flushed, and he walked in the long strides I associated with his desire to hurry without being seen to run. He approached from an angle oblique to that of the Endless Cairn, where I saw Oparal emerge and look suspiciously about before coming to join us.
"I thought I got away clean, but she got up in such a hurry, I had to beat it out of there before she saw me."
"Anything unusual?" Uncertain just how keen the paladin's elven ears were, or whether she shared our skill at reading lips, I asked the question in Varisian.
Radovan hesitated, frowned with concentration, and replied in Varisian, "No. She did what how she said what she was doing."
I replied in Taldane. "Clearly, we need to work on conjugation and idiom as much as grammar."
"Hey, it's not like I've had much practice." He smiled, but then his eyes lost their focus as he looked beyond me, not at the swamp but at a memory. The smile faded.
Oparal strode directly up to us, her armor clattering with every step. "Where are the others?"
"Caladrel is scouting the area," I said. "And Kemeili is off looking for Radovan."
Oparal fixed him with a steely glare. "Where were you that she went looking?"
"I had to see a man about a dog."
"What?"
"We were just discussing the problem of idiom," I said. "He means he evacuated his bladder."
"Aren't you glad you asked?" Radovan winked at her.
I feared that was going too far, but Oparal seemed mollified by his characteristic insouciance. Deciding not to press his luck, Radovan tossed off a footman's salute and went to assist Fimbulthicket with supper. Oparal also began to leave, but I beckoned her to stay.
"That is the first time I have seen you speak to Radovan since the Century Root," I said. "Have you given further thought to talking to him about the night you struck him?"
"He deserved worse than a slap for his vile insinuation—"
"I refer to the other night you struck him."
Her unchanging expression told me that she knew perfectly well what I had meant. "If you are ordering me to apologize, then I'm afraid you will—"
"I am doing nothing of the sort. As a blooded warrior, you know that mutual defense requires mutual trust." I was not ignorant of the irony of my words, considering my recent request that Radovan spy upon her.
"I've encountered his kind before. Hellspawn," she spat.
"A tainted lineage does not rule one's character."
"Of course a Chel would say that."
My face grew warm while my blood ran cold. The derisive term for my countrymen is grounds for issuing a challenge to a peer or having a commoner horsewhipped.
Oparal saw her error reflected in my face. "I—I chose my words poorly."
It was time for a different tack. "Do you know what I thought when I first saw you at the Midsummer Masque? I thought how cruel the others were to mock you. Forlorn. Does the term describe the natural state of those raised away from their kind? Or is it caused by the shunning of your fellow elves when you eventually meet them? It is no wonder you lash out, but it does you no credit. Like those who call you Forlorn, you are far too quick to judge from superficial evidence. You took one look at Radovan and decided he was wicked."
"It wasn't one look," she snapped. "Certainly he made an abominable first impression, but I didn't know until I saw his jacket that he—"
"Until you saw his jacket? You judge him by his clothing?"
"Which he chooses to wear! Which he had made. Every time I look at it, I think he's boasting of all the crimes he's committed."
"That is one perspective."
"What is another?"
"That he chooses not to forget the ordeals he has survived."
She had no answer to that. We both took a moment to breathe. When I felt and she appeared calm, I said, "I recall an aphorism about books and covers."
"It doesn't apply to hellspawn."
"Actually, I was thinking of the unicorn."
She offered no reply.
"'When you find a wicked man within your village, do not banish him. Inspire him with your words and deeds. Do not banish the man; banish the wickedness.'"
"What is that from? One of your Chelish philosophers?"
"Yes, in a manner of speaking." I reached for her shield, awaited her nod of permission, and turned it so that we could look upon the winged, eagle-headed woman embossed on its surface. "You know her as Saint Lymirin."
Oparal started. Emotions warred on her face. Before outrage at my rhetorical advantage could win out over self-reflection, I changed tack.
"The point is that we must never allow the perfect to become the enemy of the good."
"After a lifetime spent in Cheliax, how can you believe that?"
"I have spent my lifetime in many other nations, as well. I have befriended those whose customs at first seemed abominable to me, and I count among my sworn enemies countrymen who share my every more. Besides, if I did not believe that you and Radovan can work in concert, I would have had you sent back to Iadara long ago."
"But the queen commands me—"
"The queen would be most displeased with your failure to cooperate."
There it was: the ultimatum she could not ignore. "I promise to be more careful."
"Then I welcome your continued assistance."
She favored me with a curt nod and turned on her heel. Seeing only Radovan, Fimbulthicket, and Arnisant at the campsite, she hesitated. I imagined she considered pretending to visit her own man about a dog, but instead she went to sit near the fire. I joined them as Kemeili emerged from behind the squat dome of the cairn. Her leathers were covered in muck to mid-thigh, and she looked none too pleased.
Caladrel returned soon after, reporting nothing of especial danger but warning everyone not to wade barefoot in the swamp water and asking Fimbulthicket whether he was prepared to treat poisonous wounds.
Later, as we stood watch together, Caladrel whispered, "The unicorn is still following us."
"Did you see it?"
"Only its tracks."
"You are certain they are not from some other creature."
He replied with a look of pain.
"My apologies."
"Do you think you can persuade her to talk with it?"
"I think not. Perhaps in time her attitu
de will soften, but not soon."
Caladrel shook his head. "It's hard to imagine. Every elven maiden dreams of being chosen by a unicorn."
I inclined my head toward Kemeili, who had finally usurped Arnisant's favored spot by overlaying her blanket on his. "Every elven maiden?"
"Well, practically every one. Have you been to an elven market?"
"Only in Greengold."
"The stalls are filled with unicorn statuettes of wood, shell, bone, crystal, even gold. And they sell briskly, always to young maidens."
"The markets of Egorian are similarly afflicted," I said. "With the unicorns, I mean. Not the maidens."
Caladrel smiled and lifted an imaginary toast toward me. "To unicorns and maidens." For a moment I longed for a bottle of Chelish red to share during our quiet vigil. A good wine would soothe the discomfort I felt since our exploration of the cairn. Caladrel went to rouse Oparal from her meditation. I did the same with Radovan, who tugged on his boots and nodded to assure me he would remain awake.
I removed my own footgear and lay down, hands folded upon my chest. Arnisant rose to take his place at my feet, leaving Kemeili curled up alone beside the fire. Caladrel lay against the bole of a tree, his eyes half-closed. Oparal knelt in an attitude of prayer, her hands upon the massive longsword lying across her thighs.
Although my body was weary, my mind would not rest. Walking past so many tombs reminded me that I had more dead than living acquaintances. How many relatives, friends, and enemies had I outlived? I thrust away the morbid thought of cataloging them. It was better to think on the present.
Listening to the sounds of Oparal donning her armor, I wondered whom I could count among my friends in the here and now. Of Radovan and Arnisant, my mind harbored no doubts. Of the others, Caladrel was the easiest to admire, both for his loyalty to Prince Amarandlon and for his talents as a guide and demonslayer. Despite understanding his need to visit the aiudara alone, I could not help but resent the reminder that I remained an outsider among the elves. I felt like a child forbidden to enter the library.
Fimbulthicket's motives for aiding my search for Variel seemed innocent at first, but his strange behavior put me on my guard even before he succumbed to the Bleaching. Thinking on our conversations about the man, I realized I had asked too little about their friendship. I needed to learn more about why they parted ways.
Crusaders of Iomedae are not known for their subtleties, but not since our last encounter with the Order of the Scourge in Egorian had I seen Radovan evoke such animosity from an agent of the law. The Hellknights despised his criminal past as much as his hellspawn heritage, although even more they resented his refusal to serve as their informer. Those motives I understood. Oparal claimed that her divinity-granted grace revealed Radovan's wicked nature. With all respect to the Inheritor, I value my own conclusions over the declarations of her worshipers.
As an inquisitor of Calistria, Kemeili could not be as naive as she often appeared. Her interest in Radovan was no more surprising than that of the many other women who had taken a fancy to him, despite the obvious shortcomings of his station and mixed blood. Despite his insouciant front, I could trust him to report any unusual lines of questioning during their trysts. For surety, I checked him twice daily for any sign of glamour.
Radovan and Oparal spoke quietly. Just outside the dim light of our campfire, they sat closer than I would have expected. Perhaps the paladin had taken my advice to heart and was at last apologizing for his injury. I closed my eyes and prayed to Desna that it be true. Then I bade the Tender of Dreams to send me some vision of my father. My mother's face appeared in my thoughts. Beside it I conjured the mirror's reflection of my own. I subtracted the high brow and prominent nose of the Jeggares, lengthened my tapering ears and imagined irises so large that no white appeared in the eyes. Of course there would be no facial hair, so I erased the tiny beard a long-lost lover had first encouraged me to cultivate.
"You have no right to speak to me like that." Oparal's voice rose, shaking me from my reverie. "I'm not some puppet-show parody of a paladin."
"That's just what I'm saying," said Radovan. "You're a bigot. Just because my great-great-whatever fooled around with devils don't mean I'm one."
"That's exactly what it means. Evil is in your blood."
After a long silence, I began to hope that Desna had indeed heard my prayer. As long as Radovan did not reply, perhaps Oparal would be content to have had the last word. Just as my body began to relax again, he spoke.
"You don't really hate me," he said. "You hate yourself for liking me."
"What is wrong with you? You disgust me."
"Yeah? Then why can't you keep your hands off? You didn't need to belt me at the party."
"You needed to be taught a lesson."
"Now you sound like her," he said. I opened my eyes just enough to see Kemeili, who remained curled up on her blanket. Well beyond her, I saw Radovan and Oparal sitting on a log. The paladin moved her sword from its place between them to rest on the log on the other side of her body.
"I am nothing like that harlot."
"I don't know," he said. "You both play rough, and you both want to teach me a lesson. Hey!"
Oparal shoved him to the ground.
"Like I said, neither one of you can keep your hands off me." He stood, slapping a clod of dirt from his leathers.
She grabbed him by the jacket and pulled him close. "You listen to me—"
Radovan raised his face to kiss her. Oparal recoiled, but not before his lips brushed hers.
It had all gone too far. I rose from my blanket to put an end to their quarrel. Caladrel had also stood up, bow in hand. Before either of us could speak, Oparal thrust her knee into Radovan's groin. The force of the blow lifted him a foot off the ground.
For a second he gaped at her, his wide mouth forming a huge circle of surprise as his feet hit the ground.
Oparal's knee remained fixed to his crotch. She struggled to free it, kicking downward twice, three times, and finally pulling away with a sound of steel on steel. On the steel plate of her knee I saw the dark line of a wedge-shaped puncture two inches long.
Radovan pulled the leather of his pants aside to reveal the spiked cup he wears to discourage exactly that sort of attack. His feigned astonishment transformed into a grin. "That wasn't very nice. Tell me you can sew that back up for me."
"Oparal, don't!" Caladrel raised his bow, a blunt arrow nocked in place.
"Radovan, step back," I said. My fingers counted the slots on my bandolier, seeking a spell that would do no lasting harm.
Radovan had barely begun to move away when Oparal's fist smashed his nose. He dropped, limp as a sack of grain.
Arnisant leaped up and barked a warning. He looked to me for direction, but I signed for him to stay.
Caladrel's arrow struck Oparal's sword where it lay against the log. The force of the blow knocked the blade away, but the paladin did not reach for it. She leaped on Radovan and raised a gauntleted fist.
Kemeili's whip cracked, its three binding lashes capturing Oparal's wrist and pulling it out of line. The paladin's fist struck a dent in the soft ground beside Radovan's face.
"Get off him," shouted Kemeili. "There are two other men here who I'm sure would be glad to help you shed your virginity."
Oparal's head snapped toward Kemeili. "What? How dare you suggest that I ...and this thing ...?"
"Don't think I haven't noticed."
"Three men," mumbled Fimbulthicket, rubbing his eyes as he sat up on his blanket.
"That's enough, everyone," said Caladrel.
Heedless of the ranger, Oparal raised her other fist.
"Step away." I showed Oparal the riffle scroll I held in one hand, hoping I would not need to use it. She seemed unimpressed until I lay my other hand on the hilt of the Shadowless Sword. She rose, hesitated as if considering whether to kick Radovan. She backed away without doing so.
Radovan sat up, blood covering his chin like a ba
ndit's kerchief.
"Are you all right?" I asked.
"Bluh."
Chapter Ten
The Wandering Spheres
Radovan
Four days past the swamp tombs, Caladrel led us to a dead giant owl.
Crows flew off as we came near. Its hill-sized carcass sagged under the weight of its saddle. When the boss knelt beside the thing, a swarm of little rodents scattered out. They ran on two legs, waving their oversized paws like startled clowns.
The scavengers had been feasting for days. Most of the owl's body had been eaten away from the inside, but a pair of huge cuts across the back of its head had to be what brought it down.
"Demons?" asked Kemeili. She hadn't been so clingy since my last scrap with Oparal. She also wouldn't heal my broken nose. Neither would Fimbulthicket, who said I wasn't hurt bad enough to break out the power of the Green or some crap.
The only other one who could have fixed me up proper was Oparal, and I wasn't going to poke that bear. I made do with a salve the boss made from oily leaves Caladrel brought back from scouting.
The ranger said, "The wounds are far too large to have been made by any flying demon I have seen in the Fierani."
"Is it conceivable that the Lord of the—?"
"No." Caladrel cut him off as if he were scared of what the boss might say. "There are a hundred scouts between here and the Witchbole. I would have heard."
The boss nodded, but I saw doubt on his face.
We spent an hour searching for any sign of the owl rider. There was nothing. Whatever had brought down the owl had carried him off—or gobbled him up.
A few hours later, the boss walked with me and Arnisant as Caladrel scouted ahead and Fimbulthicket schemed with the girls about how to make me more miserable. "Caladrel has had many opportunities to visit the aiudara," said the boss.
"Elf gates." I snickered. The boss still hadn't figured out the joke.
He frowned. "Has it not occurred to you that he might have some reason to visit them other than ensuring they remain undamaged?"
"What? Like going back to Iadara?"
"He could do that with the right aiudara, and with the right key. Considering his position as master of the hunt, we must assume he has liberal access."