“What?” Randall blurted. “So soon?”
She nodded and squeezed him tightly. “But thou has given me more than I could have asked for; I would have thee know that,” she said as she gave him a serious look.
Furrowing his brow in confusion, Randall stroked her hair and pressed her face lightly to his chest. “I guess if our time’s up, then our time’s up,” he said reluctantly. “And who knows? We might even run into each other again someday.”
“I would find that most agreeable,” she said absently as she caressed his abdomen with her fingertips.
“Me too,” he said as he closed his eyes. His ‘exertions’ of the previous days were starting to catch up with him, and he desperately needed sleep. “But regardless of what the future holds, I know I’ll never forget you.”
Yaerilys looked up at him suddenly, and he opened his eyes to meet her gaze. There was something intent in her expression, like she was trying to make a determination of some kind but Randall was unable to tell what it was. “Yes,” she said after a lengthy silence as she laid her head back down on his chest, “I should like to think the same.”
“Good,” he said into the increasingly awkward moment. “I hope I haven’t done anything to offend you,” he offered, uncertain of where he’d gone wrong. The words he was speaking were the same ones, essentially, which he had said with the many tricks he had turned in Three Rivers. But the difference was that this time he meant each and every one of them.
“Thou could never offend me, Randall,” she assured him. “I only regret being unable to escort thee further in thy journey.”
“I’ll be ok,” he replied dismissively. “I’m not alone, remember?”
“Indeed,” she said distantly before pressing her body against his tightly. “Hold me awhile longer, Randall. I should like this moment to last until the sun burns out.”
They lay there together for what seemed like hours, with the wind rustling the grass outside and the flaps of the tent moving gently in the early morning breeze. Finally, Yaerilys stood and replaced her robe.
“Dawn is nearly upon us,” she said as Randall blinked away the drowsiness. He realized he must have dozed off and he stood to help her into the armor.
It took them only a few minutes to get her into the suit, but before she put on the helmet Yaerilys gripped his shoulder lightly in her metal-gauntleted fingers. “Thou can speak to no one of my true identity,” she said in a serious tone.
“Of course not,” Randall said, almost insulted that she felt the need to ask.
She nodded, and Randall saw tears brimming in her eyes as she leaned down and kissed him. When their lips broke apart, she placed the helmet on her head, and Randall closed the clasps beneath her pauldrons.
“I wish thee good fortune in thy journeys, Randall,” she said, and once again her voice was the distorted, echoing voice Randall had heard on the streets of Three Rivers what seemed like a lifetime ago. “Thou must go now, and do as Ravilich instructs; he has my proxy in this matter.”
Randall nodded warily, gathering Dan’Moread and strapping it to his back as he turned to leave the tent. Pausing at the flap, he turned and said, “Starry nights and bright mornings.”
Yaerilys bowed her head courteously and when she said nothing, Randall exited the tent. Outside he saw Ravilich had brought Storm Chaser, who had been saddled and prepared for travel. He even saw a pair of saddlebags slung over the rear of the saddle, and the Squire approached to give the reins to Randall.
“Thou must go now,” Ravilich said coldly as Randall accepted the reins. “And my master would have thee know that should thou abuse the White Knight’s trust, thou wilt one day answer to him for thy betrayal.”
Randall shook his head in exasperation. “I’m sorry for whatever it is I’ve done to offend you,” he said evenly, “but I have no intention of betraying anyone—especially not the White Knight.”
“Thou could never understand thy offense,” the Squire said dismissively, even as his own eyes began to glisten with forming tears. “But if thou speaks truly, then thou should never come to know the wrath of my master…or his faithful servants.”
Randall launched himself up into the saddle with a more-or-less graceful leap—a move which required more than a little practice, and if Randall was any judge, nearly exhausted Storm Rider’s patience—and looked down at the Squire for a long moment before turning and silently making his way out of camp.
Through the slits in her helmet, Yaerilys watched from inside the tent as Randall and his mount faded from view. Only after he had gone did Ravilich return to the tent bearing Rimidalv much as Yaerilys had done years earlier for Ser Cavulus.
The Squire handed the White Blade to her and she accepted it with a silent nod before strapping it across her back. Ravilich gave her a searching, pained look before turning reluctantly and making his way to the campfire.
I have fulfilled my end of the bargain, Rimidalv’s deep, cold voice filled her mind. Now you must do likewise.
She felt tears streaming down her face inside the helmet—the helmet which permitted her to neither eat or drink, and denied her the feeling of even simple, warm sunlight upon her face. The armor itself sustained her body, but she knew it was no real boon; Yaerilys knew that after this day she would never again remove the armor while she lived.
I know of my duty, Rimidalv, she said with her own mind’s voice, and I will do it regardless of the pain it brings me.
If it is any consolation, the passage of The Judge this coming night will remove your doubts and misgivings as surely as if they had been excised by a surgeon’s knife, Rimidalv said in his cold, pitiless voice. With such thoughts removed from your mind you can only become a better instrument in defense of the greater good.
His words were actually more sympathetic than most she had heard from him, and yet for some reason Yaerilys believed the White Blade enjoyed this part of their nearly completed bonding ritual far more than he should have. But the time for doubt had long since passed; she would become the White Knight, and then none of this would matter.
“I hate thee,” she whispered as she felt angry defiance well up inside of her.
I know, Rimidalv replied in his usual, uncaring tone, but by this time tomorrow such corruptions will no longer stand between us and our cause.
“Thou hast already taken most of who I am,” she growled, overwhelmed by a surge of bitterness at the thought of the many unknowable memories which the White Blade had purged from her mind over the previous three years in order to make her a ‘more suitable’ White Knight. She had agreed to this ‘cleansing’ before becoming his Squire but now that she was near the end of her journey as the woman who had been Yaerilys, she refused to parse her words. “Finish thy task and let us be done with it,” she spat, squaring her shoulders in anticipation of what she knew was to come.
She felt a sudden, intense pain erupt between her temples. Even though she had expected as much, her hands reflexively went to guard her head as she fought an overwhelming sense of vertigo by staggering to the side.
Such presumption will also be cleansed from your being, Rimidalv promised coldly as she fell to her knees in agony. It shall be replaced with obedience, order, and a renewed commitment to duty. You will become a shining beacon of Light in a dark world, and together we will know naught but contentment in the service of our noble cause.
Yaerilys struggled to maintain consciousness as the pressure in her head threatened to split her skull apart. But, as with both of their previous instances of ‘bonding,’ she soon blacked out from the pain.
In truth, she welcomed the blackness when it came. Her last thoughts were of what she knew would be her final intimate embrace, which she had shared with little more than a perfect stranger because she could not stand the thought of meeting oblivion without knowing the act of love.
But, like everything else Rimidalv had torn from her over these last three years, even that vivid memory was ripped from her. In its place was
everything the White Blade had promised, and she could actually feel the last remnants of herself being excised and cast into the fires of oblivion like so much unwanted gristle from a piece of meat about to be eaten.
The last thing the woman who had been Yaerilys felt was a deep, all-consuming hatred for Rimidalv, before even that winked out like a candle in the wind and she truly was no more.
Chapter XXVII: On The Road Again
24-13-5-659
Randall rode away until just before noon before spotting a creek, and on seeing it he led Storm Chaser down to its babbling waters where the massive, black warhorse drank deeply.
With little more than his thoughts to accompany him, Randall had considered the events of the morning and couldn’t help but feel like he had done something wrong. He had no idea what that was, but he was unable to banish the thought from his mind.
As he knelt beside the creek bed, he felt his scalp go numb and his hand flew to Dan’Moread’s hilt instinctively.
When nothing untoward happened, he concluded that the sword must have desired to make contact. So he closed his eyes and tried to relax his mind. It was more difficult this time compared to recent attempts, but after several minutes of effort he managed to find the place in his mind which allowed for communication between them.
I wish to apologize, Randall, Dan’Moread said almost as soon as their minds had made contact. I had no right attempting to curtail your…recreational activities, and I was unjustified in my response to what I now see was a natural…requirement of your kind. I hope my outburst has not caused you undue duress?
“Don’t worry about it,” Randall said absently, “we’ve both been under a lot of stress lately.”
And yet you still seem preoccupied, the sword pressed in its inflectionless tone.
“It’s just that whole thing with the White Knight, Rimidalv, and his Squire,” Randall explained after a moment’s pause as he stood and began to work through a few of the positions Drexil had showed him. He had no desire to break his promise to Yaerilys, but after six hours of silent contemplation he realized he needed someone to talk about it with. “I mean…it doesn’t seem like the White Knight’s really all that thrilled about Rimidalv’s arrangement.”
I only recently met the White Blade known as Rimidalv, Dan’Moread said after a moment’s silence. I had initially believed him to be a kindred spirit…but the events at Mount Gamour showed his true nature and if I am honest, I would prefer not to speak of them at this time. I have tried very hard to forget the events which marked our separation.
“You mean…you heard that?” Randall asked guardedly after realizing the sword had referenced his nocturnal activities with Yaerilys. “How much more did you…umm, observe?”
Enough that I determined an apology to be in order, Dan’Moread replied quickly. Last night was the first time I have shared your senses, but as our bond grows in strength I will be able to do so more frequently. I apologize for the intrusion; I was more than a little surprised to find our bond capable of sustaining such an exchange, and as I am weakened by my…condition, I was unable to release the connection.
Ignoring the invasion of his privacy for the moment, Randall cocked his head in confusion. “Two questions,” he said slowly, “first: if you couldn’t use my senses in the previous battles then how were you able to fight the Federation soldiers or Fleshmongers? And second,” he continued more than a little warily, “why was it surprising to find our ’bond’ was capable of allowing that kind of exchange?”
To answer your second question first, the sword began in its monotonous voice, I have never shared a wielder’s senses prior to four months of continuous contact, and we have been joined for less than half that time. Your other query is a more complicated matter, however. I have certain resources which may be drawn upon during…critical moments, and it is only by using those reserves that we survived the battles you mentioned.
“Huh,” Randall said, stopping to look at the blade. “Does that have something to do with your Godstone gems?”
There was an extended silence. I was unaware you knew their true nature, Dan’Moread said eventually, but you are correct; the Godstone shards within my blade are the primary source of my reserves.
“But…you’ve lost a couple of them already,” Randall said, hearing more than a note of concern in his own voice. “Doesn’t that hurt, at least?” He found he was alarmed at the possibility of the sword having already expended more than half of its reserve energy.
It is not a pleasant experience to expel their energies, and I am indeed diminished by their absence, the sword admitted, but it was our only option. Should you continue to improve your physical conditioning and training so you can contribute more substantially in our future battles—and should I be made whole once again—then such a price will have been a bargain.
Randall’s eyebrows shot up. “No pressure,” he muttered under his breath as he resumed his exercises. As he thought about what the sword had just said, something occurred to him. “Wait a minute; are you saying you were at Mount Gamour with Rimidalv and Ser Cavulus?”
As I said, Dan’Moread replied promptly, I have little desire to discuss those events, for many reasons. Please respect my wishes in this matter. There was a brief pause, after which the sword continued, I will reiterate, however, that I am very different from Rimidalv. I would never ask—or demand—something of you which would bring you harm. I sincerely hope you will believe me in this.
“You’ve given me literally no reason not to trust you,” Randall said with a shrug of his shoulders. “And I understand; I’ll try to avoid the subject of Mount Gamour in the future. The more I learn about the White Blades, the less I like them…” he trailed off as he once again paused in his exercises.
You are troubled by Rimidalv’s relationship with the White Knight, Dan’Moread concluded. We cannot control the destiny of others, Randall. Even if we disagree with their chosen paths, we must respect their decisions.
“I suppose you’re right,” he said with a sigh. It just seemed wrong to him to leave what looked like nothing so much as an abusive relationship unchecked, but he shook his head. “We’ve got problems of our own, right?”
Indeed, the sword agreed, and in any event I doubt we would find Rimidalv…shall we say, ‘congenial,’ should we return to his company. And while I hold certain inherent advantages over him, I fear that even at my best I would be unable to defeat Rimidalv in battle…having considered the matter at some length.
Whistling appreciatively at the sword’s frankness, Randall continued working through the positions.
No, Randall, the sword interrupted, your lead arm is too low.
“What do you mean?” he asked, pausing in mid-motion to examine his posture. “This is exactly what Drexil showed me?” he said in confusion.
Drexil has much experience in the arts martial, but he has never wielded me, Dan’Moread replied. I am heavier than most blades, and should I be made whole once again my own weight distribution will be altered significantly; you will need to learn the proper technique now. Correcting a long-practiced error is more difficult than learning the proper technique at the outset.
Randall raised his lead, right, arm slightly and tried keep his left arm back as he adjusted his posture for position two. “Like this?” he asked hopefully.
Yes, that will provide a clearer path to counterattack, Dan’Moread said in its inflectionless tone, while keeping your weight from falling too far forward. Since you are somewhat…challenged in matters of raw strength, we must focus on balance and economy of motion.
“Hey!” Randall protested, looking down at the sword scornfully. “I’ve never worked so hard in my entire life; I ache in places I never even knew I had, and gripping your tang has ripped my hands up worse than a stone mason’s! I think I should get a little reprieve from the slights against my physique in light of my efforts,” he finished confidently.
I meant no disrespect, Randall, Dan’Moread said quic
kly. But in light of our somewhat precarious condition—your being a complete novice in the arts of combat, and my having sustained serious injury recently—I believe that honesty is a critical component of our mutual survival.
He wanted to be angry with the sword, but he knew that the source of his frustration was a half-day’s ride behind them so he shook his head as if to clear it. “Don’t worry about it,” he said as he looked over to Storm Chaser, who had finished drinking from the creek. “Looks like it’s time to get going.”
Indeed, Dan’Moread agreed. Thank you for the few minutes of practice; I feel refreshed from it.
“No problem,” Randall assured the sword as he looked toward the mountain which was his destination. Looking down at the Flylrylioulen, he could appreciate the accuracy of the embossed image of the mountain on its surface. Obviously there was no mountain-sized tree sitting atop it, but the level of detail was absolutely extraordinary. “Ok to go back in your sheath?” he asked absently, realizing how awkward such a question was only after he had asked it.
That will be fine, the sword replied. I must continue to conserve my energies, so do not be alarmed if you cannot contact me. Should an emergency arise, I will do my best to answer the call…but I am still severely weakened.
“I wouldn’t want you expending any more of your reserves,” Randall said quickly. “Besides, we’re less than a week from the mountains and Storm Chaser can probably outrun any potential trouble we run into.”
I appreciate your concern, Dan’Moread said, and Randall noticed the sword’s ‘voice’ had become significantly fainter, but we must do what we must do; if sacrifice is required, then sacrifice must be made.
“I guess you’re right,” Randall admitted after a moment’s consideration. “But let’s not cause you any more duress than absolutely necessary, ok?”
Thank you, Randall, the sword said faintly, and he felt the connection between them sever.
“No problem, Dan’Moread,” he said agreeably before re-sheathing the sword and climbing up onto Storm Chaser’s back.
Joined at the Hilt: Union (Sphereworld: Joined at the Hilt Book 1) Page 30