“To your feet, my friends,” he said, lurching up, “for we are singularly honored by a most stellar presence on this night, or do you not recognize Lord Aedan Dosiere, the emperor’s high chamberlain?”
The others at the table turned toward him, and Aedan saw a few more familiar faces, but mostly new ones. He did not see Caitlin. Strange, but until that moment, he had not thought of her in years. As the others rose to their feet, Aedan waved them back down.
“No, no, resume your seats, please,” he said. “I am not here in my official capacity tonight. I just came to get drunk.”
“Well, you have come to the right place then,” Vaesil said, sitting down heavily. His speech was only slightly slurred. He still had the hard’s voice, and a control over it that only a man long in his cups could exercise despite the drink. “And who is that with you?” He squinted.
“By the long-dead gods, is that an elf?”
“Her name is Sylvanna,” Aedan said.
“So, you’ve turned your back on your human friends and taken up with elves now, have you?”
Vaesil commented. The others sat in shocked silence, amazed that he should address the lord high chamberlain in so familiar-and so rude-a manner. “I suppose I shouldn’t really be surprised,” continued Vaesil.
“You’ve both butchered your share of humans.”
“Vaesil! Have you lost your senses?” one of the others at the table said in a shocked voice. “Remember whom you are speaking to!”
“It’s all right,” Vaesil said. “Lord Aedan and I are old friends, are we not? True, it has been years since we have drunk together, but then he’s been a very busy man of late. Sit down and join us, Aedan, and your elf girl, too. You can regale us all with tales of your last campaign. I understand the body count on this occasion was particularly high, and you did not even encounter Arwyn’s army. Just a sort of lethal training exercise, was it?”
Several of those present got up from the table and left without a word, their gazes sliding away from Aedan’s as they departed. The others all just looked into their drinks, not knowing what to say or do.
“Oh, dear,” said Vaesil. “I seem to have offended a few tender sensibilities.”
“I should think you’d be quite used to that by now,” said Aedan in an offhand tone.
“Oh, well struck!” said Vaesil with a grin. “An excellent riposte! I see your diplomatic duties have improved your wit. Or perhaps it’s simply been emboldened by all your heroic actions in the field.
You were never quite so forthcoming in the old days.
That deserves a drink. Dierdren! Some of your best wine for my esteemed guests!”
To Sylvanna’s surprise, Aedan sat down at the table with Vaesil.
Frowning with puzzlement, she joined him.
“Speaking of the old days, Vaesil, how is Caitlin?
Do you see her anymore?”
“See her?” Vaesil snorted. “I married the sow. Not one of my better judgments, that, but she got with child, and as I was reasonably certain it was mine, I felt it only right and proper to do the honorable thing.
I haven’t done all that many honorable things, you see. In fact, I believe that was the first and quite possibly the last, as well. I rather enjoyed the novelty of the experience. For a time, at least.”
“So you’re a husband and a father,” Aedan said.
‘Frankly, I never saw you in either role.”
“Mmmm, neither did I,” said Vaesil, wrapping his fingers around his goblet. The serving maid brought their drinks, and Vaesil fumbled around his person, looking for his purse.
“I’ll buy,” said Aedan. He paid her, including a gratuity, and she thanked him with a curtsy and a smile, then left.
“So have you a daughter or a son?” asked Aedan.
“One son, two daughters, and another baking in the oven,” Vaesil said.
“I am beset with squalling ago children and a shrewish wife who has grown broader in the beam with the delivery of each new addition to our loving family. Ah, the bloom is off the rose, indeed. But if I get drunk enough, I can still fulfill my duty as a husband. For a few minutes, at least.”
“I am surprised she lets you,” said Sylvanna.
“Ah, you can speak! Capital! I was afraid I should have only Lord Aedan to trade barbs with.” By now, all the others at the table had left as well, without saying a word. Vaesil took no note of it after his first comment. “Yes, well, the pathetic soul still loves me, you see, despite her constant harangues about my drinking. But you see, I must drink to support my growing family. The muse requires fuel. I can no longer compose when I am sober.”
“Perhaps you will honor us with one of your recent ballads?” Aedan said.
“Perish the thought!” said Vaesil. “I do not perform them, I merely compose for others who have more appealing stage presence. The last time I tried to regale an audience with one of my compositions, I fell off the stage. Broke both my wrist and the harp.
Can’t play worth a damn anymore, not that it matters, the sort of drivel I compose these days. I couldn’t sing the stuff with a straight face, anyway. If I wrote what I really think and feel, no one would pay me for it, and I have hungry mouths to feed.”
“If you are in need-” Aedan began.
“I do not require your charity,” Vaesil interrupted him. “In truth, I am obscenely prosperous. By my standards, anyway. Caitlin’s father died a few years back and left us his blacksmith shop. I could not manage it, of course, so I took on a partner, a most industrious young chap who was fawningly grateful agi for the opportunity and has made quite a success of it. And my ballads, worthless, sentimental dog droppings that they are, are in considerable demand. I even wrote a few about your emperor, glorifying his wonderful accomplishments in fighting to unite the empire and his unparalleled heroism on the field of battle.
If I had any shame left in me, I would die of it.
But I continue to live, worse luck. Well, shall we drink a toast for old times’ sake?”
“What shall we drink to?” Aedan asked.
Vaesil considered for a moment. “To the past,” he said. “The future is too depressing to contemplate.”
“To the past, then,” Aedan said.
They lifted their goblets and drank.
“Well, I suppose I should be staggering back to my humble domicile,”
said Vaesil. “I would not wish to disgust you any further, and my wife is doubtless waiting for me, wondering if I shall make it home alive or if the morning will find her a rich widow with a handsome, muscular young blacksmith at her beck and call. If I were him, I would be building on my future by working at her forge. She’s still a saucy wench, despite having lost her girlish figure.”
“Please give Caitlin my warmest regards,” said Aedan.
“I shall do that, and I am sure it will please her to be remembered.”
He lumbered to his feet. “You wanted her, as I recall. I can remember how you used to stare at her, like a moonstruck calf. You should have tried to take her from me. I know you never could have married her, but I would have been too proud to take her back when you were finished, and she would have been much better off. Well, good night to you, my lord chamberlain and lady elf. And aga give my regards to your bloodthirsty bastard of an emperor. Tell him I shall continue to extol his noble virtues while I curse his noble name.”
He lurched off toward the door.
“What a horrid, loathsome individual,” said Sylvanna with disgust. “I have never met anyone so beneath contempt. I cannot believe you allowed him to speak to you that way. Was he truly your friend?”
Aedan sat silently for a moment, staring into his half-empty goblet.
“I don’t think that Vaesil was ever anybody’s friend,” he said at last.
“Believe it or not, there was a time when he was quite handsome and engaging. Oh, he was acerbic then, but not to this extent. Back then, he seemed very daring, spir ited and charming in a dangerous sort
of way. I wanted very much to be like him.”
“I find that difficult to imagine,” said Sylvanna.
“He is the most detestable person I have ever met.”
“He has become bitter and pathetic,” Aedan replied. “As a Fatalist, he had believed in nothing greater than himself. And when he lost his belief in himself, he was left with belief in nothing. I do not think you could detest him half as much as he detests himself.”
“This girl you mentioned, Caitlin. Did you love her?”
“Oh, for a while, I thought perhaps I did,” Aedan replied. “But it was really nothing more than an infatuation. Besides, she had eyes only for Vaesil. I was never one popular with the ladies. I lacked Vaesil’s quick wit and good looks, and I would grow tongue-tied in the presence of a girl I found attractive. Aside from that, I was Lord Tieran’s son, and that set me apart. It was one thing, I suppose, for a girl to entertain the notion of a liaison with a noble, perhaps on the off chance that it might lead to marriage or at least a bastard that the noble might feel duty-bound to support, but the son of the emperor’s high chamberlain occupied too lofty a status. I always sensed they were uncomfortable in my presence, watchful of their remarks-except for Vaesil, of course, who was always recklessness personified.”
“Why did you come here then?” Sylvanna asked.
“For some relief from duties and responsibilities that I found oppressive at the time,” he replied.
“Michael used to try my patience in those days. You recall what he was like eight years ago, when you first came here. He has matured a great deal since that time. As have we all, no doubt. But back then, I felt the need for some companionship of people my own age, people who were not associated with the court. I suppose it made me feel somewhat daring to come here and spend my time in company with philosophers, bards, artists, laborers, criminals. For a time, it made me feel as if I were one of them.” He shook his head. “Strange. I killed three men tonight and feel no remorse for it. They preyed upon the innocent and would have killed me if they could.
And yet, I feel pity for Vaesil, for he preys only on himself. What a peculiar creature I’ve become.”
Sylvanna reached out and touched his hand, reassuringly. “I have always found humans peculiar,” she said, “but you less so than most.”
Her touch lingered.
Aedan smiled. “I will accept that as a compliment.”
“It was intended as one.”
Aedan waved to the serving girl and ordered a bottle of wine.
“I’m in a mood to get good and drunk tonight,” he said. “When we finish this, just bring another.”
“You shouldn’t blame yourself,” Sylvanna said.
“What happened on this last campaign was not your fault.”
“I wonder,” he replied. “I have always thought that traveling through the Shadow World was far too great a risk. I know Michael better than any other man. He listens to me. Perhaps if I’d tried harder, I could have talked him out of it.”
“I doubt it,” said Sylvanna. “Once Michael makes his mind up, nothing dissuades him from his course.”
“I wonder if he’s getting drunk tonight,” said Aedan.
Sylvanna squeezed his hand across the table.
“Does an immortal fear death?” he asked.
“Of course,” she replied. “Just because we have a longer life span does not mean we have less fear of death. We can be killed like anybody else, you know.
Everyone fears death.”
Aedan shook his head. “No, not everyone. I do not think Michael does.
I have never known him to be afraid of anything. He seems to have no capacity for fear. That is why he has always been so reckless.
And that is a large part of the reason he inspires his troops. In that respect, there is something lacking in him that most normal people have.
I have always marveled at it and wished I could have his courage.
But this time, something’s changed.”
“In what way?” she asked, still holding his hand.
There was an expression of infinite sadness on his face, and it touched her deeply.
“I realized something this time that I never realized before,” he said, pausing to drain his goblet and refill it. He held out the bottle to her interrogatively, and she nodded for him to refill hers as well.
“Courage is not fearlessness,” he continued, as he poured.
“Fearlessness is just a lack of fear. Courage is overcoming fear.
Without fear, there can be no courage. It struck me back there in the Spiderfell, when those horrid creatures tried to trap us with their webs.” He shuddered at the memory that was still so fresh. “It made my skin crawl. I have always hated spiders. That first time in the Shadow World, when you flicked that albino spider off me and told me how they get into your hair and lay their eggs …
I had nightmares about that for weeks. I would wake up in a cold sweat, and it was as if I could literally feel them crawling on my head. I’d have to go over to the washbasin and scrub myself till I thought all my hair was going to fall out. And that was only from that one spider.
This time, there thousands of them, hundreds of thousands, so many that the tree trunks were writhing with them and the webs they spun were covered with the damn things.”
His breathing quickened, and he tossed his wine back in one gulp, then refilled his goblet once again.
“I never felt more afraid in my whole life. I felt consumed by stark, unreasoning terror. The only thing that kept me from spurring my horse and bolting in panic was the certain knowledge of what would happen to me if I did. And even then, I was on the verge of doing so. Until I turned around and looked at the foot soldiers marching behind us. I saw their faces and knew they all felt exactly as I did. I could see their fear. I could smell it. And yet they kept their ranks, kept marching.
. .
“There was nothing else for them to do,” Sylvanna said. “I felt afraid, as well, but giving in to fear would have resulted only in our destruction.”
‘I understand that,” Aedan said, “but that is not the point.” He emptied his goblet once again and promptly refilled it. “The point is this: the army has campaigned for eight long years. Oh, it was not eight years of straight campaigning. There were the breaks between campaigns, and in the winter and the early spring, but each time the call for troops went out they came. No matter how bad the last campaign was, no matter how many losses we incurred, no matter the hardships we suffered in the field, still they gathered up their arms and came. This last campaign was the worst disaster we had ever faced.
We never even got to see Lord Arwyn’s army, but we fought ogres, battled the undead, were terrorized by a legion of spiders, and set upon by gnolls and goblins…. Those valiant soldiers went through more than any man should endure, and yet I have no doubt that when the call goes out again, still they will come. That is courage.”
She nodded, watching him. He was getting drunk.
He tossed back his wine and poured once more. This time, she joined him, but he was having at least three goblets for every one she drank.
He was starting to slur his words.
“If Michael has any real courage, he will not take them back into the Shadow World again. The Cold Rider was a warning. We survived this time … well, at least some of us did … but I doubt we shall be so lucky next time. If there is a next time. That is where my courage must come in, you see. I must prevent him. I must find it in myself to stand up to him, something I have never done. Vaesil called him a bloody butcher. You wondered how I could allow him to speak that way.
Because he was right, that’s why. Michael is a bloody butcher. He sees only the goal he strives for and does not consider the costs …
the terrible, terrible costs. Let Arwyn have his damned Western Marches! What does it matter? So there shall be two empires instead of one. So what?
Nothing is worth this. Nothing.”
He put his hea
d in his hands and slumped over the table.
Sylvanna flagged down the serving girl. “Have you rooms upstairs?”
she asked.
The girl glanced at Aedan and nodded. “I believe we still have a few available for the night.”
“We shall take one,” said Sylvanna. “My friend is in no condition to go anywhere tonight.”
She paid for the room, then helped Aedan upstairs, supporting him with his arm around her shoulder.
“Where are we going?” he slurred.
“To get you to bed,” Sylvanna said.
“I’m perf’ly able t’go home,” he mumbled.
“No, you’re not,” she said. “You couldn’t walk twenty yards without passing out.”
“Mmmph. Maybe not.”
“Come on, pick your feet up.”
They reached the top of the stairs, and she helped him down the corridor until they reached their room. She kicked the door open and helped him in, then put him down on the dilapidated straw bed.
The furnishings were sparse. Merely a chair, a washstand with a battered metal washbasin and pitcher, some blankets, a few candles, and a chamberpot.
Sylvanna lit the candles, then started to undress him.
She pulled off his boots, then unfastened his breeches and pulled them down. He lay back, breathing heavily, but still awake.
“Come on, sit up,” she said, pulling on his arms so she could take his tunic off. ‘Hold your arms UP, she said. As he did, she pulled off his tunic and tossed it aside. His arms came down around her.
“I love you,” he said.
She looked at him. “I know.”
She eased him back down onto the bed, then stripped off her own clothes and got in beside him.
He snuggled up against her. She pulled the blankets over them and put her arms around him. He kissed her ear and whispered, “I want you.”
She kissed his lips. “Then have me,” she said softly.
And when they were done, he held on to her tightly and cried himself to sleep.
**chapter Two**
“You did not come home last night,” Gylvain said.
“No.”
“You were with Aedan.”
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