Blood of War by Remi Michaud Page B

was supposed to be tending cattle or checking crops beside Daved, laughing at one of Galbin's jests. He should have wooed, and possibly married Erin, had children, had a life. Instead, he was so far from that home, that life, it seemed a decade had passed, a century, and not just a few months. A million miles instead of a thousand.
    “Hello, my boy.”
    The familiar voice jolted him. He spun around in his seat. Kurin stood a few feet from him, hip deep in the overgrown bushes, with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eyes.
    “How did-?” he asked and the old man chuckled.
    “How did I find you? It's no big mystery really. I used to come here when I was an acolyte. It was my place. It let me get away from all the tedious lessons. As a matter of fact, that was the exact tree I used to lean on. Right where you are.”
    “So you knew?”
    “Of course. But I would never tell. This is your place now.” His eyes lit up further and his lips broadened until they were a wide, mischievous grin. “Besides, I rather enjoy seeing my fellow brothers and sisters running around like there are hornets after them while they search for you. It takes everything I have to keep from laughing out loud.”
    Kurin pushed his way through the dense growth until he was beside Jurel, sank down with a sigh and leaned back against the trunk.
    “I'd almost forgotten how pleasant this place is. It's been so long.”
    They sat quietly as the sun slid downward, and the sky changed from the color of a jay's crest to the color of a robin's breast, not speaking, not needing to. They had been through a lot together. It was enough for them to be comfortable no matter how long they sat in silence. When the arbor was washed in shadow, when all was muted colors that were a thin shade of gray, Kurin finally shifted.
    “We need to speak,” Kurin said.
    “I'm right here,” Jurel responded.
    “Indeed,” the old man said, but there was another silence before he spoke again. “Did you really say that thing to Goromand about strapping himself naked to the underside of a stallion in heat?”
    “No! I would never! It was a mule.”
    A grunt of laughter and Jurel could not help but smile ruefully in return. Perhaps he had been a little harsh.
    “No matter. You two will have to bury the hatchet in your own time.”
    “As long as he stops going on about praying and repenting and stuff,” grumbled Jurel. “I've spoken with my father.” I think. “He's told me many things and I don't remember anything about repenting. He doesn't seem to care one whit whether I beg his forgiveness or not.”
    “Ah...yes. Well.” Kurin harrumphed. It was difficult enough for him to deal with the fact that Jurel was a God—though he tended to use the term God-in-training—but to hear Jurel speak which such familiarity of Gaorla made him uneasy. “We are getting a little far afield. For now, try to be kind to Goromand,” Kurin pleaded as he rose. “He's a good man—I dare call him a friend—but he's trying to deal with some very difficult concepts, you know, and I think he's a little frazzled by it all. It's not often he plays host to a god.”
    “I'll try,” Jurel said. Flashing a toothy grin, he added, “After all, I have a hatchet to bury.”
    “Gods help me,” Kurin moaned, stretching his arms out and looking to the darkening sky.
    “Next time I see dad, I'll ask him what he can do,” Jurel retorted.
    “Er...yes. Anyway.” The casual blasphemy rattled him. If it had been anyone else who spoke those words, Kurin would have spoken at length—and not gently. Rubbing his temples, Kurin cleared his throat loudly. He gave Jurel a pointed glare. “That's not the reason I'm here.”
    “You asked,” Jurel shrugged.
    “The reason I'm here is to discuss your little falling out with Andrus.”
    Sullenly, Jurel brought his knees up to his chest. Unable to meet Kurin's look, he muttered, “I don't want to talk about it.”
    Clicking his tongue, Kurin turned to