taken two steps toward the woodlands before he realized he had moved. A thought arrested him. He pictured Bel, her huge, brown eyes sparkling in the candlelight after the children lay in bed, blonde streaks sending shimmering highlights through her long, brown hair. He imagined the warmth of her body pressed against him, a soft presence full of beauty and grace. The picture filled him with a desire he had not satisfied in longer than a month, but it also stirred something deep, a love that, until recently, he never thought he would experience. For Arduwyn, there could be no other woman.
Yet Bel had not come. Reality intruded, souring Arduwyn’s daydream. The grin wilted from his face, and his fingers cinched about folds of extra fabric in his pants. He had always been too scrawny; the excitement and horrors of the war had claimed the last of his weight. His clothing hung loose, hiding a skeletal frame. His cheeks had gone gaunt, a thin layer of skin wrapped tightly over jutting bone. His flame-red hair stuck out in unruly spikes, no matter how he wet or combed it, and he had lost an eye to the battle.
Bel probably did come. She took one look through the opened gates, saw what was coming back to her, and turned away. And how could I blame her?
Arduwyn shuffled a pace closer to the woods. There a man was not judged by his appearance or by his words, only by his ability to survive. There the gods had placed the greatest of the world’s beauty, its fastest and quietest movement, its most consistent and emotionlessly logical behavior. So many times in the past, Arduwyn had used the forest’s cycle of death, birth, and self-protective illusions to put his problems into clear perspective, if only for a time. And the forest gave him so much more. Every time he entered its haven, he discovered more of its secrets, and he hungered for the knowledge every exploration revealed.
The train of thought sparked memories of the day he had returned to Pudar accompanied by Mitrian, her ex-gladiator husband, Garn, and a massive, childishly simple hermit called Sterrane, who had turned out to be the rightful heir to Béarn’s high throne. Then, Bel had refused Arduwyn’s advances. “When you wander,” she had said, “you’re not really looking for adventure, you’re running from responsibility. Always, you believe you’re seeking something more, something you think is special out there, maybe over the next hill, something other men can’t find. You spend so much time looking, you’re blinded to the small pleasures that you have. You’ll die searching for something that doesn’t exist, never having recognized or enjoyed what you had.” Later, she had given him an ultimatum, “Choose. Me or the forest. You can’t have both.”
Now, Arduwyn winced at the recollection, Bel’s voice like harp chords in his ears. The deliberation had taken weeks, but he had chosen the woman he loved and never believed he regretted the decision. He had agreed to return home every night. And he had done so, until circumstances had sent him, Garn, and Sterrane to rescue Mitrian. Soon after, he had been sucked into the Great War like so many others. Bel had opposed his departure, even to rescue Mitrian, and leaving Mitrian’s and Garn’s baby in her care was not enough to allay her fears of permanently losing Arduwyn.
“And she was right, too.” Colbey’s voice came suddenly, from too close.
Startled, Arduwyn whirled to face the Renshai. He hadalways felt a natural awe of Colbey, but an equally natural aversion to his cold and casual cruelty. Now the Northman stood before Arduwyn with his legs braced and his hands light on his sword belt. Beyond him, the darkness of evening huddled like a giant shadow, disrupted by the scattered camps of Santagithi’s soldiers. Arduwyn’s thoughts had blinded and deafened him. Now, he could hear the grumbles of men forced to remain outside a city of plentiful inns and taverns. Apparently, someone had managed
Yet Bel had not come. Reality intruded, souring Arduwyn’s daydream. The grin wilted from his face, and his fingers cinched about folds of extra fabric in his pants. He had always been too scrawny; the excitement and horrors of the war had claimed the last of his weight. His clothing hung loose, hiding a skeletal frame. His cheeks had gone gaunt, a thin layer of skin wrapped tightly over jutting bone. His flame-red hair stuck out in unruly spikes, no matter how he wet or combed it, and he had lost an eye to the battle.
Bel probably did come. She took one look through the opened gates, saw what was coming back to her, and turned away. And how could I blame her?
Arduwyn shuffled a pace closer to the woods. There a man was not judged by his appearance or by his words, only by his ability to survive. There the gods had placed the greatest of the world’s beauty, its fastest and quietest movement, its most consistent and emotionlessly logical behavior. So many times in the past, Arduwyn had used the forest’s cycle of death, birth, and self-protective illusions to put his problems into clear perspective, if only for a time. And the forest gave him so much more. Every time he entered its haven, he discovered more of its secrets, and he hungered for the knowledge every exploration revealed.
The train of thought sparked memories of the day he had returned to Pudar accompanied by Mitrian, her ex-gladiator husband, Garn, and a massive, childishly simple hermit called Sterrane, who had turned out to be the rightful heir to Béarn’s high throne. Then, Bel had refused Arduwyn’s advances. “When you wander,” she had said, “you’re not really looking for adventure, you’re running from responsibility. Always, you believe you’re seeking something more, something you think is special out there, maybe over the next hill, something other men can’t find. You spend so much time looking, you’re blinded to the small pleasures that you have. You’ll die searching for something that doesn’t exist, never having recognized or enjoyed what you had.” Later, she had given him an ultimatum, “Choose. Me or the forest. You can’t have both.”
Now, Arduwyn winced at the recollection, Bel’s voice like harp chords in his ears. The deliberation had taken weeks, but he had chosen the woman he loved and never believed he regretted the decision. He had agreed to return home every night. And he had done so, until circumstances had sent him, Garn, and Sterrane to rescue Mitrian. Soon after, he had been sucked into the Great War like so many others. Bel had opposed his departure, even to rescue Mitrian, and leaving Mitrian’s and Garn’s baby in her care was not enough to allay her fears of permanently losing Arduwyn.
“And she was right, too.” Colbey’s voice came suddenly, from too close.
Startled, Arduwyn whirled to face the Renshai. He hadalways felt a natural awe of Colbey, but an equally natural aversion to his cold and casual cruelty. Now the Northman stood before Arduwyn with his legs braced and his hands light on his sword belt. Beyond him, the darkness of evening huddled like a giant shadow, disrupted by the scattered camps of Santagithi’s soldiers. Arduwyn’s thoughts had blinded and deafened him. Now, he could hear the grumbles of men forced to remain outside a city of plentiful inns and taverns. Apparently, someone had managed
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