darker blond. Years of tending to the welfare of two thousand citizens had etched lines onto Santagithi’s features. In addition, he had a wife and daughter to attend to and the elaborate strategies that kept his small army honed while larger ones withered and grew decadent in times of peace.
Colbey turned to face the approaching general.
Santagithi stopped directly before Colbey and Arduwyn, rearranging his hair with a battered, callused hand. “The men are settled. Can we fetch my grandson?”
Arduwyn froze, filled with a guilt that quickly turned to terror. Caught up in his own concerns, he had nearly forgotten that Santagithi and Colbey had come for Mitrian’s child.
Had I slipped off into the forest, not only would I have been cruel and irresponsible to Bel, I probably would have had Santagithi’s army on my heels. Or Colbey.
The last thought seemed even more horrifying. He smiled weakly, hoping Santagithi had not read his ideas of escape as easily as Colbey. “Of course, sir. Let’s go.” Arduwyn trotted through the gates.
Colbey and Santagithi followed.
Arduwyn led them down the familiar roadways, past long chains of selling stands closed early in honor of the returning soldiers. Jubilant whoops and friendly howls replaced the usual screamed promises of merchants that rose above the constant hum of softer-voiced salesmen and the conversations of the masses. Arduwyn knew that in the morning the stands would open with renewed enthusiasm, as merchants hawked wares to warriors who had gone too long without luxuries and personal toys.
Off and on, Arduwyn had been a part of the noise and bustle of the trading city of Pudar, working for merchants as a clever salesman. Yet now the city that had become his home seemed foreign and forbidding, a world full of ghosts. His mind conjured images of Garn, Sterrane, and Mitrian gawking like children at the wonders of a city larger than any of them had ever imagined. He tried to picture Sterrane as the king of Béarn, but the image of the massive, lumbering simpleton sitting on the high king’s throne would not come. He knew that, for them, the war had scarcely begun. He also believed that hebelonged at their side. They would have little need of a hunter though, and he belonged with Bel even more.
Colbey and Santagithi took the sights in stride; they had obviously traveled through Pudar before. Their silence pleased Arduwyn, leaving him to tangle with memories he dared not verbalize. Excitement thrilled through him, tempered by fear. He hungered for a glimpse of the woman he loved, to feel her body against his, to hear her voice ring in his ears. But the promise he had broken could never be forgiven. She had agreed to marry him based on his vow to return home every night, to see to it that she and the children never wanted for food or protection. Now she would be far more likely to drive him off than to greet him, and Arduwyn was uncertain whether his heart could stand the rejection.
Colbey’s voice broke through Arduwyn’s self-imposed agony. “If you were moving any slower, you’d be walking backward.”
Arduwyn spun to face the old Renshai. Santagithi watched quizzically as Arduwyn regained his bearings. Habit had taken him directly home, and they now stood before the cabin next door, where Garn and Mitrian had lived. It lay dark and abandoned. Beside it, candlelight filtered through the main windows of his own home, a single glow also flickering from the loft bedrooms. “This is it,” Arduwyn said, his words referring as much to the coming events as the location. “We’re here.”
Colbey made a throwaway gesture toward the house. “You first.”
Arduwyn shuffled forward, unable to delay any longer. He steeled himself for the coming rebuff, trying to cling to one last illusion that everything would be all right. Then, before he knew it, he had stepped up to the door and his fist tapped the oaken panel as if on its own accord. Santagithi and Colbey took
Colbey turned to face the approaching general.
Santagithi stopped directly before Colbey and Arduwyn, rearranging his hair with a battered, callused hand. “The men are settled. Can we fetch my grandson?”
Arduwyn froze, filled with a guilt that quickly turned to terror. Caught up in his own concerns, he had nearly forgotten that Santagithi and Colbey had come for Mitrian’s child.
Had I slipped off into the forest, not only would I have been cruel and irresponsible to Bel, I probably would have had Santagithi’s army on my heels. Or Colbey.
The last thought seemed even more horrifying. He smiled weakly, hoping Santagithi had not read his ideas of escape as easily as Colbey. “Of course, sir. Let’s go.” Arduwyn trotted through the gates.
Colbey and Santagithi followed.
Arduwyn led them down the familiar roadways, past long chains of selling stands closed early in honor of the returning soldiers. Jubilant whoops and friendly howls replaced the usual screamed promises of merchants that rose above the constant hum of softer-voiced salesmen and the conversations of the masses. Arduwyn knew that in the morning the stands would open with renewed enthusiasm, as merchants hawked wares to warriors who had gone too long without luxuries and personal toys.
Off and on, Arduwyn had been a part of the noise and bustle of the trading city of Pudar, working for merchants as a clever salesman. Yet now the city that had become his home seemed foreign and forbidding, a world full of ghosts. His mind conjured images of Garn, Sterrane, and Mitrian gawking like children at the wonders of a city larger than any of them had ever imagined. He tried to picture Sterrane as the king of Béarn, but the image of the massive, lumbering simpleton sitting on the high king’s throne would not come. He knew that, for them, the war had scarcely begun. He also believed that hebelonged at their side. They would have little need of a hunter though, and he belonged with Bel even more.
Colbey and Santagithi took the sights in stride; they had obviously traveled through Pudar before. Their silence pleased Arduwyn, leaving him to tangle with memories he dared not verbalize. Excitement thrilled through him, tempered by fear. He hungered for a glimpse of the woman he loved, to feel her body against his, to hear her voice ring in his ears. But the promise he had broken could never be forgiven. She had agreed to marry him based on his vow to return home every night, to see to it that she and the children never wanted for food or protection. Now she would be far more likely to drive him off than to greet him, and Arduwyn was uncertain whether his heart could stand the rejection.
Colbey’s voice broke through Arduwyn’s self-imposed agony. “If you were moving any slower, you’d be walking backward.”
Arduwyn spun to face the old Renshai. Santagithi watched quizzically as Arduwyn regained his bearings. Habit had taken him directly home, and they now stood before the cabin next door, where Garn and Mitrian had lived. It lay dark and abandoned. Beside it, candlelight filtered through the main windows of his own home, a single glow also flickering from the loft bedrooms. “This is it,” Arduwyn said, his words referring as much to the coming events as the location. “We’re here.”
Colbey made a throwaway gesture toward the house. “You first.”
Arduwyn shuffled forward, unable to delay any longer. He steeled himself for the coming rebuff, trying to cling to one last illusion that everything would be all right. Then, before he knew it, he had stepped up to the door and his fist tapped the oaken panel as if on its own accord. Santagithi and Colbey took
Similar Books
