fingers over the scraggly growth of a beard that had begun to appear around his cheeks.
“Doesn’t sound like such a bad deal.”
Garrick shrugged. How could he explain what it was like to watch yourself rip a hundred souls from a tiny village in one horrific blink of an eye?
“Things don’t always look the way they really are.”
“Well,” Darien said, rotating his shoulder gently. “We have a long day before us. Should we sit guard?”
Garrick would probably be awake all night, but he didn’t want Darien to know that.
“My energy is low enough now that I don’t think the Shariaen will return,” he said. “And the weather is bad enough that I doubt we’ll see other marauders. We can both probably sleep this evening.”
Darien nodded. “You’re probably right.”
Garrick closed his eyes, pretending to sleep until Darien’s snores were steady. Then he sat up and looked out into the rain, thinking about Darien’s injury, about how and why the ancient Shariaen might have been drawn to his magic, and—oddly—wondering what Starshower might have been like.
It was a lot to think about.
After years of leading such a mundane existence, his life was becoming one surprise after another, and the world was suddenly getting bigger than he had ever understood it could be. What was he doing here? Why had the Shariaen come to him? What did it all mean?
And what, he wondered, could possibly go wrong next?
Chapter 10
Four more days of spirit-grinding travel brought Garrick and Darien to the foothills of the Blue Mist Mountains. It was a place of coarse grasses that grew in scythes of yellow and brown, and a place whose hard stone ground made Garrick long for the rich soil of the lowlands. The evening sun cut a bloody swath through mountain peaks that rose like cold spikes. A hawk soared silently above.
“There’s a pass just a touch to the north, now,” Darien said as they made camp. “We should be able to get to Arderveer quickly from there.”
As had become their practice, Darien prepared a cooking fire while Garrick tended the horses. Garrick liked this chore because it reminded him of his days in the stables and because it gave him time alone with an animal he thought he understood. The stable boy in Caledena had been right about Kalomar. He was a reliable mount.
But Garrick was tired of travel.
His legs burned, and his hands ached from the reins. That’s what he got for being out of practice. He promised himself he would never go this long without serious riding again. And, yet, amid his promise he also wondered what it meant that the life force inside him had not removed this pain, and that it was now so much easier to control that life force than it had been earlier.
It did not bode well.
They ate dried meat, warmed over the fire.
Darien exercised his wounded arm. It was healing, and he spent considerable time each day manipulating it so he wouldn’t lose flexibility.
Garrick lay on his bedroll and fidgeted. Sjesko’s life force gave a lethargic movement inside him.
“You don’t sleep well, do you?” Darien said.
“Not lately,” Garrick replied.
“Travel usually gives the mind to sleep.”
“I’ll march to my own beat, thank you very much.”
That drew a hearty laugh.
“What?” Garrick said.
“You’re a pain to travel with, you know?” Darien replied. “You don’t talk, and you get annoyed when I sing to myself. You hold midnight communion with ancients. You squirm on that horse like you've got ants in your breeches—it’s no wonder you got saddle sores, by the way—and then you’ve got the nerve to pretend there isn’t anything wrong about any of that at all.”
He shook his head in disgust.
“I don’t suppose you’ll care, but when we’re done with this job I’ll be heading my own way.”
“That’s fine,” Garrick grumbled, oddly bothered. He expected their partnership would be short-lived, but he hadn’t expected
Darien
to be the one to break it.
“Doesn’t sound like such a bad deal.”
Garrick shrugged. How could he explain what it was like to watch yourself rip a hundred souls from a tiny village in one horrific blink of an eye?
“Things don’t always look the way they really are.”
“Well,” Darien said, rotating his shoulder gently. “We have a long day before us. Should we sit guard?”
Garrick would probably be awake all night, but he didn’t want Darien to know that.
“My energy is low enough now that I don’t think the Shariaen will return,” he said. “And the weather is bad enough that I doubt we’ll see other marauders. We can both probably sleep this evening.”
Darien nodded. “You’re probably right.”
Garrick closed his eyes, pretending to sleep until Darien’s snores were steady. Then he sat up and looked out into the rain, thinking about Darien’s injury, about how and why the ancient Shariaen might have been drawn to his magic, and—oddly—wondering what Starshower might have been like.
It was a lot to think about.
After years of leading such a mundane existence, his life was becoming one surprise after another, and the world was suddenly getting bigger than he had ever understood it could be. What was he doing here? Why had the Shariaen come to him? What did it all mean?
And what, he wondered, could possibly go wrong next?
Chapter 10
Four more days of spirit-grinding travel brought Garrick and Darien to the foothills of the Blue Mist Mountains. It was a place of coarse grasses that grew in scythes of yellow and brown, and a place whose hard stone ground made Garrick long for the rich soil of the lowlands. The evening sun cut a bloody swath through mountain peaks that rose like cold spikes. A hawk soared silently above.
“There’s a pass just a touch to the north, now,” Darien said as they made camp. “We should be able to get to Arderveer quickly from there.”
As had become their practice, Darien prepared a cooking fire while Garrick tended the horses. Garrick liked this chore because it reminded him of his days in the stables and because it gave him time alone with an animal he thought he understood. The stable boy in Caledena had been right about Kalomar. He was a reliable mount.
But Garrick was tired of travel.
His legs burned, and his hands ached from the reins. That’s what he got for being out of practice. He promised himself he would never go this long without serious riding again. And, yet, amid his promise he also wondered what it meant that the life force inside him had not removed this pain, and that it was now so much easier to control that life force than it had been earlier.
It did not bode well.
They ate dried meat, warmed over the fire.
Darien exercised his wounded arm. It was healing, and he spent considerable time each day manipulating it so he wouldn’t lose flexibility.
Garrick lay on his bedroll and fidgeted. Sjesko’s life force gave a lethargic movement inside him.
“You don’t sleep well, do you?” Darien said.
“Not lately,” Garrick replied.
“Travel usually gives the mind to sleep.”
“I’ll march to my own beat, thank you very much.”
That drew a hearty laugh.
“What?” Garrick said.
“You’re a pain to travel with, you know?” Darien replied. “You don’t talk, and you get annoyed when I sing to myself. You hold midnight communion with ancients. You squirm on that horse like you've got ants in your breeches—it’s no wonder you got saddle sores, by the way—and then you’ve got the nerve to pretend there isn’t anything wrong about any of that at all.”
He shook his head in disgust.
“I don’t suppose you’ll care, but when we’re done with this job I’ll be heading my own way.”
“That’s fine,” Garrick grumbled, oddly bothered. He expected their partnership would be short-lived, but he hadn’t expected
Darien
to be the one to break it.
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