Carel sighed. ‘Aye, you’re right, Ardela. I’m sorry — can’t help but rush, these days, it’s either that or stop and think about things I don’t want to.’ He smiled weakly. ‘Come on, you can tell me about this purpose we share on the way.’
Like a pair of mismatched lovers, the two walked through the muddy streets of Kamfer’s Ford until they reached the edge of town, the boundary marked by rune-carved stones set there by the king’s mages. Beyond that was a forest of tents set in ordered lines, the pale autumn sunlight glinting from a thousand metal objects, almost like a river at sunset.
And working its way through that river they could see a knot of soldiers wearing the green-and-gold of the Kingsguard, and the slow confusion of the troops in its path parting neatly before it.
‘Looks like the king has gone to meet them too,’ Ardela said. ‘You want to wait?’
‘We can follow on behind. Isak won’t want a grand welcome and the king’s got work to do. He’ll be leaving them to rest soon enough.’
They wound through the army camp into a field of well-trampled grass that ran alongside the stony highway leading north. Carel felt a jolt in his gut as he saw a stooping figure wearing a ragged cloak, taller than those around him and unmistakeable as a white-eye, facing King Emin and his scarlet-coated bodyguard.
‘Gods,’ he whispered, ‘it really is him.’ He squinted to try and make out more, but the distance was too great for his ageing eyes.
‘Seems so,’ Ardela said.
Carel glanced down at the scar on his chest again. ‘To come out of Ghenna — for Mihn to creep in there in the first place… the man was a Harlequin, I know, but merciful Gods, I’d have thought that beyond even him.’ At his side Ardela tensed unexpectedly, and he looked at her. ‘What? What is it?’ he demanded.
‘Ah — bad news. Isak’ll need you at his side more’n ever now.’
He shivered. ‘Something to do with Mihn?’
She said gravely, ‘Legana told me he died — in Vanach. They didn’t say much about it, not in front of Isak, just that he died to cover their escape.’
Carel gaped. That was the last thing he’d expected to hear. Even as he struggled to find words, it felt ridiculous to even consider such a thing. At last he stammered, ‘ Mihn covered their escape? Not the Mortal-Aspect of Karkarn? Not the Mad Axe? A small man with a wooden staff decided to take on the entire Vanach Army to let the rest escape? What sort of sense does that make?’
Ardela raised a hand; the other hovered over the hilt of her knife and Carel realised he’d taken a step towards her. He deliberately moved backwards a pace.
‘You don’t need to tell me that,’ she explained patiently. ‘All Legana told me was that he saw something that made him stay behind, and they don’t know what. She thinks it was a Harlequin — which makes sense, I guess, but either way, that’s all I know. Best you ask Count Vesna for the rest of the story.’
Carel fumbled silently for his tobacco pouch. When he pulled it out Ardela took it from his hands, also without saying a word, filled the bowl of his pipe and struck an alchemist’s match to light it.
‘Thanks,’ he muttered, pointing with the pipe towards the meeting up ahead. ‘Looks like we’ve got time for a smoke before I get my turn.’ He offered her the pipe, but she waved it away.
At last they saw the reception breaking up. King Emin headed back to the castle, leaving half of his Kingsguard behind to clear a path for Isak. Carel realised he needed only to stay where he was, for Isak’s party was being led across the field towards him. As soon as he caught sight of Carel, Vesna went ahead, waving away the soldiers who’d been about to drive the veteran out of the way.
Carel watched the emotions flicker on Vesna’s ruby-studded face: the pleasure of friendship replaced swiftly by the pain of grief, then hope mixed with wariness. ‘No greeting for an old friend?’ Carel asked at last, approaching the Mortal-Aspect.
‘Given I failed to find fitting words of parting,’ Vesna said, ‘that’s probably no great surprise. It is good to see you though, Carel — and you’re not so old as that.’
That broke the tension between them, and Carel reached out to embrace the Farlan hero. Vesna wrapped his arms around Carel with a fierce relief, almost squeezing the breath from him.
‘Careful, boy — I’d expect that from him, not you!’ Carel gasped.
Vesna looked behind, and saw Isak was watching them with a frown on his face, and said carefully, ‘Carel, you do know it’s not simply-?’
‘Aye, I do,’ Carel said sadly, ‘but it’s an improvement on never seeing him again, so I’ll take it.’ He stepped back to inspect Vesna. ‘You look well, my friend.’
‘As do you.’ Vesna pointed to the sword at Carel’s hip. ‘Particularly now you’ve finally realised a swordstick is a little girl’s weapon.’ He hesitated, and then said gruffly, ‘I’m sorry for leaving Tirah so abruptly. A friend shouldn’t have acted that way.’
‘None of us are so attractive in grief,’ he said, forgiving him instantly, ‘not even you.’ He plucked at the Mortal-Aspect’s shirt. ‘Godhood clearly suits some better’n others.’ Vesna’d always that uncanny knack of looking ruggedly dishevelled where others were filthy and exhausted, even before he’d been filled with divine power. ‘Anyways, time’s come to forget our failings and go back to what we know.’
‘An old friend?’ Isak called from behind Vesna. ‘From the Ghosts?’
Carel went to face the white-eye he now barely recognised, but before he could get there, the dog lurking at Isak’s heel had leaped forward to place itself between the two of them. Then the dog caught Carel’s scent, and after a moment’s hesitation it began to wag its tail, sniffing at the hand Carel offered.
‘I was in the Ghosts, but you introduced us, lad,’ Carel croaked, buffeted by his emotions. It was all he could do to stay upright as he stared at the damaged man. With his knees buckling underneath him, the dog’s fawning almost pushed him over until Vesna clicked his fingers and drew it away, leaving the two men to their strange reunion.
Isak tilted his head, searching his tattered memory. ‘I–I don’t …’
Carel raised a hand. ‘I know, lad. There are holes in your mind. Don’t try and remember.’ He gazed at his boy: every visible part of Isak was marked somehow — even the lightning-kissed hand was now a mess of scars, some haphazard, some runic, and the end joint was missing entirely from two fingers. The very lines of Isak’s face, once as familiar a sight as any in the Land to Carel, were altered, his jaw uneven, furrows of deep scar, and frayed edges to lip and ears.
‘Damn, but it’s good to see you, boy,’ Carel croaked.
Isak’s face twitched and his stoop became a little more pronounced, his left shoulder dipping forward as though the weight of everything had grown too much. Then he touched his white fingers to the bulge at his hip, and that steadied him. Now Carel could see Isak’s right hand was oddly clenched, not quite in a fist, but his fingers were curled as though he was holding something.
Grey scars showed up plainly against his blackened skin, and his thumb turned inwards at a strange angle. Carel wondered how well he could grip a sword, but then he realised Isak wasn’t wearing a weapon. For the first time since he’d seen Isak return from his first battle, Eolis was nowhere in sight.
‘Not a distinguished list, that,’ Isak said at last, ‘folk who’re pleased to see me.’
‘Aye, well, more distinguished round here, I’m guessing. Anyways, less you’ve changed as much as it looks, you won’t care how distinguished a man is if he’ll let you take his tobacco.’ He held up his pipe. ‘Never had any money of your own; years back I decided lettin’ you help yourself was better’n watching you steal it from others.’
Isak looked blank, but he took the pipe from Carel’s unresisting hand and as he inspected it briefly, some shadow of recognition passed across his eyes before he raised it to his mouth and began to smoke. In a handful of white-eye-sized inhalations the pipe was finished.
Isak tossed the pipe back to Carel. ‘Vesna says my sense of humour’s returning,’ he said with a tentative, crooked smile.
Carel stared at the spent pipe. ‘Don’t throw a parade just yet,’ he muttered, ‘it was never up to much, you little bugger.’
Isak’s face froze. ‘Mihn was your friend too?’
‘He was,’ Carel said, ‘and I’m waiting for an explanation better’n the one Ardela just gave me. Covering your retreat? Remember what happened last time some bloody fool decided to do that?’ Without even intending to Carel found himself poised to prod Isak in his scarred chest as he made his point, but his expression of alarm and dismay
