played upon his face remained for a while, and he realized that his spirits felt lighter than they had in quite some time. Soon he would be out of this damned wagon, a useful member of the expedition again. After that… he grimaced. Well, only time would tell.
Majandra sat enjoying the fire that crackled fitfully in the small clearing. Around her, the members of their expedition shared light conversation and an even lighter skin of wine as they finished up the remains of the thick stew that had sustained them through much of their journey. Occasionally, the sharp laughter of a teamster or the whispered words of passing sentries broke through the pleasant din of conversation, reminding her once again of the serious nature of their expedition. She was glad, however, that such a distraction existed. Though the elves patrolled the forested depths of the Rieuwood regularly, danger still lurked within the shadows of its leafy bowers- dangers that could have followed them all the way from Rel Mord. She feltcomforted by the hushed tread of the guards as they stood watch against the night.
A cool breeze blew softly through the trees, rustling branches and limbs heavy with the rounded swell of leaf buds. Majandra closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, grateful for the early spring wind, so redolent with the fragrance of stem and flower and the blossoming scent of new life. A part of her felt deeply at home here in the wild heart of the Rieuwood, and she yearned to slip quietly away from the caravan and find a clear running stream where she could bathe beneath the soft moonlight and fall asleep on its mossy banks.
She opened her eyes and sighed, recognizing the familiar ache for what it was-the stirring of her elven blood. Away from the confines of citylife and unrelenting din of civilization, it was easy to imagine herself living permanently under nature’s roof. Not for the first time, she found herselfenvying her elven cousins. Her own half- elven heritage had often made her feel like an outsider. The elves of this forest, she knew, felt no such separation. Perhaps one day she would follow the call of her blood, but not now. The future of Nyrond was at stake, and she could not deny its need.
Majandra reached for her harp, comforted by its familiar curves and the grain of its polished wood. Half of Luna’s face moved slowlyacross the sky as the bard idly plucked at the strings of the harp, all the while listening to Phathas and Gerwyth regale the rest of the group with tales from their adventuring days. She enjoyed the distraction, weaving gentle melodies between the measured cadence of the ranger’s voice and the answeringretorts of both Bredeth and Vaxor.
It wasn’t until the wineskin had been filled, passed around,and filled again many times that conversation drifted to the topic that had filled Majandra’s mind for many weeks.
“So, Gerwyth, how fares our mysterious friend?” Bredeth askedin a voice roughened by too much alcohol. The young noble sat unsteadily on an old log, leaning across the glowing coals of the fire. In the dull light, his face looked flushed and puffy, the shadows adding years to his normally youthful appearance.
“Kaerion is doing well enough,” Gerwyth responded with asmile. “He grows stronger daily, and he should be strong enough to sit a horsein a few days.”
Majandra stopped playing at the sound of the dark-haired warrior’s name. She gave a quick look around and was glad to see that no one hadnoticed. The mundane needs of the caravan and the recovering fighter’s ownforays into the forest with Gerwyth had kept her from visiting with Kaerion these past few days. Though she tried her best to control her thoughts, she was surprised at how often they had settled on the wounded fighter during that time. She bent graceful hands back to the silver strings and began to play once more.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Bredeth said, “though I’ll be evenmore glad when we lift the veil of mystery surrounding Kaerion. Exactly who is he, Gerwyth? We are trusting our lives and the success of this expedition to both of you. Don’t you think we have a right to know?”
Majandra hummed softly in accompaniment to her harp, hoping that the others wouldn’t see quite how interested she actually was in the topicat hand. Vaxor, she noted, sat stiffly on the ground, arms crossed before his chest, a grim set to his features.
“You know me, Bredeth,” Gerwyth said. “I have shared freelywith all of you, but Kaerion-his story is his own to tell.”
Majandra nearly stopped playing again, for she was sure that the elf had cast a meaningful glance at Vaxor as he spoke.
“For now, he is simply a companion of this group, andhopefully a trusted one at that,” Gerwyth continued. “It was largely due to hisefforts that we survived the attack on the inn.”
“He is a skilled warrior,” Majandra found herselfagreeing-and nearly clapped her hand over her mouth in horror as Bredeth, Vaxor,and Gerwyth cast her a look. What was she, she thought bitterly, some lovesick serving maid?
“And a leader of men.” This from Phathas, who leaned forward,warming his hands over the glowing coals of the fire. “You can hear it in hisvoice,” the old mage continued, “he must have led many in battle.”
“Did you see that sword of his?” Bredeth said. “I’ll bet hestole it from some noble. I’ve never seen a blade quite like that. Certainly notin the hands of a commoner.”
Majandra nearly snorted. Before Gerwyth had scooped the sword up and wrapped it back in rags, she’d cast a good look at the blade, catchingsight of some of the runes that ran along its shimmering length. Dwarven runes. Ancient ones, dating back from before the Invoked Devastation. It was a weapon crafted by a master smith, and no doubt intended for royalty. Such blades were not so easily stolen.
“Kaerion is many things, Bredeth,” Gerwyth replied, echoingthe half-elf’s thoughts, “but he’s no thief.”
“No offense meant,” Bredeth replied to Gerwyth somewhathastily. “But I don’t understand what he’s hiding.”
“He’s seen more things than most people have to deal with inseveral lifetimes,” Gerwyth replied. “Give him some time. Besides, you’ll havemore important things to worry about in a few days.”
Majandra caught Bredeth’s questioning look.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“He means that we’ll be out of the Rieuwood in a few days andwell on our way to the Vast Swamp,” Phathas, who had quietly risen to his feet,said in a soft voice. “And that’s when things will become dangerous.”
Gerwyth offered the aging wizard a hand as he started back to his wagon. “Once we’re in the swamp, I’ll need everyone focused on survival. Nodistractions. Can you do that?” he asked the noble.
“Of course,” Bredeth said, and Majandra was startled by thesolemnity of the young fighter’s tone.
“Good,” Gerwyth replied before he and Phathas disappearedbeyond the firelight. “Do me a favor and make sure the sentries don’t needanything before you turn in.”
Majandra smiled as Bredeth mumbled a curse and stumbled off into the darkness, leaving her alone with Vaxor. The bard finished playing and wrapped her harp in its leather case. She had her own suspicions about Kaerion, based on her observations and Vaxor’s strange behavior, but nothing definite.The mysterious warrior’s story was beginning to unfold, she thought, but therewas still a long way to go to reach the ending.
Majandra stifled a yawn and watched the cleric for a few moments before getting up and heading toward her pack. By the time she returned with her bedroll, Vaxor had left. As she lay beneath the shining dome of stars waiting for sleep to come, she thought about their journey. She did not know what they would find within the ancient corridors of the wizard’s tomb, but shewas glad that they would have the protection of a certain dark-haired warrior.
The screech of a night owl echoed in the distance. “Good hunting, sister,”Majandra said softly, turning toward the remaining warmth of the fire.
12
Durgoth Shem sat in the cramped confines of the wagon,jotting down notes and commentaries on several scrolls that lay heaped upon the wooden crate that had functioned as his makeshift desk since he had left Rel Mord. A brass lamp sat on a crate to his right, casting flickering illumination throughout the rude space. Its thick oil burned smokily, filling the wagon with an acrid stench. A light rain fell outside, tapping steadily on the tarp that
