With the funerals over, Ganyir and Tahlis headed back into the village to gather supplies left by the defeated army. Kegohr, Vesma, and Kumi went to help. But the initiates seemed unable to draw themselves away from the graveside.
I went to stand with them, and as I approached, they looked up with the same awe they had shown me during our time training together. Despite the hardship I had brought them into, that unsettling veneration remained. I might not be comfortable with it, but perhaps I could use it to help soothe them.
“You did well today. All of you. You fought with skill and courage, which isn’t easy the first time you’re in a battle. Hell, it isn’t easy any time. This must have been frightening, but you overcame your fears, and you went to work. You were ready to get behind more powerful Augmenters, to provide serious support against stronger and more dangerous opponents. You played an invaluable part in dealing a serious blow to the Cult and its corrupted followers. You should all be proud.”
They looked at each other and smiled, but one by one, their gazes fell sadly to the graves.
“Be proud of Choshi and Fig too,” I continued. “I saw them in action, and they showed that same courage, skill, and determination. It’s a tragedy that they died, but their deaths won’t be in vain. They died striking a blow for freedom, a blow against cruelty and tyranny. They died helping set others free. And by the time this is done, their deaths will be avenged.”
“Thank you,” Elorinelle said as tears ran down her cheeks. “I needed to hear that.”
“Aye.” Drek rubbed at his eye. “Me too.”
I headed into the village, leaving them to take a last few moments with their lost friends.
“That was beautifully done,” Yono said. “You have a gift for more than action.”
“You sell our master short,” Nydarth added.
I allowed their voices to fall to whispers.
In the village, the others had gathered together piles of supplies left behind by the scattered army. Some were obvious military materials, like arrows, swords, and spare links for fixing chainmail. There was also a lot of food, enough to have fed the army for a short campaign to drive us out of the Sunstone Temple.
“Looks like we’re set for a while.” Tahlis rummaged through sacks of fruit and vegetables. “Fresh apples! How do you like that? We’re going to eat like pigs tonight.”
“Are they ready to go?” Ganyir nodded toward the initiates.
“Almost,” I said. “Just give them a few more minutes.”
Sure enough, the initiates embraced each other, then walked slowly over to join us.
“What can we carry?” Zedal asked.
“You?” Tahlis asked. “Nothing. You need to concentrate on getting about with half a leg.”
“I am getting about. I don’t need you telling me what I can’t do.”
“Yes, you do. Because you’re the sort of pig-headed warrior who will try to push yourself hard at every opportunity, and that can be great for completing chores or training or studying, but when it comes to recovering from injury, it’s completely backward. Your body needs as little strain as it can stand.” Tahlis chuckled to himself at the barely veiled meaning of his words.
“And how would you know that? I don’t see you using a crutch.”
Tahlis pulled his robes open all the way down to his waist, revealing his scaled chest and stomach. A scar ran from his collarbone down to his navel, a dark and puckered stretch of skin where no scales grew.
“That’s how I know,” he said. “Because if I’d had the sense to listen to a physician, I might have got back the strength I lost there, and I’d look a lot better naked. That might not matter to virginal initiates like yourselves, but past a certain age, these things matter.”
Zedal looked at her guildmaster’s chest, then down at the stump of her leg. “Fine. But I’ll be carrying things soon.”
“Oh, yes, you will. There’s no shirking chores in my guild, not even for crippled heroes of the liberated province. So, focus on getting better so that you can get on with doing my will.”
“Yes, Master,” she said with a laugh.
The rest of us picked up sacks and satchels of goods, then headed across the dunes into the foothills and up the stairs to the temple. Ganyir led the way, the day’s exertions taking nothing out of his purposeful stride. I walked with him, eager not just to set an example to the initiates but to talk with the Lord of the Gonki about things I had seen and heard.
“That song about the Earth Spirit,” I said. “Is the story literally true, or is it a fable, something to help understand what the spirit represents?”
“I’m no priest,” Ganyir said. “If you want something other than simple acceptance of simple facts, find someone more complicated.”
“Then I’ll ask a simpler question. Is the Forgotten Memory sword still around?”
Ganyir shook his head. “It’s been lost for a long time. Longer than any reliable records go back. In my youth, I had high hopes of finding it one day. So did Targin. It was one of those childhood dreams, how we’d find it and be like heroes out of legend. Like Swordslingers.”
“Did you find any clues to where it might be?”
“There are no clues. If that sword did exist, it’s long gone to the ages.”
We walked on in silence while I contemplated this. The song had me wondering about what other spirit weapons were out there in the world, waiting to be found. But of course, if they were out there, then other people would have been looking for them. There couldn’t be many that remained hidden, and those that did would be incredibly hard to find.
“Why are you so interested in the legend?” Ganyir asked.
“Because I already have two weapons with spirits trapped inside them,” I said. “Those Immense Blades have been incredibly helpful to me in mastering the different elements. I was hoping I might find something
