This time, there thousands of them, hundreds of thousands, so many that the tree trunks were writhing with them and the webs they spun were covered with the damn things.”
His breathing quickened, and he tossed his wine back in one gulp, then refilled his goblet once again.
“I never felt more afraid in my whole life. I felt consumed by stark, unreasoning terror. The only thing that kept me from spurring my horse and bolting in panic was the certain knowledge of what would happen to me if I did. And even then, I was on the verge of doing so. Until I turned around and looked at the foot soldiers marching behind us. I saw their faces and knew they all felt exactly as I did. I could see their fear. I could smell it. And yet they kept their ranks, kept marching.
. .
“There was nothing else for them to do,” Sylvanna said. “I felt afraid, as well, but giving in to fear would have resulted only in our destruction.”
‘I understand that,” Aedan said, “but that is not the point.” He emptied his goblet once again and promptly refilled it. “The point is this: the army has campaigned for eight long years. Oh, it was not eight years of straight campaigning. There were the breaks between campaigns, and in the winter and the early spring, but each time the call for troops went out they came. No matter how bad the last campaign was, no matter how many losses we incurred, no matter the hardships we suffered in the field, still they gathered up their arms and came. This last campaign was the worst disaster we had ever faced.
We never even got to see Lord Arwyn’s army, but we fought ogres, battled the undead, were terrorized by a legion of spiders, and set upon by gnolls and goblins…. Those valiant soldiers went through more than any man should endure, and yet I have no doubt that when the call goes out again, still they will come. That is courage.”
She nodded, watching him. He was getting drunk.
He tossed back his wine and poured once more. This time, she joined him, but he was having at least three goblets for every one she drank.
He was starting to slur his words.
“If Michael has any real courage, he will not take them back into the Shadow World again. The Cold Rider was a warning. We survived this time … well, at least some of us did … but I doubt we shall be so lucky next time. If there is a next time. That is where my courage must come in, you see. I must prevent him. I must find it in myself to stand up to him, something I have never done. Vaesil called him a bloody butcher. You wondered how I could allow him to speak that way.
Because he was right, that’s why. Michael is a bloody butcher. He sees only the goal he strives for and does not consider the costs …
the terrible, terrible costs. Let Arwyn have his damned Western Marches! What does it matter? So there shall be two empires instead of one. So what?
Nothing is worth this. Nothing.”
He put his head in his hands and slumped over the table.
Sylvanna flagged down the serving girl. “Have you rooms upstairs?”
she asked.
The girl glanced at Aedan and nodded. “I believe we still have a few available for the night.”
“We shall take one,” said Sylvanna. “My friend is in no condition to go anywhere tonight.”
She paid for the room, then helped Aedan upstairs, supporting him with his arm around her shoulder.
“Where are we going?” he slurred.
“To get you to bed,” Sylvanna said.
“I’m perf’ly able t’go home,” he mumbled.
“No, you’re not,” she said. “You couldn’t walk twenty yards without passing out.”
“Mmmph. Maybe not.”
“Come on, pick your feet up.”
They reached the top of the stairs, and she helped him down the corridor until they reached their room. She kicked the door open and helped him in, then put him down on the dilapidated straw bed.
The furnishings were sparse. Merely a chair, a washstand with a battered metal washbasin and pitcher, some blankets, a few candles, and a chamberpot.
Sylvanna lit the candles, then started to undress him.
She pulled off his boots, then unfastened his breeches and pulled them down. He lay back, breathing heavily, but still awake.
“Come on, sit up,” she said, pulling on his arms so she could take his tunic off. ‘Hold your arms UP, she said. As he did, she pulled off his tunic and tossed it aside. His arms came down around her.
“I love you,” he said.
She looked at him. “I know.”
She eased him back down onto the bed, then stripped off her own clothes and got in beside him.
He snuggled up against her. She pulled the blankets over them and put her arms around him. He kissed her ear and whispered, “I want you.”
She kissed his lips. “Then have me,” she said softly.
And when they were done, he held on to her tightly and cried himself to sleep.
**chapter Two**
“You did not come home last night,” Gylvain said.
“No.”
“You were with Aedan.”
She hesitated only slightly. “Yes.” Her gaze met his, defiant, challenging. He sighed. This was not going to be easy “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” he said.
“I knew exactly what I was doing.”
“Did you? Need I remind you that we are guests here, serving the purposes of a sensitive political alliance? Perhaps Aedan has forgotten. Eight years is a long time for a human, after all. After such a time, things begin to take on a sense of permanence for them.
But when this war
