Sorak nodded.
“I once told you I owed you a debt,” said Kieran. “It is a poor repayment, but for what it’s worth…” He handed Sorak a small scroll. “That is a formal introduction from me to anyone who knows me or my reputation. It speaks of my regard for you, and requests that any assistance you request be rendered for my sake. There is also a crodlu tied up outside, at the hitching post, with two full waterskins and saddlebags holding provisions. After the sun goes down, if you make your way to the west gate, you will find it strangely unattended for at least an hour. No doubt, a miscommunication of orders.”
“I am grateful,” Sorak said. “But I have one request.”
“Name it.”
“Ryana,” Sorak said. For a moment, he found it difficult to speak.
“I will personally see to whatever arrangements you may wish,” said Kieran.
Sorak swallowed hard. “I would like to take her home.”
“Of course,” said Kieran. “When you leave tonight, ride west through the pass that will take you to the route to Tyr. Wait near the west entrance to the pass, and I’ll bring her to you after sundown tomorrow.”
“I am deeply in your debt,” said Sorak.
“You owe me nothing,” Kieran replied. “It is the least I can do, and I am glad to do it. My contract with the Jhamris is for a year of service. Exactly one year from today, I am going home to my estate outside Salt View.” He removed a silver signet ring from his left hand. “This was my father’s,” he said, handing it to Sorak. “If you ever need me, send this to me there, and I will come.”
Kieran stood and held out his hand. They clasped forearms, mercenary style.
“Until tomorrow,” Kieran said. “Good fortune to you.”
* * *
Sorak sat astride his crodlu, watching as two mounts approached through the pass. One bore a rider, Kieran. The other had a large, limp parcel wrapped in oilcloth strapped across its saddle. Sorak felt his throat constrict as the two crodlu approached. He rode down the slope to meet them.
They exchanged no words. They had both already said all there was to say. Kieran simply handed him the reins and nodded. Sorak nodded back. Kieran gave him the mercenary salute, right fist thumped to the left breast, over the heart, then he simply turned and rode away without a backward glance.
Sorak sat there for a moment, watching him go. Then he looked down at the still form wrapped in oilcloth and felt a tight pressure building in his chest. He took a deep, ragged breath as a tear rolled down his cheek.
“Come, my love,” he murmured. “We’re going home.”
He turned and slowly rode west into the night, toward the Ringing Mountains.
