talked with him. He could see it in the slackness of his skin, the lines carved even deeper than before, his gaze less intent, his voice subdued. Something in Kosh had broken in some subtle way.
It grew hot in the tent, with so many bodies pressed together and the logs flaring into flames. Ash relaxed into it all like a steaming bath.
‘Tell me,’ said Kosh. ‘The Matriarch. Did you-’
Ash shook his head.
‘Good. Then we’ll speak of it no further. So then. You think we should trust these Mercians?’
‘They’re good people. And their offer is a sound one. We can help down there, in the Free Ports.’
‘I thought we’d seen the last of lost causes,’ said Kosh drily, and he looked across at Coya and the laughing monk, his drink forgotten for a moment.
Give him time, thought Ash, knowing his old friend only too well.
‘You should hear the monk’s stories,’ he tried, watching Meer too. ‘He has travelled far.’
‘Further than us? Surely not.’
‘He tells me he’s been to the Isles of Sky and back.’
‘That far?’ replied Kosh with a grudging nod of his head.
‘The old Seer has a tale himself,’ Kosh said. ‘You recall Che, our mysterious disappearing apprentice? He says the man came to him on the night of the attack. That he saved his life by hiding him away.’
Ash gave him a startled glance. ‘A strange tale,’ he replied. He took a deep drink, felt the burn of it deep in his stomach. He wondered what the young Diplomat was doing now, whether he was even still alive.
He was surprised to find that he wished him well. His mind felt clear at long last. His heart open.
Ash took in the gathering of Roshun, noticing the absences within the group, those they had lost, men he had shared half his life with here in the cold mountains of Cheem.
‘I thought you all gone,’ he confessed.
‘Aye, well we were luckier than we deserved. I’m sorry, by the way. I was grieved when I heard of your own loss. The boy deserved better than that.’
Another long drink.
‘It isn’t finished yet,’ he said, and he leaned closer so that Kosh could hear him against the noise of the celebrations. ‘There may be a way, my friend.’
‘A way?’
‘Of bringing Nico back.’
Kosh studied him carefully for signs of illness. He blinked, not knowing what to make of his words. ‘I don’t understand what you’re saying.’
‘Meer knows a way. If we agree to join them, he will show me how.’
‘And you really believe such a thing can be possible?’
‘No, not here. But in the Isles of Sky…’
‘A way of raising the dead? Please.’
He knew how it must sound to his old friend. He offered an awkward smile.
‘You’re leaving us again,’ Kosh realized with a start. ‘After all your talk of helping the Free Ports, you’re leaving again.’
‘Only for a while. But it will be easier now, knowing I may at least have something to return to.’
Kosh poured him another drink, thinking it over. He shook his head fast as though dispelling all the thoughts in his head, then raised his mug and clinked it against the one in Ash’s hand, some of the Cheem Fire sloshing out onto their hands.
‘With heart,’ he declared.
They both leaned back, content to share each other’s companionship in silence.
Meer was telling his tales by the fire next to Coya and the Seer. The men were drunk already. They all were drunk already.
Baracha sat next to his daughter, talking with her freely. Aleas laughed at something, his mouth opened wide, looking to the young apprentice Flores to share in his delight.
Ash settled back in comfort, his eyes gazing deep into the flames. For a moment, in his mind, he thought he heard another young man’s laughter, the memory of it, at least.
He tilted his head to one side, in hope of hearing it again.
