“Exactly.”
Albanon got slowly to his feet, his brow furrowed in thought. “Does Ioun give you orders?” he asked.
“Sometimes.” Kri stared at the symbol. “Mostly I do what I think she would want me to do.”
“How do you know what that is?”
“Her teachings are preserved from the Dawn War. ‘Seek the perfection of your mind by bringing reason, perception, and emotion into balance with one another. Accumulate, preserve, and distribute knowledge in all forms. Pursue education, build libraries, and seek out lost and-’ Lost and something. Lore-‘seek out lore.’ ”
“You’ve forgotten?”
“I’m distracted,” Kri snapped, looking down at the spiral symbol in his hands again.
“So what do Ioun’s teachings have to do with our mission now?”
“Ioun gives her blessing to the Order of Vigilance because its mission is the preservation and accumulation of knowledge.”
“What about distributing it?”
“What do you mean?”
“It seems to me that Ioun would want you to teach the world about the threat of the Voidharrow, or whatever it is. Not hoard that knowledge. Not keep it locked up in wizard’s towers.”
Kri bristled. “There is some knowledge the world is not ready for.”
“So you treat the whole world like your stupid apprentice, not ready for the terrible secrets that only you are qualified to learn?”
“Wait a moment,” Kri said, holding up his hands. “Are we talking about the Order of Vigilance or Moorin now?”
“Moorin was a member of the order, same as you. But I’m not talking just about me. You said Ioun wants you to distribute knowledge, build libraries, educate people. Why have you and the order treated Sherinna’s knowledge like a secret?”
“You’re a fool, Albanon. What purpose would it have served a hundred years ago to declare the threat of the Voidharrow? To spread fear and suspicion?”
“To promote vigilance, to let all the people of the world share in the responsibility of watching for the threat, instead of appointing yourselves the guardians of the world.”
“The world needs heroes. The mass of people are-yes, they’re stupid apprentices. They might learn, but they’ll never understand. The few who have a glimmer of understanding will try to use their knowledge to gain riches or power. And should the threat actually arise, they’ll cower in fear until a hero steps forward to protect them. It might not be kind to say it, but it’s the truth.”
“But your order almost failed. Moorin died, leaving you the last of the order. What if you had died, too, before you could pass on Sherinna’s precious knowledge? The world would have been left without knowledge of the threat it faced.”
“But I didn’t die,” Kri said. “The gods ensured that the knowledge would be preserved.”
“I thought that was your job, not the gods’.”
“We are but helpers to the greater purposes of the gods.”
“Just like that poor fool,” Albanon said, nodding toward the corpse on the floor.
“No!” Kri screamed. “Not like that miserable, pathetic imbecile of a priest!”
Albanon backed away from Kri’s furious outburst, holding up his hands in a futile attempt to placate the old priest.
“I am nothing like him!” Kri said, tears welling in his eyes. “I serve with knowledge and understanding. With purpose!” He slumped to the floor and buried his face in his hands.
Albanon looked down at the old man sobbing on the floor, his thoughts in tumult. This is the man I hoped would be a new mentor, he thought, guiding me as I step into a new phase of life?
“Kri,” he said gently.
The priest only sobbed harder, shaking his head.
“I’m worried about you, Kri.”
Kri nodded, rocking his whole body slightly as his head bobbed. “You must understand your enemies if you wish to defeat them,” he murmured. “Albanon, I … might be going mad,” he said slowly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Uldane threw himself into the task of disguising Quarhaun with all the enthusiasm of a child engaged in a game of dress-up, making Shara smile even as Roghar harrumphed. The halfling wrapped long strips of cloth around Quarhaun’s head, covering his hair and most of his face until he looked like a beggar concealing some ailment or deformity. With the drow’s hooded cloak in place, his face was invisible, and the cloak covered the sword hung on his back as well. An assortment of worn cloths wrapped and tied in key locations on Quarhaun’s body completed the illusion, concealing his finely tooled leather armor.
“Fine, he looks like a beggar,” Roghar said. “Now, what’s a beggar doing in this group? Or do you plan to make us all look like beggars? Perhaps give my armor a few more dents?”
“Oh, I didn’t think of that,” Uldane said.
“Of course not,” Roghar said.
“I could go in ahead of you,” Quarhaun said. “Just a wandering hermit, nothing to be alarmed about.”
“That … could work,” Roghar admitted.
“Or you could tell the truth, Roghar,” Tempest said. “As you were traveling the King’s Road into town, you found this poor man under attack by demons. You hurried to his defense and agreed to escort him into the safety of the town’s walls.”
“The truth?” Quarhaun said. “It’ll never work.”
Roghar laughed and clapped Tempest on the shoulder. “It’s a great plan-devious in its sheer honesty.”
“I need a staff,” Quarhaun said.
“Of course!” Uldane said. “That will nicely complete the disguise.”
“Yes,” said the drow, “and it will allow me to walk across the bridge without leaning on Shara.”
“I’ll cut you a branch,” Shara said, starting back toward the orchard.
As she walked, she thought about the argument that had erupted between Quarhaun and Roghar and hoped they weren’t starting it up again in her absence. It was interesting-a bit disturbing, actually-to introduce Quarhaun to other friends for the first time. Albanon had met the drow first, introduced him to the others. Uldane had been there when she met Quarhaun, and they’d all warmed to him quickly as he fought Raid at their sides.
Now she was seeing Quarhaun through Roghar’s eyes, and it was a bit like seeing him for the first time-and not necessarily in the most positive light. The drow was certainly the product of his background, shaped by his harsh life in the Underdark and the sheer brutality of drow society. That background was so different from her own that she doubted she could ever fully understand him.
So why am I so drawn to him? she wondered.
She found a branch long and strong enough to serve as a staff and cut it from its tree, briefly considering the ruby-red fire apples she came across in the process before she decided to leave them to rot on the ground.
Fire still danced in the wreckage of the Nentir Inn, and she watched it for a moment. The flames moved almost as if they were alive, occasionally leaping where there was no fuel for them to burn.
“Elementals?” she wondered aloud. She shrugged and turned back toward the bridge.
He likes me, she thought. Despite everything, despite my grief and my failure. Uldane tells me to change- Uldane! — but Quarhaun likes who I am.
The way Quarhaun’s body shifted when he saw her return affirmed that. She couldn’t see his face, but she could imagine his smile from the alertness of his posture, the way she so obviously drew his attention. It made a warmth spread through her belly. And when she handed him the staff, he brushed her hand with his own. A leather glove covered his fingers, but the touch still sent a thrill through her skin.
Roghar led their procession across the bridge, while Shara brought up the rear, keeping an eye and an ear
