“I have no doubt,” Uthalion said. “You’ll have my best wishes and mayhap some cold stew for the road.”
Brindani shook his head and threw up his hands, pacing into the shadows on the northern edge of the grove. For half a breath Uthalion felt a pang of regret, still seeing in Brindani the foolish youth that had marched into battle in the Keepers’ campaign all those years before. He paused and let down his guard for a moment, looking at the pair again with shrewder eyes. Ghaelya sat by the fire, her eyes half-lidded and tired, her boots dirty and stained by her long journey through the Spur. Flames danced in her blue-green eyes, her thoughts apparently leagues away from the unfamiliar forest she found herself in.
The half-elf, though knowledgeable in the wild, seemed as lost as ever, still trying to find some purpose in the world for the life that had been spared in battle. Uthalion had seen it before: the guilt of the survivor, seeking meaning for their existence when others had died in their stead. When Brindani had come to the grove three years before he’d been much the same, wanting to go back, to Caidris and Tohrepur, somehow sure that the Keepers of the Cerulean Sign had failed, that some battle yet remained in which he might die and claim the gift his fellows-in- arms had received.
Looking again to the genasi, Uthalion shook his head derisively. She isn’t a cause to him, he mused. She’s just an excuse.
“Pay him no mind.” Ghaelya’s voice startled him from the thought. “I’m not anyone’s mission or quest or obligation.”
Approaching the fire, Uthalion crossed his arms and studied her, admiring the strength in her set features and tone of voice. “No damsel in distress then?” he asked.
She glared at him a moment, her eyes flashing an unspoken threat, then resumed her long stare into the flames without answering. He nodded quietly and felt slightly more at easeuntil Brindani approached from the shadows. The half-elfs eyes were clear, and focused, his earlier shaking and nervousness gone. The. smoothness in his step caused Uthalion to stand slightly at guard, his sword within easy reach. There was a fight in Brindani’s stare, and though Uthalion was familiar with the nightmares that stalked in his old friend’s past, he would not let empathy slow the stroke of his blade.
“We’ll talk now, Uthalion,” Brindani said. “I don’t care if you listen or just pretend to, but I know deep down you’re a good man, and we need your help. The Mere-That-Was and all beyond it is a dangerous place; you’ve been there and back, twice.”
Narrowing his eyes, a hard edge of anger settled in the stiffness of Uthalion’s jaw.
“This isn’t about this land or that, or what lies between,” he said, staring the half-elf down. “It’s about one gods-forsaken place.”
“Tohrepur,” Brindani supplied solemnly.
“And you are bound and determined to go back,” Uthalion said.
“It’s not like that”
“It’s always been like that!” Uthalion’s voice raised, and he stepped forward. “I wanted no part of it then, and nothing has changed in the meantime.”
“They took my sister,” Ghaelya said.
The genasi’s voice startled both men, and Uthaliaa stared at her in the light Tf the campfire. Her eyes Mased as she continued.
“Over a month ago, they came into the city, strange monks calling themselves the Choir. Few paid them any mindcults to unknown gods come and go and are typically harmless. But Tessaeril was drawn to them despite all her good sense.” She shook her head, displaying a softness in the memory that caught Uthalion’s attention. “One night, the Choir came for her and II did what I could. I killed one before being knocked out by another, and in the morning… They were gone, along with all of those they had charmed into their fold.”
She blinked and tore her eyes from the fire.
“I will find her,” she said fiercely, looking at both of them. “Whether you come with me or not.”
Uthalion glanced at Brindani once, ignoring the hopeful look in the half-elfs eyes and knelt down to look deeply into Ghaelya’s. Having been deceived by field commanders and incompetent officers in the past, he was confident in his ability to detect a lie.
“I’m sorry about your sister, truly,” he began. “But, what does any of this have to do with Tohrepur?”
She broke his stare at length, her hps drawn into a tight line as if ashamed of something.
“I” She broke off, clenching her teeth and looking off into the forest before turning back to face him. “I saw it… in a dream.”
“A dream,” Uthalion repeated the word in disbelief, getting only a reluctant nod from the genasi before he stood and brushed off his hands on his trousers.
“Well, I’ve heard enough,” he said, glaring at Brindani and turning away, eager to be alone and to put the business behind him.
“It’s true,” Brindani called after him, a desperate tone in his voice. “We need your help… You owe me this!”
Uthalion stopped and turned, his fists clenched as he rounded on the half-elf. Brindani raised his hands as if he were about to explain himself, but Uthalion gave him no chance.
“Owe you? Is that what you think?” he yelled and grabbed the half-elfs tunic, shoving him backward.
“I only meant” Brindani began, but stopped short as Uthalion slammed him against a tree.
“Oh, I know what you meant! You’d like to blame me for the old blood on your hands, is that it?” He shook the half-elf hard, trembling with rage. Brindani’s heart pounded beneath Uthalion’s fist. “We both took the job, volunteered… Don’t expect anything from me just because you followed orders you didn’t like!”
“Your orders!” Brindani yelled back.
Uthalion pulled him from the tree and shoved him to the ground. He resisted the urge to draw his blade, but just barely. He turned away and found Ghaelya, her hand on her sword and a threatening glint in her eye.
“Leave him be,” she said.
“Take him and be on your way,” he said and pointed south into the woods. “You’re not welcome here.”
“Fine,” she said, shrugging. She pushed past him roughly and added, “Useless bastard.”
Her insult struck him like a hammer. He stared after her, stunned, as the pair left the grove and struck into the southern Spur, The same words echoed from his past, chasing him through the old front door of a cottage he’d once shared with Maryna. It was her voice screaming in rage as he’d left her for the second timethe last time he’d heard her voice… and his young daughter’s cries through the open window.
“You can’t let them go,” Vaasurri said, approaching stealthily from the dark, his emerald eyes boring into Uthalion’s. “You know better.”
Not startled by the killoren’s appearance, Uthalion nodded in a daze, his former rage drained away by the haze of sudden memory. Shaking free of the past, he stared after Ghaelya and Brindani, realizing what he’d truly done. He sprinted into the forest after them. The land sloped downward in the deep Spur, just beyond the foothills of the Akanapeaks. Though the moon was nearly down, he caught their path quickly and focused on the genasi’s louder footfalls to guide him.
She spun around angrily in the dark, seeing the glinting glow of the grove’s campfire just beyond their line of sight, but flashing dimly on the leaves. Brindani didn’t turn at all, but merely stopped and waited.
“Did you come to hurry us on?” she asked angrily, and he felt shamed in her gaze.
“No, I just” he began, but waa cut short by the sound of a thunderous roar. The ground shook as they all looked southward. Leaves shivered overhead as the roar grew ever louder, a plaintive, hungry sound echoing from deep in the southern forest. A sound like splitting trees reached them, wood cracking like lightning and crashing like the rolling front of a distant storm. Uthalion caught his breath, relieved that it was far away, but still alarmed and eager to get back to the grove. Ghaelya turned to him wide-eyed as the roar slowly faded.
“Morning,” he said quickly. He gestured back the way they’d come. “You should wait until morning.”
Nodding in shock, they turned back up the slope and into the waiting glow of the grove.
Uthalion stood a moment longer, staring into the dark maw of the Spur and reflecting on what he’d nearly allowed to happen. His heart pounded, and he breathed deeply, listening for the roar again, but it never came.
“Useless bastard,” he repeated to himself, suddenly hating the man he’d let himself becomeselfish, cowardly… alone.
He walked back to the grove, his thoughts heavy and far away from the Spur. Vaasurri, not particularly shy and rarely at a loss for words, had introduced himself to their guests and was already warming stew over the
