“Maksu, ve… ve really should go.”
Maksu stood up from where he knelt by Laagi. Vlk was surprised to see… not a look of anger or disagreement, but one of concern.
“Vlk… you protected me.” He wrapped his arms around Vlk, laying his head against the taller boy’s chest. “Let me protect you now. I’m stronger than I was. I know you’re hurt from your fighting, but I’m not. Father will be back soon, and I won’t let anything happen to you while we wait.” He leaned his head back to look up and meet Vlk’s eyes. “Alright?”
He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed that embrace. The day’s horror—Waltyr, Laagi, the dead rising, his two visits to the between-place—it was all still trapped inside his head and heart. He returned the gesture, offering a smile he hadn’t planned to wear.
“I’m not afraid, Maksu. Vell, not of being alone vithout any grown people. I’m just…”
Edmund gave a rattling gasp, then stopped breathing altogether. Several beats passed with both boys unable to do more than stare. Without warning, the man drew in a great and whooping breath.
“That frightens me.”
“Father told us he won’t survive. I’m sad to hear it. I like the Count. He’s tall and strong and kind. Did you see how angry he was when the Bluemarks were standing there with swords out?”
Vlk nodded, but his heart was torn. He’d been angry, too. But that had been before toda—before he’d met other Bluemark guardsmen. Ulrek and Waltyr had been better men than any he’d met. Hells, even the captain had been better than he’d thought possible.
Another of those wheezing exhalations rocked Edmund’s body, followed by no breath at all. Maksu pulled himself away from Vlk to watch. His face was studious, somehow. Again, Edmund drew breath in a great whoop, but this time he wasn’t alone. Laagi, too, had drawn a deep lungful of air.
Vlk’s heart stopped for a moment. Ebistian had been right! Laagi was alive!
Maksu walked over to the gnoerk boy and knelt beside him once more. He took Laagi’s sallow hand between both of his blue ones.
Vlk could only stare for a long moment. Then a realization struck him like a punch to the stomach. Screwing up his courage, he crossed over to Edmund’s makeshift pallet and knelt. He took the count’s massive hand between both of his, just as Maksu had.
“He shouldn’t take his last breath vith no one beside him. Lakkrid vould be here if he could, and he and his father vill vant to know someone vas vith him in the end.”
Maksu said nothing, but that was alright.
A tense few moments passed in silence. Then—a miracle that nearly caused Vlk to cry out—Edmund squeezed his hand and opened his eyes.
“I… Do you see me?”
Edmund gave a shallow nod, smiling as best he could.
“I should go find—”
But Edmund squeezed down on his hand, shaking his head. His eyes were glassy and bloodshot … and far too bright.
“Vlk,” he mouthed. “You b-b-brave…” No voice carried his words. He didn’t have enough breath for proper speech.
Vlk swallowed hard, then made himself smile down at the count as he spoke. “You vere a varlord. Your voice chased avay fear and… and…” And what? He didn’t know. He thought he should say … something. But…
Edmund’s smile grew. With an almighty effort, he reached his other hand up and ruffled Vlk’s hair. As the man’s hand fell away, it slid behind the boy’s dim-side ear. The touch made him feel clean again, somehow. It seemed to cancel out the oddity of Ebistian’s touch on his bright side.
“Vlk… You… Kas-ss-tan’sss kniiight.” He drew in another of those too-deep breaths. “Ss-strong and b-bray-brave. C-h-hall to the line. Prom-misss…”
Vlk heard another of those rattling exhalations. Somehow, he knew there would be no more. The great man’s eyes were still open—still held Vlk’s own. But the light was leaving them even now.
“I… I…”
But it was no good. Vlk couldn’t speak. He tried to nod, but once his head had lowered, he couldn’t lift it again. He felt Edmund’s hand go slack, and all he could do was hang his head and weep.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and was surprised to hear a voice other than Maksu’s.
“I’m sorry, Vlk. For your loss, yes, though not for the man’s death. Edmund the Tall should never have chosen to be our enemy. My father never wanted that.”
Vlk accepted the touch, though he didn’t move or speak.
“Aehe, Laagi?” Maksu’s words were so much useless gibbering—right up until Laagi answered him in the Trade Tongue.
“Because I thought he was just another Venzene Fenlok… another Fennk bragging about the black blood he claimed to know. And I… You’re proof that I was wrong, Lakkrid.”
“Elf’s reach? Elf’s brother? I don’t… I don’t understand, Laagi. What do elves have to do with … anything? And also, I’m not Lakkrid. I’m Maksu. Lakkrid’s my… He’s my… um.”
“Kin? Your palrym?”
Maksu sounded as if he’d brightened. “Uhuh. We’re palrym.”
Laggi removed his hand from Vlk’s shoulder after a squeeze. “Maksu, you’re young, but you should ask your mother and father about the elves. The damned fen made the Empire… or at least helped the humans make it.” He paused. “It doesn’t matter. I need to find my father. I’m glad you lived, Vlk. Now that we’ve won, I’ll want you fighting beside me. If… if you won’t do that, I’ll do what I can to make certain you aren’t killed out of hand. You deserve better than that.”
“No! Laagi, Father says we must stay here until he gets back!”
“Maksu, my father’s waiting for me outside somewhere. And without me, there aren’t many who can act as his voice. Ed wrin ragzak.”
“Ohhhhh.”
Vlk lifted Edmund’s hand to his lips, placing a kiss on his knuckles, then drew in a deep breath and did the thing he feared doing the most. He reached down and closed the man’s empty eyes.
When it was done, he turned and stood. “Maksu,” he sniffled. “If he vants to go, let him go. Ve don’t need to hold him. Ebistian didn’t say ve had to keep him here. Only that ve had to stay till someone ve knew came to find us.”
Maksu considered, then nodded. “Ok, Vlk. Zgoda. Um, I mean, um… Souhlas!”
Laagi offered a good-natured smirk over Maksu’s head—two older boys sharing a knowing and universal sentiment. Smalls. What can you do?
Vlk gave a nod that served for both boys at once. Laagi turned and made it a single step before he grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Vait!” he hissed. He heard a sound outside the tent—voices, yes, but another sound he’d come to know very well. The twang of a crossbow.