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WE BURIED OUR DEAD in the early morning light, at the foot of an outcrop well away from the spring-fed pond near the roundabout. The bodies of our enemies were left back where they’d fallen. The scavengers were free to consume those, assuming any Adrathean beast could stomach rotting Moj.
All through the day you could see people pause to look up, and sometimes point. The gryphons were up there, slipping between puffs of white cloud, keeping their watch on the people below. The travelers talked, mostly about how the dreaded gryphons had come to the rescue, and spoke with wonder and hope of the revelation that the Sky Guard still existed.
For my part, I wondered what the gryphons were waiting for.
The rest of that day was spent resting or making repairs. As night fell, the camp was very quiet. The only song I heard was that of a quiet lullaby, sung to calm a still frightened child. Groups of men and women huddled around fires, passing bottles and wine skins, but speaking very little among themselves. Sid and I both had slept a bit after sunrise following the vigil, but I was still bone weary and mentally fogged over from the fight and the sleepless night. Still, when Norda and Quill joined us by the fire, Sid made a point of saying we would honor our earlier agreement.
Quill glanced at her partner and Norda gave her head a little shake. “Another night, perhaps. This night you will sleep, and we will watch. We will accept no argument.”
“The debt is owed,” Sid insisted.
“But who is owed a debt?” Norda asked. “What happened to you was a frightful thing. I can see it weighs on you still, vigil or no vigil. And yet your rage saved the lives of many. When the matter troubles you, consider at least the children who were spared. For they surely would have been taken. Then ask yourself who owes, and who might be owed, eh?”
“A useful perspective,” Quill added.
Sid nodded and said, “Perhaps.”
“You are one smart lady,” I said, raising my cup to Norda.
“I ain’t no lady!” Norda replied with a snort of rude laughter. Quill cackled at the thought.
And Sid managed to smile.
“But before anyone rests,” said Norda, “Korl and Tensta have called a brief meeting. We were sent to fetch the two of you. Trey is already with them.”
We followed Norda and Quill to the rail master’s carriage and took our places at the long table. It was well-lit by glowlamps, but there was no fire nearby. Bottles of wine and cups were distributed and a quiet toast was made to honor those we’d lost.
“Tomorrow we move on as soon after dawn as we can manage,” Tensta informed us. “We’ll be in Daylis before noon, which is a good thing. Some of our wounded are in need of greater care than the Guild physician can easily provide.” There was a pause, then Tensta said to me, with obvious reluctance, “You were with my nephew at the end? That’s what I’ve been told.”
“Sidraytha and I were, yes,” I replied, wondering what else to say about it.
“He saved my life, Tensta.” Sid’s voice was barely audible. She stared at the table as she spoke. “A warrior came at us while I was engaged. Willame saw the danger an instant before I did. He pushed me from its path, but could not defend himself quickly enough.” Sid looked into Tensta's newly grief-stricken face, her own eyes brimming with tears. “There is a debt between our families, Tensta. One I do not know how to repay, unless by my own death I can serve...”
“You could do no service to me or my kin in dying, Sidraytha. Only by living, and honoring a man’s memory.” Tensta looked up and I could almost feel them making eye contact. “Willame made a choice. I will not question his choice. I will always miss him, but I will remember that he had the courage to put the life of a friend above his own.”
“I could wish it had been otherwise.”
“Willame would not agree.”
“His parents,” Sid asked. “They yet live?”
“They do,” Tensta replied. “They own an inn back at Morvain.”
“I will go to them, when my errand is done,” Sid declared. “I would tell them of his courage.”
Tensta nodded and said, “In the letter I send from Daylis, I will speak of you. I will tell them to expect you.”
As Sid nodded in silent acknowledgment, I took her hand in mine — and almost immediately doubted the wisdom of the act, fearing she would see it as somehow patronizing. But as I wondered what I might have been thinking, she laced her fingers between mine and squeezed.
The meeting went on to matters of logistics and the comfort of the wounded — Trey had spent the day assisting the Guild physician — and what help Daylis might provide. Trey steered the conversation away from a potentially dangerous point when an outrider said it seemed the attackers had sent their main force to the players’ carriages. I sat there, making minor contributions, still holding Sid’s hand. I don’t know why, but I was reminded then and there that this bond I’d formed with her was doomed to be severed. There could be no “long-term” here. Assuming we both lived through whatever was ahead of us, and that’s always a huge assumption in this line of work, in the end we would be going our separate ways. Sid would return to the Isles and her people, and I would go back to the world of my birth. We would never meet again. The time slip between our realities would see to that.
It was, somewhat to my surprise, not a comfortable thing to contemplate. I turned my thoughts to more immediate matters. No sense in borrowing trouble, when we most likely had plenty of trouble ahead of us.
I didn’t let go of her hand, though, and Sid gave me no reason to believe she wanted me to.
Plans were agreed upon and the meeting ended. A late thought occurred and I turned back to say something. Korl and Tensta were the only ones still at the table. He was holding her as she wept, making futile shushing sounds. I decided the idea could wait. Trey, Sid, and I made our way to the chuck wagon, a bit late for the evening meal, but managed to gather enough leftovers to make an acceptable dinner. We ate in silence until we were down to sipping the last of our ale.
“Well,” said Trey. “This surely has been an interesting turn of events.”
“Interesting.” Sid shook her head and made a rude noise. “I suppose one could say so.”
“You are still troubled by what you did in the fight,” Trey observed.
“Yes.” She drank some ale, then in a low voice added, “I always will be.”
“Many lives were spared because of it.”
“So I’ve been told,” Sid replied, impatience making her tone brusque. She turned to glare at him. “Others were ended.”
“Those you killed were here with ill intent.” Trey gave her a hard stare, not even blinking as she scowled at him. “They are, in fact, entirely responsible for your loss of control. Had they left us in peace...”
“What might have been is irrelevant,” she snapped. “What matters is what really happened.”
“You kept your vigil,” Trey pointed out. “Were you not, then, granted release?”
“It was granted.” Sid looked away from him, eyes wide and dark in the lantern light over the table.
“Then this is not remorse,” Trey said, giving her a hard stare. Then one eyebrow arched upward. “You’re afraid.”
At this point I was about to defend her, tell my friend to shut it down, but the moment I drew breath, that gut-deep feeling of something wrong struck me. It felt wrong, because what Trey said was absolutely correct. Sid was frightened. It was fear, not the dim light that widened her eyes. So I said nothing.
Sid closed her eyes, and I caught the glint of a tear on her cheek. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m afraid.”
“Of what?” I asked.
“That I will do it again,” and her voice did not rise even a little as she looked into my eyes. “Yes, that frightens me!”
“Sidraytha.” Trey’s voice was stern, and his slim white hand on her shoulder compelled her to turn toward him. When he had her attention, his voice became gentler. “It happened because the Alvehn sword was not yet fully attuned to you. Your grief and anger pushed the process beyond what either of you could control. The device that rules your blade is... considering this, even as we speak. It will be better able to respond to your needs in battle, more easily controlled, because it will understand you to a higher degree. Trust me in this matter, my friend, and do not hesitate to draw that blade when you need it.”
“You still speak of the sword as if it lived,” Sid muttered.
“What is life?” Trey responded with a shrug. “It’s certainly connected to yours, now.”
“Yes.” Something closer to wonder than fear — though the fear remained — came into her voice. “It — speaks to me, without words.”
“Soon the process will be complete,” Trey assured her. “And it will be by your will alone that the sword is wielded.”
“He’s right, Sid,” I added. “Nothing quite like what you experienced ever happened to me, since my sword was made specifically for me. But a time will come when the sword responds without you being distracted by that response. And without the distraction, control will remain with you.”
She sighed and was silent for a long time, then saluted us with her mug. “Gentlemen, you are most reassuring. And I sincerely hope you are right.”
“Time will tell,” said Trey with a shrug. “But I will take any wager you offer that I’m right.”
“You being of the Alvehn,” she said with a short laugh, “that would be a fool’s bet!”
“Yes.” Trey stood up and set his hand on her head. “Yes, it would.” And laughing quietly, he walked away to help tend the injured, as promised.
The two of us finished our ale in silence. At last, when it felt right to do so, I said, “He’s right, you know. It’s going to be okay.”
Sid stood and picked up her sword by the baldric, slinging it over her shoulder. She leaned against the table and yawned, clearly exhausted, then sighed and said, “God and Goddess, let’s make that tomorrow’s problem. I need to sleep!”
“Me, too,” I said, standing and picking up my sword from where I’d propped it against the table.
“Daffyd — thank you.”
I didn’t ask what she meant; it was plain enough. Sid caught my right hand between hers, raised it to her lips and kissed it.
“Sleep,” I said.
“Yes.”
