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“I have been so blind.” “You trusted your King, and your friend.” Alcyon shrugged. “There are worse failings to have.”
“Do not speak to me of hope, you who have fed me lies all my life. You are no better than Asroth and his Kadoshim; a liar, a deceiver, and I wish I’d never met you.”
“And if there is no chance of victory, then what of vengeance? Do more than talk and whine: seek your vengeance for those fallen. Or would you rather wallow in self-pity than try to save your loved ones?” He sagged, the effort clearly draining him.
“Kick a stone in anger, you’ll hurt your foot,”
“Only death would stop me from going after Ban.”
Whether we go to Drassil or walk away, I say we have an opportunity here to even the odds a little. An opportunity we’d be fools to miss. And besides,” he added, “there’s nothing like a good fight to clear the mind.”
Warriors are a superstitious bunch, always wary of the unknown.
“Your powers of observation are staggering,”
“And life’s not so simple, is it? One man is not the same as another,
“You cannot deal with Nathair, or Calidus. They have no honour; they are liars who will smile and stab you as they do.” “So speaks their enemy,” Ildaer snorted.
“A better man I never knew.”
“I speak of your tendency towards deliberate provocation and goading,” Calidus continued. “It is a bad habit of yours.”
“In the end, it’s all the same,” Varan said. “We all face death alone.” Corban nodded. “To my thinking, though, it’s what happens before death that’s important. All of us die. How many really live?”
He had a purpling bruise on his temple, an angry-looking cut on his opposite cheek, deep hollows about his eyes, and in general looked as if he’d been to the Otherworld and back, but the smile spreading across his face became her world, just for a heartbeat or two.
“You were my friend before all this seven disgraces business came along. My only friend. You’re good, Ban, in here.” Dath put two fingers over his heart, tapped his chest. “And I’ll follow you wherever you choose to go. You’re my friend, and I trust you, Bright Star or no. And I’m still your shieldman, unto death.”
“Farewell, Corban ben Thannon,” he said from what seemed a very long way up. “I wish you well, and may your enemies feel the strength of your arm and the edge of your sword.”
“Oh aye,” said Veradis bleakly. “They fight for Asroth, even if many of them do not realize it. I’ll never walk that path, not for oath, love nor friendship.”
“Your lack of focus is unsettling. Need I remind you what hangs upon this mission?”
“It was all a lie,” Veradis whispered. “Join me,” Nathair commanded. Then quieter, “I can make this right.” “No,” Veradis shook his head. “You can’t. You don’t even know what right is any more.” Silent tears streaked his cheeks.
He was good, his attacks solid, economical, well balanced, but Corban was better, and a cold rage fuelled him.
Rafe saw Edana and Halion slow, the warband behind rippling, and Halion was jumping from his saddle, too, marching towards Conall, and then they were slamming into each other, embracing, laughing, hugging, the two warbands coming to a halt only a handful of strides apart. Rafe saw Edana smiling.
“Where’s Kulla when you need her?” Dath breathed. Then, “Don’t tell her I said that.” “I promised her I’d look after you,” Coralen said, helping Dath up. “Well, that’s embarrassing,” he muttered.
It had been Fidele, it had been the desire to live, to taste life with her. But now she was gone, and he did not care, and that made all the difference. All whom he fought, no matter how strong, how skilled, how fast, all of them had that desire at their core. To survive. To live. He did not.
“How pathetic you humans are. So much emotion wrapped up in weakness, leading you to attempt the impossible, lying to yourself, time and time again. Hope, I think you call it. And yet always you fail. Your whole experience has been death and misery, failure and yet more death, and still you refuse to face the truth. A breed with such a talent for blind delusion and denial deserves to be exterminated.”
“Well met, my brother,” Maquin said to Tahir as they embraced, both slick with blood. “It’s good to see you,” Tahir grinned, “even if the sight of you may well give me nightmares for the rest of my life.”
Maquin walked past him, carried on towards the mist, saw shadows within it, figures. One stepped out: a woman, dark-haired, beautiful. She was smiling at him. He felt his mouth stretch in a smile and with a clatter let his sword drop from his hand. It sank into the bridge, became a part of it. Maquin didn’t notice; he was too busy running.
Nathair grunted, looked into Veradis’ eyes a long, shocked moment and slowly slumped forwards, his head falling upon Veradis’ shoulder as if in an embrace. Then with a gasp his legs gave way and he was falling, slipping off Veradis’ blade and slumping to the ground. Veradis stood and stared, blood dripping from his sword, vision blurred by his tears.
And above and beyond all that, you are my friend, whom I trust, and that is rarer than gold.” Never in all my long life has anyone said such a thing to me. Just goes to show—sometimes it takes someone else to bring out the best in a man.
