The Companions of Tartiël (39 page)

“Might I have some time to weigh my course of action and perhaps discuss it with my companions?”

Nodding, Arvanos showed Kaiyr his open palms. “What you do is your choice, Kaiyr. I no more control your actions than you control mine. Know, however, that I am here to guide you, should you desire it. I can offer you advice, knowledge, and even—occasionally—power. What I cannot give you is certainty, the certainty which blademasters crave and strive to obtain.” He smiled in self-reproach. “I suppose that is a part of the blademasters’ charm.

“Return to me at a later date, but do not tarry overlong, young blademaster. Although Astra’s soul does not belong to me, I can sense her presence, and it grows ever more distant.”

Kaiyr bowed, and as the forest scene around him slowly dissolved, Arvanos’s voice reached out to the elf one more time, dryly: “And next time… I do not need so many diamonds.” Then His holy presence faded altogether, leaving Kaiyr kneeling on the steps before the altar in Arvanos Sinterian’s temple in Ik’durel, an ephemeral laughter ringing from the walls.

A sudden wind gusted through the temple, though the movement of the air did not in the least disturb even a single candle. Kaiyr found himself bowled over by the zephyr, and he rolled quickly to his feet, disoriented by the divine contact.

Altaïr stared, wide-eyed, down at the blademaster. “You… I… We were in the presence of Arvanos Himself,” the cleric whispered, though the temple carried his reverent words to all ears present.

Kaiyr paid him no heed, for in that moment, Solaria let out a quiet sob, and he saw her tears darkening the stone steps. Frowning, the blademaster caught his balance and arrived at her side, kneeling. “My lady,” he said, gently touching her shoulder, “what is the matter?”

Sobbing wordlessly, Solaria surged to her feet and staggered from the temple. No one made a move to stop her; Kaiyr was too stunned by her reaction to move, and the acolytes remained utterly still even when her wake snuffed out some of their candles.

Nonplussed, the blademaster turned to Caineye, and before they exchanged a word between them, the lugubrious expression on the druid’s face told Kaiyr most of what he wanted to know. Nevertheless, Caineye felt a need to put things to words. Clapping Kaiyr’s shoulder with one hand, the human gave him a dejected smile. “We… heard it all, Master Kaiyr. We heard it all.”

XXXII.

Wild took a deep breath of the early morning air as he strolled down Ik’durel’s wide avenues. He congratulated himself on slipping by the ever-vigilant Kaiyr earlier today. It was a hollow victory, though, for as much as the halfling wanted to distance himself from the blademaster’s disagreeable company, he could not outrun his own thoughts.

Though his companions had rid him of Sayel’s ring—and for that he was glad—the magical artifact had left something of an imprint on Wild. Where he once might have felt indifference for the blademaster’s actions aboard the airship, he could sense a dimly-smoldering hatred. Where he should have forgiven the elf for what he had said and done—and Kaiyr had forgiven Wild—the halfling could only find the heart to blame his tall companion.

The very fact that he was feeling such emotions bothered the halfling, who could not find a way to rid himself of such thoughts and feelings. “I wonder if this is what guilt is like,” he wondered aloud to himself as his hand flicked out and unlocked a door as he passed by; the door swung open, but the halfling kept on walking. “There’s a strange feeling here that I can’t quite grasp. It has to do with the fact that I can’t change the way I see Master Kaiyr. Part of me knows it’s not really what I should be feeling, and that part is struggling to overcome. It’s the case of the unstoppable force and the immovable wall. I wonder if either of those feel fear at the idea of crashing together?”

A bulging sack of coins tied to a human merchant’s waist caught his eye, and just as suddenly, the purse was in his hands. He turned it over and peered inside, not bothering to count the silver and copper coins. Then, tugging on the man’s tunic, he looked innocently up into the taller creature’s eyes. “Excuse me, mister, but I think you dropped this back there.” He pointed over his shoulder as he offered the pouch back.

“Oh, my,” said the man, “did I? It does seem to come loose too easily. Thank you, son. Here, let me give you this pair of gloves. They’ll keep your hands safe and warm. Thanks again, and tell everyone who gave you those gloves.”

Distracted, Wild accepted the unwarranted gift and went on his way, turning the gloves over in his hands. Some corner of his mind made his hands turn the leather objects over and inspect them. They were of decent quality, but nothing special. He tucked them into his belt.

“Master Wild!” he heard, and he turned around, but Kaiyr was nowhere to be seen. Then Wild realized he had merely been remembering the events aboard the Flaring Nebula, and he heaved a sigh, knowing what he would hear next.

“What are you doing?” Kaiyr had demanded upon finding Wild standing over the corpse of a noblewoman, holding the dagger the blademaster had just seen the halfling plunge into her heart.

Wild had blinked and cocked his head. “What? I just found this dagger in her body. It’s rather nice, wouldn’t you agree?”

At the time, the group had not yet determined that Sayel’s ring was the cause of this. They had tied him up, but he had eventually gotten loose. Then, upon finding the halfling over another dead body, the blademaster nearly shrieked in frustration at his and Caineye’s inability to keep their troublesome companion subdued for long.

“Wild,” the blademaster had said, his voice deadly and forgoing his usual civility, “you will return to that room and allow us to bind you, or my soulblade will end you for what you have wrought here. I will not allow you to continue killing.”

Wild had shrugged, and even though he now knew that it was Sayel’s ring exerting its influence over him, because of the magical compulsion, he still felt as though his actions had been justified, thanks to the workings of Sayel’s ring. “I don’t see a problem with it, Master Kaiyr. After all, you killed thirty-six elven children, and none of us complained.”

Taking a break on a bench underneath one of the trees Ik’durel kept well-tended, Wild rubbed the back of his head. It didn’t hurt anymore except when he remembered the way the blademaster had lifted him into the air and slammed him against the wall. Again, Kaiyr’s words rang out in his head. “You. Will. Never. Speak. Of. That. Again. If you do, they will be the last words you utter.”

Sitting on the bench, Wild idly wondered what it would have felt like to be impaled on the elf’s soulblade. Would it be cold, like a steel weapon—and he had been on the receiving end of a few of those—or something else? The soulblade looked like it was made of glass, but Kaiyr assured him that it was something altogether different, from a higher plane of existence.

His ever-restless hands dug into his pockets and produced one of the spoils he had earned in the fight with Sayel—one of the spoils that had not had a part in coercing him into doing things he would never have otherwise been able to condone. It was an enormous, flawless emerald that shone with more light than merely that which it reflected. Nonetheless, Caineye had sensed only that it was somewhat magical and had given it to Wild upon the halfling’s request.

Turning it over in his hands, he marveled again at how, next to the tree, the morning sunlight did not strike its faceted surface, yet it still sparkled vibrantly.

Wild was not sufficiently distracted even by this, as his troubled thoughts kept returning to the events aboard the
Flaring Nebula
and the animosity he felt toward Kaiyr. Wrapping the gem tightly in one palm, Wild relished the bite of its sharp corners as he wished he could rid himself of such unwanted, unnatural feelings.

And then the strangest thing happened. As he sat there on the bench, Wild realized that he did not, in fact, hate Kaiyr. The insight struck him so profoundly that he was stunned into staring into nothingness for many long minutes, and he did not emerge from his trance until someone in the surging crowds on the street bumped against his knee and apologized.

Still dumbfounded, Wild opened his hand. A tiny bit of blood had begun to dry on his palm, and he wiped it off on a handkerchief he kept tucked under his vest. Of more interest was the emerald, which Wild scrutinized warily. One of the sparks of light he had previously counted in the gem had disappeared; it was a smaller one near one corner of the trilliant-cut, green stone. Its disappearance gave the gem a slightly off-balance look, but only if Wild searched for all the strangely luminous points of the gem.

It was not long thereafter that Wild found his legs carrying him through the streets of Ik’durel once more. Now, however, rather than being weighted by his dark and heavy thoughts, his steps were light and springy, and he bobbed along with a little tune on his lips. The sudden lifting of whatever force that had so pressed upon his mind he welcomed as ambrosia to his spirit, and he let himself enjoy the day. Various baubles, purses, and, in particular, rings, came and went in his deft, little hands. He wasn’t sure if he always managed to give the right belongings back to their original owners, but he supposed they shouldn’t mind switching up their accessories once in a while.

So it was that the halfling stopped at a street vendor for a noontime lunch in the shade of a tree so enormous that Wild supposed one could touch the clouds, were one so inclined to climb up to its highest boughs. He paid for three sticks of three roasted frogs each and circled the tree, which had been accorded its own city block, as he nibbled at his meal.

“How rare,” he muttered to himself. “What tree has a distinct front and back but this one?”

Sure enough, this tree, nearly fifty feet in diameter and sitting atop a two-story-tall bundle of roots more than twice as wide, had been accorded a front door by its inhabitants. “Of course,” Wild chortled to himself. “Why else would someone carve out a tree like this but to make a temple of Alduros Hol?” His eyes rose to the holy symbol of the god of nature, which had been grown into the bark over the double doors cut into the massive bundle of roots.

Wild could feel the budding flower of his curiosity growing inside him, and he knew he would be powerless to stop it. So, he didn’t. With a quick glance around at the scenery—noting that the spires of Arvanos’s temple, where Kaiyr was today, were visible over the first row of buildings across from this temple—he stuffed the last frog into his mouth, wiped his hands on his trousers, and adjusted his rings, making sure that only his new, magical ring and the one proclaiming his faith in Alduros Hol were present.

The keeper at the door, garbed in the plain, brown and gray robes of Alduros Hol’s clergy, leaned over to greet the newcomer. “Welcome, child, to our holy temple. Are you here to witness the serene and nurturing power of nature?”

Wild bowed in return and extended a hand in warm salutation. Chuckling, he nodded and gazed up at the temple as if he had been away from its beauty for far too long. “Yes, I am, dear brother. In fact, I come from afar to see my old home once again.”

The keeper glanced down at the ring on Wild’s hand and raised his eyebrows. “I… I see,” he stammered. “My apologies, Father…”

“Wild.”

“Father Wild. Please pardon my rudeness.” He took the halfling’s hand tentatively.

Wild shook his head even as he heartily pumped the robed man’s hand. “Brother, you were not rude; I should have introduced myself first. I cannot expect anyone here to remember me. After all, in my time here, I was only a petitioner. It was only after I left the city to witness the glories of nature with my own eyes and under the power of my own feet and faith that I came to a higher understanding of Alduros Hol’s ways.” He released the other man’s hand and stood with his fists on his hips. “Ah, this tree is as lovely as ever. Say, Brother…”

“Erik.”

“… Erik, might you be able to direct me to the head of this branch?” Wild asked, using a term he had once heard clerics of Alduros Hol use to refer to their temples and churches. “Although I am not planning to stay long in Ik’durel, I would dearly like to remain closer to the Warden than the stone buildings around us would otherwise permit.”

Erik nodded and bid Wild follow him inside. The halfling grinned inwardly at his cunning, but he soon found himself distracted by the temple. At least he had not been lying to the keeper when he had said the tree was beautiful, and it was as simple and elegant inside as it was outside.

The root structure upon which the tree sat had grown in such a way—and had perhaps been aided with more than a little magic—to produce room-like structures within the confines of its own grain. The tree-temple’s doors opened up into a floor made of the tree’s natural wood. As Erik led Wild across the heartwood, the halfling noted the several doors leading off to the sides of the collection of roots, as well as a grand door that likely led into a main gathering hall. Two staircases flanked this larger portal, and they led to a balcony and altar, and then beyond to the upper levels of the temple, mostly dormitories.

Brother Erik introduced Wild to Father Coëty, a man in his middle years but still very robust. He would have towered over both Kaiyr and Caineye, who were no saplings, and he wore a wide and welcoming smile beneath his finely-trimmed, salt-and-pepper beard.

“Well met and be welcome here, Father Wild,” Coëty said, grasping the halfling’s hand in his big, warm palm. Wild gave his arm a shake, and the big man laughed at the halfling’s vitality. “That is quite the strong greeting you have there.”

Grinning back, Wild nodded. “It is. Thank you, Father Coëty, for your hospitality. As Brother Erik mentioned, I am planning to stay in Ik’durel for a short time. This temple is the one which long ago turned me toward the path of nature, and if there is any way I can give back to it, I would be glad to serve within its walls during my stay in the city.”

Coëty extricated himself from the halfling’s firm grasp and put a companionable hand around the short man’s shoulders, leading him down a hallway in the upper levels of the temple. “Perhaps, then, I might be able to find a place for you here. Pray tell me what kind of skills you have.”