The Restless Shore (4 page)

“Was that really necessary?” Ghaelya asked, leaning against a tree and rubbing her leg. “I won’t be able to run on this now.”

Uthalion glanced at her, annoyed, before turning back to his perusal of the cliffs above, watching for signs of pursuit. Brindani held up the gore-splattered blade of his dagger, the smell of the dreamer’s blood overpowering.

“Smells like an abandoned fish market at high noon,” he said, turning his nose away. “If we’d gone around the cliffs, we might as well have carried torches and sang tavern songs at the top of our lungs. Uthalion just broke the trail.”

Ghaelya raised an eyebrow and nodded in understanding, but was unsatisfied by the answer. “How do we know they won’t follow?”

“We don’t know,” Uthalion answered, turning to face them with his arms crossed. “If they show up again, you can tell them I made a mistake and share a joke at my expense. Until then, I don’t see them making that jump, and the trail is broken.”

“You could have broken my leg,” Ghaelya responded hotly.

“Better than breaking mine,” the human replied as Brindani stood to get between the two. “Besides, people I don’t know break legs every day. Why should I make an exception and care about yours?”

“Uth,” Brindani said, holding up his hands and gesturing to the genasi. “This is Ghaelya. We didn’t come here for a fight, but the last few days we’ve just been… a little on edge. Thank you for helping us.”

“You’re welcome,” Uthalion replied, eyeing the genasi for a moment before facing the half-elf. “Why are you out here Brin? It’s been three years since I told you not to come back.”

Brindani sighed and lowered his hands, having dreaded the moment since entering the deep woods.

“Yes, that you did,” he answered, trying to think of how to continue, how to put into words the insanity he’d been dealing with for the last tenday—not to mention the last

three years. A cold sweat had broken out on his forehead, and he quickly brushed it away as a familiar headache returned with a dull throb behind his eyes. Taking a deep breath he forced his trembling hands to his sides, balling them into fists. “I—no, we, came here looking for you. We need your help. There is—”

Howls rang from the forest, increasing in frequency as the dreamers closed the wide circle of their hunt. Uthalion turned back to the edge of the forestmote, and Ghaelya ceased cleaning the blood from her sword to listen. Following the eerie howls was the soft chanting of a powerful voice, its song drifting from sweet and ethereal to the harsh scream of metal scraping on glass. Old pain stabbed at Brindani’s stomach, and his headache grew stronger, but he fought to conceal his discomfort.

“Quick,” Uthalion said, facing him with a look of urgency. “Long story short.”

“We need a guide,” Brindani replied, studying Uthalion’s eyes and ignoring the dim screams trying to escape the recesses of his mind. “A guide… to Tohrepur.”

Uthalion blinked, a flash of something like confusion crossing his stern features, though otherwise he appeared unmoved by the statement.

“Oh,” he said at length, lowering his head as if in thought, then uncrossing his arms and walking to the southern edge of the forestmote.

“No,” Uthalion continued. “Not ever. Let’s keep moving.”

“Uth, wait…” Brindani began. He stopped as Ghaelya stood and flashed him a look of anger.

“Leave it,” she said as Uthalion took hold of a low branch and climbed up to reach a second limb bridging a deep gap between the forestmote and the other side of the valley. “We don’t need him. We’ll rest, reassess, and be on our way.”

‘ She followed after the human, climbing in silence up the edge of the cliff towards the forest above. Brindani wanted

to agree with her, but he had traveled the length of Akanul once before, though much of the journey had been a blur. He shook his head at the recollection. Even saying the name of the place had taken effort. At one point in his life, months before, he’d almost forgotten that Tohrepur and the little town of Caidris had existed. But, as he was growing tired of discovering, he could not escape them forever.

He fumbled at his pack as they pressed on into the southern Spur, unable to find the bottle of spirits he’d stowed away or the wine he’d purchased in Airspur. His lips were dry, his throat ached, and the pain in his stomach was escalating with each step.

The forest changed as they pressed deeper into the plaguechanged landscape, its leaves turning from a dappled, ethereal green to intermittent waves of dark, glowing orange. Twisting roots came to life as yellow winged beetles crawled out from their lairs to buzz in clouds around the tree trunks, their wings and the light both bright as flames. The brightness of the display hurt Brindani’s eyes, and he squinted, nodding to Ghaelya when she turned with a look of concern on her face. He waved her on, concealing his near blind search through the pack.

The bottle of spirits was empty and the wineskin held only a mouthful that Brindani gratefully swallowed. He left other useless sundries in his wake as he rummaged and quietly cursed—no drink meant he had no choice. His frustration grew, until his hand closed around a soft bundle wrapped in rough cloth at the bottom of the pack. He breathed a sigh of relief. The bittersweet aroma of silkroot reached his nose, and instantly his headache seemed a little less. The gripping pain in his stomach subsided.

Brindani paused, gasping quietly as he clenched the bundle and strained to listen, hearing the faintest whisper of singing from somewhere in the night. There were no words or any melody he could describe, but just the feel of

the sound made him want to possess it for his own. It was gone in a breath, leaving him dazed on the winding path and clutching the silkroot in his fist.

Uthalion never turned from the path, and Ghaelya seemed lost in her own thoughts. Brindani forced himself to remain patient, a twinge of shame resting like a brick in his gut until he could be alone with his demons. He could make it. No one would have to know. His hand trembled as he released the silkroot bundle back into his pack, patting it securely several times to remind himself that it was still there.

*************

Uthalion kept his eyes forward and his feet moving, focusing on their path and winding it just enough to hopefully throw off any further pursuit. Several times he studied a well-hidden, shadowed trench or an old tree within easy climbing range of the upper canopy, but he passed them by, shaking his head. As much as he might like to, he would not abandon his visitors to the not-so-tender mercies of the Spur. He would see them to safety and look forward to their departure. He had no wish to relive the past—as he’d told Brindani well enough the last time the half-elf had come calling. He desired even less to cross the length of the wilder Akana to go and visit that past.

He’d had enough of old times and unwanted nightmares for one night.

Though he stifled the sharp edge of paranoia that pressed against in the back of his mind, he kept a ready hand on his sword as he navigated the maze of the Spur. He eyed the trees, searching for Vaasurri among the leaves, though he suspected the killoren was still busy drawing the howling beasts away from the grove. Within sight of the glow of his abandoned campfire, he breathed deeply and narrowed

his eyes. He kept the genasi in his peripheral vision, eyeing her movements closely. She seemed surefooted, though she had the heavy step of a city dweller. The half-elf seemed as stealthy and as unassuming as ever, but though Brindani hadn’t specifically said they’d been chased, Uthalion knew there was plenty of easier game in the forest than a well-armed genasi and her half-elf escort.

“Trouble,” he muttered. “Nothing good can come of this.”

The smell of half-eaten stew, still warming on the fire, filled the grove. Though he’d eaten less than his share earlier, he found he was no longer hungry, already dreading any further mention of Tohrepur.

6 Mirtul, the Year of the Ageless One

(1479 DR) The Spur Forest, South of Airspur, Akan&l

.thalion stalked the Men ef An grave, mnkiif for any sign of a disturhaaca with hie tracker’
eyes. Finding naught tat hi
.Ťwi fiaatprtats and these of Vaasurri, he cahaed a kit, tat la* nearness of his guests kept his serves on edge. He wasn’t fond of keeping company and had ao intention of entertaining the presence of Brindani or Ghaelya longer than necessary. The genasi stood with her arms crossed, studying the grove coolly, but the half-elf shifted nervously from foot to foot, his gaze darting from shadow to shadow.

“There’s stew if you’re hungry and a safe place to rest by the fire,” Uthalion said at length, turning to retreat to the hidden cavern where he kept his oft-ignored bedroll. He added over his

shoulder, “I suspect by morning you’ll be anxious to be on your way.”

“We should talk,” Brindani said, and Uthalion stopped, gritting his teeth.

“We already did,” he replied coldly. “I’m not going back.”

“Lives are at stake,” the half-elf pressed.

“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 ease—until 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 Ťf 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 mind—cults 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 I—I 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.