Friendships found on uneasy ground

Shadows within a heartbeat's sound.

Ferrian and the Freeroamers made their way slowly along the valley, following the newborn stream as it bounded exaltedly over the rocks. The valley was narrow, and clogged with boulders and upthrusts of jagged rock. They were relieved to find signs of animal life again: ants and blue lizards and even a mountain rat darted for cover as they approached.

As they walked, the light on the cliffs around them faded from golden-grey to dusky orange and then deep amethyst, and shadows pooled and spread. Ferrian couldn't help but feel nervous at the growing darkness. He kept looking over his shoulder at the cleft, but the terrifying blackness that had filled it earlier was gone. It appeared now as nothing more than a distant break in the cliffs.

The sun had fallen well below the furthest ridgeline and the blue of the sky had deepened by the time they reached the end of the valley. The Dragon Eyes – the first two stars of evening – had appeared in the sky almost directly ahead of them. The twin pricks of light gazed down on them from the west: emotionless and unblinking like their namesake. An ominous feeling came over Ferrian as he looked up at them, as though a real Dragon were watching them from afar.

The valley ended in a steep, rocky decline. Beyond was another, smaller valley filled with a cluster of dark pines. Beside them, the stream continued on its way, sweeping over the drop in a small waterfall and disappearing into the trees.

After a short discussion, they decided against going down into the valley that evening. Instead, they climbed some boulders to their left and discovered a flat, rocky shelf from which they had a clear view back across the valley to Demon Heights. There was plenty of the woody, prickly alpine bushes and bleached deadwood lying around with which to make a fire, so it was here they settled down for the night.

The change that had come over Commander Trice since they had discovered Aari alive was remarkable. He appeared to have returned to his usual good-natured, confident self. As they sat around the little campfire, he related everything that had happened to himself, Ferrian and Sirannor after they had emerged from the tunnel. Aari listened to him wide-eyed, and not without a few exclamations of disbelief.

Ferrian and Sirannor remained quiet, speaking only when they were asked a direct question.

After awhile, Ferrian rose and moved out of the firelight. He didn't want to relive what had happened in the pass. He wanted to shut it away in his mind and never think about it again.

He sat down on the edge of the shelf, staring out across the valley to the dim white line where water still poured out of the cleft. A bull ant was making its way across the rock towards him. He folded his legs to let it pass. Goose pimples rose on his arms as a cool breeze rustled through his still-damp clothes. He felt exhausted. And despite the fact that he was incredibly happy that Aari was alive, his heart still felt heavy: as though it had become water-logged like his pack.

He turned at a scuffing sound on the rock behind him, and found Aari limping towards him. "They're talking about the mission," Aari said in explanation as he lowered himself, wincing, beside Ferrian. He sighed heavily. "Too depressing."

Aari was forced to lean over double when he sat on flat ground, in order to ease the pressure on his wings. Ferrian thought it must be extremely uncomfortable –not to mention painful – for him to sit like that. He wondered how the poor guy was going to sleep.

Ferrian stared at him. "After everything you just went through, you want to visit a sorcerer?"

The Angel shrugged, and then screwed his face up in pain and clutched his shoulder. "Yeah… so?" he panted. "I'm afraid of… tunnels, not sorcerers."

There was a few seconds of silence, and then Aari started laughing painfully. After a moment, despite himself, Ferrian joined in. Both of them realised how ridiculous that sounded.

They were quiet for a moment then, staring down at the shadowy valley and listening to the murmur of Grisket and Sirannor's voices. After awhile, Aari said quietly: "I'm sorry."

Ferrian glanced up. Aari was not looking at him. He was staring down at a bit of heather he had been picking to pieces. His eyes were dark and there was no hint of laughter in his face now.

"For what?" Ferrian asked, not comprehending.

"You know…" Aari said, still avoiding his gaze. "Back in the tunnel. Freaking out like that."

Ferrian shook his head. "Forget it. Everyone's afraid of something." He was silent for a moment, and then added quietly: "Besides. I'm the one who should be sorry. It was my fault you were swept away."

Aari did look up then, and this time it was Ferrian who couldn't meet his eyes.

The Angel stared at him for a long moment, and then shook his head and said: "You don't know that. The tunnel might have been unstable to begin with. It could have collapsed simply because we were walking through it."

Ferrian did not reply. His eyes glimmered in the dark.

"Hey," Aari said, trying to sound encouraging. "We'll find a cure for your curse, don't worry!"

Ferrian forced a small smile. He turned to the Angel gratefully. "And you'll be able to fly again," he said, nodding at Aari's bandaged wings.

Aari forced a positive smile in return. But deep in their hearts neither of them really believed what the other had said.

* * *

Two days? Starshadow Flint cursed inwardly at his stupidity. Why had he told Lord Requar that his sister lived in Hillbank?

Why hadn't he suggested a more remote Outland town, or Sel Varence, or better yet, Trystania: several hundred miles away on the Sirinese coast. But no, he'd said Hillbank. Which meant he only had until tomorrow night to get this... mission... over and done with.

He removed his wide-brimmed hat and ran a sweaty hand through his hair nervously. He glanced up at Lord Requar, who was walking just ahead of him.

It didn't help that the sorcerer was setting a fast pace, either. Flint's legs were beginning to ache with the effort of keeping up with him. Though Requar had not spoken another word to him since their conversation that morning, it was obvious that something was playing on his mind. He seemed preoccupied: his face was tight with anxiety and his blue eyes held a distant look as he stared unseeing at the countryside. Every now and then a frown would cross his face and he would shake his head, as if disagreeing with his own inner voice.

Flint wondered if he could use the distraction to his advantage. Perhaps, in his preoccupation with his own thoughts, Requar would remain oblivious to Flint's true intentions.

That was, of course, if he hadn't already suspected.

Flint's eyes flicked to the sorcerer again. If Requar had deduced anything about Flint's motives, he was doing a masterful job of hiding it.

Flint had to admit, he was slightly more at ease around the sorcerer now than he had been when they had first met. So far, Requar hadn't shown the slightest hint of threat or aggression towards him. Back in Meadrun, he had genuinely seemed to want to help the townsfolk.

And yet... despite this, there was something about Requar that disturbed Flint.

The legends circulating about sorcerers were many, some of them entirely believable and some totally preposterous: but they all had one thing in common. Sorcerers were supposed to be arrogant, commanding and devious. They weren't supposed to be so eager to help people.

And that wasn't the only thing that was making Flint's insides try to squirm their way up his throat. There was the matter of the magical longsword that was strapped across the sorcerer's back. He stared at the eerie thing as he walked, wondering what else it was capable of, other than extraordinary strength and a miraculous ability to heal.

And yet, Flint couldn't help thinking, it sure is a PRETTY sword. Genuine sapphires. That pommel stone looks solid gold, too. Must be worth more than a few grubles…

He wondered suddenly if he should just do it now.

The thought was a daring flash, momentarily cutting through his apprehension in a thrill of possibility. Screw the sea of questions floating around in his mind. Screw getting answers. Just get out the Justifier, shoot him in the back, steal his sword and get the hell out of there.

No one would care about this guy's death. No one was going to miss him. Hell, if Flint walked back into Meadrun with that magnificent sword in his hands, he'd be considered a hero. Even Nightwalker would have to be impressed...

“The silver-eyed boy,” Requar said suddenly, startling Flint out of his guilty reverie. “What do you know of him?”

Flint blinked, trying to calm his racing heart, and hurriedly gathered up his scattered thoughts.

It was exactly the same thing Requar had asked of Nightwalker back in the tavern. It seemed to be important to him. Flint debated how much he should say, then remembered he was supposed to be gaining the sorcerer's trust. He jogged a little to keep pace with the other man's stride.

“Er,” he said uncertainly. “He's a kid. About… sixteen-ish? Pale blond hair. Weird silver eyes. Like… quicksilver, you know?” Flint paused for a moment, thinking. “Been roamin' around the countryside for years, apparently, bringing Winter wherever he goes. At first, folks thought the Winter was just a freak weather event, but… this kid always seemed to be hangin' around whenever it happened. Folks're pretty superstitious, and someone started calling him a sorcerer.”

Flint glanced up at Requar, but the tall man continued to gaze ahead, saying nothing.

“Anyway,” Flint went on, “about a week ago, Nightwalker decided to trap him. Wanted to test for himself if this Winter thing was for real. Well,” Flint shrugged. “It was. There we were, sweatin' in the heat, and one mornin' we woke up an' there was fluffy white snowflakes fallin' all around us, and we was freezing our arses off.”

Requar was silent for a long moment, a dry breeze playing with the braided end of his long white hair. “What happened then?” he asked quietly.

Flint shrugged again. “The Freeroamers came and broke him out of Nightwalker's prison,” he replied. “They carted him off to their Guard House in Forthwhite.” He shook his head. “Dunno what happened after that.”

They walked along the road in silence for a long while, seas of grass rippling on either side of them over the low, rolling hills.

“So...” Flint ventured, finally working up enough courage to ask the question that was burning him. He glanced up at Lord Requar. “Do you know somethin' about the boy?”

Requar was silent for another long moment, and Flint was sure he wasn't going to answer, but finally he sighed, and admitted: “I do.” He shook his head. “And after I've helped your sister, Starshadow Flint,” he said, “I intend to find him.”

* * *

The morning sun was an inferno on Cimmeran's back as he slid his right foot forward as slowly as possible.

Having achieved this, he paused for a moment, savouring the small victory. Then he painstakingly shifted his weight and moved his left foot forward.

The end of the leather reins lay unmoving on the dusty road before him, only inches from his left foot. The muscles in his legs were beginning to cramp with the effort of moving so slowly, and it didn't help that they already ached nastily from last night's flight through the town.

Carefully, he lifted his eyes. Ardance was glaring at him with one dark, sinister eye, her head lowered and her ears pulled back as though waiting for the slightest excuse to bolt again.

A droplet of sweat trickled uncomfortably down the back of Cimmeran's neck. He ignored it, glancing down again surreptitiously. He could make it this time, he was sure. Just one quick lunge…

He made a grab for the reins, but Ardance anticipated his move and leapt aside. Yet again, the reins swung out of his reach and the horse trotted away down the road, the sunlight rippling along her silky hide.

Cimmeran clutched nothing but a handful of dirt, overbalancing as he did so, he fell heavily onto his face in the dust.

Gritting his teeth, he scrambled immediately to his feet and hurled the handful of dirt at the departing horse. "You stupid, worthless ANIMAL!" he yelled, his patience finally snapping.

He stood in the middle of the road, panting slightly, watching the dust settle. He put his grimy hands over his face in frustration and despair. His decision to purchase Ardance was something he was seriously beginning to regret. Already, he'd wasted an hour of the morning just trying to mount the stupid thing. He could have made better progress on one foot!

Cimmeran's breath caught in his throat as he suddenly realised how loudly he had just shouted.

He whipped his hands from his face and spun, his heart rate rising.

Tulstan glimmered in the shadow of the mountains about five hundred yards behind him. Cimmeran stared hard at the distant buildings, but there was no hint of movement: no flash of anything red. The road was deserted.

Swallowing dryly, he turned back to his more immediate problem.

Ardance had moved to the side of the road and was standing in the shade of some trees. She turned her head and stared back at him, her ears swivelling nervously.

Cimmeran stared at her helplessly. He could feel the minutes ticking silently away as the sun rose ever higher in the sky.

Chellin would surely have alerted the Watch by now, Cimmeran thought fervently. They would be searching the town, but it was only a matter of time…

Terror prickled through him in a sudden wave and he spun again.

Still nothing.

He was sweating so much his clothes were sticking to him. He wiped his brow with his threadbare sleeve and looked back at Ardance. The horse was sniffing the ground, looking for something to eat.

Food! he thought suddenly. I need some food! An apple, or something... But yet again he had neglected something important: he had been so obsessed with getting away from Tulstan that he had completely forgotten to buy provisions.

It was far too late to go back now.

Cimmeran looked around in desperation. He hurried over to a clump of dry grass by the side of the road and ripped out a handful. He turned back to the horse and began to advance hesitantly. Ardance jerked her head up as he approached, and her ears flattened again.

"Stay there…" Cimmeran said under his breath. Don't run again! Please, don't run again…

He held out the hand containing the grass, still edging carefully forward. "Look, Ardance!" he said, in what he hoped was a friendly tone. "I have something for you!"

He waggled the grass encouragingly. Several strands fluttered to the roadway.

Ardance's ears swivelled forward and she lifted her head as if in interest, but as Cimmeran continued to advance she turned away and trotted a few steps further down the road.

Cimmeran's fist tightened on the grass as he struggled to remain calm. "Alright," he said, looking at the wilted grass. "Alright, I know it's dead, but I'm sure it still tastes all right!"

He stretched out his hand pleadingly. He had stopped moving now, trying to coax Ardance to come to him.

The horse had stopped also. She turned and stared at him warily.

Cimmeran extended his hand a little further. "Come on…" he begged. "Come on, Ardance!"

At last, the temptation of food won over. Ardance took a hesitant step forward.

“Yes!" Cimmeran breathed, his muscles relaxing a fraction. "That's right! Nice grass!"

Ardance came forward slowly. She lifted her nose and sniffed at the grass in Cimmeran's hand. "That's right…" he said, his heart now hammering very fast. "Nice… grass…"

He glanced down. The reins were trailing in the dirt a few feet away. Ardance had stopped again, still unsure of him.

Without warning, Cimmeran lunged.

Startled, Ardance reared and galloped away.

Cimmeran pushed himself once more off the road, spitting dirt. He hurled away the grass he still clutched in his fist. "FINE!" he screamed at the horse, fury now burning through him, hotter than the sun. He could not take any more of this. He had wasted too much time already: he had to get out of here, now!

"FINE! If you don't want to let me ride you, well, that's FINE with me! See how well you do on your OWN! GO ON!" He rushed at the horse. Ardance leapt away and cantered into a nearby field.

"THAT'S RIGHT! GO!" Cimmeran shrieked after her. Breathing heavily in anger and despair, he spun on his heel and ran off down the road.

Ardance watched him go. After awhile, she walked back to the road and nibbled at the grass scattered across it. Finding it to her liking, she lifted her head and began walking down the road after Cimmeran.