The thought caught her off guard, he could tell, and so did her own enthusiastic reaction. “Me too. Not that I’d ever keep you two from each other, even if you and I don’t last. But…I like this. I like you. Not just in bed, although that was damned good.”
“Understating the case,” he said, and kissed her. Had he been twenty years younger, he would have wanted her again almost at that minute. Hedidwant her again, for that matter—but the body would take a while, and with his most immediate desire satisfied, Amris could no longer put off duty.
“I fear,” he said, pulling away reluctantly and beginning to employ a handkerchief in the service of certain necessary duties, “I had better return soon.”
This time, her “me too” was a sigh. “Stupid Thyran. Stupid army.”
“Gods willing, we’ll have longer in the future. Perhaps even with light.”
“You and your luxuries,” she said. “Gerant didn’t tell me you weredegenerate.”
“Clearly he wished to leave you some surprises.”
Amris reached out with his mind, trying to signal that it was all right for Gerant to come back if he wished—welcoming him, if he wanted to join them. He got only a vague sense of connection, no thoughts or even emotions.
“He’s a little too far away to talk,” Darya said. “Stone doesn’t help either.”
“Then we have quite the evening’s conversation in front of us.”
“A pity there’s no more wine.”
Amris dressed mostly by guesswork, hearing the sounds of Darya putting her own clothing on and seeing vague movements in the shadow. He was checking as best he could with touch when she said, “You look fine.”
“Wha—oh. My thanks. I’d forgotten the dark is no hindrance for you. It’s quite an advantage in a lover.”
“I have a lot of advantages,” she said and donned her cloak with a theatrical swirl.
They were laughing when they started to climb the stairs. When Amris put his hand to the door handle, Darya shook her head. “We’d better look sober,” she said, “or have some story to hand.”
“And not simply let people think what they will?” he asked, surprised to hear it from her.
“Might be a problem for you, commanding. You remember last night.”
“Such people as they were already—”
There was shouting above—not close enough for Amris to make out words, but it was several short syllables. Without any further speech, he opened the door and they rushed out. His hand was on his sword hilt, and though Darya didn’t have her own sword, the dim light of the kitchen suddenly gleamed on two shorter blades in her hands.
From the halls beyond came slamming doors and marching feet. Another shout went up from outside the kitchen, by the stables, and it was to that door Darya went, plunging out into the cool night air with Amris behind her.
One of the new soldiers, a middle-aged man with a fringe of red hair, met them as he headed back to the keep, walking so quickly that he almost ran into Darya.
“Careful, there!” Amris said, as Darya sidestepped neatly. The man turned, and Amris saw that his face was gray-white, his eyes wide but only just now seeing Amris—and that only barely. There was no need to ask what was happening, only to get confirmation. “Close, are they?”
“Crossed the sentry line a quarter hour ago. The dark-haired Sentinel just heard it. I… Gods help us. Gods help us all.”
Part IV
A great deal was lost when the Traitor was exiled. He governed the connections among people, between things, even within flesh. Thus there are aspects of control over these things that are unmastered and treacherous, or subject to his influence.
Yet the other gods did what they could to fill the gap. Poram upholds the rhythms and bonds of nature. Sitha teaches the crafts that bring civilization out of chaos, weaving her Golden Web between all. Letar brings blood and flesh together with healing and joins people in love—or vengeance. The youngest, Tinival, provides the words that let us reach out to one another, the truth that permits trust, and the honor that binds warriors when they seek to defend a noble cause.
—Meditations of Lord Marshal Dravarhan, High Priest of Tinival
All else from this point is theory, my lady. The chaos of war covers much, and after the war, a great deal more was lost in darkness, cold, and death. We move from what is known to what we speculate, and in that movement I can only say that the world we once knew is gone, irreparably so. Our comfort must be that the man who destroyed it is gone as well, as we heard no word of him once the storms struck and his troops scattered into the north. The gods have some mercy, in the end.
—The Letters of Farathen
Chapter 33
