It was. Once, he and Vivian had worked together when undead were attacking a village, and they’d joined forces again when a man had summoned demons to kill off his family’s other heirs. Neither had involved travel, and the knights were generally less mobile than the Sentinels. How Olvir would manage on the road had been one of her many concerns.
He didn’t tromp, despite his size and armor, and he kept pace with her easily. It was an excellent start.
No few years have passed since we’ve traveled with companions. Never have we taken them from outside the Order.
It was a novel experience, Vivian agreed. Olvir could defend himself as well or better than she could, depending on the foe. He’d been at war as long as she had. Despite acknowledging that, she kept wanting to make sure that he was all right. The knights aided those in distress, which meant fighting as often as not, but they weren’t the hunters the Sentinels were, nor were they as used to Gizath’s monsters.
His nature would sorely tax any who bore it.
And then there was that.
The road split again. The path they didn’t take was broader and in better shape, though that was a relative term. It went to Klaishil—the city where Thyran had made his then-final stand and been caught out of time, the city where Darya had found Amris a hundred years later, the city from which the whole damned mess had started again.
For Vivian, Olvir, and Ulamir, the trail led away, much further into the past.
* * *
Sticks crunched between Olvir’s boots and ancient paving stones, giving forth sounds that had made him flinch the first few times he’d made them. He walked as quietly as he could, but he was a large man in armor. He could only help so much—and so, as he went on, he’d put what he couldn’t control out of his head, breathing in the steady four-count that he used during temple services until his footsteps blended into the forest’s general noise.
The walls of his new world were mixed shades of green: lighter shades of unfurling leaves against the jagged darkness of pine and fir, dull lichen hanging from the trunks and deep-green moss coating rocks. Brown and gray appeared in patches, with the brighter colors of flowers or birds occasionally flitting through, then vanishing as Olvir or what he was seeing moved on.
Slowly the old road wound northward, as the light faded into the rich gold of afternoon, then went violet with evening. That was the only way Olvir could mark the hours. His feet kept moving, his arms ached from the weight of sword and shield, and then the ache faded into just another part of his circumstances. Once in a while, they paused to drink water or pass it. Any one of those moments was mostly the same as the one before it. They never talked.
He spotted the clearing as darkness was falling. It was a clearing in truth, not like the patch of ground they’d stopped at to leave Emeth and Kev behind, and it was slightly off the main road. It also wasn’t immediately visible from there—a large, moss-covered rock meant Olvir was halfway past before he realized what he was looking at.
“Vivian,” he said quietly and pointed when she turned. “There?”
She hesitated, eyes unfocusing as her soulsword expressed some opinion, then nodded. “I’ll take first watch.”
“Cold camp?”
“I think so. I’ll eat while you sleep and vice versa.”
There wasn’t much camp to their camp, only the necessities to keep even a god-touched body working reasonably. Olvir spread his bedroll on a relatively flat, rock-free bit of ground, knelt by it, and went through his evening dedications to Tinival.
It was a simple prayer, suitable for nights in the field:Silver Wind, Your servant salutes You. May all things I do be in accordance with Your will. May You guide my arm, clear my eyes, and give me courage.Olvir looked up through the pattern of tree branches over his head while he prayed and saw, in the dark patches visible between them, a few scattered stars.
Olvir’s prayers the night before had been at once rote and frantic. As he’d recited the words, trying to hold on to the deeper meaning in phrasing he knew by heart, his mind had been incoherently screaming: for help, for advice, simply for the god tomake this not be happening.
He’d known there would be no answer. He’d been in no fit state to hear one, and he’d dreaded what else might answer.
In the wilderness, with a day of hard walking behind him, it was easier to quiet his fear. He shaped each word with care, too mindful of Gwarill’s caution to seek beyond the customary phrases for the presence of either Tinival or any other.
As the words fell into the night, though, Olvir could believe that Tinival heard them. At any rate, lightning didn’t strike him down, nor did he even feel any sense of rejection. He would take that.
Afterwards he rose, removed his boots, his armor, and his belt, and lay down, keeping his sword close.
Vivian had settled herself on the ground nearby while he prayed, legs folded neatly beneath her. She took dried meat and bread out of her pack, unhooked a waterskin from her belt, and began to eat in quick bites. Between swallowing one and beginning the other, she stopped and waited, judging the silence for any danger.
She was as motionless as the stars otherwise, yet Olvir knew from experience how quickly she could move, with how little notice, when the need arose. He watched her as his eyelids grew heavy, as he felt his muscles relax and the weight of his body settle down onto the earth. The last thing he could remember seeing was the glimmer of starlight on the hilt of her sword.
It was slightly past midnight when he awoke to the pressure of Vivian’s hand on his shoulder. Moonlight was slanting through the gaps in the trees. Her face, a little way above his as she knelt, was calm, so Olvir sat up and pulled on his boots without undue haste before he reached for weapons and armor.
After he stood up, Vivian gestured at the blanket where he’d lain and gave him a questioning look. Olvir was proud of how quickly he figured out her meaning, considering how late it was. He nodded: if they were switching watches, there was no point in getting out two bedrolls.
He took Vivian’s place on the rock. Small noises came from behind him as she undressed as much as either of them were going to under the circumstances, then lay down. Olvir, eating and drinking with a hand free in case he had to quickly go for his sword, heard Vivian’s breathing deepen toward sleep.
He didn’t deliberately watch her. The woods, and respect for Vivian’s privacy, demanded that Olvir keep his focus turned outward. He did look across the clearing regularly, though, as the night wore on and walked slow, quiet circles around it once he was done with his dinner, and thus the figure in his blankets made an impression.
