“That must be nice,” said Vivian. “That certainty.”
The Sentinels did useful work. Nobody disputed that—but many people, especially those with generally peaceful lives, kept their distance. Olvir had heard the Order spoken of in terms that ranged from “helpful, certainly, but damned strange” to “as likely as not to turn on us if they don’t find prey.” If they had no contact with the gods on top of that… He wanted to offer sympathy and suspected Vivian wouldn’t take it well.
“It’s been very helpful to me,” he replied instead, “especially these last few weeks. Like Marshal Nahon said, Tinival saw all of what I was, and He let me serve him.”
“Has he rejected candidates before?”
“Oh, yes. Not many. Usually it’ll be pretty obvious if you’re not cut out to be a knight, long before the vigil happens. But there are stories—a squire who cut his rival’s stirrups in a tournament, for example. Nobody had discovered it, but he came out of the vigil chamber weeping and confessing, with a red mark like a sword blade covering his face and his hair pure white.”
“Very dramatic.”
“Very. And that was merciful. Edda…my mother…” He didn’t expect Vivian to quibble over the word but brought it out defiantly anyhow. Edda had deserved the term. A long-dead Verengir cultist never would. “She said that she saw a woman die during her vigil once. Didn’t see it exactly, I mean, but opened the door and there she was. Just sitting there, Edda said, staring at nothing. Nobody ever found out what she’d done.”
Vivian made a thoughtful noise. “I could hazard a few guesses, but it doesn’t really matter. People don’t make it through reforging sometimes,” she added, serious but matter-of-fact, “but that’s generally nothing to do with their behavior.”
“Can their bodies just not take the change?”
“For the most part. Sometimes it’s the mind or the spirit that breaks under pressure. That’s usually to do with the minor blessing or the offensive one. We’re channeling some part of the gods then, and they’re a lot to contain.”
Olvir glanced down at his chest, where his heart beat steadily with exercise and his other nature rested silently. “That they are.”
Chapter 14
The moon was a slim crescent overhead by the time they stopped. An elbow in the mountain’s ridge, where the road technically ended before switching back to ascend in the other direction, held a wide spot with a small grove of pine trees.
“That’s as good as we’re likely to find for a while,” Olvir said. Vivian agreed.
When she blinked or turned her head, pink and green shapes lingered in her vision, afterimages of what she’d been looking at. She had to silently tell herself what to do in small sentences, once they’d stopped in the grove and Ulamir had taken watch:Open pack. Take out blankets. Put blankets flat on ground. Sit down. Take off boots.
“I’m not sure whether a fire would be safe or not,” she said, unbuckling her sword belt, “but I’d probably lose a finger if I tried to cut any wood.”
“Picking up fallen branches might be a wise idea tomorrow.” Olvir peered up at the mountain’s expanse. “In case. It probably does get cold up there.” He pulled his armor over his head and glanced sideways at Vivian. “For tonight, if you wanted, we could keep each other warm. I mean that literally. I’m afraid I’m three steps from dead and no use as anything but a hot stone.”
“A hot stone,” said Vivian, “is exactly what I need right now. I’ll take you up on that offer with thanks, Sir Yoralth.”
“Thank you. I wasn’t looking forward to a cold bed either. And…” Olvir turned to put his folded armor by his boots, but Vivian suspected it was easier for him to speak without meeting her eyes. “I’ll sleep easier when I can touch somebody else living. Better that it’s you, you understand. Much better,” he added quickly, with an embarrassed little laugh.
“Easy. I’m not a maiden in a bad festival play. I know what you mean.” Vivian ate a few bites without tasting any of what she chewed, an advantage where rations were concerned. “It’s lonely country out here.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s the country.”
The facts of their mission—its uncertain destination and still less certain goal—dropped down between Vivian and Olvir with those words. Jokes, practical details such as fire, and even lust could only be distractions for so long. Eventually, conversation always circled around to where the two of them were going and why.
“No,” said Vivian. “Not entirely.”
They sat with that knowledge, eating and drinking what they knew they needed, watching the night beyond the trees. Moonlight shone down on them, bright but cold. Branches turned into fingers and clutched at the dark sky.
After a while, Olvir knelt, palms flat on his thighs and head uplifted, to murmur his prayers. His face shone with devotion, outdoing the moonlight in his eyes. The sight was a model of faith or futility, depending on where the mind of the watcher was inclined to go.
Vivian wished she could have faith. The gods were far away, across the Veil of Fire. The world depended on their mortal tools, which broke easily.
Sleep, said Ulamir.You do no good to yourself, nor the knight, nor the land. Sleep.
Olvir, who didn’t have a swordsoul in his head, blinked when Vivian stretched out on her bedroll. He caught on quickly, though, and just as quickly closed the space between them. Then he hesitated, which was the cue Vivian needed to curl herself against him like a snake on a sunny rock.
“Ahh,” she said, not meaning for it to be aloud but not really minding that it was either. Large men had considerable merits where radiating heat was concerned.
Her head rested against the hard muscle of Olvir’s chest. While the fabric of his shirt was slightly damp and more than slightly scratchy, Vivian had slept on worse pillows. She could hear the steady beat of Olvir’s heart, too, as soothing as the tides.
