That hit home, and Gravinn fell silent.
"You won’t make it back," Katharine said, voice quiet, subdued. "It’s too long a journey."
"Maybe. But if I stay here, it’s a sun-cursed certainty I’ll leave my bones here."
"Rest us here for a time?" Draig asked. He was looking at Tom. Waiting for confirmation. Perhaps he was right. If they couldn’t get Jarnstenn to continue, they’d stop, rest. Gain some time to convince him.
"But what will you say?" asked the wind. "What can you say, when the dwarf he loved is dead because of you?"
Draig dropped the ropes for his sled. "Eat. Talk. But rest is more important." He stepped past the others, fetching cooking supplies from Jarnstenn’s sled, and muttered, "Before driven I to madness by this wind."
They set up camp, started a fire, huddled around it as if the flames could protect them. It didn’t stop the whispering. And it didn’t stop Jarnstenn from wanting to leave. He sat in hushed conversation with Gravinn and, by the doubt creeping onto her face, it looked like he was enjoying the better end of the discussion.
"Should we let him go?" Tom whispered to Katharine.
"Don’t whisper." She lay on one side, cushioned by as many blankets as they could spare. She added, "I don’t know." She had both gloved hands on her belly. It wasn’t hard to imagine what the wind said to her.
"He’ll die here."
"He’ll die trying to get back," she replied.
“Shouldn't we let him choose how he dies?"
"It will be your fault either way," the wind said.
"What if we need him?" Katharine asked. "What if we let him go, and then we die because he wasn’t with us?"
It was a good point. He had already proved invaluable. They couldn’t let him leave for the good of the group.
"You only delay the inevitable," countered the wind.
"Perhaps," Tom muttered, but he got to his feet and walked around the fire to Jarnstenn. Gravinn stopped speaking and wouldn’t look Tom in the eye. "Please stay," Tom said. "Both of you. We don’t know what we’ll encounter. It could be dangerous. It could kill us. But we might overcome it all, and make it back safely, if we have the two of you."
"Or all our bones could be sitting in a nice little pile before the sun sets."
"Perhaps."
"You’re not much for inspiration, are you?"
Tom ignored the barb and turned to Gravinn. "We need your help to find our way back."
"You don’t need me." Gravinn spoke to the ground. "Katharine is a Pathfinder." She took a deep breath, marshalled herself, looked him in the eye. "I’m not needed here. But there are dwarfs in the Kingdom that need help."
"We need your help."
"I can’t ignore their plight."
"They’ll suffer a worse fate if we don’t stop the fay. You saw what happened last night. Imagine that happening every night, all across Tir."
"Maybe that’s not our responsibility," Jarnstenn said. "I didn’t sign up to no heroic quests. Neither did she."
"You think I left my warm bed in Cairnagan for heroic quests?" Tom asked.
"I heard what you left for," Jarnstenn muttered darkly.
"The dwarf is right," said the wind. "You’re not a leader. You can’t do this."
He wasn’t a leader. But Emyr was. Yes, he was grieving. But he had to pull his weight. So he walked away from the fire to where Emyr had erected his tent.
"My king?" Tom asked and, when he didn’t receive an answer, "Emyr?"
"Come in."
It was as if the tent had never been moved. Ambrose lay in the same spot, in almost the same position. Emyr sat on a rolled up blanket, and the candle burned between them.
"Are we moving on?" Emyr asked. He didn’t seem annoyed to have set up the tent only to leave minutes later.
"Not yet, my king. We’re still trying to convince Jarnstenn and Gravinn to stay."
"Yes," Emyr said, almost to himself. "It was a matter of time until we lost her."
Had he seen this coming? Why hadn’t he said anything? "You have to talk to them. You have to convince them to stay."
"You talk to them, Tom."
"I tried."
"Try again."
"I’m not as good at this as you are."
"Perhaps not. But right now, I’m not good at it either."
"I need you to be better."
"I would say the same to you."
"Because you’re not good enough," said the wind. "Because you’ll never be good enough."
He had to make Emyr see. "This is your strength," Tom said. "Rallying people to your cause. Leading them. That’s why he’s lying there." He pointed at Ambrose. "He knew what would happen, but he followed you anyway."
Emyr pushed past him and out of the tent without saying a word.
The wind taunted him. ”You can’t even persuade Emyr to help you."
Tom stared at Ambrose. "Part of me wishes I could do whatever it is you’re doing," he said to the sorcerer.
"So you can hide from the whispers?" asked the wind. "Coward."
"Maybe." But would a coward follow Emyr?
"Maybe," said the wind as he pushed his way outside.
Emyr stood alone, away from the fire and rubbing his arms against the cold. Cloud gathered overhead, blocking even the strip of light they had been able to see above. The old king didn’t move when Tom took a position beside him, hand on Caledyr.
Fight.
I’m trying.
"I wish I hadn’t taken you out of Faerie," Tom told him. "I didn’t want to leave you there. But when you told me all those stories of when you were King of Tir, I always thought that, if anyone deserved some peace, it was you."
"You’re right." Emyr sounded bitter. It was a strange thing to hear. "I gave my life to the people of Tir. They took up all my thoughts, all my feelings. There was never room in my life for the people that mattered, because the people of Tir took up all I had. Every heartbeat belonged to someone else."
"And I asked you to give even more."
"You didn’t ask. You just took me." It was a rebuke and it stung. But Emyr followed it with, "But I wouldn’t go back. At least here I can stand and walk and fight. I can live."
There was a hunger for those things in his voice, as if he felt they would be taken away from him again.
"I am grateful for what you’ve given me," Emyr said, tone softer, conciliatory.
He was coming around. He knew what he had to do. So Tom just said, "You’re welcome, my king."
Emyr’s face hardened. "But, right now, I don’t want to be a king. Let me sit by my friend’s side, in his last moments."
"Emyr."
"No, Tom." Emyr lifted a stern hand. "When Ambrose is dead, I will fight with you. But this quest is yours. You lead it."
That wasn’t right. That wasn’t fair. "You started this. All of it. A thousand years ago." Tom shook his head. "No. I’m not you, Emyr. I’m trying to help. But I’m here to protect Katharine and Rose. I’m not here to be a hero. I’m just Tom. You’re the king of Tir, not me."
There was a long, empty moment, when even the wind died down, as if waiting to see what Emyr said next.
"So that's it?" Emyr stared off down the canyon, over the footprints and sled tracks they had made in the shallow snow. Looking back on all they had done. "I had higher hopes for you, Tom." His face twisted into bitter disappointment. "There’s a reason I asked you to carry that sword."
Fight.
“You killed people because of that sword,” said the wind. “You hurt Katharine.”
"Was there a reason you didn’t warn me about it?"
"I had to learn about that sword. It was an important lesson."
"One you could have passed on instead of letting me slaughter my way across the Kingdom."
"What we learn makes us who we are, son." Emyr shook his head. "First Amyr, now you. I thought you were different. But you’re just like him."
Tom was surprised to feel the threat of hot t
ears behind his eyes. "Maybe the fault is in the thing that links us," he said before he realised he had anything to say. "Did you ever think that you’re the reason Amyr failed?"
Emyr blinked a blink as slow as a glacier. "Yes."
Tom knew he had hurt him. He’d found the place Emyr was most vulnerable and put a dagger in it. It was a hurt beyond an apology. But why should he be the first to apologise?
"Because you need him to think well of you," said the wind. "And now he never will."
He touched Caledyr, but the sword was quiet. Silent. Like a child watching its parents fight.
"Responsibility isn’t something you pick up and put down when you tire of it, Tom."
"I know."
"I need you to deal with this."
"I don’t think I can."
"You need to find a way."
Emyr looked so lost. So sad. So alone. Tom wanted to reach out to him. "This is your strength. This is what you do. You’re the legendary King of Tir."
Emyr just shook his head.
"Maybe he isn’t who you always thought he was," suggested the wind.
"I rescued you from Faerie so you could do this," Tom said. "Not watch an old man die."
Emyr closed his eyes and whispered, "Stop." He took a breath. And another. Like he was remembering how to do so each time. Then he said, "Make it work." And he walked away and disappeared back into the tent.
The others were quiet when Tom returned to the fire. How much had they heard? It didn’t matter. He stopped behind Jarnstenn and Gravinn.
"You’re not leaving," he said.
Jarnstenn snorted. "You can’t stop us."
"I can," Tom replied. He didn’t rest his hand on the sword. He didn’t stoop, or crouch, or sit beside them. "The group needs you. Katharine will have a child to worry about soon, so she may rely on you to help her, Gravinn. Jarnstenn, I suspect you might have a few ideas on how Six might walk when he feels up to it."
"I’m leaving," he replied.
"You can try, if you like." Tom touched the sword. Not to draw strength from it, but to draw Jarnstenn’s eye towards it. "But I’ll bring you back."
He waited, daring Jarnstenn to argue. But the dwarf just looked away. "Suppose it makes no odds whether I die out there or with you lot."
"Thank you." And he turned his gaze to Gravinn.
She was more gracious, bowing her head and murmuring, "I will stay by your side, Tom."
Tom softened his tone. A little. "Thank you." He lifted his eyes to the others, nodded to Draig who was cooking something on the fire. "Is there enough for everyone?"
The elf wore a strange expression. "Yes."
"Good. Everyone needs to eat. Then we’ll press on." And he marched across the camp and knelt by Six. The elf was sleeping, it seemed. Mennvinn was sat nearby and Tom asked her, "How is he?"
"Weak," she replied. "He lost a lot of blood. But his leg shows no sign of corruption. He could live."
He was so pale. Was he thinner? "What can we do for him?"
She seemed afraid to answer. "I’m doing the best I can."
"I don’t doubt it." She had looked after Emyr, and he seemed well enough.
"But a cirgeon did the hard work,” said the wind. “She just tended to him while he healed. It isn’t the same."
Tom refused to listen. "If you need anything for him, just ask."
She nodded, looked like she might speak and thought better of it.
"Ask, Mennvinn."
"I have some herbs to prevent corruption. But I’ll run out of pain relief by nightfall."
Tom nodded. "Gravinn," he called. He tried not to notice how quickly she scurried over. "Mennvinn needs a Pathfinder’s skills."
"However I can assist," she said. Tom left the two dwarfs to talk and crossed the camp to sit by Katharine. Draig had already given her a mug of tea and some dried meat. Tom nodded his approval to the elf.
"Are you warm enough?” he asked Katharine. “Do you need anything?"
She was giving him a strange look too. "I’m fine."
Dank brought tea and food to Tom. He took the tea, but waved the meat away. "Give it to her."
"No," she said.
"Yes."
"You need to eat."
"You need it more."
"Tom, please."
"I won’t argue about this."
Something in his tone ended the discussion and Dank tipped the meat onto Katharine’s plate and walked away. The camp was quiet. Tom held his mug close to his face, closed his eyes, enjoyed the heat.
"What did Emyr say to you?" Katharine murmured.
But he didn’t want to talk about it. ”I’m just tired of people not doing what they should."
"She’ll think you’re talking about her," said the wind. "She’ll hate you, and you’ll be alone."
But a moment later he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was tentative, uncertain. No doubt the wind was making her doubt everything too. So he reached up and put his hand on hers, squeezed it through gloves.
"Thank you," she said.
"You’re welcome."
"I’m sorry."
"What for?"
When she didn’t answer, he opened his eyes and looked into her smile. "I don’t give you enough credit," she said.
That gave him more strength than Caledyr ever could.
Jarnstenn tried to leave in the night.
Chapter 18
They had trudged through the canyon until long after the sun had set. Draig had suggested camping before it was full dark. "Need we some rest." But Tom had refused. Walking into the whispering wind was exhausting. It crushed the spirit. It made stopping all too appealing. But they had to escape this trap. So he told Draig to keep walking, and he did.
And then it was Dank who said, "We can’t see where we’re going anymore."
"We know where we’re going," Tom replied.
"Please, Tom," asked Gravinn.
"A little farther."
"They’ll ignore you," said the wind. "They don’t respect you."
But they kept walking and finally, when the darkness was almost complete, Tom said, "Stop."
They made camp without urgency. A day of listening to their fears had made them listless.
"You’ll all fall prey to me," said the wind. "Everyone does."
Tom touched Caledyr.
Fight.
He helped Mennvinn wash Six’s stump, running warm water over it and patting it dry. She brewed the last of her pain relief into a tea and Six slurped it down greedily. "How do you feel?" Tom asked him.
"Like a Faerie hound tried to bite my leg off and she finished the job with a hacksaw."
Mennvinn looked stricken, but Tom said, "Mennvinn saved your life."
Six grunted. "I know." He took a deep breath through gritted teeth. "Sorry. It’s the pain talking."
"Bad, is it?"
"That’s what I like about you, Tom," Six replied. "Your incisive insight. You see things others don’t."
Tom smiled despite himself. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed Six’s sarcasm and biting barbs until that moment. This was the Six he’d met in that tavern in Aeryie.
"Is there anything you need?"
"I rather fancy a leg. Got one you’re not using?"
It was a mask. He used it to hide his fear. So Tom said, "Mennvinn says the signs are good. And I’ve tasked Jarnstenn with engineering something to keep you walking."
"I heard you say the fay are made of the dead? Is that where I’ll go?"
You’re not going to die. That’s what he wanted to say. But he couldn’t. So he said, "You don’t look dead to me."
“Give me a chance.” Six forced a grin, but it didn’t touch his eyes. "It’s my first time dying."
Tom uttered silent thanks when Mennvinn interjected with, "You’re going to be fine." She was wrapping his stump in rags. "I’ve seen dwarfs with worse live long and healthy lives."
But Six ignored her. "Tell me I’ll live, Tom," he whispered
. He reached out, placed a hand on his shoulder. All enmity forgotten. Just pleading. Just begging Tom to give him hope. "Say it, and I’ll believe it."
Such as simple thing to ask. Tom wracked his memory for a foresight, anything that suggested Six would live. Nothing. So he closed his eyes, and tried to clear his thoughts. The father and the prayers, and fasting and charities, and calmness of the soul until death. Calmness of the soul until death. Calmness of the soul. Please, show me something of Six.
"I wasn’t able to lie for many years," he said to an old woman. "The truth is a hard habit to break."
"The truth is a dangerous habit to have." Her smile creased the tattoos on her face, all swirling lines in decreasing circles.
He stood before a door that towered over him, easily ten times his height, maybe more. "It’s a spell," he muttered.
He saw Jarnstenn stealing away from their camp in the dead of the night, only for Tom to step out of the dark and say, "We still have a ways to go before we turn back south."
And finally, he saw Six.
“You took her to Faerie,” the elf said.
“I did what had to be done,” Tom replied.
“She’ll hate you for that.”
“Perhaps.”
“I think I hate you for it, a little."
The foresights faded, and the cold and the whispers of the wind returned. Resignation was creeping into Six’s eyes, smothering his last embers of hope.
"I see you." Tom couldn’t help but smile. "We’re arguing."
The resignation didn’t vanish. But the hope remained. "Careful, Tom. Such a surprise might kill me yet."
Tom laughed. When had he last laughed? "I think you’ll live, Westerner."
“I’d better. Who else is going to keep you in check?"
Tom patted the elf’s hand. "Rest." And then he stood, arranged the watch, and waited for Jarnstenn to leave.
The dwarf didn't creep out of his tent until Gravinn took her watch. And when she asked him what he was doing, he said, "Leaving. Call out, if you like. But would you hold a fellow dwarf against his will?"
Tom couldn’t see them. He was sat behind Emyr’s tent, farthest from the fire and furthest south, huddled against the cold. He couldn’t feel his fingers or his toes, and he’d nodded off once or twice. He wanted to get this over with, so he could get into his tent and go to sleep.
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