“He’s an acquired taste,” Co said, amused, “though I must confess that I am not entirely sure that I have yet acquired it, nor that I will, even given such time as I might have left to me.”
Aaron grunted, “Just be glad I haven’t yet acquired a muzzle that will work on floating balls of light, firefly.”
“Firefly?” Aliandra said, her voice the perfect mimicry of an outraged noblewoman’s, “I will have you know, sir, that you speak to—”
“None of that, sister,” Co interrupted, “I am what I am, and nothing more. Not any longer.”
The orange Virtue huffed again, “Still, it isn’t right for him to speak to you so. Did you know,” she said, turning, and somehow Aaron once more felt her regard, “that I was worshipped for nearly a thousand years?”
Aaron smiled, “You might have mentioned it.”
“Yes, well,” the Virtue said, as if thrown off by the lack of affect her words had, “It’s true. Anyway, I wonder, sister, if we might not talk somewhere a little more … private?”
“Oh, I would love to, of course, Aliandra. Only ...” She turned, and Aaron felt her regard. “I don’t think it would be wise. Maybe another time or—”
“Oh, your Majesty, we’ll be fine,” Aaron said, not completely managing to hide his grin, “please, go and catch up with your friend. Take all the time you need.” The magenta light of which Co was made grew noticeably darker at his words, a storm seeming to swirl inside of it.
“Better,” Aliandra said, “though ‘your Majesty’ isn’t technically—”
“Very well,” Co interrupted, “let us remove ourselves a bit, sister, so that we might talk. Do not fret, Aaron, Leomin. We will return soon.”
Aaron grinned, “Oh, don’t hurry on our account. Take your time. Catch up.”
“Fine,” Co snarled and then they were gone, two streaks of light vanishing into the dark forest.
“Ah, Leomin,” Aaron said, “if your story didn’t made me pity you, now I certainly do. I cannot imagine what tortures you must have gone through with that one.”
The Parnen laughed, “Oh, Aliandra isn’t so bad, Mr. Envelar. She is a character, that’s certain. Though … I wonder, can a character without a body still be called a character? I confess I’m not sure. Suffice to say, that though she might seem … difficult at first, Aliandra has saved me and those I care about more times than I care to count. Indeed, if not for her I would have been dead and gone long before you and I ever met.”
Aaron grunted, “Dead and gone, huh? That might be preferable.”
Leomin laughed, and Aaron was glad to see that the dark mood that had overtaken the Parnen captain seemed nowhere in evidence. “Oh, Mr. Envelar, but I do enjoy your way of seeing the world.”
Aaron shrugged, “The world is what the world is, Leomin. All I do is try to clear the dirt out of my eyes to see the truth of things. Anyway, what is she the Virtue of, exactly? All I can say is that, just now, I’m enjoying the virtue of her absence.”
Leomin grinned, “Ah, yes. Well, Aliandra is, of course, the Virtue of Charisma.”
“Charisma, huh?” Aaron asked, “So she’s supposed to be able to make people like her? And you?”
Leomin frowned, “Well, there is, of course, more to it than that, but I suppose it is an accurate enough definition … if a bit rough.”
Aaron grunted, “I think she’s broken.”
Leomin shook his head, “I assure you that when Aliandra unleashes her charm, there are few men—or women, for that matter—who can resist it.”
Aaron frowned at that, thinking. Then he scowled, “Do you mean to tell me … the women at the tavern?”
Leomin coughed delicately, “Yes, well. The thing you have to understand, Mr. Envelar, is that I have been bonded with Aliandra since I was a child. Over such a great length of time, Kevlane’s bond produces unexpected effects. One of the things the stories do not mention—I know, I’ve checked—is that through their bond, a man and a Virtue are both changed by the other. So that, after years of the bond strengthening, neither are what they once were.”
“So what you’re saying,” Aaron said, “is that you used the Virtue of Charisma to seduce three women into your bed.”
Leomin avoided his eyes, “It is not so simple a thing as ‘using’ anything, Mr. Envelar. What I’m trying to say is that, after so long, the bond has a pronounced effect. I am no longer the man I was before bonding Aliandra, nor, I suspect, is she the same as she was before bonding me.”
“I wonder if that makes her more of a pain in the ass or less.”
“Yes, well, my point is that the bond exerts itself even when I do not intend it, that even in normal conversation, my actions and words and, more importantly, the way people perceive those actions and words is changed because of the bond.”
“Basically meaning that you can’t help how charming you are.”
Leomin opened his mouth as if to disagree then hesitated, finally sighing. “Crude, but true enough.”
Aaron considered that. “Well, I suppose that might work on three women whose parents never taught them any better, but I have to be honest with you Leomin. The first time I met you I seriously considered turning myself into Belgarin. Figured there wasn’t any torture he could inflict on me that would be any worse than what you were putting me through.”
Leomin grinned, “No offense taken, of course. You see, I have long suspected that the bearing of a Virtue somewhat insulates the bonded from the effects of other Virtues. I had cause to believe this when that man, Aster, boarded my ship and your saying so only confirms my beliefs. And forgive me, though I think I know, I would like to confirm something. Which Virtue is it that you possess?”
Aaron sighed. “Well, Leomin, I’ve got the Virtue of getting weepy when I see a hungry dog in the street.”
“Ah, Compassion, then.”
Aaron shrugged, “A shorter name for it, anyway.”
“Yes,” Leomin said, a troubled expression on his face, “then there are two of us. Here. Together.”
Aaron cocked his head, “Is there something on your mind, Leomin?”
The Parnen met Aaron’s eyes, “As I told you, I have been bonded with Aliandra for most of my life, and I have had the unfortunate opportunity to learn a few things. Primarily, that there are those out there, Mr. Envelar, who seek the Virtues, who bend their will always toward finding them with the goal of uniting them together within themselves. It is believed that such a thing would create a warrior who was nigh on immortal. A man as above us as the gods themselves. Such a calling, it needn’t be said, is not undertaken by those with altruistic intentions.”
Aaron said, “Well, it’s a big world, Leomin. I don’t think there’s too good a chance of the seven of us stumbling into each other.”
“There you’re wrong, Mr. Envelar,” Leomin said, “though I wish you were not. You see, the Virtues, having been created within the same failed ritual, call to each other. It is not something they do intentionally, nor something that they can control. The truth is, it isn’t even something as specific as being able to follow a trail to one another. However, if one bearing a Virtue were in the same city, say, as another? Then, were he trained in the use of his Virtue, he would know it and, most likely, he would come looking.”
Aaron considered that. Co had never mentioned such a thing, but, he supposed, he hadn’t asked. “So, then, you using your power on those people back at the gate….”
Leomin swallowed, nodding, “Was like lighting a beacon fire to any with the eyes to see it. Such a thing will lead those who follow it out of the western gate of Baresh in the direction through which we came. The truth is, Mr. Envelar, I am afraid.”
Aaron sighed, “Well. What are a few more wanting to kill us when there’s already an army in line? And speaking of truths, there’s something I don’t understand, Leomin.”
“Then ask it, Mr. Envelar. I will answer you, if I can.”
“From everything you’ve told me, your peo
ple went to great lengths to protect the world from the Virtue, believing it was their sacred duty to keep it out of the hands of those who might use it to cause harm.”
Leomin nodded, “It is so.”
Aaron met the Parnen’s eyes, “Why, then, are you here with us and not sitting in some church with blisters on your ass and holy women praying and shaking beads around your head?”
An embarrassed look came over the Parnen’s face, and he studied his feet. “Yes, that. Well … you see … I ran away.”
Aaron nodded, “I figured as much.”
“You must understand, Mr. Envelar,” Leomin said, obviously anxious to defend his actions, “I knew the importance of what my people told me, of what I was chosen for but … well, the bond grew stronger, and I grew less and less like myself. The Parnen are a quiet, conservative people, and, as a child, I was thought reserved even among my own kind. But the bond changed me. And, I must confess, it was not only that. After twelve years living among the holy women, looked at as little more than a vessel to be cleaned and kept safe, I just….” He paused, glancing at Aaron with something like desperation in his face, as if he needed to make Aaron understand. “It’s only—”
“Look, Leomin,” Aaron said, “you don’t have to defend yourself to me. I wouldn’t have made it twelve weeks, let alone twelve years. Shit, man, sitting around all day while women scowl at you and tell you how to behave? Gods, you might as well have been married.”
Leomin let his breath out in a heavy sigh of relief. “Thank you, Mr. Envelar. For understanding.”
Thinking of women and marriage, Aaron found his gaze drifting into the darkness where he knew, not far away, Adina lay down sleeping. Don’t be a fool, he told himself. Still, his gaze lingered there even as he spoke. “How long do you think, Leomin, before these people you were talking about—these Virtue hunters—find the trail you left?”
Leomin considered that then finally shrugged, “There is no way to tell for sure. Much depends on how near or far they were when they felt it—and feel it they did, I assure you. That is one of the primary reasons I resist using my Virtue in such ways. My people had a saying—power calls to power—and, in my experience, it is one of the few things they got right. Those who come may be far away, and it may be many days before we see them, but they will come, Mr. Envelar. This I know.”
“Alright,” Aaron said, “well, the best we can do is be on the lookout for—” he cut off as the two Virtues came whisking through the air side by side.
They came to an abrupt stop a few feet in front of their respective Pairings, and Aaron raised an eyebrow. “What was that, a race?”
“Of course not,” Co scoffed, “We are not children to go racing through the night without a care in the world.”
“Don’t be absurd,” Aliandra put in, “Though if it were a race, clearly—”
“We came back,” Co interrupted, “because, as I was telling Aliandra, there are more important things to be about then chatting. We can catch up on the last thousand years later.”
“Yes, absolutely,” Aliandra put in, “though you must not let me forget to tell you about the man’s hands, sister. They were so big that—”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Co said, and Aaron could hear the embarrassment in her voice, “we will speak of it later, Aliandra.”
Aaron grinned, but he thought again of the forces arrayed against them, thought of Adina lying not far away, asleep, willing to take on the world despite an outcome that was obvious enough a blind man could see it, and the smile died on his face. “Well, you’re right about one thing, firefly. We’ve more important things to do then chat.” He turned to Leomin, “You need to get some sleep. It won’t be any good for both of us to be exhausted.”
The Parnen nodded and rose, the orange Virtue drifting inside of him until it was no longer visible. “Sleep well, Mr. Envelar.”
Aaron nodded and watched the man go. Sleep well? He thought. I’ll be lucky to sleep at all.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
They woke early the next morning and spoke little as they prepared the horses and departed the campsite, heading back to the main road. Even without his bond with Co, Aaron could have felt the tension in the air; a palpable sense of danger that made each noise of the woods around them too sharp, too loud.
The night had been quiet after Leomin went to bed, and Aaron almost wished that it hadn’t been. His life, he realized, had to this point been largely made up of situations in which he reacted instead of acted and rarely did he have time to think about the dangers of something before he was faced with it. Rarely had he had such an opportunity to consider all that he could lose. It would have been better, he decided, if something or someone had come in the night. At least then, he would have had something to fight against.
He found his mind wandering back to his time at the orphanage with Owen, his best and only friend. There had been a game they’d play where they would take turns walking into dark alleys at night, proving there were no monsters, until their courage abandoned them, and they came running back. A foolish game, Aaron knew now, for there were monsters waiting in the darkness. They might not have dagger-long fangs and scales, might wear the faces of men, even speak with a man’s voice, but they were monsters just the same.
He did not remember ever even enjoying the game, but they had played it nevertheless; as, he thought, many children did. A game against one’s self, a game that, in the end, you could only lose, but that you would play anyway. Had to play anyway. At least, that was, until the headmaster, Cyrille, had beaten Owen to death and disposed of the body, not even giving Aaron the opportunity to mourn his friend, saying only that he was gone, that he’d left in the night.
It had been a lie—everyone knew that—and it had been that lie that had led to Aaron murdering Cyrille and that killing, at least, he did not regret. One less monster in a world full of them.
The fear he felt now, though, was stronger even than he’d felt as a child, wandering into the darkness. Then, they had gone into the darkness on their own time, of their own minds. Now, he felt that the darkness was coming for them. Felt it coming, the way some men or women might smell a storm approaching, and so he rode in silence, looking behind them from time to time and finding no comfort in the fact that nothing was there. It would be, he knew, sooner or later.
A week passed, each day seeming harder than the last. Each near sleepless night leaving them wearier than the last. They spoke only when necessary and their voices seemed to carry a strain each time they did. It was as if they labored under some great, invisible weight that made talking difficult and all but pointless. Leomin tried to start conversations a few times, a forced joviality in his voice, but his words didn’t sound like words at all to Aaron, but the sound of a child whistling in the darkness, telling himself the lie that everything was okay and that everything would be okay.
Adina too remained silent, clearly troubled, and Aaron wanted to speak to them, to tell them that it would all work out. The problem, of course, was that he’d lost the ability to lie to himself long ago, back when his father and mother had been murdered, when he’d stumbled wearily down the steps of his home until his bare feet came to rest in a pool of his parents’ spreading blood. Since then, he’d only been able to see the world for what it was—dark and getting darker.
On the twelfth day, the woods that had surrounded them gave way to fields of grass as high as their ankles, the road cutting between them. The sun was setting when they stopped at an abandoned barn for the night, tethering their horses outside. “I’ll take first watch,” Leomin said once they’d finished.
Aaron turned to the Parnen, surprised at the weariness and resignation he heard in the man’s tone. “You sure? I don’t mind.”
Leomin tried a smile, but the expression withered on his face and he let it drop, shrugging instead. “I’m not very tired.”
Aaron studied the man, noting the circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders were s
lumped with exhaustion. A lie, then, but just because he could not comfort himself with little lies did not mean he would begrudge others theirs. “Alright,” he said, “wake me when you’re ready to switch.”
“No, Leomin,” Adina said, “it’s my turn for first watch. You should get some rest.”
The Parnen captain smiled, “Ah, princess, but you would be doing me a favor, truly. A long day’s travel makes it difficult for me to sleep, and I would only lie awake, exhausted and unsleeping, until my turn at watch came. This way, when I do lie down, I will at least be able to get some rest.”
Adina considered him for several seconds, “Are you sure?”
The Parnen nodded, “I’m sure. Only, I would like to have a talk with Mr. Envelar for a moment, if that’s not too much to ask.”
Adina frowned, “More secrets, Leomin?”
The Parnen held up his hands to his sides, “My secrets lay before you, princess. They are cheap and tawdry things, and I would not want you to soil your hands grasping them.”
Adina sighed heavily, “Have it your way, Leomin. For now. Once we reach Isabelle’s kingdom, I will ask you the truth of things, and I will expect an answer.”
Leomin nodded his head, “And you will have it, princess. I promise you. I ask only that you forgive a strange man his strangeness, for it is all he has.”
Adina glanced at Aaron, meeting his eyes, before taking her bedroll and disappearing into the barn.
Leomin turned to look back the way they’d come, over the miles of fields and into the distant woods, his expression troubled as if he’d forgotten he’d asked to speak with Aaron at all.
Aaron frowned and walked up to him, following his gaze. “You feel something.”
Leomin frowned, “Perhaps. I cannot be certain, but I think that whoever, or whatever follows us draws near, Mr. Envelar.”
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