Blood & Shadows

Nine

Geraent and Vrythien leave one of the stone houses as I make it back to the top of the hill. I can just make out the horses inside through the window as Geraent shuts the door behind them. Though I have no memories of what Razeth did, I know in my bones I was that half-elf. It leaves me trembling and cold no matter how tight I pull the blanket around me.

Vrythien and I lock eyes, he takes a step toward me and I shake my head. With a dip of his chin, he stops in his tracks. I enter the small rotted out hovel alone and let a torrent of tears stream down my cheeks. How many others did he involve in my torment? How long did the bard wait without hope?

I press myself into the corner and pull at fistfuls of my hair as silent tears soak into the blanket. I don't cry for myself. No, those tears are for the girl that no one helped when people knew. For the bard who endured torment at the hands of a blood Sorcerer and lost his only solace.

My heart aches as I sit amongst the cobwebs and broken moldering remains of furniture. The smell is horrid, but the darkness? Shadows here are thick and welcoming. Staring into that darkness brings me comfort enough to drift off into sleep.

Orange firelight bathes me as I open my eyes again. Thunder crashes as lightning cracks across the sky. Someone arranged a moldering pallet and set the book on top of it. There's a dry blanket and a parcel of food laid out again. By the hearth is a stack of firewood—fresh cut by the looks of it.

Is this Vrythien's doing? Or did Faeriel try to apologize? Either way I snatch up the parcel of food. Cheese, grapes, and a bit of bread. There's even a bottle of wine by the door. It has to be Vrythien. Faeriel wouldn't think of the wine. If he left this for me, where did he go?

The shutters are closed, and only the occasional rain drop trickles in despite the whispered hiss of the sheet of water hitting the stones above and the ground outside.

Deciding to wait for him, I read the last of the sorcerer's notes on the spell and add another log to the fire. As I watch the door he walks through it, soaked thoroughly by the rain, those silver locks sticking to his forehead as he smiles at me pushing back his hood.

"I thought I'd go hunting, but it would appear the rain had different ideas of how I should spend my evening." He snickers and pulls off his cloak and sets it before the hearth to dry. There's blood under his nails.

"I thought you didn't find anything?" At my question he flips his hand over and stairs at his nails tilting his head to the side a little.

"Oh, I came across a dying boar. Had to put the poor thing out of its misery. It was a rather sorry sight but that's the way of life, I suppose." He shrugs and opens the wine bottle. He takes a swig and makes a face. Brows knit as he sniffs the bottle and sets it back down. "The wine's off," even as he speaks his voice doesn't quite sound like him. I snatch the bottle up and the stench of bile burns my nostrils. I pick the cork up and smell it as Vrythien collapses. The cork smells fine. But that doesn't explain the smell.

My heart races. The only explanation is that the smell came from Vrythien.

"Let me see your mouth."

"No!" He snaps pushing me away as I near. He presses his forehead to the floor and whimpers, a soft pained noise that sounds so very sweet.

"I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong!" I take a step toward, and he waves me away. Fine if he doesn't want my help, I'll do what little I can from far away. With a breath I focus my power and release it. It takes a pile of a crumbling shelf and cabinet in the corner and turns it into a feather bed and a bucket, that knocks over and rolls to stop beside him. He sets it right-side up and lets out another half cry as he holds himself.