Blood & Shadows

Fifteen

As the sun peaks directly overhead, I hear the hammer of that power come down again. The hair on the back of my neck stands up as I turn from my reading to Geraent's body. Faeriel lays on the ground twitching, but Geraent's bare chest rises and falls slowly and evenly.

Cerys answered her prayers.

"Fuck. She did it." Vrythien states the obvious as I rush over to Faeriel. Blood drips from her eyes, nose, and ears. It's the late stages of Overwhelming.

"Don't pray, don't even think about Cerys," I whisper as I shove a thick twig between her teeth, so she doesn't bite off her tongue in her tremors. I hold her hands as her wild eyes glance up at the pillar where Geraent's laid for two days. "You did it. Rest now. You brought him back." I smooth her hair and feel her body slowly give in to exhaustion. She'll need rest, water, and food. It'll be days before she's on her feet, if not a week.

Vrythien comes over with that slow, easy, graceful gait; the way he moves, even his walk, seems a carefully practiced dance. I wonder if he even remembers how he walked before the brothel or Lord Lazthien taught him how to lure people in.

"So, she's succeeded in bringing him back to life and turning us into nursemaids," he crosses his arms and lets out a sigh.

"We can't stay here any longer."

"Yes, that's rather obvious. I hear something in the distance. We have at most a day before someone comes upon us."

"We don't have any gold; I suppose we could sell the horses." I shake my head. "We need a spot where I'll be able to recover because after I sever the Threads of Fate, I'm not going to look much better than Faeriel does right now."

He chews on his bottom lip. "If you can get us to the edge of the Outercity near the docks, there's a place where we can hide for a few days." There's something so very sad about his tone.

"Can't we just take stuff from the crypt and sell it?"

He tilts his head to the side and scoffs. "I'm not a grave robber, you know. I do have my limits. It's such dirty business."

"Fine. Shove them on the back of the horse, I'll pack up camp, and we'll worry about where the hells we're going once we're finished."

I pack everything up, half using my magic to make sure everything fits back nice and neat in the saddle bags. While tucking the book of Mazzara away I come across the ring Lord Lazthien made me swear I'd take to his family crypt. With a soft sigh, I turn it over in my hand before slipping it back between the folds of linen.

That's the last thing I'll do in Azara's name. Bury the bard and take the ring to the crypt.

With a nod, I pat the saddlebag as Vrythien secures them to the horse. I don't know what I'm doing. It's a pretty thing to say just go to the city and figure it out there and another thing entirely to do it. The good thing about it all is that, at the very least, Razeth won't be looking for us in Saelis's Watch.

"To the docks, I suppose," even as I say it, I can picture the docks in my mind and smell the stench of the sailors and the boats--not to mention the water. With a deep breath, I reach out with my powers and create a portal that swirls with that seething black smokey shadow. We both walk through leading the horses with Geraent and Faeriel unconscious on their backs.

Saelis's Watch. The sound of the city alone makes me homesick in a way I can't place. The constant murmur of people that make their way through the packed streets. The stench. Garlic, rum, sweat, animal, and the rot of the fish barrels. It's so foul I can taste it, but oh, how a piece of me missed it and the excitement of it all.