Stars of Pale Fire

XI. An Excellent Liar.

It's with an extreme amount of effort that Elyon and Gwynestri extricate the group from the king's clutches the next morning. They manage to hit the road by noon, which is a relief, and despite Elyon's insistence otherwise they end up with two new packhorses and enough rations for a small army.

"Honestly," Elyon complains as they ride, "we don't even eat that much."

"Speak for yourself," Gwynestri says, casting an askance glance at Clover and Eithulf, who are deeply engrossed in their own silent conversation, riding side-by-side. She looks back at Elyon and says with utmost confidence, "We'll be fine, El."

"Well, thanks to His Kingship, we've been set back a week. Maybe two, considering I lost the trail." Elyon huffs irritably. "Life would be so much easier if I was a hermit."

"You are a hermit," Gwynestri tells him. "We're both hermits. Together."

Silver looks at them in silence. He wonders if he should mention that it's impossible to be hermits together, considering the nature of the word. A hermit is a person who lives in solitude, according to the encyclopedia that apparently just lives in his brain. Usually for religious reasons, though Silver can't picture Elyon as someone who is religious in any capacity. Elyon seems to live on his own terms.

"Wait!" Elyon calls, dismounting sharply. The whole party groans aloud.

"Elyon, if you're wrong again, I'm going to stab you while you sleep," Halberd threatens. "This is the third time in an hour."

Elyon ignores him, getting down and intently rooting in the grass. Silver watches him listlessly, and Reaper barks once, as if to say, hurry up. That's impossible, of course, since Reaper can't speak. He's a dog. A huge one, but a dog. Silver watches Elyon wearily as Elyon digs in the grass like he's harvesting a crop. Reaper barks again, and runs over to Elyon, beginning to dig.

And just like that, Silver's head bursts apart.

The sun above is hotter than death, beating on the back of his neck like a brand, and he ignores it, sinking his fingernails into the earth and digging deeper, deeper, deeper. Amaranth and Gleaner watch him, both their eyes unreadable. Silver ignores them, as is his custom. His fingers hurt, and he can feel dirt in every crevice and pore, but he ignores it all. He wipes sweat from his forehead, exhales harshly, and continues.

"Cela," Amaranth calls wearily, her hard contralto wearier than usual. "There's no treasure out here. It's been taken already."

"Shut up," Silver snaps, though he knows it's true. There's nothing here but dirt, and more dirt, and a truly excessive amount of dirt. Seriously, so much dirt. With a frustrated sigh, he gives up, and hauls himself out of the hole. Gleaner wags her tail excitedly, bopping him in the face with a huge, gray paw. "Ow."

"Come on," Amaranth says, clasping his hand and pulling him out. "Let's find something else to do, besides digging around in the dirt."

Silver snaps out of it to the sharp sound of someone clapping directly in front of his face. He all but jumps out of his skin, and looks at Halberd, annoyed. Halberd looks back, his expression unreadable as a stone wall with a small angry face carved into one of the stones. Silver blinks sharply, his eyes throbbing.

"I'm fine," he mutters, pulling Knife away from Halberd's accusing stare. He nearly runs right into Glaive, who looks more like someone drew the small angry face across her forehead in ink and she just realized.

Across the way, Elyon gives up on digging. He returns looking disgruntled, so everyone politely ignores that he made them stop so he could dig around in the dirt like a mole.