That One Time I Went on a Quest

The Stone Graves

At the rate Kathanhiel is drinking suppressants we would run out by the week's end, and now that I know how it's made, she might as well be slowly poisoning herself. Finding an inn and taking it easy isn't really an option though.

Three days now we have spent walking along this gorge, and it seems to go on forever. Looking up, the sky is a thin blue thread sown onto cloven stone; no way anyone – anything – could spot us from up there. There is a whole network of gorges like this in the Endless Ranges – something to do with ancient rivers, I think – and at least a dozen have crossed our path, but Kathanhiel always knows which one to take. Of course she does.

Somehow, a week after a hole was put in my throat, I am fine with hiking from dawn to dusk. Heat pumps through my legs constantly – can't be blood. Blood doesn't feel like that.

The scab on my throat is still scorching hot.

I want to ask Kathanhiel about this; I want to ask her about a great many things – how we are supposed to look for Rutherford, what we could expect...but all that is trivial small talk. There is exactly one thing on both our minds:

'Talukiel couldn't have gotten away, my lady. The dragons, our people...'

Kathanhiel shakes her head. 'I need to watch him die.'

'Is it true, all that stuff he said? The Scouring at the Stone Graves?'

'He told you, did he?'

She doesn't say any more.

'My...lady?'

'What is there to say, Kastor?'

'I...I don't know.'

Right. There is no point. Regret feels the same, explanation or not; understanding doesn't make it go away.

We pass by a boulder of malachite that came from who knows where; seeing its bright hues stuck in the middle of this miserably brown gorge is like spotting a clown at a funeral. Carved on its surface, in a blend of blue, green, and chalky beige, is a sun with rays drawn on with dashed lines, and a crooked moon. The image is worn, almost indistinguishable.

Kathanhiel brushes her hand against it as we walk past, almost lingering. 'Ten years ago, Kaishen led me along this very path,' she says. 'It is nice here – the quiet, the sense of security. In the cities it had not been so pleasant. People used to yell at him on the street: "How dare you debase such a beautiful maiden like a beast of burden?!" I was carrying his inventory, as befit an esquire, and that somehow had a lot of people upset. He said that if I looked like a hag no one would bat an eye.'

She laughs quietly.

'Titles like Hero of the Realms, Slayer of...repulsed him. False names he used, always, so no one knew who he was. But he was from the House of Kai – at the time, the richest family in the Vassal States – and he was often careless about revealing his wealth. A young woman, travelling with an ill man with a fortune...easy prey we seemed. Eyes were always on us: thugs, bandits, traffickers...

'You killed them all.' The words escape before I could hold them back.

'Of course I did.' She shrugs. 'I slew thirteen at the Ford alone. When he came into my room and saw the pieces...I wish he had yelled at me. He did not. He didn't say a word. The next morning I was given a scabbard of quartz, cheap and shiny. He told me to wear my sword on the waist so that everyone could see it. I thought he had meant it as a compliment, that I should be proud of my skill.'

I laugh at that in spite of myself; she smiles in return. 'Pardon me, rambling on like an old woman.' She points ahead. 'Not far now. By midday we'll reach the Stone Graves, then we can take a break. Do we still have tea?'