A LEGACY OF LIGHT

RUNE

RUNE

"So I suppose you want to know about that night," Valien rasped, took a swing of spirits, and slammed down his mug. "The night I saved your life. Don't deny it, boy; you've been burning to ask. I've seen it in your eyes since Kaelyn dragged you into this place."

Rune stood at the entrance to Valien's dark, dusty chamber. Candles, bottles, and books covered the shelves. A spider wove a web in the corner. A log crackled in the hearth. Valien sat at an oaken table, his scruff thickening into a beard, and drank from his mug. His grizzled hair hung wild around his face--a face as rough and leathery as the ancient codices around them.

"Did you summon me here," Rune asked from the doorway, "to tell me the tale?"

Valien grumbled and snorted something that sounded like a laugh. He drank again, swishing the spirits before swallowing, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

"Ah!" he said. "Seemed as good a night as any to remember. I've had a bit... to drink. In with spirits, out with secrets, they say." He slapped his palm against the table. "If I didn't summon you, you'd be coming here soon enough to ask. I reckoned we'd talk when I'm nice and ready, with a hearth fire warming my bones and rye warming my belly. Come on. Step in. Sit down. Make yourself at home and all that, as you innkeepers say."

Rune hesitated. He had seen Valien gruff before. Stars, the man was always scowling and rasping and cursing. But this--this was worse. Valien's voice was slurred and scratchier than ever, and something about that invitation seemed less than welcoming.

"Come on, boy!" Valien said again. "Aye, I'm a bit drunk, but I won't hurt you. Sit down. I have some memories to spill, and well... you're the one to listen."

Rune did not want to enter this room. He wanted to return to the main hall, walk outside and look at the stars, or seek Kaelyn in her chambers; he had begun to teach her mancala, using a board he'd carved himself. At the same time... Valien was right. Rune had wanted to ask these questions, to learn more about that night. He knew the story, of course--everyone in Requiem did. He too had heard of Valien Eleison battling Frey Cadigus, snatching the last heir, and smuggling the babe out of the palace. Yet all those stories had been told in taverns, or at military rallies, or in dark caverns. Here before him stood the man himself, the great outlaw, the rebel leader; here was the story of Rune's life.

Rune entered the room, pulled back a chair, and sat at the table. Valien leaned forward and fixed him with a red-rimmed glare.

"They say you battled a hundred men with a broken sword," Rune said, "all the while holding the Aeternum babe--me--in one hand."

"Aye," Valien agreed. "They also say that Frey Cadigus stands eight feet tall and the sun waits for him to piss every morning before it rises. What do you believe, Rune?"

He thought about this for a moment. He answered carefully.

"I think," he said, "that I would very much like a bit of whatever you're drinking."

When Rune too held a mug and the warmth spread through him, he allowed himself to lean back. Valien seemed less frightening through the glaze of spirits, and after all, Rune had seen many drunken warriors at the Old Wheel.

"You're eighteen now, are you?" Valien asked after another gulp of the rye.

Rune nodded. "Almost--a moon away. If I were eighteen already, I'd have been drafted last recruitment with my friends."