Cinnabar Shadows

Epilogue

In waking dreams, Pavek remembered being helped to an improvised bed. Someone apologized, saying there wasn't a single piece of linen anywhere large enough to cover him from head to foot. He remembered laughing and then falling asleep. He remembered sunlight and food and more apologies because, wounded though he was, he'd have to sleep under the stars; the houses were too small. He remembered wondering where he was, and then sleeping some more.

The sun was at its height when his eyes opened again, clear-headed and ready to deal with the man who'd awakened him.

"Do you think you'll live, Lord Pavek?" Commandant Javed asked with his usual cryptic smile.

Pavek shoved himself up on one elbow. Every muscle ached and every ache brought back a memory. By the time he was sitting, he'd recalled it all: from putting on a silk shirt to Mahtra carrying Kakzim's head in a silk shirt sleeve. There was a day and a night's worth of dreamless heartbeats between him and those memories.

"If I'm not dead now—" "Your life was never in danger," the veteran elf assured him quickly. "A few nicks and scratches, a bit more running than you're used to—" He grinned again. "But you'll mend."

When he opened his eyes, Mahtra stood behind Javed. Her shoulder wasn't bandaged; there were no scabs or scars. He wondered if he had dreamed.

"The child heals quickly," Javed confided in a whisper. "Remarkable. I've never met anyone like her."

Pavek nodded. It was a relief, a guilt-ridden relief, to know he didn't have to think about what would happen to her. He was going to need every thought he had to get himself pointed at the future again.

"It's time for another decision, my lord," Javed said, and Pavek groaned—only half in jest. "We've done what we came to do. There are two maniples camped out in the trees here, cramped, hungry, and itching to get home. There are two men bound to bed and not likely to get up for another week. And there's you. You can head for home now—I judge your legs are equal to the mountains, if we take them a bit slower than we did the last time. Or you can stay here, heal up some more, and come home a bit later. You understand, my lord, you're in charge still, and there's no one leaving here without your say-so."

"Two injured men?" Pavek mused aloud. Of everything Javed had said, those were the words that stuck in his mind. They'd lost a templar to halfling poison, but she wasn't a man. "Zvain—?" he asked anxiously. In his memory, the boy had looked lively enough beneath his bandage—at least before Pavek had fallen on him, whenever, wherever that had happened—if it weren't another dream.

Javed grimaced. "Not him. I'd forgotten him—or tried to. He's fine. Says he'll do whatever you do: stay or leave."

"Who's injured then? I don't remember," Pavek scratched his head, as if knowledge seeped through his scalp.

"A noisy dwarf from Ject—you remember Ject, the village south of here on the far side of the mountains? And that half-elf friend—"

"—Ruari? Ruari's alive?" Pavek caught himself reaching for Javed's hands. "He didn't die on Kakzim's tree?"

"No," Mahtra said, cocking her head. "I told you. You heard me, Lord Javed, didn't you? I told him first thing, as you were pulling him out of the water." She turned back to Pavek. "You didn't pay any attention!"

"I didn't hear." Pavek hid his face behind his hands, unsure if he would laugh or cry, and did neither as the emotions shattered against each other. He uncovered his face. "How is he? Where is he?"

Javed put a hand on Pavek's shoulder, holding him down with very little effort.

"Where he is, is over there—" A black arm reached toward the other side of the halfling village where another improvised bed held another tall man, a copper-haired man whose copper hair was the only unbandaged part of him. "How he is, is surviving, mending bit by bit. They damn near killed him, those BlackTree halflings. If it had been up to me, I'd've slain the lot of them—even for a half-breed bastard. But, I've taken your measure, my lord, and I didn't think you'd approve. If I was wrong, Lord Pavek—?"

Another smile, which Pavek gamely returned. "No, you've measured me right, Commandant, and you have my leave to take the maniples back to Urik. I choose to stay here, with my friends."

The commandant nodded. An elf could always appreciate the notion of friendship, even if he didn't appreciate the friends. "Your permission, my lord, I'll take the head with me, as proof of what we've accomplished. Somehow, I think it might be a while before you and your friends wander back to Urik. If you listen to that dwarf, you'll waste the rest of your life looking for halfling treasure!"

Not treasure, Pavek thought, but a lion and a knife...

He said good-bye to them later that afternoon. Then, with Zvain on one side and a talkative dwarf named Orekel bending his ear on the other, Pavek took up vigil at Ruari's side.