Bloodwalk - James P. Davis [85]
She hung her head as she said the last, as if divulging the last of her secrets. He expected the full sum of her secrets remained hidden, but he had what he needed and cared little for the rest.
Quinsareth stood a moment longer, anger and pity in his eyes, then turned and walked out without a word. Elisandrya followed. He could hear her purposeful stride gaining on him. He quickened his step as much to escape the temple as to avoid the look he imagined in her eyes.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"Wait!"
Elisandrya yelled against the storm's fury, roaring through the open doors of the temple. Quinsareth would not listen, intent on leaving and tired of talk. He'd had enough exchanges in the last few days to realize he had forgotten himself. He had become involved, and it threatened to compromise his judgment. His business was in the Qurth, in Jhareat. For learning that one fact, he was thankful for this diversion to Brookhollow. The sooner done, the sooner he could go.
"Stop, dammit!"
Elisandrya grabbed his arm before he could step out the doors, her tone angry and desperate. Reflexively he reached for Bedlam and met her eyes. His hand never touched the blade, nor had he wanted to, but her eyes tore into him more effectively than any sword. In her eyes he saw a person he admired, a person he might have aspired to be like, who knew the difference between hope and despair and strove to act on that knowledge. He saw the humanity he had abandoned and the will to do good he had dismissed as the dreamings of wide-eyed children beset by the evils of the world.
He was crushed in her stare.
"An assassin, then? Is that all?"
He pulled away and turned, closing the heavy doors and shutting out the storm. They could hear the echo of the sanctuary doors slamming shut. The silence that followed was almost humbling. Alone in the small foyer, surrounded by high windows and flashes of lightning, they stared at each other, emotions unbalanced by uncertainty and the presence of each other.
"Well?"
Eli's question hung between them.
"An assassin is a better man than I, Elisandrya. An assassin acts on behalf of his employer and receives good coin. I act only on behalf of the dead and receive little more than good riddance."
"I don't believe that. We saw each other plainly in those shadows you call a road. The dark of that place could not hide the good I saw in you."
"A mere trick of blood. I bear the curse of any aasimar who desires to walk a normal life, to be human…" He searched her stare, seeking understanding. "To have a choice."
She didn't respond, softening her stare a little. He didn't watch her long, afraid to see any glimmer of the pity to which he had no right. Instead, he walked into a patch of darkness, untouched by the few weak torches that lit the room. He looked up at the windows and watched as clouds churned and spat white fire, growling as they deluged the city with rain. Inwardly, he sought a truce between what he knew and what he felt. Quin struggled to reconcile his level of involvement with this woman and what he must do.
"Tell me about the Tower of Jhareat," he asked nonchalantly. "I gathered from Sameska's words that it is well known in this region?"
Eli stared into the distance, her thoughts miles away from his question. Pulling herself back, she answered. "That tale is from the end of the Calishite rule over the Border Kingdoms, and Shandolphyn's Reach in particular," she said, still staring blankly. "It begins with the death of a young woman.
"Her name was Zemaan. Captured and forced into slavery by the Calishite wizards who ruled Jhareat, she was the lover of a young Shaaryan warrior called Ossian. Many Shaaryans met the same fate as she, being fodder for the Calishites. It is said that Ossian swore an oath and vowed to destroy Jhareat. Many laughed at his wild boast, but the shamans of his tribe were not so dismissive.
"The tales are numerous about Ossian's exploits in gathering