The Shield of Weeping Ghosts - James P. Davis [15]
"You wasted no time ignoring the rules of your exile, Bastun," Thaena said, still looking forward.
"I did what I thought best," he replied. "I-I meant no disrespect."
"The Nar have… changed things," she said, her eyes scanning the shadows among the ruin, and let the matter of rules and laws drop. He too could not keep from wondering if another ambush awaited them, though his heart raced at her nearness. "The Shield s hathran may be in need of our assistance."
"You suspect the Shield to be in danger?" he asked.
"I can imagine few other reasons for the Nar to be here, in this broken city," she said, echoing his thoughts. "And no one comes here without a good reason."
He said nothing else, thinking of his own reasons for being brought here and the life he might know upon leaving again. The presence of his old friends tangled his thoughts and hopes for a different life. At the moment he wished that the wychlaren had chosen someone else to lead this mission, someone he could look straight through and despise without complication.
Thaena glanced at him, her eyes unreadable within the wychlaren mask, and whispered, "Thank you, Bastun-for ignoring the rules."
"There's no need, Thaena, I-" he said, trying to catch her eye before she returned to careful study of the dark corners they passed, but she seemed already far distant again, "It's nice… to hear something familiar."
"Familiar?"
"Your voice, speaking my name," he said. "It's been a long time."
She looked at him once, before quickening her stride to join Duras at the head of the formation. Bastun watched her until she became just another blur in the fog, another set of anonymous footprints in the snow. Sighing, he chided himself and shook his head.
"You're welcome," he said under his breath.
After his sister's funeral he had not been allowed to meet or speak with anyone before being taken away to the Running Rocks. The wychlaren had thought it best. The rumors were spreading, and due to his magical talent he would be joining the vremyonni. They thought that with time the stories would be forgotten and that the rumors would fade away. Thaena and Duras had become a dream and Ulsera a nightmare. Seeing his old friends both now made that dream more real and his nightmare even more so-the memory that he had been the one to send Ulsera to her death.
The snow grew deeper as they walked, the footsteps before and behind Bastun growing louder and more forced. Even in the wind he could hear the return of the whispers. Glancing over his shoulder, Bastun saw Syrolf striding close on his heels as if leading an angry mob, which he likely did. The fang called him prejhenovani, or "one who summons evil"-and considering the Nar attack, Bastun felt inclined to agree. Misfortune seemed a traveling companion he could not shake.
He looked to each of the obelisks they'd passed before the ambush, and he contemplated the ash smeared in Nar symbols atop them. The warriors they'd fought could be the least of their worries if they encountered the author of those symbols.
Chapter Four
Cracks in the stone gatehouse were encrusted with ice unaffected by torches or the gathering warmth of so many bodies inside the lowest level. The stone had charred, but not so much as the structures within the third wall, the ones closest to the Shield where demons had swarmed among the flames and screams.
Every few moments, when wind stirred the fog, the faint silhouette of the distant fortress appeared. Bastun marveled at the endurance of such a monument-hidden for so long, forgotten by the world-and shuddered at the thought of what lay buried inside.
In a corner of the room, through a small arrow slit, he stared outside and listened for the voice of Thaena. She had taken