The Shield of Weeping Ghosts - James P. Davis [16]
"Most of the fang will be fine," Duras said, "and they shall be more than ready should we encounter a second ambush."
"That is one thing I think we can be sure of," Syrolf said. "For all we know they could be on their way here now."
"No," said Duras, "I don't think they would brave pushing past the spirits we encountered to attack an enemy in a fortified position. At least, not until dawn."
"We will not wait for dawn," Thaena said, her voice firm. "These Nar have moved too close to Rashemen. They threaten our outpost at the Shield."
"Is that not the least bit coincidental?" Syrolf asked. Bastun could hear him pacing as he continued. "That the Nar are here? Now of all times?"
No one answered, and Syrolf stopped pacing. Bastun strained to hear, curious to know if these three knew something he didn't-or more importantly knew something that they shouldn't.
"What do you mean?" Thaena asked.
"Considering recent events and decisions made in-"
"Just get to the point, Syrolf," Duras said, an edge in his tone.
"The vremyonni," Syrolf answered. "No, I mean, the exile."
"You are suggesting that Bastun may be responsible for the Nar attack?" Thaena asked. "Ridiculous," Duras said.
"You haven't even considered the notion yourself?" Syrolf said. "On the ship we were attacked by rusalkas-in the presence of an ethran, no less! Now here we find Nar tribesmen and our safe paths compromised by their magic? Go downstairs and see for yourself. Not a soul down there hasn't considered that the exile is behind whatever is going on."
"There's no point!" Duras said. "What could Bastun possibly gain?"
"It is not my business to think like an exile or a murderer," Syrolf answered, "but I have some experience in trusting my gut… and keeping a sharp eye on one who has made it clear that his loyalties do not lie with Rashemen."
SyrolPs words hung in the air. Bastun fought the scream building in his chest, the pressure of his frustration almost too much to bear as he pretended to doze against the wall.
"Bastun is not a murderer," Duras said at length, his voice low, but Bastun could hear a menacing tone behind the words. He could imagine the burning stare between the two.
"And you know this for sure?" Syrolf said. "As I heard the tale, the evidence at the vremyonni's trial told an uneven tale. The theft of several scrolls? He didn't have them, but he knew what was in them. I heard they spoke of Shandaular. The death of Keffrass? No solid evidence, but he was the only one there. He stood at that trial, with the sole possession of his dead master in his hands, and requested to be exiled. A sentence traditionally carried out here in this place. He knew exactly where he would be taken."
"Do you question the judgment of your superiors, Syrolf?" Duras's voice rose further.
"Should I even bring up what they say about his sister-?"
"Enough!" Thaena snapped, and the pair fell silent.
Bastun gripped his staff tighdy in trembling hands, his thumb resting in the weapon's narrow scar as he counted his heartbeats one by one until they slowed. Though Syrolf had said little of the details, Bastun's thoughts raced with memories of the past.
"I apologize, ethran," Duras said. '
Syrolf said nothing. Thaena walked toward the wall closest to Bastun, just above him. He imagined she looked out over Shandaular from thЈ arrow slit there just as he had. She could surely feel as well as he that something was amiss in the fragile order the wychlaren had established in