The Shield of Weeping Ghosts - James P. Davis [29]
Shaking his head, Bastun resumed his place beside the portal, more comfortable with a puzzle of destructive magic than trying to figure out his fellow mortals.
Duras came to sit by him, wrapped in his cloak and sighing as he rested his legs.
"That was… bracing," he said quietly, his eyes drifting to Syrolf and Ohriman.
"No blood spilled," Bastun answered, still unsure of how to act around the warrior. "Well, not yet at any rate. How long do you suspect this truce will hold?"
"That depends." Duras raised an eyebrow as he considered the question. "Mostly on how much opposition we'll face at the Shield. And I say the more the merrier for this band."
"Common enemies," Bastun said, nodding.
"It does tend to keep the swords side by side," Duras replied.
Bastun recalled his vision of the phantoms surrounding the fang as they fought the weeping undead, their ghostly blades blurring alongside Rashemi steel.
"When you were fighting those things, did you… feel anything strange?" Bastun asked, unsure if what he'd seen was even real.
"Something." The warrior closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. "There was something-terribly cold. And a memory, as if I'd been here before, fighting the same battle. Does that make any sense?"
"Perhaps," Bastun replied, biting his lip and caressing the edges of a cracked rune in the portal. "I thought I saw something."
In truth Duras's memory meant far more to Bastun than he cared to say within earshot of the durthan and her lackey.
"I wouldn't have let Syrolf kill you," Duras said, interrupting the vremyonni's thoughts. "I want you to know that."
"Well," Bastun replied, looking around the hall and taking in the odd stare or two from the fang and the sellswords alike. Thaena kept to herself and had made no move toward the pair. "That makes two of us."
Duras smiled and glanced back at the durthan and Ohriman.
"Was Anilya right in what she said? Do you know what's happening here?"
"Not really." It was a safe lie, avoiding the fact that he couldn't truly know for sure. "Though I doubt we've seen the last of the Creel. In fact I suspect the durthan was telling the truth about what she saw before meeting us."
"Truly?" Duras raised an eyebrow. "Humph, then what is she lying about, I wonder?"
Bastun looked toward the durthan, who had ceased staring at him, and wondered at her true motives. She could not have known he knew anything about Shandaular, unless she was merely basing her guess on his luck with stopping the portal. It was common knowledge that the vremyonni had studied the city long before the Shield outpost was established by the wychlaren. However, Bastun was far too young to have been among those scholars. Bastun continued puzzling over the matter as the two groups rested in silence, waiting for Thaena to give the order to march.
+ + + + +
The ethran seemed to need no rest at all. She produced healing salves for the more seriously wounded among the fang and then paced in front of the hall's entrance. Bastun found moments of rest here and there, not really exhausted so much as trying not to appear impatient.
This became all the harder when the voices returned outside.
Scattered at first, he heard them swiftly gathering. He recalled the black tide of souls that had swept through the Creel earlier and imagined the waves of darkness rising in the streets. Slowly the others began to hear the voices as well, and Thaena clapped her hands together once to gain everyone's attention, the nearness of the spirits giving her an immediate audience.
Words were unnecessary as the fang stood at the ready. Anilya roused her men as well and joined Thaena at the entrance. Duras took his place at the head of the fang. The vremyonni took one last look at the broken pieces of Shandaular's portal, trying to hold the image of the Ilythiiri runes in his mind, then made his way toward the others.
"How far to the Shield, Duras?" Thaena asked.
"Less than a mile, directly south," he answered.
"We'll need to be quick," Anilya added as