The Shield of Weeping Ghosts - James P. Davis [44]
The ones he sought would be more enduring, as the protected texts of wizards usually were.
Fear led him from shelf to shelf, book to book, searching for anything that might lead him to the Breath. There was no way to know how long the haunting might leave him in peace. Over and over the spirits' last words marched in his mind.
Though the Breath drove his search, their mention of the Word intensified it.
+ + + + +
"He's gone."
Syrolf strode across the room, sidestepping Duras and Thaena as he drew his sword. Following his gaze, the ethran's eyes narrowed as she realized her mistake. Bastun had disappeared.
"Search the walls!" she commanded, suspecting the vre-myonni's knowledge of the Shield had allowed him to slip away through some secret passage. The fang responded instantly, though Duras stayed at her side, the expression on his face unreadable.
"Are you surprised he left?" he asked.
"Not entirely."
"He did nothing wrong, Thaena. If Syrolf had his way-" "He'd have killed him," Thaena replied coldly and found herself somewhat unmoved by the fact. The look of shock on Duras's face caused her to look away, unable to deal with his loyalty to an old friend in light of the death that surrounded them. "Bastun was selfish. He might have stayed and helped us against the Creel. He could have helped us protect Rashemen and take at least that much dignity with him into exile."
Stepping away from Duras, she watched the fang tear down tapestries and drag them over the bodies to better inspect the columns and walls. The tapestries, maintained by simple cantrips, depicted scenes of Shandaular's founding and daily life. Bright colors and the woven history of a hopeful past hid faces of the dead in a grim present. Somehow the image haunted her, and a pang of fear stabbed through her heart, almost like the memory of a dream.
"So you think Syrolf is right, that Bastun is a murderer and a traitor?" Duras said from behind her.
Turning, she saw the confusion in his eyes. Despite his strength and ferocity in battle, there was an innocence in the big warrior that had drawn her to him. An innocence that was infuriating at times.
"What has he done to prove Syrolf wrong?" she asked.
"Bastun has nothing to prove. We both know that."
"Do we? What do we really know about Bastun? He's been gone from both of our lives for so long, you can't possibly know that he can be trusted now. Why do you defend him?"
"Because no one else will," he answered, and she could see the fire in his eyes. "The othlor would have executed him if he were guilty of the charges, but she did not! And we both know what happened to Ulsera."
Thaena held up her hand, silencing him as she looked around. No one seemed to be listening. Bastun's sister had been slain in the Urlingwood, a sacred ground of the wychlaren, forbidden to anyone not of the secretive sisterhood-under pain of death. She gave him a meaningful look, pleading with her eyes for him to understand.
"I am sorry, Duras," she said, softening her voice. "I cannot be of two minds on this. I cannot allow the past or old friendships to affect my judgment. Not this time."
The fire left his eyes. Duras would uphold the law, she knew. His dedication to Rashemen ran deeper than any warrior she had ever known, but he walked a narrow path and she had joined him there. Though they hadn't seen or heard from Bastun in years, he had been a constant presence between them, an unspoken name in their tightest embraces and, at times, an awkward silence. Duras would protect his friend, just as she had protected Duras from himself.
"Lives are at stake," she said, "and an exile suspected of treason has gone missing, likely of his own accord. I must lead in this."
Duras nodded