The Simbul's gift - Lynn Abbey [102]
Last night and the night before, Lanig had come to tell him his place in the night-watch, but not tonight. Tonight they had enough willing Cha'Tel'Quessir in camp. They didn't need Rizcarn's son to do anything but sleep.
"Your pallet is ready," Lanig said. "Will you come sleep with us? It's a lot of walking we do each day. Your father wants you to sleep, son. Will you come to your place? Will you?" Bro started for the center of the camp. He'd learned the hard way that Lanig wouldn't stop talking until he obeyed.
Later, sleepless himself, staring at the stars, and listening to the snores around him, Bro revised his opinion of his companions. It wasn't that they treated him as if he were still twelve, it was that they acted as if the past seven years hadn't happened. Most of the nearby Cha'Tel'Quessir had followed Rizcarn before. They'd simply picked up where they'd left off.
Sitting up on his pallet of leaf-filled leather, Bro studied the camp with growing apprehension. His right hand fell to his waist where he kept the Simbul's knife. Rubbing its studded leather hilt had become a habit. Sometimes-like tonight-when rubbing wasn't enough to steady him, Bro unsheathed the knife and stared at the blade until he lost himself in its wavy patterns.
"Did you come looking for me?" he whispered to the absent queen. "I was a squirrel for an afternoon. A squirrel would've had more sense than to do what I'm doing. I've been thinking… maybe I should have let you steal Zandilar's Dancer. You said a worthy goddess wouldn't have let Shali die just so I'd bring Dancer into the Yuirwood. I hope you're right. I hope it's not too late."
Bro laced her boots over his ankles and headed out of the camp. Rizcarn said he spent the night praying to Relkath. Bro figured he'd find the biggest tree and find his father, too.
By night the Yuirwood shimmered with pale colors. Paths were dark ribbons weaving across the forest floor. Bro walked to the latrine pits and past them. He was resigned to an all-night, almost aimless search when he spotted a tree trunk where one of Relkath's runes sparkled. Rizcarn wasn't by that tree, but it gave Bro an idea. He climbed high into its branches. From the crown he saw other, similarly marked trees and one that was bright as a torch.
Rizcarn was there, eyes closed, arms folded and oblivious to the world. Bro had tried to be quiet as he walked through the Yuirwood, but he was no ranger, no forester. Crackling leaves had heralded his every step. Rizcarn should have heard him. Or maybe not. The light that had guided Bro wasn't coming from a tree-trunk carving. It formed a sphere that centered around Rizcarn's head as bright as sunshine, soft as moonlight, and with no source other than the seated Cha'Tel'Quessir.
The sight was utterly peaceful and unnerving. Bro wanted to run away, but his body wasn't listening. He did what he'd come to do, instead.
"Rizcarn? Rizcarn, I'd like to talk to you." No response. Indignation eroded Bro's fear. He strode forward. "Rizcarn! Talk to me!"
Rizcarn shuddered. His eyes opened and Bro stopped short. Rizcarn's eyes were truly luminous: pure, pupiless white, and the source of the light. Bro clutched the Simbul's knife, still in its sheath. He tried to pray, but no god's name came to his mind; he took refuge in old habits.
"Poppa. Poppa, please. I was-I am your son. You say you were roaming other forests, but I know better-at least, I know something different. I want to believe you, Poppa; I truly do. If there's a future for the Cha'Tel'Quessir, I want to be a part of it. I'd like to help you make the trees remember again, and the rocks, but you've told lies and I don't know what to believe anymore. Poppa, why are we going to the Sunglade. What's truly going to happen there?
"Ebroin? Ebroin, you're troubled. Come; sit beside me and tell me what troubles you. It's your mother, isn't it?"
Bro nodded before he could stop himself.
"You didn't know your mother, Ebroin. She lived free when