friend, no matter what I announced before the others. You may not have killed my father, but you willingly came to do so. My gratitude is given for your part in ending this war, but should ever return to the desert and I catch wind of it, I will hunt you down with every asset available. Your fate will be worse than Bradgen’s. Good day, sir.”
Pirneon nodded again and stalked off.
Aphere had been waiting for him just outside the tent. “What was that all about?”
“Just a friendly reminder that my time here is ended. What are your plans from here?” he asked.
“West is the fastest route out of the desert. I was thinking about heading for the Kergland Spine and then south to one of the seaports. It shouldn’t be too hard to secure passage aboard a merchant vessel.”
“You still mean to go to Averon?”
“Yes. I cannot say why, but I feel pulled there. What of your plans?”
He paused; until now, he hadn’t given it much thought. The simple act of getting away was all that had mattered. “I’d like to return to Skaag Mountain. I need meditation to heal my mind. Too many wrong decisions have plagued my inner thoughts of late. I must attend to those demons before returning to the campaign.”
“Perhaps we could travel together for a while?” she offered.
“Perhaps.”
The solitary lifestyle was hard on every Vengeance Knight and he’d been at it for much longer than either she or Barum. Her youthful company might inspire him again and ease some of his loneliness.
They walked back to where Barum waited. In their absence, he’d laid out their gear and readied the mounts. All three were tethered to a nearby tent stake. Aphere was impressed, not having a squire of her own.
“All is prepared. Your tent is on the left, Lady Aphere,” he said.
“Thank you, Barum,” she told him with a genuine smile.
Pirneon squared off on her. “Shall we leave at dusk? I don’t relish the idea of traveling in the hot of the day.”
“Until then.”
They entered their respective tents and collapsed.
The sun was setting by the time the Gaimosians mounted and headed out. An honor guard had been assembled to see them off. Aphere had been named a hero of the realm for her actions in the war, and, so long as she traveled with Pirneon, he had nothing to fear. It was a title neither sought nor accepted. Of Salac, they saw naught.
The stench of burning bodies choked the air. Disease spread quickly, and fire was the best way to prevent it. The pyres burned for many days, and, when it was all finished, this site would forever be known as the Hall of Death.
Pirneon and Aphere rode away without looking back. He was glad to finally be rid of the desert people. Their ways were primitive, violent and crude. It was a land where strength of arms was the only respected power. Salac might have won a great battle, but it might be years before the desert unified. When that day arrived, woe to Malweir, for their savagery would threaten the very pillars of society.
They rode through the night and didn’t pause until the pale glow of the massive pyres was lost to the night. The air was pure and crisp. A slight chill settled over them. The desert was cold at night; temperatures dropped more than fifty degrees once the sun set. Pirneon enjoyed the solitude of the darkness. It was nearly perfect with no moon, and thousands of stars dazzled the skies.
Halfway through the night, they began alternating riding and walking to rest the horses. The pace was gentle, undemanding. Pirneon stopped them every so often to rest, knowing the sun would be murder on man and beast alike.
“The sky is so beautiful,” Aphere said, her gazed fixed longingly on the stars.
“It is, indeed, and shall be more so once we leave this cursed kingdom.”
She scowled at his derision. “The desert isn’t so bad. One can learn to make peace here.”
Pirneon grunted. “Peace, perhaps, but look around. Everything is the same for as far as the eye
Pirneon nodded again and stalked off.
Aphere had been waiting for him just outside the tent. “What was that all about?”
“Just a friendly reminder that my time here is ended. What are your plans from here?” he asked.
“West is the fastest route out of the desert. I was thinking about heading for the Kergland Spine and then south to one of the seaports. It shouldn’t be too hard to secure passage aboard a merchant vessel.”
“You still mean to go to Averon?”
“Yes. I cannot say why, but I feel pulled there. What of your plans?”
He paused; until now, he hadn’t given it much thought. The simple act of getting away was all that had mattered. “I’d like to return to Skaag Mountain. I need meditation to heal my mind. Too many wrong decisions have plagued my inner thoughts of late. I must attend to those demons before returning to the campaign.”
“Perhaps we could travel together for a while?” she offered.
“Perhaps.”
The solitary lifestyle was hard on every Vengeance Knight and he’d been at it for much longer than either she or Barum. Her youthful company might inspire him again and ease some of his loneliness.
They walked back to where Barum waited. In their absence, he’d laid out their gear and readied the mounts. All three were tethered to a nearby tent stake. Aphere was impressed, not having a squire of her own.
“All is prepared. Your tent is on the left, Lady Aphere,” he said.
“Thank you, Barum,” she told him with a genuine smile.
Pirneon squared off on her. “Shall we leave at dusk? I don’t relish the idea of traveling in the hot of the day.”
“Until then.”
They entered their respective tents and collapsed.
The sun was setting by the time the Gaimosians mounted and headed out. An honor guard had been assembled to see them off. Aphere had been named a hero of the realm for her actions in the war, and, so long as she traveled with Pirneon, he had nothing to fear. It was a title neither sought nor accepted. Of Salac, they saw naught.
The stench of burning bodies choked the air. Disease spread quickly, and fire was the best way to prevent it. The pyres burned for many days, and, when it was all finished, this site would forever be known as the Hall of Death.
Pirneon and Aphere rode away without looking back. He was glad to finally be rid of the desert people. Their ways were primitive, violent and crude. It was a land where strength of arms was the only respected power. Salac might have won a great battle, but it might be years before the desert unified. When that day arrived, woe to Malweir, for their savagery would threaten the very pillars of society.
They rode through the night and didn’t pause until the pale glow of the massive pyres was lost to the night. The air was pure and crisp. A slight chill settled over them. The desert was cold at night; temperatures dropped more than fifty degrees once the sun set. Pirneon enjoyed the solitude of the darkness. It was nearly perfect with no moon, and thousands of stars dazzled the skies.
Halfway through the night, they began alternating riding and walking to rest the horses. The pace was gentle, undemanding. Pirneon stopped them every so often to rest, knowing the sun would be murder on man and beast alike.
“The sky is so beautiful,” Aphere said, her gazed fixed longingly on the stars.
“It is, indeed, and shall be more so once we leave this cursed kingdom.”
She scowled at his derision. “The desert isn’t so bad. One can learn to make peace here.”
Pirneon grunted. “Peace, perhaps, but look around. Everything is the same for as far as the eye
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