Cailech. Now answer me this if you want any more information or help: Why are you so interested in Lothryn? It makes me suspicious of you.”
Aremys shook his head. “Don’t be. Elspyth of Yentro is known to me—you could say we are friends, although we’ve not known each other long. I met her soon after she escaped from here and she was hoping to return to the mountains to discover Lothryn’s fate. You know they were in love, she and Lothryn?”
Myrt grimaced. “I guessed as much. There would be no other reason for Loth to betray us as he did, and without sharing his decision with me.”
Aremys was glad that the Mountain Man had not blinked at the coincidence that he claimed to know two separate women who just happened to know Gueryn and Lothryn. He could slap himself for such clumsy contrivance, but fortunately the big man had not been paying close attention. Aremys took hischance. “Myrt,” he said gently, “I know that you loved Lothryn too, perhaps more than in just a brotherly fashion—”
The Mountain Man reacted as if burned. He stood up, pushing his chair away, eyes blazing with sudden hatred. “Fuck you, Aremys.”
Aremys kept silent and did not so much as flinch when Myrt threw his cup and its contents into a corner and then kicked at his chair, smashing one of its legs. The big man turned to glare at the Grenadyne, daring him to make a move so he could punch him as well. But Aremys remained calm.
“I don’t want to fight you,” he said. “I want to find him for you.”
Despite the warning, he was prepared for a fight: a black eye perhaps, maybe broken fingers. So he was ill-prepared for tears, and when they came he hated himself for shattering the barriers that had kept Myrt strong. He sat there a moment bewildered, then did the only thing one person can do for another who is hurting: He put his arms around the Mountain Man’s big shoulders and held him.
Eventually he spoke. “He’s alive, Myrt, I know it. From all that you’ve told me, I don’t believe Cailech would have killed him. That’s why his reply to you was so cryptic. Lothryn lives and our only clue is Galapek. Help me and we’ll find him together.”
The tears were brief, dried away almost as soon as they had dared to arrive. They were replaced by wrath. “I can’t!” the man roared.
“You can. We’re all he’s got. If you love Lothryn—as I know you do—then fight for him. Let’s at least find out if he’s alive and what state he’s in.”
Myrt stomped around his small cottage, a new battle raging within him now. Aremys had noticed that the dwelling showed a woman’s touch—a jar of fresh hill flowers on the humble sideboard, dishes neatly stacked, floors swept, and surfaces dusted. It was as neat as a pin. He wondered where the sister was and asked Myrt.
“Due back shortly,” the Mountain Man answered, distracted. “Listen to me, Aremys. I’ll help you because of Lothryn, not because I’m threatened by what you’ve learned about me. If you ever repeat what has occurred here or been mentioned between us, I’ll kill you. I might be in love with a man, but it doesn’t stop me being capable of killing one. I want you to understand that.”
“Your secret is safe with me. Whether you prefer men or women is of no consequence to me. I’ve trusted you with my life—I shall go on doing so. I’m only sorry that you have to be so unhappy.”
“Don’t trouble yourself. I’ve lived with it all my life,” the Mountain Man said gruffly. “More to the point, what can we do? We leave in a few hours and I don’t think Cailech plans for you to return here.” Myrt’s anger had dissipated, to be replaced with despondency.
“Well, that does change things. It might be that you must track Lothryn down without me.” Aremys looked toward the ceiling, racking his brain for the best step. “Can you take me to see the horse again? I think it was trying to communicate something to me on our
Aremys shook his head. “Don’t be. Elspyth of Yentro is known to me—you could say we are friends, although we’ve not known each other long. I met her soon after she escaped from here and she was hoping to return to the mountains to discover Lothryn’s fate. You know they were in love, she and Lothryn?”
Myrt grimaced. “I guessed as much. There would be no other reason for Loth to betray us as he did, and without sharing his decision with me.”
Aremys was glad that the Mountain Man had not blinked at the coincidence that he claimed to know two separate women who just happened to know Gueryn and Lothryn. He could slap himself for such clumsy contrivance, but fortunately the big man had not been paying close attention. Aremys took hischance. “Myrt,” he said gently, “I know that you loved Lothryn too, perhaps more than in just a brotherly fashion—”
The Mountain Man reacted as if burned. He stood up, pushing his chair away, eyes blazing with sudden hatred. “Fuck you, Aremys.”
Aremys kept silent and did not so much as flinch when Myrt threw his cup and its contents into a corner and then kicked at his chair, smashing one of its legs. The big man turned to glare at the Grenadyne, daring him to make a move so he could punch him as well. But Aremys remained calm.
“I don’t want to fight you,” he said. “I want to find him for you.”
Despite the warning, he was prepared for a fight: a black eye perhaps, maybe broken fingers. So he was ill-prepared for tears, and when they came he hated himself for shattering the barriers that had kept Myrt strong. He sat there a moment bewildered, then did the only thing one person can do for another who is hurting: He put his arms around the Mountain Man’s big shoulders and held him.
Eventually he spoke. “He’s alive, Myrt, I know it. From all that you’ve told me, I don’t believe Cailech would have killed him. That’s why his reply to you was so cryptic. Lothryn lives and our only clue is Galapek. Help me and we’ll find him together.”
The tears were brief, dried away almost as soon as they had dared to arrive. They were replaced by wrath. “I can’t!” the man roared.
“You can. We’re all he’s got. If you love Lothryn—as I know you do—then fight for him. Let’s at least find out if he’s alive and what state he’s in.”
Myrt stomped around his small cottage, a new battle raging within him now. Aremys had noticed that the dwelling showed a woman’s touch—a jar of fresh hill flowers on the humble sideboard, dishes neatly stacked, floors swept, and surfaces dusted. It was as neat as a pin. He wondered where the sister was and asked Myrt.
“Due back shortly,” the Mountain Man answered, distracted. “Listen to me, Aremys. I’ll help you because of Lothryn, not because I’m threatened by what you’ve learned about me. If you ever repeat what has occurred here or been mentioned between us, I’ll kill you. I might be in love with a man, but it doesn’t stop me being capable of killing one. I want you to understand that.”
“Your secret is safe with me. Whether you prefer men or women is of no consequence to me. I’ve trusted you with my life—I shall go on doing so. I’m only sorry that you have to be so unhappy.”
“Don’t trouble yourself. I’ve lived with it all my life,” the Mountain Man said gruffly. “More to the point, what can we do? We leave in a few hours and I don’t think Cailech plans for you to return here.” Myrt’s anger had dissipated, to be replaced with despondency.
“Well, that does change things. It might be that you must track Lothryn down without me.” Aremys looked toward the ceiling, racking his brain for the best step. “Can you take me to see the horse again? I think it was trying to communicate something to me on our
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