closed her eyes and sank back against the couch. “I saw you once, when we were at Westmarch, down in the forge.
You handled those blacksmith’s tools like you were born to them. For a merc, you’ve been a lot of strange places. So I’ll ask you again—who are you, really?”
Vahanian took a long breath and looked toward the fireplace, unsure how to answer. Finally, he drew up a chair and sat down. “My mother was a weaver and my father a blacksmith, up in the Borderlands, near enough to the Northern Sea that the ship captains and the traders gave us good busi-ness. I started working in his forge from the time I was old enough to carry the tools. We made a good living.”
“But you didn’t stay.”
“When I was fifteen, raiders came. We made too good of a living, I guess. My father died trying to help hold the gates. I grabbed his sword and tried to protect the forge, but I was just a kid. First time I got stabbed,” he said ruefully.
“When I came around, it was over. The village was looted, half of it burned. My mother and brothers were dead. I tried to get help in the next village, but I didn’t make it through the woods.”
“What happened?’
“The hedge witch’s daughter was out gathering herbs. She found me and dragged me home. Guess I gave them a scare,” he chuckled sadly. “After I healed up, they apprenticed me to their village blacksmith. A few years later, I married the hedge witch’s daughter.”
Carina said nothing, but her gaze made him look away, back to the fire. “There was a late spring that year, and the sea captains didn’t stop at our port. Money was tight. I started pulling old relics out of the cave tombs—gold and jewelry and rare wood— and selling what I could find to traders just to get by. Then one night, after Shanna and I had been married about six months, a mage showed up, and wanted me to find him a relic.” “Arontala?”
“Yeah,” Vahanian said. “Offered a year’s wages if I’d bring him back a talisman.
So I went up there, and I found it. Put it on a strap around my neck to keep it safe.”
“The charm we saw at Westmarch—the one that keeps the magicked beasts away.”
Vahanian nodded. “All these years, I thought that damned thing called the beasts.” He paused for a moment, swallowing hard, until he could find his voice once more. “The beasts came that night and there was nothing to stop them.
Nothing I did made a difference. They couldn’t kill me, but they gave me this.”
He tilted his head so that the scar showed from beneath his collar, a jagged line that ran from his ear down under his shirt.
“Everyone died—everyone but me,” he said qui-etly. “All these years, I thought I brought the beasts.” He dared to meet Carina’s eyes, knowing that she struggled with her own ghosts. “I didn’t believe Royster, didn’t believe Tris. But Tris sum-moned Shanna’s spirit, and I believed her.”
His voice caught, and he looked away. “That’s what I meant when I told you that the dead forgive us. That’s how I know.
“I got as far away as I could, which was Eastmark. Only thing I had to sell was my sword. I was barely eighteen—younger than Tris is now by a couple of years.
Met Harrtuck there, in a mere troop. He taught me the basics, kept me from get-ting killed. But I learned fast, got field promotions, and a general in the Eastmark army asked me to join them. He was a hero, and I was flattered.”
Vahanian’s voice was bitter. “Made full captain by the time I was twenty. It was nice, for a while.”
“Kiara told me… about Chauvrenne.”
Vahanian nodded. “I figured she would. After that, I had the bad luck to get captured by the Nargi as I was trying to get back to Margolan. Almost drowned in the Nu River when I escaped. Washed up on the river bank, and a lady named Jolie took me in, gave me a job, taught me to smuggle on the river. And that’s what I was doing until Harrtuck hired me as a guide.”
Any
You handled those blacksmith’s tools like you were born to them. For a merc, you’ve been a lot of strange places. So I’ll ask you again—who are you, really?”
Vahanian took a long breath and looked toward the fireplace, unsure how to answer. Finally, he drew up a chair and sat down. “My mother was a weaver and my father a blacksmith, up in the Borderlands, near enough to the Northern Sea that the ship captains and the traders gave us good busi-ness. I started working in his forge from the time I was old enough to carry the tools. We made a good living.”
“But you didn’t stay.”
“When I was fifteen, raiders came. We made too good of a living, I guess. My father died trying to help hold the gates. I grabbed his sword and tried to protect the forge, but I was just a kid. First time I got stabbed,” he said ruefully.
“When I came around, it was over. The village was looted, half of it burned. My mother and brothers were dead. I tried to get help in the next village, but I didn’t make it through the woods.”
“What happened?’
“The hedge witch’s daughter was out gathering herbs. She found me and dragged me home. Guess I gave them a scare,” he chuckled sadly. “After I healed up, they apprenticed me to their village blacksmith. A few years later, I married the hedge witch’s daughter.”
Carina said nothing, but her gaze made him look away, back to the fire. “There was a late spring that year, and the sea captains didn’t stop at our port. Money was tight. I started pulling old relics out of the cave tombs—gold and jewelry and rare wood— and selling what I could find to traders just to get by. Then one night, after Shanna and I had been married about six months, a mage showed up, and wanted me to find him a relic.” “Arontala?”
“Yeah,” Vahanian said. “Offered a year’s wages if I’d bring him back a talisman.
So I went up there, and I found it. Put it on a strap around my neck to keep it safe.”
“The charm we saw at Westmarch—the one that keeps the magicked beasts away.”
Vahanian nodded. “All these years, I thought that damned thing called the beasts.” He paused for a moment, swallowing hard, until he could find his voice once more. “The beasts came that night and there was nothing to stop them.
Nothing I did made a difference. They couldn’t kill me, but they gave me this.”
He tilted his head so that the scar showed from beneath his collar, a jagged line that ran from his ear down under his shirt.
“Everyone died—everyone but me,” he said qui-etly. “All these years, I thought I brought the beasts.” He dared to meet Carina’s eyes, knowing that she struggled with her own ghosts. “I didn’t believe Royster, didn’t believe Tris. But Tris sum-moned Shanna’s spirit, and I believed her.”
His voice caught, and he looked away. “That’s what I meant when I told you that the dead forgive us. That’s how I know.
“I got as far away as I could, which was Eastmark. Only thing I had to sell was my sword. I was barely eighteen—younger than Tris is now by a couple of years.
Met Harrtuck there, in a mere troop. He taught me the basics, kept me from get-ting killed. But I learned fast, got field promotions, and a general in the Eastmark army asked me to join them. He was a hero, and I was flattered.”
Vahanian’s voice was bitter. “Made full captain by the time I was twenty. It was nice, for a while.”
“Kiara told me… about Chauvrenne.”
Vahanian nodded. “I figured she would. After that, I had the bad luck to get captured by the Nargi as I was trying to get back to Margolan. Almost drowned in the Nu River when I escaped. Washed up on the river bank, and a lady named Jolie took me in, gave me a job, taught me to smuggle on the river. And that’s what I was doing until Harrtuck hired me as a guide.”
Any
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