regard Morigna as little different. Morigna, for her part, had inherited all of Coriolus’s prejudices against the Order of the Soulblade, a fact that she did not appreciate when Ridmark pointed it out.
Jager, at least, stopped baiting Arandar. For all of his disdain for the nobles and knights of Andomhaim, Jager recognized that Tarrabus had dealt with Arandar as he had deal with Jager. That did not stop the former Master Thief of Cintarra from referring to Arandar as the Lord High Prince of Bastards. Ridmark expected Arandar to take offense, but the Swordbearer only replied that if he was a prince, then Jager could shut up and fetch some wine. After that they settled into a pattern of friendly insults, much as Kharlacht and Caius did, though Mara rolled her eyes from time to time.
“You look like you are in pain,” said Calliande one morning.
“I’m fine,” said Ridmark, though he did have a headache. The pain was a small price to pay for the extra protection of Heartwarden.
“But?” said Calliande.
“That splendid speech you made about following the Gray Knight,” said Ridmark. “It would not have been such a rousing speech if you knew how difficult it was to keep you people from killing each other over damned trivialities.”
Calliande laughed. “That is why we follow you. Though neither Arandar nor Morigna nor Jager would say that their differences are trivial.”
“My father,” said Ridmark, shaking his head.
“Your father?” said Calliande. “You never talk about him, or your brothers.”
Most likely because they would be ashamed of what Ridmark had become. Arandar had barely believed Ridmark’s story, and only then because he had seen firsthand evidence of Tarrabus Carhaine’s cruelty and corruption. Dux Leogrance Arban and Ridmark’s older brothers would never believe until they saw the proof with their own eyes, and perhaps not even then.
“He has spent decades mediating among the Comites and knights of Taliand,” said Ridmark. “After three months traveling in the company of all of you, I am beginning to understand why he looked so tired.”
Calliande smiled. “Well. Surely it is not all bad?”
“No,” said Ridmark. He looked at her, and then back at Morigna, who walked with Mara. Morigna smiled at him, a smile that faded when she saw Calliande.
“Ah,” said Calliande. “I should go talk to Caius. I wouldn’t want to upset Morigna.”
“For God’s sake,” said Ridmark.
“If I walk too close,” said Calliande, “do you think I can make her scowl? Though if I touch your shoulder, she might try to kill me.”
“For God’s sake!” said Ridmark.
Calliande laughed. “I am only teasing.” Her smile dimmed. “Let me know if I can do anything for you. I suspect the presence of that soulblade is…draining.”
“Thank you,” said Ridmark. “I will manage.”
“You always do, don’t you?” said Calliande. She moved off to join Caius, and Morigna came forward.
“Morigna,” said Ridmark. He expected her to berate him, to question his decision to bring Arandar with them, to complain of the Swordbearer’s presence.
Instead she touched his right temple. “How much pain are you in?” Both her touch and her voice were soft.
Ridmark hadn’t expected that. A flicker of shame went through him. The constant drumbeat of the headache had soured his mood, and the memories Heartwarden’s presence summoned were far more painful. He remembered the vigil he had spent the Chamber of the Well in Tarlion the night he had become a Swordbearer. That sword had slain Gothalinzur and saved the village of Victrix, had aided Ridmark against the dvargir and the kobolds and countless creatures of dark magic.
He had driven it into Mhalek’s chest and watched as Mhalek’s dark magic transferred the wound to Aelia, killing her.
“Some,” said Ridmark. “The headache is of no matter.”
“Cannot Calliande do anything for you?” said
Jager, at least, stopped baiting Arandar. For all of his disdain for the nobles and knights of Andomhaim, Jager recognized that Tarrabus had dealt with Arandar as he had deal with Jager. That did not stop the former Master Thief of Cintarra from referring to Arandar as the Lord High Prince of Bastards. Ridmark expected Arandar to take offense, but the Swordbearer only replied that if he was a prince, then Jager could shut up and fetch some wine. After that they settled into a pattern of friendly insults, much as Kharlacht and Caius did, though Mara rolled her eyes from time to time.
“You look like you are in pain,” said Calliande one morning.
“I’m fine,” said Ridmark, though he did have a headache. The pain was a small price to pay for the extra protection of Heartwarden.
“But?” said Calliande.
“That splendid speech you made about following the Gray Knight,” said Ridmark. “It would not have been such a rousing speech if you knew how difficult it was to keep you people from killing each other over damned trivialities.”
Calliande laughed. “That is why we follow you. Though neither Arandar nor Morigna nor Jager would say that their differences are trivial.”
“My father,” said Ridmark, shaking his head.
“Your father?” said Calliande. “You never talk about him, or your brothers.”
Most likely because they would be ashamed of what Ridmark had become. Arandar had barely believed Ridmark’s story, and only then because he had seen firsthand evidence of Tarrabus Carhaine’s cruelty and corruption. Dux Leogrance Arban and Ridmark’s older brothers would never believe until they saw the proof with their own eyes, and perhaps not even then.
“He has spent decades mediating among the Comites and knights of Taliand,” said Ridmark. “After three months traveling in the company of all of you, I am beginning to understand why he looked so tired.”
Calliande smiled. “Well. Surely it is not all bad?”
“No,” said Ridmark. He looked at her, and then back at Morigna, who walked with Mara. Morigna smiled at him, a smile that faded when she saw Calliande.
“Ah,” said Calliande. “I should go talk to Caius. I wouldn’t want to upset Morigna.”
“For God’s sake,” said Ridmark.
“If I walk too close,” said Calliande, “do you think I can make her scowl? Though if I touch your shoulder, she might try to kill me.”
“For God’s sake!” said Ridmark.
Calliande laughed. “I am only teasing.” Her smile dimmed. “Let me know if I can do anything for you. I suspect the presence of that soulblade is…draining.”
“Thank you,” said Ridmark. “I will manage.”
“You always do, don’t you?” said Calliande. She moved off to join Caius, and Morigna came forward.
“Morigna,” said Ridmark. He expected her to berate him, to question his decision to bring Arandar with them, to complain of the Swordbearer’s presence.
Instead she touched his right temple. “How much pain are you in?” Both her touch and her voice were soft.
Ridmark hadn’t expected that. A flicker of shame went through him. The constant drumbeat of the headache had soured his mood, and the memories Heartwarden’s presence summoned were far more painful. He remembered the vigil he had spent the Chamber of the Well in Tarlion the night he had become a Swordbearer. That sword had slain Gothalinzur and saved the village of Victrix, had aided Ridmark against the dvargir and the kobolds and countless creatures of dark magic.
He had driven it into Mhalek’s chest and watched as Mhalek’s dark magic transferred the wound to Aelia, killing her.
“Some,” said Ridmark. “The headache is of no matter.”
“Cannot Calliande do anything for you?” said
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