James Davis - The Restless Shore

“Pay him no mind.” Ghaelya’s voice startled him from the thought. “I’m not anyone’s mission or quest or obligation.”

Approaching the fire, Uthalion crossed his arms and studied her, admiring the strength in her set features and tone of voice. “No damsel in distress then?” he asked.

She glared at him a moment, her eyes flashing an unspoken threat, then resumed her long stare into the flames without answering. He nodded quietly and felt slightly more at ease-until Brindani approached from the shadows. The half-elf’s eyes were clear and focused, his earlier shaking and nervousness gone. The smoothness in his step caused Uthalion to stand slightly at guard, his sword within easy reach. There was a fight in Brindani’s stare, and though Uthalion was familiar with the nightmares that stalked in his old friend’s past, he would not let empathy slow the stroke of his blade.

“We’ll talk now, Uthalion,” Brindani said. “I don’t care if you listen or just pretend to, but I know deep down you’re a good man, and we need your help. The Mere-That-Was and all beyond it is a dangerous place; you’ve been there and back, twice.”

Narrowing his eyes, a hard edge of anger settled in the stiffness of Uthalion’s jaw.

“This isn’t about this land or that, or what lies between,” he said, staring the half-elf down. “It’s about one gods-forsaken place.”

“Tohrepur,” Brindani supplied solemnly.

“And you are bound and determined to go back,” Uthalion said.

“It’s not like that-”

“It’s always been like that!” Uthalion’s voice raised, and he stepped forward. “I wanted no part of it then, and nothing has changed in the meantime.”

“They took my sister,” Ghaelya said.

The genasi’s voice startled both men, and Uthalion stared at her in the light of the campfire. Her eyes blazed as she continued.

“Over a month ago, they came into the city, strange monks calling themselves the Choir. Few paid them any mind-cults to unknown gods come and go and are typically harmless. But Tessaeril was drawn to them despite all her good sense.” She shook her head, displaying a softness in the memory that caught Uthalion’s attention. “One night, the Choir came for her and I–I did what I could. I killed one before being knocked out by another, and in the morning … They were gone, along with all of those they had charmed into their fold.”

She blinked and tore her eyes from the fire.

“I will find her,” she said fiercely, looking at both of them. “Whether you come with me or not.”

Uthalion glanced at Brindani once, ignoring the hopeful look in the half-elf’s eyes and knelt down to look deeply into Ghaelya’s. Having been deceived by field commanders and incompetent officers in the past, he was confident in his ability to detect a lie.

“I’m sorry about your sister, truly,” he began. “But, what does any of this have to do with Tohrepur?”

She broke his stare at length, her lips drawn into a tight line as if ashamed of something.

“I-” She broke off, clenching her teeth and looking off into the forest before turning back to face him. “I saw it … in a dream.”

“A dream,” Uthalion repeated the word in disbelief, getting only a reluctant nod from the genasi before he stood and brushed off his hands on his trousers.

“Well, I’ve heard enough,” he said, glaring at Brindani and turning away, eager to be alone and to put the business behind him.

“It’s true,” Brindani called after him, a desperate tone in his voice. “We need your help … You owe me this!”

Uthalion stopped and turned, his fists clenched as he rounded on the half-elf. Brindani raised his hands as if he were about to explain himself, but Uthalion gave him no chance.

“Owe you? Is that what you think?” he yelled and grabbed the half-elf’s tunic, shoving him backward.

“I only meant-” Brindani began, but stopped short as Uthalion slammed him against a tree.

“Oh, I know what you meant! You’d like to blame me for the old blood on your hands, is that it?” He shook the half-elf hard, trembling with rage. Brindani’s heart pounded beneath Uthalion’s fist. “We both took the job, volunteered … Don’t expect anything from me just because you followed orders you didn’t like!”

“Your orders!” Brindani yelled back.

Uthalion pulled him from the tree and shoved him to the ground. He resisted the urge to draw his blade, but just barely. He turned away and found Ghaelya, her hand on her sword and a threatening glint in her eye.

“Leave him be,” she said.

“Take him and be on your way,” he said and pointed south into the woods. “You’re not welcome here.”

“Fine,” she said, shrugging. She pushed past him roughly and added, “Useless bastard.”

Her insult struck him like a hammer. He stared after her, stunned, as the pair left the grove and struck into the southern Spur. The same words echoed from his past, chasing him through the old front door of a cottage he’d once shared with Maryna. It was her voice screaming in rage as he’d left her for the second time-the last time he’d heard her voice … and his young daughter’s cries through the open window.

“You can’t let them go,” Vaasurri said, approaching stealthily from the dark, his emerald eyes boring into Uthalion’s. “You know better.”

Not startled by the killoren’s appearance, Uthalion nodded in a daze, his former rage drained away by the haze of sudden memory. Shaking free of the past, he stared after Ghaelya and Brindani, realizing what he’d truly done. He sprinted into the forest after them. The land sloped downward in the deep Spur, just beyond the foothills of the Akanapeaks. Though the moon was nearly down, he caught their path quickly and focused on the genasi’s louder footfalls to guide him.

She spun around angrily in the dark, seeing the glinting glow of the grove’s campfire just beyond their line of sight, but flashing dimly on the leaves. Brindani didn’t turn at all, but merely stopped and waited.

“Did you come to hurry us on?” she asked angrily, and he felt shamed in her gaze.

“No, I just-” he began, but was cut short by the sound of a thunderous roar. The ground shook as they all looked southward. Leaves shivered overhead as the roar grew ever louder, a plaintive, hungry sound echoing from deep in the southern forest. A sound like splitting trees reached them, wood cracking like lightning and crashing like the rolling front of a distant storm. Uthalion caught his breath, relieved that it was far away, but still alarmed and eager to get back to the grove. Ghaelya turned to him wide-eyed as the roar slowly faded.

“Morning,” he said quickly. He gestured back the way they’d come. “You should wait until morning.”

Nodding in shock, they turned back up the slope and into the waiting glow of the grove.

Uthalion stood a moment longer, staring into the dark maw of the Spur and reflecting on what he’d nearly allowed to happen. His heart pounded, and he breathed deeply, listening for the roar again, but it never came.

“Useless bastard,” he repeated to himself, suddenly hating the man he’d let himself become-selfish, cowardly … alone.

He walked back to the grove, his thoughts heavy and far away from the Spur. Vaasurri, not particularly shy and rarely at a loss for words, had introduced himself to their guests and was already warming stew over the campfire. Their words were lost on Uthalion as he knelt and lifted the makeshift door to his hidden cavern beneath the grove. He had no hunger for stew, nor longing for conversation, polite or-more likely-otherwise.

He lit a candle, its light flickering on the rough ceiling of the small chamber, a sanctuary of rock and dirt within the greater fold of the surrounding forest. It held him close, being barely long enough for him to stretch his arms over his head and touch the opposite wall with his boots, and just tall enough for him to kneel in prayer-back when he had a mind to do so. He leaned back against the wall, his arms resting on his knees, and stared at the silver ring on his finger. He was tired despite its enchantment.