Mark Anthony - Kindred Spirits

But Tanis wouldn’t abandon the subject. They’d been over it ad nauseam during the past three weeks, and they had yet to come to a proper understanding of what had happened.

“Miral-Arelas-killed so many people because he’d been sent from Qualinesti as a child? Flint, that’s not reason enough.” The half-elf toyed with his mug, twirling it in a wet circle on the wooden table.

The dwarf nodded. “I know, lad. There’s some power behind all this, something we don’t know about. But there are tales that would explain it.”

“The Graystone? That’s a myth, Flint.” The half-elf’s tone was flat. There would be no convincing him.

Flint shook his head and hoisted his tankard, then he smacked his lips. Five days in Solace, and still the taste of a mug of good ale was a fresh treat.

“Flint.”

“Now what?” the dwarf grumbled.

Tanis’s tone was urgent. “The amulet saved my life. Why didn’t it save my mother’s? It belonged to her.”

They’d been over this, too, during the weeks they’d spent on the trail, Flint rocking along on Fleetfoot and Tanis posting smoothly on Belthar. “I don’t believe it was enchanted when Elansa had it, Tanis. I think Ailea had something to do with that.”

The mention of Ailea cast a shadow over the friends.

“But I thought she could perform only magical illusions, tricks to amuse children,” Tanis disagreed. “And minor magic to use in childbirth. Nothing major.”

“We thought Miral was a minor mage, too.”

Tanis nodded and was still for a bit. Then a new thought occurred to him. “The mage killed all of them-Kethrenan, Elansa, Xenoth, Ailea. Even Tyresian, when he saved Laur-ana from the falling marble. And why? So Arelas could eliminate all the heirs between himself and the Speakership. Did he think he could walk out of the rubble of the Tower and announce that he was really Arelas and that they should make him Speaker?”

Flint glowered at Tanis. “I expect he would have found a way.” Or perhaps the Graystone would have, he added to himself.

“But…”

Flint nudged the half-elf’s ale a bit closer to him. “Give it up, lad. Some things you have to take on faith. It made sense to Arelas.” When Tanis opened his mouth, Flint held up a hand. “Enough.”

They sat silently for a time. Then Flint lifted his mug again. “A toast,” he said.

To turn down a toast was an insult. Tanis curled his hand around the handle of the tankard. “A toast,” he echoed.

“To Ailea.” They exchanged glances and clinked their mugs. “And to future fellowship,” Flint added.

Tanis smiled.

“To fellowship,” the half-elf agreed.