William Forstchen - Arena

He hesitated for a moment.

“Funny. It almost felt at the end as if he simply gave up, as if he no longer really cared.”

“You were Walkers then,” Hammen said. “You were on the other side and all the universe was open to you.”

Garth chuckled softly.

“One place is as good as another, and believe me, this place is better than most.

“Besides,” Garth continued, his voice distant, “it was eternal struggle out there. After all that had happened I simply wanted some peace and here was as good as any.”

“But you gave up immortality.”

“We’ll have our years. And in the face of eternity, what is immortality? I’ll leave that to the Eternal. I think the way He set things up is good enough for us. I saw what it did to the others out there and I knew if we stayed, we’d become like them in the end. There were a few I sensed who finally understood that and returned to a world of their choosing to live as mortals. It seemed a sensible choice.

“Anyhow,” he whispered, as if what he had seen and done was best left forgotten, “the gate to this realm is closed tight again. The mana here is strong, we don’t have to worry about others coming through for a long time, as long as we prevent those still here from trying to reopen it.”

Hammen shook his head.

“Damn you, I’ve mourned you for three years. At least you could have let me know you were safe.”

“We just have,” Norreen replied.

“Thanks for the quick notice,” Hammen sniffed.

“So are you coming to Festival?”

Norreen looked over sharply at Garth, who cleared his throat nervously.

“I think it best that I skip it for now.”

“So where are you heading, then?”

“There’s a garden and an old house in the Southlands,” Garth said, a wistful tone in his voice. “A good place to raise a family.”

“A family?” Hammen chuckled.

Norreen, blushing, turned away.

“And what caste will he be?” Hammen asked, looking at Norreen.

“Tarmula of Benalia if he’s born under the sign we planned for.”

Hammen stood before the two, eyes brimming with tears, unable to speak.

“I always hated long farewells. Someday you must visit, but I know how affairs of this world run,” Garth said, his voice suddenly husky and near to breaking.

He quickly embraced Hammen and then got back in his saddle. Norreen reached over and hugged him as well and laughed softly when Hammen patted her stomach.

“We’ll call him Hadin,” she said.

“Just Hammen, please.”

She kissed him lightly on the cheek and, to his surprise, swung easily back up on her horse.

“Won’t you stay with me for the night?” Hammen asked.

“A long ride ahead. We’ve been following you and your youngsters and wasted hours doing it.”

Hammen, sighing, moved to stand by Garth’s stirrup and, reaching up, he took his hand.

The moon drifted out from behind the clouds and Hammen gasped in astonishment.

“Your eye, Master, it’s healed. You have two eyes.”

Garth laughed.

“A little side benefit of being a Walker, even if it was but for a day.”

Hammen reluctantly let go and Garth looked down at his old friend.

“You know I planned it from the start. Finding you as I did on the street was all part of the plan.”

“I sort of figured that out.”

“And if I should wander into your life again, it will be part of another plan as well. Take care, my friend, and bet my money well.”

Garth spurred his mount and together the two rode off, the moon once more drifting behind the clouds so that they disappeared from view.

Hammen, shaking his head, slowly walked back to the tavern, thinking about the next Festival and the odds on wagers to come.