Memoirs of a Fallen God

Chapter 23

It was nearing noon when Span finally stumbled out of his hut, with all the grace and finesse of a bear coming out of hibernation. Yet, for all his usual bumbling, there was still something different about him.

He looked around, saw me staring and smiled that broad smile of his. I smiled back, finally able to put my finger on the change. Was that a hint of confidence I saw dancing behind his eyes? It might just be. And why not? Spanner had been through the fire, and far from breaking, he had found himself well tempered on the other side.

I stepped up to my friend and slapped him on the shoulder. “You were a monster out there, Spanner. Legendary."

“Was I?" he said, unable to hide a bashful smile. “Saint and Tore were telling me how they did most of the work. I don't really remember much—just those evil looking swords, mostly…and being very, very angry."

“Remind me to stay on your good side, then, my friend."

He waved my words away. "It was the blessing that did all the work."

"Tore and Saint had the blessing, too. They were good, but you were great. Couldn’t all have been the hand of Turkis."

He tried to shrug away the compliment, clearly uneasy with the praise. “If you say so, Telth. But you...no blessing at all, but you saved us all somehow anyway, didn't you? What happened? I couldn't really see, it was all a blur...but right when things were looking their worst…they all just…collapsed."

I matched his shrug. "Your guess is as good as mine. The shaman had his back turned to me and I wanted to help so bad....I had to do something. So I just...stabbed him. And he dropped."

"Well. It’s a good thing you did, wasn’t it? We’d all be dead or worse, if not."

My response to that particularly uncomfortable exclamation was, fortunately, interrupted. Jeer stepped up a few foot off, Rove a few feet behind with his usual neat bundle in place on his back.

"Enough chattering, you layabouts,” Jeer barked. “We've got an awful lot of miles to put in before dark. Gather up that pair of would-be heroes and let's move out.”

As Span and I made our way through the village, searching for Tore and Saint, I told him about my encounter with the half-mad soldier--though I left out the strangeness at the end. I wasn't quite sure how I felt about that, and I didn't need Galore's whispered warning to know it wasn't the kind of thing a wise man would go bragging about. Even to a friend.

Wizardborn are slaves, I thought to myself. Never again.

We found the wayward pair near the village well, the silent soldier Cage brooding not far away. Even though the two recruits had been tasked with keeping an eye on him, it seemed more the other way 'round, so far as I could tell. He sure did like to stare.

Saintly was in the middle of regaling a wide eyed village girl with his heroic deeds in the great “Battle of Whispering Weeds,” as he dubbed it, borrowing the village name to add a bit of splendor to the tale. It seemed to be working; the girl—at least a year or two younger than Saint—was blushing and starry eyed. Pretty, too.

But I set that to the side—orders were, after all, orders...particularly when they ruined someone else's good time. Particularly when that someone was Saintly.

"Time to go, Saint. You too, Tore. Jeer'll have your heads off and dangling from his belt if you're not prepped and ready to go by the time Galore's done with the other survivor."

Saint turned to me, glaring. We didn’t exactly get a lot of chances to engage with the fairer sex back at the fort; at that time in the Empire, women were strictly prohibited from any sort of military service. But even Saint knew a pretty face wasn’t enough reason to dare Jeer’s wrath. He shut his mouth and, with a final reluctant glance at the now-pouting village girl, turned toward the village gate. Cage headed that way, too, rictus scowl firmly in place.