Lianna

Marpenoth 30, 1386 DR

Nothing lived here in the Vale of Merdalain, not even now. Though the day was bright and quite warm for mid-autumn—quite inappropriate to the mood of us all—no birds sang or flew overhead, and nothing stirred in the bushes nearby except a faint moan of wind. The area was still and silent, a heap of jumbled and shattered stones like a giant's hurled playthings collapsed brokenly into a gaping hole in the earth, an abrupt drop plummeting a good twenty feet underground.

I could sense a whiff of lingering taint even now. No wonder the animals hadn't returned. Rhella, Falyris, Naloch and Rollo had stayed on the edge of the woods a little ways behind us, unwilling to step further from the natural world they understood into this one. I didn't blame them. Maybe in many years when the land had a chance to heal, the raw edges of the stones might grow over with greenery and life might return. But not, I thought, while I was still alive. Scars on the earth heal only very slowly. And perhaps, like that patch of scorched turf in West Harbor, maybe it never would. I was of half a mind to ask the few who had returned to my home village to rebuild if they thought the harvest would grow next year. For their sakes, I hoped it would.

Casavir, with his senses far more attuned to sniff out darkness than mine, must have seen it even more clearly. But when I looked at him, he stood calm and impassive, that carefully blank expression in place. His paladin face, I'd always thought of it, and I'd seen it so many times on campaign when he didn't want to feel what he was feeling—usually, his love for me. But sometimes he carefully tucked other feelings behind it: guilt, grief, sorrow…whatever emotion threatened to overwhelm him.

"They dug for us in that," Neeshka murmured with some awe, standing on the edge and peering down into the abyss with curious eyes. I could only imagine what a hellish task it must have been for the search parties to enter that morass of broken stone and rubble.

"Are you all right?" Cas' words were low so that nobody else would hear them except me, his hand a reassuring weight on my arm. Marrin somehow slept peacefully, cradled against my chest. I envied her that good fortune.

"No," I said through strangely numb lips, feeling lightheaded as though I had entered a dream—or a nightmare. "I'm not." And it was very possible I never would be. I grasped his hand like a lifeline. He had stood with me here at the end; ready to do anything to protect me. A year later, it seemed little had changed in that regard.

Harona leaned against Khelgar, murmuring softly to him. I couldn't hear her words, but I could well imagine. Gods, ye escaped that, Khelgar? Shy as the dwarf lass seemed to be, there was a tough streak in her, one that recognized her fiancé's distress and somehow moved to alleviate it. That touched me. Despite the way they'd been introduced, they might make a good match of it.

Even Daeghun put an arm around Elanee. Years ago I might have been insanely jealous that someone else should get that show of affection from him, when I almost never had. But blessed as I was now with Cas, I couldn't begrudge her the love of a good man today, or ever.

I had Casavir. Khelgar had Harona. Elanee had Daeghun. But not all of us were so fortunate as to have a shoulder to lean on for the ordeal today. I looked over at Sand, feigning diffidence but distress in the lines of his slender frame, and Neeshka, tail twitching nervously. We had come and seen the place. Was that enough?

"Maybe we should leave," I offered them the chance, raising my voice so they all heard me.

Sand shook his head vehemently—one of the few graceless movements I'd ever seen from the man. His long black hair flew around his head like jet-dyed silk, tumbling wild from the force of emotion in the gesture. His pale grey eyes seemed sharp as a needle. "We rode days to come here and face this. Don't tell me that after three years of hard campaign and then what you endured in the faraway east that this is beyond your courage."

I felt my spine stiffen, feeling like a wet and angry cat at his abrasive tone. "Damn you, Sanda'karel Medrused, don't take that haughtiness with me."

He smiled his knife-edged smile, clapping his hands once in approval. "Now that's more like it, dear girl. Warriors are so unbecoming when they wallow in self-pity."

"Thank you, Sand," Casavir said dryly, shifting uncomfortably by my side.

"Oh, for Mystra's sake, I wasn't referring to you, although I suppose it was applicable from what they tell me about your state when your fair lady first found you."

"He was a real case," Neeshka piped up. "All gloom. I suppose Lianna likes 'em tall and dark and brooding."

"If I wanted a brooding moron, I'd have gone for a fucking poet who'd starve himself to death because I told him off," I snapped, feeling the urge to defend my husband against that sort of criticism. "He wasn't chatty, fine, but he wasn't all sighing melodrama either."

"I think Lianna chose well for a mate," Elanee defended me. I gave her a mouthed "Thanks" in reply, and she gave me a tiny grin back. The family Farlong—me by adoption, her by pending marriage—had to stick together, after all.

"Don't be so harsh on the lad," Khelgar chimed in. "Yer no one to speak, wizard, with a mysterious past ye never speak of."

"Can we all shut up, please?" Casavir barked in the tones of a man trained to military command that brooked no argument. We all turned to stare at him, and a hint of blush crept into his cheeks. "I did say 'please'," he said defensively, holding up his hands apologetically.

"So you did," Neeshka said, with a slight roll of her eyes. "I still think that's the first time I've heard you get irritated." Probably true, and a sign of the changes he'd undergone that he'd let that bit of simple human emotion show so readily. They didn't know about that, though, so of course it might look a bit odd to them.

He ignored that statement. "Very well. Let's be honest. I was quite depressed and trying to carry an impossible burden. Sand was furtive and concealing his Luskan days. Khelgar was constantly spoiling for a fight. Neeshka didn't care about anyone since nobody had cared about her. Elanee had escaped her Circle to go out into the world." None of us dared to speak or move a muscle; it was as though we were entranced by the sheer force of his words. "We all had problems, but misfit and broken as we were, we all found friendship when Lianna took us in. And that let us stand against Luskan's machinations, Garius' black sorcery, and the bloody King of Shadows himself. I know the difference. I fought a war before this one."

He had been utterly alone during the Luskan War, I realized. Sixteen and betrayed by his guardian and mentor, a woman who had trained him so exactingly that he had no time to develop friendships, rejected and sneered at by the young nobles he was forced to deal with…if I had been in his boots, I would never have survived the Shadow War. "You're my best friends," I told them. "Even if I want to kick your asses sometimes, I wouldn't trade a one of you. You helped me weather all of it. And here we are today, together still. We can stand this." I couldn't help but think that Rashemen would have been so much simpler with them, even if I couldn't recall the particulars of our shared past.

I stepped forward towards the edge of the pit, gazing out over the ruins. "So," I said half to myself. Stirring speeches had never been a particular strong point of mine. I looked down at Marrin, tucking a corner of her blanket around her more tightly. This is where we fought, lovie. You were here too a year ago, though I didn't yet know it. But there was almost no fine and good world for you to come into. Your father and me…we both almost died. Gods' grace alone that we lived, I think. Some of us didn't.

My throat drew tight with grief and memory of those we had loved and lost to the shadow. In the end, all I said for my speech were their names, given under the heavens of the gods. Wherever they were, in paradise or torment or anywhere in between, I hoped their spirits would hear so that they'd know we hadn't forgotten them and their sacrifice.

"Esmerelle Thirsk. Shayla Farlong." The first to fall that I knew of, but they were far from the last. I heard Daeghun make a small sound of pain behind me at the name of his first wife. They were never far from my nightmares, though I wished to Mielikki that there might be a night that I dreamed of better times with Mom and Auntie Shayla rather than blood and ice and darkness.

"Amie Fern." She'd been my sometimes-rival, my fellow troublemaker, my true friend. And always so eager to learn, she'd tried to defend her mentor and ended up slaughtered in the night by a menace I didn't understand then. Bevil hadn't even had time to weep over his fiancée before Daeghun kicked us both out to go trek to the swamps and retrieve the cursed shard.

"Shandra Jerro." No one should have died as she did, alone and betrayed, with only fiends of the hells and her grandfather, her killer, as her final sight. She had suffered greatly since I had met her…having her farm burned, being kidnapped by the gith, losing her friends at Ember, and then finally being murdered. She had greatly feared the Haven, and rightly so.

"Callum Swiftstrike." The wry young shield dwarf had been Cas' friend. If I had more time to get to know him, I'd likely have befriended him too. He'd coordinated the campaign at Old Owl Well marvelously with his acid tongue and clever mind, and of course, he cared about Cas. He'd defended my life and my honor during my trial. And he had died bravely against impossible odds. A truer knight, Callum, than many for whom the title was just a pretense.

"Qara Stolthahl." Even if she had been a self-centered fool who had been lured by power in the end, she had still fought with us for over a year and a half, shared our fire and our friendship. Knowing that almost made her easy turn of loyalties all the more painful. She had been young and stupid, but some part of me thought she had hungered to belong. And for a time, she had.

"Zhjaeve of the Githzerai." If she had a surname or clan, she had never told it to us. That was no surprise. Zhajaeve had always been an enigma to us all. She had appeared on this plane, willing to guide me in finding and forging the weapons I needed for the battle. Once that task was complete, she had fallen. Perhaps she sensed that her purpose had been completed, and that she could return to whatever spirits or deities her people claimed with honor.

"Ammon Jerro." I had never liked the old man. He was too eager to sacrifice the ideas and the people I held dear to achieve a goal. As if realizing in addition to his demonic bargains, kinslaying probably just heaped on more damnation, he had always been bitter and ruthless. But he hadn't begrudged me apparently being the person who could complete the task he had failed. He aided me without rancor. And at the end, he stood with us, with courage and honor.

Looking out into the wrack and ruin of the Vale that I sometimes thought too well resembled the state of my soul, I heard their footsteps rustling on the grass as they came up to me. Cas' hand found my shoulder. Neeshka pressed against me on the other side. We stood then tightly side by side at the edge of the pit, silent as the grave it had almost been for us all.

Maybe two, three minutes went by in absolute stillness. Not so long a time in the grand scheme of things, I knew. But that was some kind of torturous eternity to endure in silence, all of us casting inward back to our memories of a year ago. Exhausted by the battle at the Keep, we'd still forged on ahead. We had no other choice. All the terror, the desperation, the knowledge that so much rested on our success, the heart-tearing conviction that even if we won, some of us wouldn't be coming home. That had been the Vale for us last Marpenoth.

I reached out and squeezed Neeshka's arm in reassurance. I knew this battle had been a particular hell for her, captured and tormented by Garius' blood geas. The strength of will and body it had taken to endure the pain and choose to stand with us—that was a sign of her love that I knew I could never forget. She had come so far from the bratty, sharply defensive young woman who didn't give a damn for anyone that I'd met at Fort Locke.

We were all changed beings now, both well and ill. Those of us who stood here now, bonded strongest; we had all been so young at the start of things, barely grown and still lacking the ways of the world-wise. Even Sand, the oldest, was still barely in his late hundreds. In a way, this ordeal had matured us fully, burned away the last vestiges of childhood and naïveté. Those who claimed sex was the barrier between child and adult were idiots—they obviously had never suffered like this. Responsibilities and loss made me into a woman long before Cas ever dared to take me in his arms.

I heard Casavir inhale deeply, and the unbearable quiet broke as he began to sing. I recognized the tune almost immediately: the Tyrran song always sung at evening prayers. Someone had written it centuries before, and despite inevitable changes and reforms in the faith, the hymn had remained unaltered. It was a tribute for all those who had fallen in the fierce pursuit of justice, died while protecting the sweet and fragile and good things in the world. Sung by a temple choir, multiple voices interweaving in the almost chant-like tune and rising to the high-vaulted ceiling above, it had a haunting glory that could bring most anyone to tears. I had seen people with glistening cheeks and damp handkerchief both in Neverwinter and at our own temple at Crossroads Keep.

He had no choir to harmonize with; most of us didn't know the hymn, lengthy and sung entirely in Thorass. But gods, he didn't need such a thing. His voice soared beneath the open skies like a bird on the wing; the requiem seemed to ring throughout the valley. In its way, his solo deep baritone, some notes trembling with a depth of feeling, carried a more unbearable beauty and pain than even a choir of celestials could have managed. Somehow, I didn't weep. Maybe I'd cried too often lately. But my grief was every bit as wrenching. Cas somehow continued, determined to give the due honor to our dead, though I could hear him struggling more and more with the overwhelming tide of emotion.

"Thyne árweoð est, cáf anth æltǽ,

Ac hathi thow hatz uns gieffan,

Thy nama ǽlíf-léor est…"

When Rhella roared in baffled pain, drowning out Cas' song, I was looking at the tears rolling down Khelgar's cheeks as he raised his arm to wipe his eyes—and his nose—on the fine sleeve of his tunic.

I instinctively turned towards the winter bear, seeing her eyes wide with terror and an arrow buried in her shoulder. She must have wanted to run to Casavir, but the wrongness she sensed in front of her kept her penned where she stood. She roared again, defiantly, though she kept her injured paw off the ground as she did so. "Fight me, human! Puny sticks not kill me!" she snarled, showing off her long white teeth as she roared defiantly.

I half turned to Casavir, trying to understand it. His face was like my memories of Kelemvor, his features were so still; except, of course, no death-mask had ever had eyes burning with a combination of fear for his companion, and a very healthy dose of sheer blue murder.

Cas approached the bear, probably to heal and reassure her. But I saw that for his first priority, he'd reverted to the lessons of instinct and years of living in dangerous turf. He was scanning the area furiously, trying to locate whatever threat presented itself in this attack on his kammak. "Let me help," I said, quickly handing an awakening Marrin off to Elanee and moving forward with him, towards where Rhella hobbled awkwardly, still unwilling to cross the tree line. "I know arrow wounds."

"She's mine," he growled at me with obvious temper. The first instinct was to get pissed off at his tone and lash out in return. Fortunately for both of us, I'd been learning lately to not just jump with that impulse. The second thought was one of understanding—he wasn't angry with me. He was frightened for her, distracted by trying to find someone hiding in the gods-damned bushes, and furious that someone had just attacked his companion. If someone attacked him, or Falyris, or Marrin…yes, I'd be infuriated as well.

As I'd tried to explain, much as his healing skills exceeded mine both in magic and mundane realms, nothing to sort out the way of an arrow wound like a ranger's wiles. We knew best how to read and then heal them, since we knew best how to cause them. Besides, if I examined the arrow, I could learn a lot. The wood and weight of the shaft, the style, the length; they'd tell me a lot about the probable severity of the puncture, and likewise, a few things about the archer himself.

Arrows, like bows and any other weapon, were highly individualized. Anyone looking in my quiver would be able to tell a good bit about me without even seeing me in person. Their length would tell them the draw of the bow, and thus my relative height and strength. That would also imply I was a woman—or perhaps an elven male. Linden or ash shafts that were carefully straightened, and strong but light; I prized speed and accuracy in my shots. And goose feather fletching…well, that probably just meant I wasn't too picky. All in all, they were the arrows of an ordinary female country ranger. They'd tell that even before seeing my personal mark on them to help claim a kill or sort my arrows from others—two green bands of paint and an "L".

I had the feeling Casavir, even after he calmed down and saw that Rhella was still on her feet and would recover, was still going to want a few words about shooting first and thinking later with whatever huntsman had done this. If the moron had any sense he was halfway across the valley already. Didn't mean that would save him; once Cas got a thing in his head, there was no getting it out. After all, he was a man who'd spent years constantly trying to get killed out of some insane sense of remorse and imagined divine condemnation.

The rest of them had stayed back from this scene, probably sensing that further interference wasn't wanted, but they all looked disconcerted. As though a year hadn't passed, we were all on keen alert, ready to do battle. After all, we'd come here to mourn, and been ambushed. Granted, it was one of the animals who'd been injured, but an attack on them was an attack on our group nonetheless. I moved closer, deliberately keeping wide of Casavir, who was inching towards Rhella as well but still scanning the area with a fierce intensity. "Hurts," she said gruffly, as I laid a hand on her uninjured shoulder.

I patted her clumsily, and was about to reply when I froze at the sight of the arrow. Oh yes, I definitely could tell Casavir a thing or three about the archer in question.

The arrow was a duskwood shaft; a very heavy, deep-colored wood, and made unusually long too, for a bow with a massive draw. He valued sheer brutal power in his shots above accuracy or speed. Black dyed fletching; menacingly dark, but that extra effort to dye the quills spoke of vanity, or a wish to present some kind of image. The three black rings only added weight to that interpretation. I'd seen these arrows, all right, spent months seeing them in the same quarry I'd shot, in the same battles I'd fought. And I'd mocked him plenty about the sheer theatricality of his uniformly dark arrows too.

If he was hunting for meat, at least he wouldn't have used a poisoned arrow, thank the gods. And for all I criticized his faults, at least he'd never just hunt an animal to kill it for no reason. But I wouldn't have put it beyond him to use one of his barbed arrowheads to cause more damage and make his prey bleed to death faster. What in the hells he'd been thinking trying to drop such a big, fierce critter with a single shot was beyond me…and if he had any brain in his head, he'd realize there was something odd about a winter bear in this area before shooting it.

"Bishop, you lousy sheepfucker," I hissed between my teeth, swiftly heading towards fury myself. Would the man never stop causing problems for me and mine? Loviator must really have enjoyed him being my brother and thus forever tied to me, because the man had caused me more than his due share of misery and problems.

Said accused sheepfucker appeared then from the bushes as if summoned by magic, reaching over his shoulder for another arrow. Of course he had stuck around to finish the job. He didn't have the sense to get lost after that kind of colossal stupidity. He stared at me hovering over Rhella, and Casavir between him and his prey. "Bishop," Casavir spoke, his voice deceptively soft, though I could see his body drawn tense as a coiled spring. "What in the hells do you think you're doing?"

Bishop stared at Casavir, his features twisted, pale brown eyes burning with rage and hate. "Back off, paladin," he spat. He stepped forward, making to move past Casavir towards Rhella.

"You have about three seconds to explain yourself," Casavir said, putting his arm out to bar Bishop from passing or get a clear shot.

"I'm hunting. Get out of my way." He nocked the arrow to his bow and started to raise it, shoving past Cas. Cas grabbed Bishop's shoulder and turned him back. Bishop threw off Cas' hand, snarled defiantly at him. "I've had enough of your fucking meddling!"

Something was wrong here, even for Bishop. Sheer temper wasn't his usual style. And where in the hells was Brienne Starfire, who was supposed to be keeping an eye on him? Very useful woman she proved to be: Bishop bent on mayhem, Casavir teetering on the edge of black rage, me trying to keep Rhella calmed down and examine her wound, and Brienne nowhere to be found. And, of course, none of the others at my back were going to be much help since they'd probably all volunteer to kill Bishop in a heartbeat. They must have decided that as leader, and since it was Cas' bear who'd been attacked, ours was the right to deal with him, unless I said otherwise. Funny, I thought, how after a year away, things just instinctively slid smoothly back into the old ways like a set of well-oiled gears.

"That bear'smine…and she's going to be a very nice rug on my floor," Bishop insisted.

"She's mine," Casavir snapped in return. Rhella gave a soft rumble of approval at that. The niceties apparently concluded and without peaceful agreement reached, his next move was to give Bishop his best right cross directly to the face. Bishop's head snapped back, and with some strange detachment, I couldn't help but think, as I always had, that the distinctive sound of a breaking nose was really rather gruesome: that grinding, meaty, popping sort of crack.

The force and the pain made Bishop stumble back a few steps, and finally some of the fury Casavir had been letting boil came out when he shouted, "I thought you had changed, you worthless bastard! You told me you had!" Oh gods, if I thought he'd been angry with me by the river a few tendays before, that had just been a simple hint of this.

Bishop wiped underneath his nose, saw the snot and blood on his fingers and raised an eyebrow. Scrubbing his hand on his trousers, he smirked back at Casavir. "Well, now, that's more like it." Half-turning and dropping the bow to the grass, he raised his own fists in answer.

You have got to be kidding me. I'd spent so much time trying to keep these two from killing each other, and it was only Casavir's patience that had kept it from flaring into an explosion. Of course, I'd been inclined to think Casavir took it with too much grace. If he'd popped Bishop one in the face like he just had, I wouldn't have objected except for the fact that I was sure any fight between them would have escalated into a deadly one with weapons. And either outcome there would have been a loss. Casavir being killed was a black pit of unthinkable grief. Bishop being killed would still have upset me too, although I'd also have felt terrible for Cas, knowing how hard he would take being goaded into a deadly fight after having it happen with Harcus Valessar.

So a lot of my efforts then had been directed towards avoiding that fight, though for me, it always felt like a losing battle. Someday, Bishop would push Casavir too far; it was pretty much inexorable. If I hadn't chased Bishop out of the Vale, I had the feeling they would have finally clashed there.

Seemed like today was the day the inevitable finally would happen. As they circled, it looked like neither of them was reaching for blades, content to just try to kick the shit out of each other rather than fight to kill. Rhella, of course, was grumbling approval at Casavir's willingness to scrap, despite the pain in her shoulder. "Hold still," I said, giving her a reproachful smack on her flank, "or do you want to have this stuck in you for the whole winter?"

"Not want to watch mate fight?" she asked curiously.

I snorted, glancing up to see the two of them still circling warily like a pair of wolves, searching for advantage and weaknesses. After having waited so long for the chance to sort things out, it looked like neither of them was going to waste the opportunity by being rash. "Not much to see yet. And if he loses, I'm sure as hell not mating with the other one, Rhella. He's my brother." She looked at me, confused at that concept, since most bears didn't know their sire and a lot of them might have shared blood. "I'll explain later," I muttered. "Besides, trust me, Casavir's not going to lose."

Bishop might have been spoiling for a fight with our group's paladin from the get-go, but that was a damn fool idea on his part. But he must have known he'd pay for his fun eventually when he went that wee bit too far and set Cas off. I knew his way of fighting, and he excelled at ranged battle, and at stealthy, assassin-style attacks. Simply going toe-to-toe and giving out blows and enduring the pain of being hit himself wasn't his strength. And doing that with a man for whom melee combat was a way of life, and who was stronger than him and severely pissed off besides…well, nobody ever had attributed much wisdom to Bishop's account, had they?

They'd progressed to testing each other out now, tentative feints and quick jabs, constantly in motion. Neither of them was willing to attack in earnest just yet. I had the feeling Bishop knew once he committed he was done for and was hoping to exploit a moment of weakness to avoid it, and that the more sensible part of Casavir was hoping to just wait the thing out until Bishop gave up. Rhella growled her encouragement to Casavir, and I finally gave up myself. Trying to remove an arrow on a fidgeting bear, while hearing the sound of traded insults nearby, was too much for my frayed patience. Touching her with a quick healing spell to take away the pain until we could extract the arrow, I turned to watch the proceedings, such as they were.

Brienne Starfire conveniently came running out of the woods just then, drawn by the ruckus. But of course she was far too late to rein in her errant charge. "Nice of you to show," I commented, unable to help some reproach in my tone, folding my arms over my chest.

She gave me a sharp glower, and demanded, "What in all the hells happened here?"

"Bishop attacked Cas' companion," I nodded to Rhella, who was still surveying the fight with clear excitement. "Cas got understandably pissed off, tried to stay calm, and ended up punching him in the face when he insisted on trying to shoot Rhellakys here again. Bishop decided a brawl would be the perfect end to the afternoon…and that's where we stand, I think. Not much of a fight, though, since nobody's actually throwi—oh, never mind." Bishop had finally gotten bored with dancing around and managed to sneak in an actual punch that clipped Casavir on the cheek, to which Casavir neatly socked him in the right eye.

Just like that, the flurry of blows began, and silence except for the occasional grunt of exertion or pain. "Oh, for the gods' sakes," Brienne sighed, stepping forward. Naturally, she chose to appeal to the ostensibly more sensible of the two men, although I had the feeling that having been shoved off the edge, Cas was a lost cause. She hadn't seen him in the Sword Mountains or with me on campaign. When he was the Katalmach, hewas a terrifying force; once he gave himself over to a fight, he just didn't quit until his opponent was on the ground. "Casavir! That's enough!" She barked it with an unconscious tone of command and an expectation of obedience.

Apparently my husband took exception to it as well, because he risked turning towards her, dodging Bishop's fist, long enough to bark in return, "I don't answer to you any longer!" He paid for the distraction by almost getting a knee to the groin, turning just enough to take the blow on his inner thigh. Still hurt like the hells, I was sure; that was a sensitive area.

"Ha, you tell her—"

"Shut up!" That was punctuated by Casavir splitting Bishop's lip. He just laughed wildly, spat the blood on the grass, and got Casavir a solid one in the ribs.

I heard Brienne start to sing the Tyrran chant to summon a paladin's calming aura, to settle the two of them down. Putting a hand on her arm, I shook my head. "Don't do it."

"You want them to keep this up?" she said with incredulity, and maybe a touch of scorn.

I leveled her with a glacial stare, trying to remind her that she hadn't had a place in Casavir's life in over thirteen years, and that she'd known Bishop all of a few tendays. Compared to me, she didn't get much of a say on the matter. "You have any idea how much time I spent trying to keep those two from murder in the past? They don't have weapons now, and they're not monks. They won't kill each other."

"Good gods," she murmured, shaking her head and sighing like a schoolteacher gravely disappointed a bunch of unruly pupils.

"Look," I said bluntly, "Bishop's been yapping and snipping at Cas for a long time, and for some reason Cas hasn't put him in his place like he should. Seeing a strong man like that just take it over and over isn't a pleasant sight."

"So you advocate violence instead?" she said, incredulous.

"I just want him to stand up for himself, whether with words or actions." And he's been learning to do that this month, Brienne Starfire, and I won't take that from him. He's earned the pride of it. He'd stood by me through everything in this last month, dealing with all of my problems without asking anything in return. And Bishop had constantly asked for a beating in my mind, with every sneered condescension and mockery of Casavir and his ideals. It showed Cas to be a better man that he hadn't done that, although I'd told him that answering back wasn't a sin by any means. But now an attack on Rhella, as dear to him as Marrin and I were, was something he had to answer. I wasn't going to get in his way. Hells, I was going to support him wholeheartedly on this one.

"He's always so ready to defend others, but not himself. Unusual, isn't that? Could be that idiot Aribeth de Tylmarande made him believe that he didn't matter, only the cause, and besides, if he wasn't perfect and polite and in control every stinking moment he'd turn into a raving homicidal lunatic." Suffice it to say; based on what Casavir had told me—and what he hadn't—I wasn't exactly keen on his former master. Her ideals weren't great for instructing anyone, but they'd been particularly harsh on a passionate but sensitive spirit like Casavir. His skin wasn't half as thick as he liked people to think, though he was good at hiding it.

"She was gravely mistaken, I'd agree. Still…"

"This is how it is with males, Brienne. Sometimes two of them just have to sort things out and determine who's stronger. Bishop's challenged Cas long enough, and hells, I think he could use some humility at the hands of a paladin. You've hopefully given him some of that in the last few tendays."

A smile touched her lips at that. "I admit he stops his nonsense quickly if you call him out on it. He certainly could use some further humility, I will admit—Ilmaterian and all that." One auburn eyebrow rose as she glanced towards the two of them, just in time to see Bishop take a solid blow to the gut that left him doubled over and gasping for air like a landed fish, which Casavir swiftly followed with a massive right to the jaw that must have had Bishop seeing stars. Aided by Cas sweeping his legs out from under him, he ended up in a heap on the grass. "It really is sort of ridiculous, though."

"No more so than women bitching and hissing at each other," I pointed out. "Look, they haven't got weapons. We can patch 'em up after the fight, see, Bishop might actually admit he was a moron, and all's well." I glanced towards her, curious. "Where were you, anyhow?"

"I was tending camp. He said he was going hunting. He's…kept to himself a great deal these last few days." She bit her lip, sighed. "I've tried to draw him out as best I might, get him to speak of it, but he's not a man given to sharing his emotions or his confidences."

"You have no idea," I said dryly. Really, she probably didn't.

"He shot the bear, you said," Brienne said slowly, and I sensed she was looking at Rhella. "Oh, damn."

"Yeah, he did. That's what started this, remember?" I had the sense she was trying to tell me something, but I was admittedly distracted by the fact that Bishop was still on the ground, and Cas had one knee in the middle of his back, doing his level best to keep Bishop's hands restrained. The two of them were panting like dogs, bleeding and sweating, and Bishop was still bucking madly trying to get loose while Casavir insisted he yield.

"Guess that's about it. We'd best let 'em walk it off," I suggested. For my part, I wanted to examine them and make sure they weren't actually badly injured; I suspected a concussion wasn't out of the question on Bishop's part from that last punch to the head that had knocked him down. But beyond that, I wasn't too tempted to heal them up. Let them lick their own wounds, and have the soreness and bruises in the next few days drive the point home for both of them.

"Let me go with Casavir," she requested urgently, already starting towards him. "We need to talk…" All right, she'd probably be able to calm him down with that aura, if need be, and I wasn't exactly sure what I'd say to him myself. There weren't any suggestions regarding your husband and brother beating each other bloody. Of course I supported Casavir on this one, but really…still nothing good to say about it. After so long trying to keep these two from mayhem, I was glad that they'd maybe just gotten it out of their systems. But that didn't mean it had been a pleasant thing.

I glanced at Bishop, slowly hauling himself to his feet with a glower Casavir's way. His misfortune to try baiting the man he'd journeyed with, rather than the one who'd come here today. "Fine, missy," I muttered, "you take the easy one. Thanks."

Before I could make sure he was all right, Bishop turned towards the woods and stalked off. From the awkward way he held himself and walked, he was obviously in some pain: small wonder. Even Casavir was moving stiffly, that hit to his leg telling now in a definite limp. Bishop had gotten thrashed, all right, but not without giving a decent account of himself.

"Well," I said, blinking and watching Bishop stomping through the underbrush and Casavir storming off with Brienne, "maybe now they can sit at a table together and behave rather than just annoying all of us."

"Does somebody want to tell me," Neeshka demanded a little shrilly, "what he was doing here?"

"He had no right," Khelgar growled fiercely, raising a clenched fist. "Not after what he did. Bad enough the lad invaded yer Keep in Eleasias, lassie, but to come here today…"

That was a very good question, really. What was Bishop doing here? He'd betrayed us at Crossroads Keep, but it was here that he'd actually stood against us, ready to kill us all. Maybe this was the next stop on his little redemption tour, another wayshrine where he needed to stop and ask forgiveness. But then again, trying insistently to murder someone's bonded companion wasn't exactly fitting that plan. As usual, I was forced to admit that with Bishop, things made very little sense.

I sighed, turning back towards Rhella. The bear regarded me with something almost like glee in her brown eyes. "Cas fight well," she announced proudly, and with a somewhat lofty condescension towards Falyris, Rollo, and Naloch. "My bonded."

Naloch snorted, black and white snout in the air to look up at her, stretching lazily. "Knew that. Saw him in battle when you were probably still cub."

Rhella whuffed apologetically to Naloch. "Hold still, will you?" I urged her. "Ellie, you wanna give me a hand here?"

Elanee handed Marrin, now grumbling in protest herself thanks to being woken by the noise, off to a surprised Sand and moved to assist me. Her slim, deft hands sent a quick calming spell towards Rhella. Before long, the bear was still standing on her three good paws, but her head was drooping and she was snoring softly.

"What's this about Bishop at your Keep?" Sand demanded, staying out of the way of our little surgery and holding Marrin protectively close to his chest. Gods be thanked, my daughter appeared to like Uncle Sand—elven charm, most like. I imagined my moon elf friend probably wasn't enjoying his long hair being used as a curiosity and plaything by a four-month-old human baby. But he put up with it. "You mean the idiot boy had the temerity to return…"

"Yep," I said tersely, breaking the arrow's shaft near the head. "And if you looked on his wrists, you'd see tattoos of Ilmater. Apparently he had something of a revelation while we were out east. He came to the castle to apologize, if you can believe that."

"I find that idea very difficult, Lianna."

"Trust me," Neeshka answered him, "if I hadn't been there to see it, I wouldn't have thought it possible either." I listened idly, thankful that neither she nor Khelgar brought up the fact that I'd tried to order him hanged, and that Cas and I had argued pretty fiercely about it in front of everyone. Sometimes the whole truth isn't exactly what's needed.

"I don't know what he's doing here in the Vale," I answered honestly. "El, can I have your knife…yeah, thanks. And I don't know why he attacked Rhella here either. But I'm not inclined to ask just at the moment."

Elanee handed me her slim herb collecting knife and gave a low humming noise that told me she was considering the matter. She looked at me across the massive, shaggy hump of muscle that was Rhella's shoulders, her wood-brown eyes suddenly thoughtful. "Rhellakys is here with us," she remarked. I carefully cut in around the arrowhead, hoping her knife wasn't going to make the wound much worse, but it was much finer than the dagger at my waist. A scalpel would be better. Our camp was a bit of a walk, deliberately away from the taint of Merdalain, or else I'd have gone digging in Casavir's saddlebags. Ilmaterian-trained in healing, and being forced to refine the mundane skills in the years he hadn't used divine magic, he was in the habit of carrying a small surgeon's kit when we were on the trail. Spells, after all, weren't always the best answer to everything. "So too are Rollo, Naloch, and Falyris."

"Point taken," I grunted, tugging at the arrowhead and feeling it give a bit. It didn't catch on the muscle as I pulled, so thank Mielikki, Bishop hadn't used a barbed point. And by the direction and location of the wound, it hadn't hit bone either. No vital organs or vessels: a poor shot from him. That was somewhat unusual. Then again, he'd been acting pretty strangely the entire time…even for Bishop. "I don't follow your meaning, though." I wasn't in the mood for the elven love of cryptic pronouncements just now. "Talk plain to the human, please."

"His ilanaak got in a fight, Lianna, and you know how defensive companions are of their bonded. Don't you expect we should have seen Karnwyr by now?"

I glanced around, not seeing the familiar smoke-grey fur, wagging tail, and brown eyes anywhere in sight. "Is he nearby?" Her druid senses were better at sensing the spirit of an animal in the wild. No need for excellent tracking skills like mine when she had that level of connection to nature.

While I continued carefully cutting the arrow free and Rhella thankfully dozed, Elanee closed her eyes and cast her senses out into the living forest around us. I saw her shudder, suppressing a violent retch as her natural powers clashed up against the spiritual rot and filth of the place where the King of Shadows had died. But she persisted, despite the misery and difficulty of the task. I finally wiggled the last of the point free, stopping the bleeding with a quick spell, and putting some of my healing powers into speeding the wound to recovery. Elanee's eyes opened, her shoulders sagging with the effort, and beads of sweat stood out on her forehead. "He's not here."

I went to throw the arrowhead and shaft into the sunken pit, figuring they ought to lie there amongst all the other evils of this place. "Oh, damn."