It was a week before anyone acknowledged Bishop with more than a scowl. Sand and Torio had exchanged heated words as Vorgak's corpse had been dragged away and Bishop had been taken back into Neverwinter custody without complaint. It occurred to him that night as he lay sleepless in the wagon on the road South that he should have taken his freedom and run, but in the moment all he had wanted was the relative security that the Neverwinter delegation provided.
There had been a been a few weeks there, where Linn's unlikely companions had settled into a familial routine. They all lived at the Phoenix Tail Inn and camped together on the road. Over time, sharing close quarters, he had even softened on some of them. Elanee was eager to share her wisdom whenever he had questions. Qara was beautiful and enjoyed his attention. Slimy Sand had shared his expensive pipeweed on occasion around the campfire and even Ammon Jerro could be seen to crack a smile at some of Grobanr's antics. It was, sadly, the closest thing he'd had to a family in all his years. Except for Karnwyr, of course.
In the long hours back in his cell at the Keep, he ached for the wolf's presence. Only alone did he realise how often he had spoken to the wolf, airing his thoughts and frustrations. He felt as if a part of him was missing, but knew deep down that the wolf would be safe somewhere. In the wild, the battle trained beast would be a pack's alpha, living free and well. It was, he decided, better this way, but no easier to endure for it.
"I should have been more suspicious. Never seen someone in such a good mood on the way to their own death." Sand said on the eighth day after the duel, breaking the silence. He sat opposite Bishop's cot on the chair, looking calm and well rested in the late morning sunlight.
"You caused quite a diplomatic incident with that stunt. Lucky for you the treaties were well drafted."
"Doesn't that mean I'm free, since my Luskan trail is over?" Bishop asked, voicing the thought he'd had in the days prior.
"Well, technically yes. Consider yourself under arrest again." Sand replied, waving dismissively. Bishop growled.
"What happens now then? You hang me from the gate and throw a party?"
"Not unless you're got another dragon's hoard hidden in that bucket." Sand gestured to Bishop's toilet. "Funding from Neverwinter has dried up since the war ended and Sal couldn't spare more than a keg of ale."
"So you're not going to hang me?" Bishop asked, irked by Sand's evasiveness.
"Tell me, Bishop, how long is the list of people who would make a bargain for your life?"
The question was unexpected and the answer was grim. Before Port Llast, he might have thought Malin would have made it. Given the opportunity, she had sealed his fate.
"Not long." He conceded and Sand nodded sagely.
"And of those on that list, can you think of any who might powerful and resourceful enough to find themselves in a position to do so directly with the god of the dead?"
It took Bishop a moment under Sand's expectant gaze.
"Only one."
"Indeed." Sand replied. "Our erstwhile Knight-Captain must be involved in your return, I'm sure of it. I do not know why or how, but there is no other reasonable explanation. Accordingly, Khelgar and I have agreed that your trial shall be stayed until such time as she returns. In the meantime, you will serve the Keep you betrayed. Come, let me show you to your new lodgings."
Hatred and death were in all the eyes on the pair as Sand led Bishop through the courtyard and out the gate, though no words followed them.
"The Keep's staff are under strict orders not to speak to you. Don't push their loyalty, keep your head down and stay out of everyone's way." Sand advised as they turned left and followed the wall around the keep where the morning sunlight shone on a small, unkempt graveyard beside a wooden shack built against the Keep's fortifications.
"Twenty-one died the night of the siege, most of them after the gates were opened. Four more succumbed to wounds in the following days. Twenty-nine graves overall. The last recruit we sent out here to clean up said the ivy stung his hands, but that shouldn't be a problem for a ranger." Sand went on as the door to the shed creaked ajar. Flooded in morning sunlight, the open door revealed a dusty and cobwebbed space, barely big enough to lie down flat in and nearly full of rusted garden tools and other oddments.
"Who are the other five?" Bishop queried, looking grimly at his new lodgings.
"We erected memorials for our companions lost in service to the War. Shandra, Grobnar, Elanee, Neeshka and Qara."
Sand gestured to five of the prominent stones among the graves, carpeted in clovers and ivy.
Bishop's eyes shifted over the headstones before him, then inevitably, drifted to the horizon. The tree line of the nearest woods was only a hundred meters or so off, and beyond that… what?
"Before you go getting any ideas, your freedom isn't without limits." Sand said, bending down to pick up a fist sized chunk of fallen masonry from the ground and tossing it up for himself to catch. He spoke in the arcane tongue and the rock glowed with light for a moment before fading back to looking like any other rock.
"I have placed upon this rock a geas." Sand said, smiling proudly. "If the rock travels further than a defined distance from me…" he went on, performatively holding up the rock and aiming to throw it. It didn't go far, Sand didn't have much of an arm, but at the height of its arc the stone exploded into dust and shrapnel, carried by the breeze to rain down on the pair.
"If you travel more than say… five hundred meters from me…" Sand went on, looking over at the Keep and gauging the distance "then we'll have to send a recruit to scrape up what is left over."
Monologue concluded, Sand smiled at Bishop for a moment before stepping forward to cast the geas over him, his skin tingling as the light bloomed and faded in a manner of seconds.
"Someone will bring out food for you. I've told Sal not to spit in it, but I can't make any promises. Any questions?" Sand said, briskly moving on past the life-threatening curse he had just placed Bishop under.
"How is the paladin?" Bishop asked. The man had looked haggard on the stretcher, like a pile of bones already laid to rest under a shroud.
"Casavir is…" Sand sought for the words "not as we knew him. He spent weeks pinned in the rubble, unable to move, surviving on stagnant puddle water and passing insects. Then the Luskans found him and put him in a cell to be tormented by the young Eyegouger. Luskan's prisons aren't known for their amenities. You can imagine."
Bishop nodded grimly.
"Ivarr says the wounds to his body have healed. His legs work, he simply lacks the will or inclination to use them. So he lies in the Knight-Captain's chamber, refusing to eat or speak or even pray. Nothing I have said or done can compel him from his bed."
Sand sighed, staring solemnly out at the overrun cemetery.
"Perhaps someone who has had their faith tested might persuade him. Or at least a person with more experience feeling sorry for oneself."
A careful glance was exchanged between the pair.
"But how rude of me to keep you from your work. These graves won't keep themselves."
Bishop watched Sand walk back around the wall to the gate without a backward glance then set to his new task.
First order of business was always to establish a camp. He emptied the shed and took an inventory of the contents. There were enough empty sacks piled up to make a decent bedroll, as well as a number of tools that would be usable after a vinegar scrub to remove the rust. Rake, trowel, shovel and hatchet. An empty barrel and two crates would serve as a small table and chairs, which he set up outside. In the corner farthest from the door, someone had stashed a ceramic jug with a few fingers of what smelled like dwarven spirit left in the bottom. The shack itself would keep neither rain or wind out, so he sketched plans in mind to patch the gaps in the walls with a simple clay mortar and thatch the roof while the weather held.
The graves were neatly arranged in rows of five behind the memorial stones set up for his former companions. All were overgrown with creeping vines and the graves of the soldiers beyond were crumbling from exposure. It would be weeks of work to get it all in order.
Hands wrapped, he set to work on the memorial stones, piling detritus up against the wall and noting he would need a wheelbarrow to move it eventually. As he revealed the names of his companions who were memorialised, he briefly daydreamed about how the fight might have gone had he not betrayed Linn, picturing himself convincing Neeshka to follow his lead and fight against the King of Shadows or loosing an arrow just in time to save Elanee from her fate. The soil beneath the stones was flat and undisturbed. No bodies buried there. They had been left to rot in the collapsed ruins of the Vale. Except for Shandra, he noted to himself. Ammon Jerro bore the guilt of her death, though Bishop winced at the way he had spoken to the woman. He did not recall his last words to her before entering the Jerro sanctum, but they had likely been derisive, crude or some mix of the two. Had he known how much time she had left, he would have spared her that small misery.
Then, inevitably, his mind drifted to Casavir and his own torment in the darkness. Weeks in the pitch black, unable to move, barely subsisting, praying for salvation. Then the cruel twist of his rescue, feeling as though his prayers had been answered and a great trial passed, only to fall into the hands of his enemies, abandoned by his god to torture and probable death. An image of Aribeth de Tylmarande flashed before Bishop's eyes, the fallen paladin of Tyr at the head of the Luskan army that Bishop himself had served in. She had strolled right past his regiment once, her foul beauty drawing all eyes wherever she walked. The blackguard had even looked him in the eye for a brief moment, though every man who survived that day had said the same.
The afternoon sun cast long shadows over the graveyard on the East wall of the keep and, after a particularly nasty thorn cut through his improvised gloves, he decided to retire for the day.
Pledging to return in the morning to mete out vengeance on the vine in the light of the next day, he sat in his ramshackle hut and turned his attention to the jug of spirits, feeling thoroughly sorry for himself after a day spent tending the fruits in the stone orchard of his betrayal.
Bishop knocked on the door to her chamber, heartbeat thumping in his ears. Suspicious eyes had followed him as he walked through the Keep's grounds carrying the jug, but none had barred his way. The two guards stationed inside the main hall exchanged sceptical glances when he explained his purpose, but let him pass.
"Go away." The occupant said, his voice muffled through the wood. Bishop took a breath and turned the handle, stepping into the firelit chamber. Casavir lay in her bed propped upright on a pile of pillows. The paladin had been washed, but he looked little better for it. Half a head taller than Bishop, Casavir's imposing size had always intimidated the ranger. He'd moved with surprising agility under the weight of gleaming full plate armour and heavy shield. The figure before him was pale and gaunt, haunted blue eyes looking out from behind the matted curtains of hair and bushy beard.
The two stared at each other across the room. It still smelled like the rose oil perfume she'd worn.
"Figured you could use a drink." Bishop said, shaking the jug and closing the door behind him, spying two goblets on the Knight-Captain's desk next to an empty crystal decanter.
"Leave." Casavir whispered, averting his eyes. Ignoring him, Bishop slopped out two half cups of the clear liquid out and set one on Linn's bedside table, just out of the paladin's reach. Grinning, he settled into the desk chair and took a sip of the liquid, burning aniseed on his tongue. Casavir laboriously turned his body away from the firelight, showing Bishop his back.
The desk and bookshelves were dusty, unused in years. Bishop glanced over a leather folio, sheaves of parchment jutting out. He idly flipped it open and quietly gasped as his own face stared back up at him. It was a flattering sketch of him, caught in a rare moment he wasn't scowling. On the page under that was another sketch, this one of Casavir, glowing with an intimate smile. Grobnar's eyes were alight in his representation. Sand smilingly smugly. Laid out on the desk, each of Linn's companions had been rendered by the Knight-Captain's elegant hand in charcoal.
She always saw the best in everyone.
"I don't know how to say this without it sounding rude, but you refusing to get out of her bed is the most embarrassing thing I've ever seen."
"How dare you mock me!" Casavir snarled, turning his head back over his shoulder. "You know nothing of my suffering. Of what it is to be abandoned in the dark when all you know is the light. I prayed every day for salvation and this… it… it wasn't meant to be this way…"
The fire crackled as Casavir trailed off into silence, turning to face the wall again.
Bishop bit back his retort that he knew more of darkness and light than the paladin could conceive. That his petty mortal sorrows paled in comparison to the eternal torment of the Wall. But there was no sense comparing sorrows with a man with no pride left.
"Do you know why she picked you, Casavir?" he asked instead. Casavir let out something between a growl and a laugh.
"It's because you were the brave one." Bishop went on. "In my darkest hour I turned oathbreaker and fled to Neverwinter to hide from my shame. In yours, you went to Old Owl Well to fight barbarian orcs tooth and nail. You made yourself the Katalmach. Even when you were being a coward you did it bravely."
Casavir stirred but did not turn.
"You're angry, I get it. I'm here and she isn't. It wasn't meant to be this way. But it is, and every day you spend moping in her bed is a day you're not getting back to being the man she chose."
"Are you finished?" the paladin grunted. Bishop drained his cup and set it down, inhaling sharply at the strength of the spirits.
"That, and you'll never get your vengeance on me if you don't get up."
Silence.
"Have it your way. If you change your mind, I'm in the shack outside the keep, next to the graves of everyone I betrayed. Turn left at the main gate and follow the wall, you can't miss it."