Geneforge 1Martin 22

Chapter 3-Farewell

Throughout the banquet Andras thought about who it was that might want to speak to him. Carnelian kept her distance, sitting at the opposite end of the table with Tuldaric by her side. She rarely looked his way, and never spoke to him. His father passed him the occasional glare, but otherwise did well to ignore him. Tanor conversed cheerfully with anyone who sat close to him, laughing louder as he consumed more ale. Long after everyone had consumed their share of food they all sat around, talking, laughing, reminiscing with each other. Andras was the only one that kept quiet. He watched as an outsider, a stranger to this crowd, feeling no more welcome here than his mother must have felt the first several years she lived in a Shaper city.

He did not dwell on those feelings for long. His attention often came back to Carnelian, who still seemed oblivious to him, and the man next to her. He seethed every time he saw Tuldaric and the only comfort he found was planning the man's demise. It was nothing he would act upon, of course, but it had its therapeutic value.

His mother had tried several times to redirect his energy on something more positive before she finally announced he was too set on being angry for her to be able to help him. That was true, but Andras would defend with a hint of humor in his voice at least he had someone to despise besides his father. She shook her head, looking disappointed, but left it at that.

At last the crowd began to break up, and people started excusing themselves to go back and sleep off the over-stuffed feeling in their bellies. Andras hadn't eaten more than a few bites and so his stomach still ached with hunger as he trod off to his dorm room where he hoped to find some welcome solitude. It was proving to be one of the few safe spots in the school that he didn't have to see a face that bothered him. If it wasn't Tuldaric or Carnelian it was Kristoff, Tanor, or a Council delegate. The school was teaming with people who had done wrong by him and though he was sometimes burdened to listen to Luke (Janner already left) while in his room it was far more bearable than seeing those other people. His roommate had wizened up to topics that weren't welcomed and kept his conversations superficial and free of any mention of Shaper school. He was grateful for that.

When he arrived he was surprised to find a folded bit of parchment waiting for him on his bed. No address and no from written on it, but he picked it up and opened it. A very short and precise sentence was scrawled across the page. "Meet in the herb garden."

Was this the person his mother mentioned? His first and most optimistic guess was that it came from Carnelian. The herb garden was her favorite place, and they had shared many intimate moments there a couple years back. But she wasn't the only one who knew that, nor the only one who might try to lure him out. He doubted it to be a professor. Tanor never left notes, and no others seemed to have reason to see him. Of course, he couldn't rule out the possibility this might be a cruel joke. Most of his old friends were already on their way to a new school so the names that came to mind of those who might want to pull a prank on him were excused, even Mila was gone, but others still here might have plans for taking advantage of his weakened state.

The possibilities were almost endless, but he kept going back to Carnelian. It could be her, he hoped it was, and he would go on the off chance she did show up. It was worth the risk.

He hurried downstairs, through a couple long hallways, and out the eastern wing where a door lead directly to the herb garden. It was immense. No small herbs in hand-made clay pots here. There were trees, bushes, and long strips of plants that were at least a foot tall if not taller. Some were more fastidious than others, requiring very precise locations and particular neighbors. Carnelian knew which they were, but he didn't pay that much attention. He walked a path that lead to a small clearance where a bench made of aging gray wood sat off to the side. There he sat and waited, his stomach a little tense, as the sun dipped close to the horizon.

The oncoming night began to blow in on cool breezes. Shadows lengthened. Still no one came, and he began to question if anyone would. Elbows leaned on his knees, his eyes stared at his folded hands. Maybe it was just a joke. Maybe someone wanted to see if he would come, like a fool, and wait for a person who would never show.

But no. The rustling sounds of footsteps over grass reached his ears and gave him the reassurance he needed. He was not a fool, someone was coming. He stood up to greet the cloaked figure as it walked into the clearing.

"It was hard to come alone," she explained as she lowered her hood. It was Carnelian, and excitement surged through him. Yes, she came. He didn't know why they were there, but he was glad it was her though the look on her face told him perhaps he shouldn't be. "I didn't know if you would come."

"Of course I would, but I must ask… why are we here?"

"I need to speak with you."

"What about?" He wasn't so sure he wanted to know.

"Let's walk." He followed her as she took to the narrow path that wound through the expanse of the herb garden. It was a slow and lazy pace which would have given him time to appreciate the beauty of this place had he cared to look.

"I spoke with your mother," she began, brushing her fingers over the soft leaves of a frosted green plant. "I understand now the circumstances which have brought you here, why you must become a Shaper. These last couple of days have not been kind to you, and for that I'm sorry." He was quiet and she continued. "Now I want you to understand my circumstances, and know most of it was my choosing as much as yours was." Her hand reached for his, touching his fingers, but then she withdrew, thinking better of it. Old habits had a way of resurfacing.

"When I came I didn't expect to see you again, and even if I did it would have been for just a moment, not long enough that you would ever need to know about my engagement to Tuldaric. I never meant for you to know."

"Is this supposed to comfort me?" he asked, finding the subject matter caused his muscles to tense and his stomach to feel heavy.

She sighed, but ignored the question. "I was expelled from the school for what we did or… almost did. They sent me home two days later. My parents were furious. They said I proved myself unworthy of any further expense for my education, but I believe my father still looked to get something for all the expense and trouble of putting me in school. He offered me as a wife to any established Shaper who would have me. There were a few who answered the call, but Tuldaric was the only one who took a genuine interest. After being told what happened with you, or what my parents think happened, most didn't want me."

He suppressed his distasteful comments about any man who could find her undesirable. "So he knows?"

She nodded. "Yes, my parents told him. And what they didn't tell him I did."

So he knew everything. That wasn't very comforting.

"He asked me if I still wanted to become a Shaper, and of course I did, so he agreed that if I would be faithful to him he would pay for me to finish middle-training at Delbin. He is also sponsoring my stay at Tayedikal." They stopped by a row of plants boasting large white blossoms with whisker-like projections spouting out from the base of each bunch. She looked down at her hands a moment, twisted the gold ring on her right finger, then looked at him again. "How many Shapers would ever indulge their wife like that? How many other men would have let me finish my training, and become a Shaper myself? Do you see why I am fortunate to have him?"

She had a point, but he didn't want to acknowledge that.

"Do you regret it?" he asked. Her head tilted to the side and her brow furrowed. She didn't know what he was asking. "Do you regret… what we did?"

"No." She hesitated a moment. "But I think in some ways our separation was for the best." Turning to the plant they stood before, her hands enclosed one of the large bunches of white flowers and plucked it from the stem, cradling the blooms in her fingers.

"You sound like Margus," he growled. His brother had said the same thing after Andras returned from his three day visit to the Cell and found Carnelian gone. "It's for the best," he had said. To question that wisdom Andras exposed his back, which was battered from the brutal lashings he received, for his brother to see. "Is this for the best, Margus?" He didn't know what it looked like but his brother's frightened gasp and refusal to look any longer suggested it must have been gruesome. It felt gruesome. The scars were still there, though time had faded them a bit, he thought about showing them to her. Would her reaction be the same?

"Well, Andras, think of all the things that could have happened and didn't. We were lucky, and I would hate to press that luck any further. And if I were caught again-"

"Luck?" he interrupted her, hands resting on his hips. "My brother sold me out. That had nothing to do with luck."

She shook her head as she plucked one of the flowers from the bunch and held it between her forefinger and thumb.

"So why tell me this? If you want me to be happy for you, that you found this wonderful man, Tuldaric, I can't do that. I can't say you're fortunate to be forced into marriage with a man you don't love."

"You think it's me you're looking out for but it's not."

"Do you love him?"

She was trying to avoid answering that question, and her eyes were just as determined not to look at him. He repeated the question. "No!" she snapped. He sat back, feeling confident he made his point.

"Here, take this." She held the blossom out for him to take. He looked at it a moment, backing away from it as though it were plague itself.

"I don't want it."

"It won't harm you. It will—"

"I know what it does. I don't want it." It was one of the few herbs in this garden he did know. It was used in many different remedies in varying potencies, often for its potent pain relieving properties for ailments that couldn't be healed. Alone, however, its main use was to work on the mind, to numb it so one didn't care, a popular remedy for those who had just lost a dear family member but he doubted that was why she offered it to him now.

"Andras, take it please." She held it out closer to him, and he took another step back.

"You can't buy me off with a plant," he warned.

She tossed it down in disgust. "That's not what I'm trying to…I'm just trying to…" Another sigh. "Look, I asked you to come here tonight so I could help you understand why things have to be this way. Don't think I have forgotten who you were to me, and still are, but please know that no matter what we feel for each other we can never be more than friends again." Her back turned to him as she discarded the rest of the plant. "Please tell me that we can be that much. I want us to be."

A long silence fell between them. Just agree, he told himself, but he couldn't. Where was Margus now to tell him what he should do, or what he should say? The one time he needed the advice no one was there to give it to him.

"That's it, then?" Her voice was weak as she turned back to face him. She reached under the neckline of her dress and pulled a silver necklace with a round medallion out. It was a disc with an ancient Shaper rune that meant "loyalty" engraved on it. His grandfather gave it to him when he started middle-training to remind him of the Shaper's most valuable trait. A few years later he gave it to her, and by the worn look of it she wore it as dutifully as he had. "You should take this back." She removed it from around her neck and held it out for him to take, but he refused to budge.

"It's not mine."

Shiny wet streaks formed on her cheeks, and she spoke just above a whisper. "If you cannot be so much as a friend, then yes it is. The man who gave me this cared more for me than that."

He took it. Not because he admitted she was right, but because he knew there was nothing else to say. She waited a moment longer, then turned and walked back toward the complex. He wanted to stop her, but his limbs remained fixed in place. He watched her walk away as she bowed her head in her hands, letting quiet sobs escape. Stop her, he ordered himself again. But she was beyond the reaches of his eyes, and soon after the reaches of his ears.

His hand still clutched at the medallion she left with him, but the cold metal felt like poison against his skin. He walked over to the edge of the small clearing, staring into the black silhouettes of large trees stretching out before him, and threw the medallion into the blackness as hard as he could. A musical chime sounded from a distance as it collided with the solid mass of a tree trunk then fell to the grassy earth below. He didn't know where it landed, and he didn't care. Once it was out of his hand his mind was free to pretend this conversation never happened.

Carnelian walked in silence back inside the school and wound her way through dark halls before finding the temporary quarters she shared with Tuldaric and her parents. A light filtered from beneath the door. Someone was still awake, but she hoped her parents had already retreated to their own bedroom for the night. She did not want to construct any lies tonight about where she had been. Once inside she was pleased to see only her fiancé awake, mulling over research notes as usual.

"Did you talk with him?" Tuldaric asked from his seat next to a small end table. An oil lamp sat near his elbow and illuminated the pages his eyes squinted to read.

"Yes," she answered, hanging her cloak on a hook near the door. Her tears had dried up by now, but her sadness still sounded in her voice.

"And? Did he take it well?"

"He didn't take it," she replied with a shake of her head. "I didn't think he would."

He shrugged. Both had expected no less. "You've done what you can. Now it's up to him." His eyes returned to the book in front of him, and she nodded in a half-hearted agreement. For a moment neither said anything. Then he looked up from his notes again and made a suggestion that surprised her. "Go be with him tomorrow."

"What?"

"I'll be meeting with a couple Shapers to talk about my newest project. It won't be much interest to you, not yet anyway, and I think he could use your company more than I can. Go be with him at his brother's funeral. Perhaps, if he sees your worth as a friend, he will reconsider."

"You trust him that much?"

"No," he answered. "I trust you." He waited a moment in case she responded then delved into his reading once again.

She excused herself to go to bed, hid behind the closed bedroom door and slipped into her plain white night gown. She crawled under covers, huddling against the wall although the stone chilled her body and caused her to shiver. In her cold and sleepless condition she thought about Tuldaric's words. He was putting a lot of trust in her. Had it been the other way around she doubted she would be so understanding, and she wouldn't have suggested he spend a day with a woman he was once very close to. Her parents would say the trust was too generous and would insist on an escort to be certain she (or Andras) did nothing outside of appropriate. Tuldaric, however, trusted her. Her honesty with him had earned her that much, but she hoped to prove such trust was well deserved.

* * * *

"Why are you sleeping out here?" Tanor stood over Andras, looking down at him as if he were a recently discovered corpse. He felt like one. He blinked his eyes in the bright light of morning, taking a moment to survey his surroundings before he remembered where he was. The herb garden. He fell asleep near an old splintery bench but he had difficulty recalling how or why he ended up there.

"Long night," he managed in a hoarse voice. Tanor helped pull him to his feet, waiting until his balance was stable before releasing his arm.

"For good reasons, I hope," the professor commented with a smile. He shook his head.

"I'm afraid not." He propped himself against the trunk of a tree as he tried to clear his head of the sleepy dementia that still clung to him.

"You need to let her go," Tanor offered as though he were being helpful.

He shook his head. "It's not that easy."

"Why not?"

He glared over his shoulder at the professor. If Tanor had ever loved any of the women he frequently sported with he wouldn't need to ask that.

"Look, Andras, whatever the two of you had it's over, and there is no room for trying to get it back. You need to focus on what lies ahead of you." Andras' body language made it clear that he didn't want to hear any of it. "You don't think I haven't been where you are now? There was a girl at my school, Maya was her name, and she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I was in love with her, I wanted to marry her, but I went on to become an Agent and she a Shaper. When we saw each other again she had married someone else. Never thought I'd recover, but time has a way of healing the wounds fate inflicts." He paused, letting his words soak in. "I really do see myself in you. The son I never had."

"If I meant that much to you why did you let them send me to Shaper school?"

Tanor nearly choked. "Let them? What choice did I have?" He sighed. "My boy, you were going to be an Agent until your father stepped in. He's the reason you're going to become a Shaper now. Thank him."

Andras felt disgusted. He wanted to be angry with Tanor but it was all going back to Kristoff. "The last six years of my life I've trained for what? Nothing. All this work to become an Agent only to have it washed away by a pathetic bribe."

"Well, actually that didn't come cheap from what I heard." He chuckled and patted Andras on the back. "In my years of being an Agent then training them I had never seen a prospect that compared to you. You would have been great, no doubt one of the best, but for reasons outside of my control you will never realize that potential. But you can still be the best."

Andras looked at him, confused. "Best at what?"

"Shaping, of course. Focus yourself like I know you can and you will be. Find an area that interests you and specialize. Battle magic, perhaps. Seems suited for you. And be the best they've ever seen and you might find you enjoy it." He motioned for Andras to follow him and both walked out of the clearing on the narrow path leading back to the school. "I know you love a good challenge."

"Yes…?"

"That's my challenge for you. But you'll find yourself in poor shape to live up to that challenge, or any other, if you cannot forget one girl."

The suggestion that he should just forget Carnelian infuriated him, but he looked away to hide the angry flush in his face. It didn't go unnoticed.

"Come now," Tanor said. "I have a group of junior students wanting a sparring demonstration today. Wooden staffs, your favorite, yes? And I think you could do with a little… release of aggression." Andras thought on it a moment, then nodded. Tanor gave him instructions of where and when to meet then started walking off. "I trust you will leave me with all the students I started with," he called back. Andras shook his head.

Don't count on it.

* * * *

Margus' funeral was still hours away when Andras arrived at the spot Tanor was holding the demonstration. It was in the combat training arena which was little more than a large dirt oval surrounded by thick walls designed to keep the most powerful sparring "partners," such as Battle Gammas or Glaahks, inside. Here he had faced off with a number of battle-oriented creations as well as other students and even fully-trained Guardians. His losses rivaled his wins in number, but each one taught him a valuable lesson of where he went wrong and where to do better. Now it was his turn to administer such lessons to the younger students and he was looking forward to it.

The weapon of choice was the wooden staff, a personal favorite of his, but it had little use against the larger and stronger creations which meant he probably wasn't going to face anything like that today. As he stood in the arena it felt like he was back in his normal routine and for a moment he forgot everything that had been troubling him.

It was a nice feeling.

But it didn't last. The moment he was introduced by the professor as the one to give the demonstration the students stared at him in wide-eyed wonder, a few muttering comments about him being a Shaper. The markings. He remembered them now, remembered that this was going to be his farewell to Agent training, and the sick feeling in his stomach returned.

The group consisted of 9 students from the class behind him, and two more from yet a younger class (Tanor recruited them younger and younger nowadays). That made the older students about 18, the younger around 14. In all there were 7 men, if they qualified as men, and 4 women.

"Left or right?" he asked.

"Start with the right," the professor answered. "I don't think we have any that prefer the left here today… besides you."

He had trained right-handed for close to two years before Tanor realized this student was left-handed, so he became proficient with both but the left always dominated in strength and skill.

The students were eager to learn and few needed any help remembering where their focus belonged. One of the girls did, however. She seemed too absorbed in something else, Andras could only guess what, but a quick slap on the leg with a staff coupled with a sharp reprimand reminded her to pay attention. Although she looked like she might cry at first, she never did, it was one part of the lesson she didn't forget.

Andras explained and demonstrated various blocks, strikes, and combinations that utilized both in varying numbers. Then the students would try them as he rotated through all of them to give one on one instruction while the others practiced with each other.

Tanor raised his hands to stop the demonstration, and all eyes went to him.

"Now we will see these skills put into practice." He looked over at Andras. "Are you ready?"

He nodded.

The sun burned hot now and his clothes were beginning to stick to his skin. He shucked his tunic off, trying not to smile or blush when he heard an exclamation from one of the girls that watched. She was one of the younger students, and had yet to learn the art of discretion. But he didn't mind. A little flattery did a lot to boost his sagging morale.

"Those are some impressive scars you have there," Tanor remarked. Andras didn't understand the significance of that comment. Tanor had to have seen those scars dozens of times before. Perhaps they were brought up as a reminder how and why he got them as if he could forget. Whatever questions he might have had for the motives were soon answered. He was introduced to his sparring partner, one of the Guardians that resided at the school. It was then he understood his professor's comment. Here was the man who had given him those scars.

If Andras had been in a generous mood he would have dismissed this Guardian's involvement in the harsh discipline he received for his romance with Carnelian. After all, he was only doing as instructed by Kristoff who had told him, "…until he collapses. I want this to be a lesson he won't soon forget!"

Until he collapsed. That was how long this man lashed him with the leather flog. It was supposed to be a kindness his father paid him to allow him to serve a punishment other than expulsion, and if Andras had been smart he would have forsaken his pride and fallen to his knees to end it early on, but his unwillingness to allow his father to reign victorious kept him on his feet. He wanted it to hurt Kristoff, too, though in the end it was doubtful it did.

It hurt his mother, if anyone else. Kristoff allowed her to bathe the wounds with an herbal dressing designed to accelerate the healing process and clear any infection, but her persistent requests that a healing spell be performed were denied. He was to heal the long way, on his own, even though she expressed her concerns that such extensive injuries would leave scars if no spells were performed. Kristoff didn't care. If he scarred, good. Those scars could serve to remind him that disobedience would never be tolerated.

They did serve as a reminder, but not to make him behave. They reminded him how Margus had betrayed him, and how his father took so much pleasure from his son's agony. Now they reminded him how this man appeared to enjoy doling out those brutal lashes and how much he wanted to repay the favor.

"Full contact, until the opponent stays down." Tanor announced. Both men nodded, neither one taking their eyes off the other. Tanor walked up to Andras and in a hushed voice said, "Enjoy," then gave him an encouraging slap on the shoulder before walking over to stand with the students. "Begin!"

Being left-handed had its advantages. His attacks came from a side that most opponents weren't used to blocking and because of that he was able to land a couple painful blows early on. His movements stayed low to the ground. The more feet off the ground the less control he had, and the taller he stood the bigger target he made.

Carnelian could hear the commotion in the arena long before she stepped inside. She had come here enough times to know what it meant and it was no surprise to see Andras was one of the fighters. She always worried for him, but in all the times she came and watched she rarely had to witness one of his losses.

Tanor looked her way a moment, a disapproving frown crossing his face.

"You shouldn't be here," he said to her. "He's having enough trouble as it is."

"That's why I'm here. There's something I must say to him."

"My dear, unless you're going to tell him that you're his forever then it's nothing he needs to hear."

"I'm not leaving." She planted herself in place, though had Tanor wished to remove her it would not have been difficult.

He shrugged. "Suit yourself." His attention refocused on the match and he seemed oblivious to her presence. "Keep him on the offensive, good. Quick now… watch it," he muttered to himself, almost as engrossed in the fight as the participants were. He'd move his body when he wanted Andras to dodge, he'd jab his hand forward when he saw an opportunity to strike.

Carnelian gasped and Tanor cringed as the Guardian's staff avoided Andras' block and hit his shoulder with a loud THWACK. It knocked him off his feet, sending him to the ground for a faceful of dust. He was quick to be back on his feet. He could not fall, he would not. If anyone would be crawling away from this match it wasn't going to be him.

"I remember you. You're the proud one, the one who wouldn't fall."

He wouldn't dignify that remark with a response. He dodged a jab, knocking the opponent's staff away from his body before he swung it low and hit the man's ankle. A scream echoed against the arena walls. He landed three more successive blows, knocking the Guardian down, each strike sounded more painful than the last. Then one more, over the arm that was outstretched to protect his face; the staff splintered and the man screamed. Using his foot, Andras pinned him to the ground, holding one half of the staff up as he poised to strike again.

"Andras!" Tanor screamed at him as he ran over. "He's down, he's down."

It took a moment before Andras realized what he was about to do. He was going to kill this man. Jagged edge of the broken staff pointed at the throat, he was going to ram it through. Tanor pulled him back, removing the weapon from his hands. The Guardian stared up at him, fear in his eyes, but he said nothing as he scrambled back to his feet, cradling his injured arm.

"Thank you, Gelvin," Tanor dismissed the man in haste, still keeping himself between him and Andras. "You had me worried. I thought you were going to do it."

"I was," Andras answered, watching the Guardian leave the arena with a quickened pace. He didn't bother to wash down his wounds. He would probably see to that later when he was sheltered from the embarrassment of loss.

"There may come a time when it's necessary to take another man's life, but that was not it."

He signed and nodded in agreement. "I know."

"It changes a man. Once you kill, something inside you dies as well. Something you will never get back."

"What?" He never heard Tanor sound so serious. He almost felt ashamed for winning that match.

"When it happens, you'll know." He motioned to Carnelian. "She's been waiting for you." He said nothing else as he walked away, gathering the students, who still stood with mouths agape, to follow him back to the school. Andras was left standing alone beneath the skeptical gaze of the beautiful woman that stood several yards away. His stomach knotted up so fast he almost got sick.

"Can I talk to you?" She jogged over to him.

"Talk?" He cocked his head to one side, making little effort to hide the edge in his voice. "I thought you said it all last night."

"No…"

"You have a wonderful fiancé and no use for me anymore. Isn't that about right?"

She let out a frustrated groan and tossed her hands up in defeat. "You stubborn ass! Did you not listen to a thing I said yesterday?"

"What was it I missed?"

"How can you say I have no use for you anymore? It's you that doesn't want us to be friends. You can't settle for anything less than everything, can you?"

His mouth opened to respond, but then shut before he said anything he would later regret. Instead he took to ignoring her, turning his back to her as he gathered his discarded clothing. She gasped.

"What happened?" He felt her fingers touch him very lightly on his back, taking notice of the scars that marred his skin.

"You weren't the only one punished for what happened." He pulled his tunic on in a hurry, straightening it with his hands, so to take her eyes away from that horrifying memory.

"Was it because of us?" He nodded. "I'm sorry," she offered. "That you had to go through something so terrible. No one should, not for that."

He didn't want her sympathy. "I would rather go through that again than …" He sighed and shook his head. He couldn't finish that, or he wouldn't.

"Than what? See me?" she finished for him.

"Than see you with him," he corrected, then he occupied himself with fixing his belt, reattaching his Agent's knife to the strap and situating it near his hip, so he wouldn't have to look her in the eye.

"Then we've both suffered, but it doesn't have to continue. We can still be together, comfort each other, look out for one another… just as friends now."

His eyes met with hers again, his head moving from side to side so subtly he wasn't sure she could see it. "I can't." He stepped closer to her, mostly because she stood between him and the exit but his proximity made her uncomfortable. She didn't back away, but her eyes looked down, so much they looked closed, and her breaths escaped from her parted lips in short nervous breaths. He imagined he could hear her heart pounding in her chest, or perhaps it was his own. He thought about it, thought about kissing her just then. It would have been easy, just a short distance and their lips would meet and she invited him the way she stood there. He resisted, walking past her in a hurried pace knowing if he remained there a moment longer his will power would have failed. Then what? Didn't matter now. He was heading back to the complex where he would clean up, fetch his new dress robes, and prepare for his final farewell to Margus.

She watched him leave, standing just outside the gates of the arena with her eyes fixed on his shrinking form. The stiff brisk movements of his walk showed he was angry and she hated knowing it was her that put him in that state, but what else could she do? She wanted to stop him, to tell him they could be together and everything would work out for the best, but that was just a fairy tale. Life didn't work that way. Instead she remained fixed in place until her eyes could no longer follow him as he disappeared through a small side gate leading him to the innermost grounds of the school. This meeting had not gone as she hoped, just like the last, but it was nothing short of what she expected. Tuldaric, it seemed, held more optimistic hopes for Andras than she did.

It wasn't until the funeral when she saw him again. A substantial amount of people were gathered for the service considering Margus had not been very old when he died. Many were professors that had come to know him during his apprenticeship, students that he helped, and a few other friends he had made along the way. And his family was there which consisted of Lanira, Kristoff, and of course Andras.

She watched him from across the room, trying to keep her glances infrequent enough that others wouldn't notice. On occasion he'd look up and make eye contact with her, then both would look away to pretend nothing happened.

This wasn't going to work. Andras was right, they couldn't be just friends. Each time she looked over at him, and especially when he met her gaze, she felt fluttering in her stomach and her knees were ready to buckle. She doubted she would ever be able to stand in his presence and not be rendered weak. It was his eyes, those beautiful gray eyes that contrasted against his dark skin which was a gift from his mother's outsider heritage. When they weren't looking her way they were fixed on the chiseled stone sarcophagus in the center of the room around which everyone was still gathering and talking amongst themselves. He stood taller than most, his hands clasped loosely together before him, a statue among the moving bodies around him.

He wore a long-sleeved black tunic which offset the deep wine color of the Shaper robe he now wore. There were several different types of robes one could choose depending on what they were most comfortable in. Andras had chosen a sleeveless robe, more of a vest though the length went down to his ankles. The shoulders flared out a tad, and a black leather belt trimmed it in at the waist. He had a hood, but kept it lowered. His forearms were wrapped, wrist to elbow, in a soft black fabric to taper the sleeves in, a common practice to keep a loose-fitting tunic from interfering with work. Whether he cared to admit it or not that robe suited him.

She shouldered her way around the room through the crowd until she stood by his side. He acknowledged her with a quick puzzled look, but didn't say anything for or against her presence there. Taking his silence as permission she stood by his side, her hands wrapped around his arm to let him know she was there for him, but at times she wasn't sure who comforted who. More than once her eyes watered and a tear strayed down her cheeks, but she wiped them away in hopes he wouldn't notice. Hers weren't the only wet eyes in this cramped room, but his were dry.

He had yet to shed tears for his brother's death.

Andras' parents stood across from him, Lanira was as poised and stoic as ever as she leaned close to her husband. No doubt she had done her share of grieving in the sanctuary of the night when no one else would hear her. On occasion she would look at Andras, passing him a reassuring smile, but today her duty was not to her son but to Kristoff. The old man stood still as a statue, ready to crumble at the slightest touch. Whether or not he needed the comfort of his wife's hand Andras couldn't tell. He doubted it. He doubted there was warm blood running through those veins.

The ceremony seemed interminable, and he was anxious to leave. Something about standing there in the presence of his brother's corpse made him ancy, and when the heavy lid of the sarcophagus was pushed aside for all to look in, he felt instantly queasy. He never looked to reaffirm it, but he thought he saw Carnelian shy away from the site as well.

Once everyone had spoken the words they wished to speak on Margus' behalf a line formed for those wishing to say their last farewell to him. Andras waited until most of the crowd had dissipated before he approached. He forced himself to look inside the stone casket. His brother's pale form slept peacefully with his hands resting over his still chest. It looked as though there was nothing wrong with him. He stood a long while, watching to see if the chest would rise and fall in the motion of breathing. Of course, it never did.

"We've both been given new paths," Andras whispered as he placed a gift on his brother's chest; his Agent's knife, the last remnant of his dream that died with Margus. It seemed to be an appropriate place to bury it.

He didn't stay after that. With Carnelian in tow he walked out, finding a place outside to catch his breath and try to shake off the dizziness that was starting to consume him. Lack of air, perhaps. He felt choked in there. Leaning against the wall he coughed until he felt the dusty air was sufficiently cleaned from his lungs.

"If you want to grieve for your brother alone…" she started to offer.
"It's not for my brother!" he snapped, pushing away from the wall with his leg and walking past her in a hurried pace.

He stopped and glanced in the tomb, spying the stone box his brother's body lie in with an old man hunched over it, crying. For a moment he stood there, pondering if he should go inside and offer some comfort. He felt pity for the poor creature that grieved for his lost son, but the feeling dissipated quickly. Kristoff raised his head, his face red and streaked and his gray hair disheveled. His eyes settled on Andras and searched him for something, a sign of pity perhaps even forgiveness but he would find none there. When Andras glanced over at his mother she gestured for him to approach. Even if it were just for that moment and never again in his life Kristoff needed to know he had a son who still loved him.

"Go," Carnelian whispered from behind him. He stared awhile longer at the pathetic man before him, but he could not bring his feet to move. Allow me this one small revenge. He turned and walked away taking with him a small amount of satisfaction knowing that his father was indeed still human.

"Andras?" Carnelian called after him. He ignored her and kept walking, though he didn't know where, just away. "Wait!" It took some effort, but she caught up to him, grabbing his hand to catch his attention. "You don't truly have that much hate in your heart that you cannot offer a single word of comfort to your own father?"

He turned to face her. "In all my life, he's never offered me one!" She shook her head.

"Now is not the time to be spiteful. He has just lost his eldest son, the least you could do…"

"I don't need lectures on how to handle my father," he interrupted. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

"I've always been on your side, Andras. That's why I'm telling you this."

"Don't pitty him!" he said in a weakening voice. "He put his own children in the grave." She was shaking her head. "He put Margus there, just as he put Vera there."

"You can't still blame him for that after all these years."

He started to speak but thought better of it. Carnelian didn't deserve to hear the angry retort he had prepared for her. Her hazel eyes were sad as they looked at him. She cared, and she was one of the few who still did even if he didn't like how she was showing it. He collapsed to his knees and pulled her close. He expected he would have frightened her, but she seemed to know what he needed better than he did. Her arms surrounded his head and pressed him close to her bosom while her fingers combed through his short black hair in gentle caresses. Her touch eroded the barrier that held back the emotions he had denied himself for days and the tears he had not yet shed for Margus found their way down his face.

There they remained for a long while locked together, his hands clutching at the back of her robe. He felt foolish for coming apart in front of her like that, but he needed the release and he would not have wanted it to be in front of anyone else, not even his mother.

"I'm sorry," he spoke in a hushed voice as he pulled away from her. She shook her head.

"No, Andras. You have nothing to apologize for." Her fingertips stroked his cheeks, following the contour of his face down to his jaw. "I want to be here for you, as your friend. I want to be the one to share your joy and your pain."

"Carnelian… I cannot accept you as nothing more than a friend. To be so close to you, and know you find comfort in another man's arms… you might as well strike me dead."

She sank down to her knees where he was once again taller than her. Her head rested on his shoulder and arms draped around his shoulders. He responded in kind with his arms around her waist, and there he held her against him tight. The feeling of her in his arms healed the wounds he suffered for the last three days, and for a moment, everything felt right.

"I love you, Andras. Years apart cannot change that." He withdrew from her, holding her at arms length to look upon her face.

"If you had the choice," he began, brushing auburn locks from her face. "If nothing stood in your way, would you choose to stay with me?"

She looked down, trying to hide the tear that fell, then nodded. "Yes."

"Then we will be together." He wiped the tear away with his thumb.
"Andras…"

"We'll find a way."

She frowned. "How?" She waited for his answer. He didn't say anything but she seemed to sense where his mind drifted. "You can't hurt him."

"Even if it's the only way?"

She didn't shake her head. "I don't want that on my conscience. You cannot hurt him. I wouldn't want to know if you did." She waited until he nodded before the stern look on her face melted away. His nod signaled an agreement. Not for the mercy she requested on Tuldaric's behalf, he made no promises for that, but that she wouldn't know his involvement in whatever might befall the Shaper. It would be an accident in all other eyes. He already constructed a rudimentary plan, and he had years in Shaper school to perfect it. If that's what it took to secure what was rightfully his, then so be it.

He would kill a hundred Tuldarics to keep her. He would have given up his dreams of becoming an Agent for her.

"I know that look," she spoke up. He snapped out of his thoughtful daze.

"What look?"

She pressed her finger against his lips, then his chin. "The look you get on your face when you're concocting something mischievous in that mind of yours. Promise me whatever you do, you will not hurt him."

"It won't hurt," he answered, the corner of his mouth turned up in a sly smile ever so slightly.

Carnelian missed nothing. "Andras! Promise me."

He took her hand in his and held it against his chest. "I promise your conscience will be clear." Before she had time to muster a protest he kissed her. She pretended to fight back. Her hands pushed against his chest with a weak effort, but her fingers clutched at his vest and her lips never left his. He knew better. She put on a show because she knew they shouldn't be doing this and her sense of propriety dictated that she should fight. But she couldn't deny herself what she wanted as much as he did. When they parted her once-fair cheeks were blushed bright red. He smiled, and brushed the back of his fingers over her reddened cheeks, feeling the heat that emanated from them. There was no hiding how she felt from him. Her body told all.

"You shouldn't have done that…" She tried to sound disapproving. He dared her with another kiss, she gave the same futile resistance with her body, but her lips accepted him. He slipped a hand beneath her robe, nestling against the curve of her lower back. The second soon followed.

"We can't!" She pulled back and sprang to her feet, rubbing the bits of dry grass and leaves off her dress. She hurried away, looking to escape to safety once again. He stood, opting not to pursue. Instead, he took a post leaning against a nearby tree, crossing his arms over his chest waiting for her to second guess herself.

It took a few seconds, but she paused just as he knew she would.

She turned to face him, tossing her hands out in a show of futility. "Where is this going?" she asked.

"Where ever you want it to," he answered.

Her eyes drifted back towards the distant walls of the inner perimeter. She saw security there, and for a moment it tempted her. Nothing would happen there that would give her reason to live in fear. In fact, nothing would happen there that gave her reason to live at all. There she would find the monotony of a predictable life, each day like the one before it. Remaining here offered nothing safe nor stable, and she couldn't know what would happen next, but the call of danger was hard to ignore. It called her to him.

She made her decision. Her feet moved slowly, her stomach knotting up and her heard pounding through her chest. Andras left his tree, meeting her halfway with hands outstretched to accept her. Fear drained the color from her cheeks, but he had plans to put the pink back in them again. Whatever the future held for them, tonight she belonged to him.

* * * *

Nightfall. Lanira hurried down the dark hall to the temporary quarters she shared with Kristoff during their stay at Mennetak. Her run in with Carnelian's mother and father had not gone well. Both were concerned their daughter had not been seen since the funeral, since Carnelian had been seen with Andras, and now they looked to her for answers. Of course, she had none.

"I thought I saw her with Tuldaric not long ago," she offered, trying to walk away as she spoke. They didn't seem satisfied with the answer, but when she insisted Andras was resting in his quarters they left her be. She walked faster.

One more turn and down another stretch of hall and she would be safe to pretend all was well. When she found Andras, she had a thing or two to say to him. None of it nice.

"Lanira," Tuldaric stopped her. She had hoped to avoid this meeting. She knew what question came next. "Where is your son?"

She turned, already shaky from the encounter with Carnelian's parents. Damn Andras for putting her in the position to lie twice. "He's resting," she answered, trying to hide the waver in her voice. Lying was not one of her talents. The Shaper's expression looked doubtful. He stood, hands folded in front of him, staring as though he expected her to buckle and confess the truth he already seemed to know.

"May I see him?"

She paused. "I think it best to let him rest, Master Tuldaric. Today was very difficult for Andras."

Tuldaric nodded to show he understood. She knew he didn't sympathize, however. "Your son's interest in my fiancée does cause me concern when I can account for the whereabouts of neither."

Lanira stood stiff as the walls around her. "My son suffered a terrible punishment for what happened two years ago. You can rest assure that he took that lesson to heart." To not get caught, she finished in her mind.

"If I find otherwise, Lanira, you can rest assure I will pursue the most severe punishment the Council will provide." His eyes searched hers for the better part of a minute before he released her from his stare and turned to excuse himself. "I hope he is resting well. It would be a shame for you to lose your last son so soon."

With that he departed, leaving Lanira's temper flaring and her heart pounding. If she found Andras… so help him… even the gods couldn't subdue her wrath tonight.