Chapter 14…A Tryst of Sorts

Although the rest of us were riding whatever horse the stable master assigned us, Ammon had acquired his own mount, a scarred chestnut gelding every bit as lean, ill-tempered, and tireless as he was. Even my inexpert eyes could tell he was an excellent rider. That surprised me for some reason. I was less surprised by his impatience with our rate of travel. I got tired of the hissed arguments at every rest stop long before he did but he would have ridden us all into exhaustion every single day if I had let him. From an early age, Daeghun had drilled into me the fact that fatigue was an implacable foe, the cause of the death of more travelers than beasts and bandits combined.

Beasts and bandits did not show themselves. I attributed this mostly to the fact that we moved with swift purposefulness and were clearly armed to the teeth. It probably didn't hurt that I wore my conspicuous Neverwinter Nine surcoat, at least while we stayed on the commonly used roads and paths. The first morning I wore it Ammon looked around then made a sarcastic query about standard bearers and drummers that I pretended not to hear.

The first few days on the road, Ammon coached me in horsemanship, since I was the worst in the group. After that, he tended to ride ahead with the scouts, falling back from time to time to harass the rest of us along. One of the advantages of traveling in a larger group is that a couple of the Greycloaks on the fastest horses would set up camp while the rest of us stragglers were catching up. By the time we arrived, firewood was gathered, the cook fire was lit and the pickets for the horses were set up. All we had to do was fall out of the saddle and lay out our bedrolls. Compared to my earlier travels, this was a life of ease.

"Where did you learn to ride so well?" I asked Ammon one evening. Some of the Greycloaks were setting up tents since the clouds and the breeze promised rain, but the rest of us ate supper. Ammon, Zhjaeve, Casavir and I sat in the grass under a large tree. Bodo was off scavenging. The other Greycloaks had retreated to the far side of the camp to show the four of us the respect they apparently thought we deserved. This compulsion to separate by rank still struck me as odd but it seemed to make the soldiers more comfortable to treat me like a noble.

Or maybe it was easier for them to complain about us when we were out of earshot.

I sat cross-legged on the ground and used a big chunk of pan bread to mop up the juices from my stew. I was voraciously hungry but I ate slowly because I wasn't sure there was enough in the pot for everyone to have seconds. If we had passed a farm, we could have bought fresh foodstuff to supplement our supplies, but today we had ridden through wild country.

"My father had me on horseback before I could walk," Ammon answered. I gave him an inquiring look. I couldn't recall him ever mentioning either of his parents. "He was known for his horses," he added. He stared off into the hills with a brooding expression.

"Are horses raised on farms? Was your father a horse farmer?" Zhjaeve asked.

"No," he said shortly.

"Kalnon Jerro was a knight of Neverwinter," Casavir said. We all turned to him in surprise.

"You could not have known my father," Ammon said, his voice cold. "He died before you were born, most likely."

"I know of him. He was said to be a valiant and righteous man."

"That he was." Ammon's tone did not invite further comment.

The two men exchanged an unfriendly look. There had been a bit of unpleasantness earlier. Casavir had come upon us down by the stream. He carried a bucket, so presumably he wanted water to wash or shave. Ammon and I hadn't been doing anything lascivious—the gods knew there wasn't enough privacy for such in the camp, even if I hadn't been tired to the bone. All I had been doing was sitting on the bank with my bare feet in the icy water, leaning against Ammon's shoulder. We weren't even holding hands or anything sappy like that but Casavir reddened as if he had been scalded. He turned and left without even stopping to fill his bucket and all during supper he wouldn't meet my eye.

It made me feel oddly embarrassed, like I had been caught doing something shameful. When I asked Ammon what he thought was wrong, he just lifted his brows like I was a fool.

Despite what several of my friends seemed to think, Casavir had never made a move of any kind to show that he wanted a, well, a romance. I wasn't blind; there was a current of attraction between us. But that didn't mean much. Hells, there was a current of attraction between Bishop and me, but I certainly didn't have the slightest intention of ever having a relationship with him beyond our loose sniping business arrangement. In fact, I'd often suspected Bishop's flirtations would disappear in a hurry if I ever showed any signs of reciprocating. In the same way, I think Casavir allowed himself to yearn after me a little (if that's what he did) because I was safely uninterested.

So I didn't really understand what was bothering him—other than the fact that he loathed Ammon.

"Your father died a hero's death," Casavir said.

"He rode out against overwhelming odds and was slaughtered with all his men," Ammon said. "Does that appeal to you, paladin? From what I've been told, I suspect it might."

"Sometimes the gods require…"

"It was shame that killed my father, not some whim of the gods."

"I do not understand. Can one die of shame in this plane?" Zhjaeve asked.

"It is as sharp a blade as any sword," was his answer. "He took his shame to the battlefield and it killed him. Ask the paladin how that is done, if you are curious, githzerai."

Casavir still held his bowl in one large hand but he didn't eat. He seemed almost frozen in place for a moment. The look he gave me was close to anger and I wasn't sure why. Unless he thought I'd been discussing him with Ammon, which was unfair. With Katriona (who worried over him obsessively) drilling the Greycloaks at the keep, did he really believe his actions at Old Owl Well were any kind of secret?

"Was your father a paladin?" Zhjaeve asked Ammon.

"No but it was certainly the wish of his heart to become one. He believed it was the family curse that caused Helm to refuse to accept him. Later he blamed me." His eyes were on Casavir while he spoke. His voice was always harsh but it was not always so ironic. "After all, he was a valiant and righteous man. What other reason could there be for his god's rebuff?"

"I know not what you mean by a family curse," Zhjaeve said.

"The Jerro name is an ancient one. It has long been whispered that infernal blood runs in our veins. According to my father and his father before him, these were rumors put about by our enemies to discredit us. Then I was born, to prove the rumors right."

"Your people believe that to be a warlock is to be cursed?" she asked.

"It is commonly held as truth that a warlock's powers come from darkness," Casavir said. "I do not know if that is so."

"That was certainly my father's belief," Ammon added caustically. "He insisted that I study traditional magic, in the hope that I would pass as a wizard and not be known as the warlock that I am. It was he who insisted that I hide what I was. He forbade me to use the powers I was born with."

He turned his head toward me. I didn't say anything but I moved closer, within his reach. He didn't look like he wanted comfort though. He looked like he wanted to kick someone.

"For the longest time, he persuaded himself that I obeyed him," he told me. "I couldn't. The power burned within me and it had to be used."

I would have liked to know more but he stood, with a terse comment about the need to get an early start.

Judging by the flicker of lightning in the hills to the east, rain would come sometime in the night. There were two special tents for us 'leaders' and everyone in the camp seemed to assume that one was for the women—Zhjaeve and I. It was pitched near a small copse of trees to give some modicum of privacy. I couldn't help but cast Ammon a look of longing. The wry glance I got in return showed me how much he and Casavir were going to enjoy sleeping within arm's reach of each other. The tents were not large.

If only there was some way I could share a tent with Ammon without causing embarrassment all around but it just couldn't be done.

Perhaps it was just as well, for although Zhjaeve could occasionally take me aback with her queries and comments about things I took for granted, she was also a comfortable person to be around. There was a deep stillness within her. I could sit and meditate upon my spells and she would never fidget or make me feel self-conscious.

Also she never complained about Bodo, who had the obnoxious habit of crawling through everyone's belongings. He had the even more obnoxious habit of dropping dry little turds (bristling with insect wings, feathers, and less identifiable bits and pieces of his diverse diet) wherever he pleased. They were easily flicked away but most people fussed about them for some reason. Zhjaeve never did. She thought his gaudy carapace was beautiful. In return for her forbearance, he treated her with almost the same lack of wariness that he had with Elanee.

Normally we were both ready for sleep when our meditations were done, but after I extinguished my light spell and crawled into my blankets, her low voice came from the darkness by my side.

"What is the source of the enmity between Ammon and Casavir?"

"Enmity is a strong word," I said slowly. Was it an accurate one? Perhaps it was. I had thought Ammon's hostility was a reaction to Casavir's rather obvious disapproval and now I wasn't so sure. He had sounded so bitter when he spoke of his father.

"To build power to aid in his fight against the King of Shadows, Ammon has done things that Casavir believes are wrong," I said. "He has dealt with devils and demons. He has lied and deceived. He has been…ruthless…with the lives of others. And Ammon…" I frowned to myself in the darkness as I thought about him. "I suspect Ammon believes that there is no excuse for failure. Maybe he fears that Casavir will place his compassion for others or his duty to his god above the need to stop the King of Shadows."

"Do you fear that as well?"

"You ask difficult questions!" I said with an uncomfortable little laugh. "Why do you ask that?"

"To know the strengths and limitations of those who will stand with you against the shadow is a part of your task, Kalach-Cha."

"I don't think Casavir will abandon his duty or beliefs," I said at last. "I see that as his strength and his shield, not as a weakness. But perhaps that is because I share that weakness. A little, anyway." Not that I could claim the selfless devotion to others that Casavir felt. But there were things I would not do. Things I was probably not capable of doing.

"Ammon has a point," I said. "But I can't say I agree with him. Not completely. After all…"

"I wish to know your thought," she said, when the silence stretched out.

"The King of Shadows himself was a man once. He was a strong man, a good man, and he sacrificed everything he was to become Illefarn's guardian. There was nothing he wouldn't do to protect his people and yet he failed. And we know what became of him, how he was corrupted. And Ammon…has already sacrificed much." The parallel was chilling.

"Did Ammon's sacrifices bring him success in his battle against shadow?" Zhjaeve asked, as if she was walking the path of my thoughts.

"No," I whispered. "Gith's Blade shattered in his hands."

"When the sword is forged anew, who will wield it?"

"I will."

I guess she had made her point, whatever it was, for I heard her settle back into her blankets. After a moment, so did I.

It was hard to sleep soundly on the hard chilly ground, so I woke when Zhjaeve slipped out of the tent. Probably seeking the privy hole, I assumed since it was still pitch dark and the camp wasn't stirring. I burrowed back into my blankets and was more than half asleep when another cold blast of air came from the open tent flap.

"Wake up, Jess," Ammon said in my ear. I sat up in a jerk, but there were no flames, no sounds of battle or panic. The camp was still dark and quiet. Ammon crouched beside me and a soft light from his ring showed that his face was calm.

"What is it?" I asked as my heart slowed down to normal. For a moment I was ready to be irritated and then it occurred to me why a man might creep into his lover's tent so late in the night watch. "Zhjaeve will be back any moment," I warned.

"She told me she would be occupied for quite some time," he said with a little smile.

"Oh, did she?" I returned the smile and patted the blankets invitingly. "Well, in that case, perhaps you would like to come…rest…a moment? You look cold." I would have said he looked sleepy except that he actually seemed disturbingly alert.

"I have a better idea," he said. "Get dressed and come with me." I just stared at him a moment.

"That is not a better idea."

"Come now, Jess, you don't want to waste the day away in bed."

"It's not day, it's still night," I grumbled, wondering what part of my invitation could be considered a waste. His intent eyes continued to bore into me. I sighed and wriggled out of the bedroll. "Why are you doing this to me?" I complained. I pulled on yesterday's pants and wool blouse.

"Must you wear that?" he asked in distaste when I picked up my fancy blue surcoat, token of my sworn servitude to Lord Nasher.

"No, but it's warm," I said. I rolled it up and thrust it into my saddlebag. I had packed a plain tunic, but it had seen many better days. I sighed and pulled it out. "You sound just like Casavir," I added, knowing how much that would please him. "What do you have against Nasher, anyway? Casavir despises him for sacrificing his principles to protect Neverwinter's interests, but surely that doesn't offend your sensibilities." Ammon's lip lifted in a sneer.

"Nasher is short-sighted and arrogant. He'd rather bury his failures than learn from them." He shook out my blankets and rolled them neatly while I put on my tunic and boots. "Is that everything?" he asked when I closed the ties to my saddlebag. "You have the shards?" I nodded. Bodo came out of nowhere and climbed up my body to perch on my shoulder. "Come quietly then. I have something for you."

We walked carefully through the sleeping camp. I nodded to the Greycloak on watch. Ammon led me to the pickets where two horses were saddled and waiting, reins held by one of the grooms.

"That's not my horse," I said.

"That nag you've been riding is better suited as a packhorse," he said. "Or possibly stew meat."

"That nag I've been riding won't throw me off and kill me," I replied. This new horse was bigger and a whole lot bouncier. While he didn't look particularly vicious (unlike Ammon's horse, who laid his ears back when I approached) he was eyeing me with the same suspicious look I felt myself. "This is not my idea of a pleasant surprise, Ammon." He lashed my gear onto the saddle despite my protests.

"Come now, you will not become a better rider without a better horse." He gave me a leg up. The horse moved restlessly and I was kept busy for a few moments. Ammon didn't seem to have much trouble with the brute he was riding even though his horse seemed even unhappier than I was at being roused so early in the day.

"I don't want to be a better rider. I don't want to be a rider at all. I like walking and riding in wagons."

The groom tossed a small sack to Ammon, who caught it one-handed without dropping the reins or losing control of his horse, I noticed enviously.

"Nonsense."

"Besides, it's still dark." Although Lathander's time was coming soon, judging from the faint streaks of light in the east. "And I haven't had any breakfast."

Ammon rode closer. Opening his sack, he handed me half a loaf of stale bread and some leathery dried plums. How I was supposed to hold onto all this without falling off my horse was something of a mystery. Finally I stuffed the plums into my tunic pocket and gave Bodo a hunk of bread to keep him from crawling in after them. And then I followed Ammon off into the near darkness. I knew he could see in the dark and since he didn't ask me for a light, I didn't cast one. There was enough moonlight to see the path, which was wide enough to ride side by side.

"I'm pretty sure that horse of yours is carnivorous," I said, after his second attempt to take a chunk out of my leg. I was glad Zhjaeve didn't see the brutal jerk of the bit Ammon gave the chestnut.

"He simply needs to learn who his master is."

"The grooms call him 'Demonspawn'," I said. Ammon gave a snort of laughter.

We rode together in silence. The sun rose in a glory of pink and gold, and I said a silent prayer to Lathander. Brother Merring had taught me that prayer. I wondered if he had survived the attack on West Harbor and the shadow that had fallen over the Mere. It seemed unlikely. He would not have fled if there were children or wounded who needed him.

For the next couple of hours, Ammon put me and the horses through our paces and I did my best to absorb the steady barrage of critique. Some of his instruction finally made it through my skull, I suppose, for at last he seemed satisfied that I had improved a bit.

"I knew you would do better on this horse," he said, pleased with his own plan. I nodded in agreement, although I suspected that spending time away from other distractions might have had more to do with any progress I had made. I'd seen no sign of the others behind us, not even our scouts.

The woods had begun closing in on the path as we traveled further along. Ammon turned off the path to follow a small stream. After awhile we slid off the horses and let them drink. I walked carefully around Demonspawn because not only did he bite, he kicked. The water was cold enough to freeze my fingers when I squatted and drank from my cupped hands. We found a clean boulder to perch on. Ammon's food sack held another loaf of bread and a sausage, which he cut in two to share. Bodo snooped around hopefully then headed off into the woods to do his own foraging.

"If this is your idea of a tryst, it could use some improvement," I said after the silence dragged on a bit. I didn't totally approve of the sausage maker's choice of spices but I was hungry enough to eat it anyway. "More wine. Better food. Less time in the saddle," I suggested. "More time on a blanket."

"Yes, well, we should talk about that."

"Blankets?" I asked. His face was too serious to give me much hope.

"Trysting."

"We have to talk about it?" He did not smile. This was not a good omen. "Go ahead then," I said flatly.

"You must guard yourself against…attachments…that may weaken your resolve."

"Why would you say that? In what way has my resolve weakened?"

"There is a softness in you, Jess. You must let neither your feelings nor your compassion for others distract you from your purpose, or you will fail us all."

"Caring for others is not a weakness." This was an eerie reflection of my conversation with Zhjaeve.

"You are too young to understand this yet but with time, you will," he said. He was too intent upon his own words to notice my offended look. I was no child, no matter how many times he said I was. "You must trust that I know what is best. You are my last weapon against the King of Shadows. You are the Blade of Gith now, or you will be. When the time comes, you must not break."

I set down my food and then I wiped the knife I'd been using to cut the sausage on my pants leg and sheathed it. I thought it might be safer not to have a sharp object in my hands.

"You think I am your weapon? Is that all I am to you? Is that why you woke me up before dawn and dragged me out here? So you could hone me?"

"Something like that," he said warily.

"I thought you wanted to be with me. I thought…"

"We don't have much time, Jess. The King of Shadows…"

"No, do not bring him into every single conversation we have, Ammon. The King of Shadows can wait. I am the one you face right now."

"What then should we speak of?"

I blew out a breath.

"So why did you bother to sleep with me in the first place? Is this part of the tempering process? Am I stronger now that I'm not a virgin blade anymore?"

"Jess."

"Don't 'Jess' me. You came to my bed; I didn't pursue you. If you think attachments are such a bad idea, why did you do that? Did you make a deal with Mephasm behind my back? Did you get power out of sleeping with me?" I'd certainly felt energy rushing through my body that night like I had never known in my life. Perhaps he was able to harness it somehow. Was that secret warlock lore?

"Or were you afraid I would sleep with someone else and form an 'attachment that would weaken my resolve'? Maybe with someone you couldn't control?" There was no expression on his face. "Blast you, Ammon, that's it. Isn't it?"

"I wanted to bed you and you wanted it too. I had no ulterior motive."

"You've lied to so many people, Ammon. Is there some reason I should believe you now?"

"You are angry and upset. This is what I feared would happen."

"Now that's not fair. You can't say what you just said to me and expect me not to be upset about it. I was fine until you opened your mouth."

"Do not let your emotions rule you."

"Now you sound like my father and trust me, I do not mean that as a compliment. Emotions are not bad, Ammon. Deception is bad. Manipulation is bad." I glared at him. "So is stupidity."

"So is childishness." I suppressed the childish urge to hit him.

"Point taken," I said. I sat with my knees pulled up and my arms around them. I didn't speak until I was sure I wasn't going to yell. "What exactly are you trying to tell me?" I asked.

"Our time is short and must be used productively. There is no time for dalliance." I frowned at that. I hadn't been suggesting that we spend the day here after all. What difference could an hour make? As if in answer to my thoughts, he said, "He is growing stronger, Jess."

"How do you know that?"

"I can feel him," he said. Although he remained sitting in the same apparently relaxed position, I could now see the tension running through his body. "In my dreams, I can feel him. I felt him last night. He is aware of us, Jess. He knows that between us, we have completed the Ritual of Purification. He knows what we are trying to do with the shards of the Blade of Gith. It is a race now."

"Gods. Are you certain?"

"Yes."

I laid my head against my knees and thought about that a moment.

"Does he know that we must mend the blade in West Harbor? Does he know that's where we're going?"

"I don't know, but he knows where the blade was broken, of course. It is a place of power. Surely he will be watching it."

"He'll be waiting for us there."

"I do not think he has the strength to send his avatar to this plane yet but he will send what forces he can. We should be prepared for an ambush."

Now I understood why Ammon wasn't in the mood for trysting, for frankly, I was no longer much in the mood myself.