Part 8 Rite of Tyr

By the time I reached the park, I was aware of the shadow following me. Bishop, of course. I angrily swiped the tears off my face. I knew he had a smart mouth and some sort of a death wish, so I told him plain, "One snide comment from you now—even one—and I really will cut your tongue out." He held up his hands in surrender.

"I'm not saying anything until I get my knife back."

True to his word, he followed me in silence. We stepped into the common room of the Sunken Flagon. Conversation stopped and a chorus of 'Where have you been?' started up. I swept past without a word and trudged up to my room. I was sure Bishop could come up with a likely lie.

I longed to throw myself on the bed and weep like a young girl but there just wasn't time for that. I was due at the Hall of Justice. One day, perhaps the gods would explain why they keep shoveling all this crap at me. Possibly things would become clearer tonight, at the Rite of Tyr. But first, I had to think about how I was going to kill the man who still considered himself my husband, because kill him, I must. There were no options left.

I eyed my two sets of armor with disfavor. I was resigned to spending the night in my armor, but what should I fight in? Casavir had talked me into buying a set of heavy armor and Tyr knows I needed the extra protection. However…

Like me, Lorne favored the falchion—I had learned it from him, after all—but he was big—very big. And he was strong—very strong. If he hit me, it was going to hurt. He could knock me down, disarm me even, with one lucky stroke. He was good in a fight and lucky, too. If I got knocked down in heavy armor, I wouldn't be getting up until time to catch the next boat to Luskan. I couldn't let him hit me, I just couldn't. And like he told me, he was hard to kill. This was likely to be a long hard battle and I wasn't sure I would survive a straight out fight with him. So I was thinking about wearing my leather. And I was thinking about bringing my bow. Now I'm not in the same class with Bishop or Daeghun but I'm not half bad with a bow. Tyr knows my target was big enough, it'd be like hitting a barn wall. Lorne would be wearing light armor, if anything. He knew I was quicker than he was and he wouldn't want to weigh himself down. He would want to hit me hard and fast. He would be vulnerable to my arrows, if I could stay out of his reach.

My hands caressed the hilt of my falchion. I drew the blade and whooshed it through the air. The thought of leaving it in my room and committing my life to my bow was…scary. I loved my sword and it made me feel big and safe and strong. When my falchion was in my hands, I didn't have to think…or feel…all I had to do was kill.

I put it away.

My mind made up, I dressed quickly, and roused out all those special arrows I'd been saving for the day when I was up against something too big for me. I felt a warm rush of cowardice—I knew I was going to be running and sniping tomorrow—so I decided to go with the theme and I slipped out the back door without saying goodbye to anyone.

I needn't have bothered ducking out, since most of the people I had hoped to avoid sought me out at the Hall of Justice.

It was okay, though. Khelgar was overwrought by the unfairness of it all and he was certainly right. Was it fair that my life was in the privy because Tyr needed a hammer and I happened to be handy? I stopped that thought. Surely no good could come from questioning my god, particularly when I was in his own temple.

I felt a guilty twinge when Casavir came to sit with me. I was certain he would berate me for my cowardly tactics, but he didn't, far from it.

"This is no joust, no tournament staged to demonstrate courage or chivalry, honor or valor. You do not fight for glory. This is a fight to the death, in Tyr's name. You are proving the truth of these accusations on the body of Luskan's champion. Mercy will be served by the gods as it is due. Mercy is not your concern." He leaned towards me, his eyes compelling me to understand.

"Your task, your sacred charge, is to deliver justice tomorrow. Your skills, your weapons, and your tactics—they are all gifts of Tyr, to be used in his name. You must not falter, you must not yield, and you must not stay your hand when the time comes. I know this sounds harsh, Rose, but this man Lorne has set his will against Tyr himself and you must strike him down. It is your duty. I know you shall succeed."

I looked at Casavir with gratitude and a little wonder.

"You always seem to know exactly the right thing to say to help me."

I don't see Casavir smile all that often, but when he does, oh what smiling eyes that man has. He warms you right down to your toes. I felt my doubts and fears retreat far away, not gone, perhaps, but not choking me.

I wasn't sure how I ended up holding his hand, but it felt nice. Very nice. He had such warm and comforting hands. He held my hands and we stared into each others eyes under the shadow of Tyr's statue. We both blinked at the same time and the spell was broken.

"I have a gift," he said. "I was given this ritual flask long ago and I have no further need for it. It contains a powerful potion that can heal your wounds, should you need it. Use it tomorrow, with Tyr's blessing." He pressed the beautiful silver flask in my hands, leaned forward to kiss my forehead, and then he was gone.

The peace he brought me remained, however.