Chapter 9

Follies

"There we go," Frayja announced, briefly scratching his nose. "Well and good. You must of course inform me if you feel the slightest difficulty with the bone. Alas, healing magic is never quite so certain when it comes to the knitting of bone as it is of flesh, although I must say that I may have overcome that particular barrier…" He paused, perhaps wishing for the silence to sound modest.

Kazin gritted his teeth. "To be sure." Frayja squinted at him, and he added, somewhat reluctantly, "You've been most kind. My thanks."

Frayja nodded several times, his face smoothing into its customary pompous expression. "Not at all. It is the duty of every priest to be of service, and as a High Priest, does this duty not rest ever more heavily upon my own shoulders? How could it not?"

Gods, man, you're windy. Hurry up and finish. I have better things to do than sit here and listen to you. High Priest indeed. Frayja's claims to power were nothing more than pure self-aggrandizement. He naturally prefers to leave out the fact that his temple was slaughtered. The priest showed no signs of tiring of his own voice any time soon. Kazin abruptly stood. "I must speak to Bowie." The comment itself was too brusque, but Kazin was having a hard time containing his dislike for Frayja.

The High Priest was an oily, slimy man; ingratiating and duplicitous. Bowie himself had some fondness for the man, but then Bowie seemed to have fondness for everybody. And even if he is all of these things, do I dare touch him? He wasn't even certain that he could. Frayja had the benefit of years of experience, and though Kazin had done no investigating, he wouldn't be surprised to learn that the man sat in a near unassailable position. All he's had to be is free, and he's been that. How much of matters of supplies, gold does he now have a hand in? To say nothing of his incessant attempts to dine with everyone. A following mayhaps? Or has morbidity made me paranoid?

Frayja's expression had not changed. "Of course." Kazin started away, but the High Priest called after him. "Mayhaps you will sup with me, Lord Kazin?"

Kazin took a moment to answer, being sure to control the disgust in his voice. "I fear not. I have… prior commitments."

Frayja smiled slightly. "Another time, Lord Kazin."

As he stepped out of the tent, he could not help wondering. There is something insolent about the man, that much cannot be denied. But how much of my own impatience with bloody all of them is reading itself into this? Even starting away, though, the guilt was beginning to rise. Alright, dammit, Frayja is obsequious. That's no reason to… He sighed deeply and put the matter of the displeasing priest out of his mind. Frayja was not his concern.

It was very late, and the night had a chill to it. Bloody lovely. The weather has chosen to reflect my mood. An ache had set into his arm at the crook between elbow and forearm. He grunted in irritation. Kazin was entertaining no notions of returning to get aid from Frayja again. Despite the steady drizzle, he could see that the various members of this little… expedition had managed to get a good number of fires blazing anyway.

Well, that's some hot dinner at least. Kazin dithered helplessly for a moment, between going and leaving. Truth to tell, he had no prior commitments. He supposed that he probably should see Bowie, but he didn't know that that was necessary. Nor was he certain of what kind of reception he would get, after his… Initiative, I suppose?

With a grunt, he strode off. Some hot food would help to settle him, he hoped. A fire that was not too crowded would be best, he felt. His nerves were still too raw after dealing with Kronos and his own oppressive company. And this, of course. Not even I'm certain how to take my act of… heroism at the Rhyl. Not that it was even that, of course. And most like if he had to talk to anybody much, they'd want to tell him things. They always did, and Kazin frankly was not in the mood to listen.

"Kaz!" He jumped slightly, and turned, almost resigned. Jaha waved furiously at him, his face shining with pleasure. "Kaz, join us!"

He hesitated for a moment, but it would be just rude to turn away now. And anyway, I judge Jaha too harshly. I always have, just because the others do so to me. Bloody hell. He forced himself to smile calmly. "Jaha." He nodded around the fire generally. Chester was there, and Eric as well. Kiwi, Taya and Peter. A crowd, in total. Kazin found that disheartening.

The dwarf leapt to his feet, grinning from ear to ear. "Sit down, sit down." He slapped Kazin hard, right at the crook of his arm.

The mage clenched his teeth as the ache set in more deeply. "That's right where my arrow wound was, Jaha."

For half a second, the dwarf's smile flickered but then he chuckled. "Right, right. You're just from seeing Frayja, I guess. Well so long as there aren't any new wounds!"

"Quite," said Kazin, shaking his head helplessly.

"My dear friend," Eric said solemnly, leaning down to clasp his hand. "Your gallantry has put us all to shame. Such an exploit should be immortalized in song."

Kazin managed to jerk out another smile. Gallantry? Is that what this is all about? "You are too kind, Sir Eric. Were it not for the work of you and others in the vanguard, doubtless I would have had no opportunity for such action." He only kept the smile on his face with effort. The courtesy sounded insincere, even to him.

Chester shook his head. "Truly, Kazin, your attack was the turning point in the battle. I congratulate you."

Kazin struggled for a moment to fill the silence. Eric and Chester could almost be brothers from the way they talked. He snorted. Brothers indeed. Chester has a sincere interest in his knightly valor, but a sincere interest in people too. Eric… mayhaps. "Why talk of blood spilled, things we can't change?" The words came out more sharply than he had meant them to.

Eric's handsome face creased. "We only meant… my pardons, Lord Kazin if I have given offense. I never meant…"

"I am not offended, Sir Eric." He felt such a bloody fool. I'm not meant for this damn thing of saying one thing and meaning another. Nor are any of the rest of them, but that's what I keep reading into things.

The silence lasted a moment longer, then Peter stretched his wings luxuriously. "Have you heard what Bowie plans to do next?"

Kazin arched a brow. "No."

"Hmm." The grunt was annoyed. "He should have told me at least."

Kazin bit back the automatic retort. Peter was a strong fighter and a loyal ally. He had spoken for Bowie in Parmecia, and had followed him well. That he had too great a sense of his own importance was unfortunate, but there was nothing to done about that.

Fortunately Kazin was spared the necessity of responding as Chester stepped in. "That was not chivalrously said, my friend." He shook his head at Peter. "Lord Bowie is most like still formulating an ultimate goal, here. How so can we expect him to yet speak?"

Peter yawned. "Yes." He waved one wing vaguely about. "Undoubtedly so. I believe I shall sleep. Let me know if something important happens." With that, the phoenix took to the air.

The silence stretched on after that. Mayhaps the others were uncomfortable with Peter's open display of arrogance. Mayhaps not. The silence was comforting to Kazin.

He sat there, studying the flames, the way the fire shifted and danced. Mended and weaved. It held a fascination for him, a near hypnosis. Compared to the thoughts that dogged him day and night, contemplation of fire was a harmless pastime. And there was the pride too. He was Kazin, an accomplished mage and researcher. Fire had been his first mastery.

He snorted. My first love. That cut a bit close to the bone. I learned from the flames, dammit. I made something of them. I… He jerked his eyes away from the compelling warmth. Fire was life; mayhaps that was the root of the fascination it still held for him. Fire, he thought ruefully, is power. And I have little enough of that which pleases me.

The silence continued, but to Kazin it sounded abruptly suspect. Didn't the others usually talk? They could hardly have finished the give and take of repartee that usually went on between them.

Jaha cleared his throat. "Some food, Kaz?"

The mage frowned, looking around the campfire for a moment. "You'd have to fetch it."

Jaha shrugged. "We haven't all eaten." The mildness of the comment was unusual.

Kazin's frown remained in place. Did Peter really make him that uncomfortable? The other possibility hit him. Or, gods be good, is it me?

Kiwi broke in, nodding vigorously, his eyes shining. "Food," he said in a reverent voice. "Hams, stew, bread…"

Jaha laughed and in a moment he seemed the same as ever. "We hardly have roast hams." He slapped his gut, grinning. "Got to do some good hunting first!"

"Indeed," said Chester. "Should there be time on the morrow, might we not suggest it to Lord Bowie? Doubtless my old friend will see the wisdom in replenishing our supplies, and what better use of our time could we make whilst he waits for reinforcements?" Chester seemed already to have forgotten that nobody was supposed to know of Bowie's plans. Though, to be fair, Kazin supposed that Chester probably didn't.

In the meantime, the centaur was declaring grandly, "It should be my great honor should you consent to join such a hunting party, Kiwi."

Kiwi smiled, his face eager. Chester turned his head. "Jaha?" The dwarf nodded vigorously.

"It's been too long since I've had this opportunity."

'"Opportunity,"' Chester repeated, his voice a shade more thoughtful. "That may be the very word, my friend. These woods are a good spot to wait out any reports or reinforcements. We could scarce choose better ground for our familiarity and the mutual distress of any enemy attack."

"No," Kazin said without stopping to think of it. The others stared at him.

"You have, mayhaps," Chester ventured after a moment, "a different thought?"

Kazin's lips curled downward. The politeness of the phrasing he might have taken as an unconscious insult under other circumstances, but Chester's tone was actually respectful. Nearly deferential. Not quite part of the noble knight, is it? But what… The realization struck him, as suddenly as the blow of a hammer.

Of course, he sneered silently. I'm gallant now, I mustn't forget. The victory at the Rhyl is one they cannot attribute to anyone else… unlike Astral and I weakening old Galam enough for Bowie to cut him down. That was more Astral's doing than mine. Jaha's solicitation, Chester's interest, yes very much so. The hero of the Rhyl. Now I'm not craven to them, damn the lot of them.

"The Yeeli," he said shortly, realizing that the others were still waiting for elucidation.

Chester stroked his chin. "They could access this spot with ease," he said slowly.

Kazin's mouth tightened. Listen to heroes, do you? Bloody hell, why did I jump clear into that damn river? "We cannot be certain whether or not the Yeeli are still our enemies. Camping here would carry that risk."

Jaha shot to his feet. "Why don't I get us some dinner?" His voice was eager. Too eager.

"I…" Kazin bit back the momentary loss of control. "I fear not. I must be on my way. Bowie, you know."

Jaha's face fell. "But…" Finally he shrugged. "If we're still here tomorrow, want to join the hunting?"

Kazin considered briefly. He still didn't care much for Jaha's thoughtless arrogance, but the very fact of the offer was an improvement. He knew nothing of hunting, of course, but refusing would not be politic either. His cheek twitched. "Why not?"

Chester sighed heavily. "It has been an honor," he said pompously, as he shook Kazin's hand. The mage struggled not break into bitter laughter. It was nearly as though they had met for the first time. "But we must do our duties," he finished, finally releasing Kazin's hand.

He forced another smile. "Quite. My thanks. It's been pleasant."

He started off, when Taya abruptly shot to her feet. "Kazin," she sputtered, running after him. He paused.

"Yes?" He supposed it wasn't very polite to stray too far from the fire with her while the night was so damp and chill. Accordingly, he drew to a halt. Taya, however kept on walking. He frowned, curious. The Parmecian sorceress had never passed many words with him before.

But that, he thought bitterly, was before Sir Kazin of Granseal won the bloody battle of the Rhyl. That raised a momentarily distracting point. He much preferred 'sir' to 'lord.' He'd have to try to effect that change.

Taya didn't seem in any hurry to speak, she walked straight on, looking neither left nor right, her head held high. "Is it wise, my lady, to stray from the warmth of the fire?" he inquired at last.

She turned to face him, a dazzling smile on her face. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to ask you…" She was twisting the front of her robes in her hands. "Well, I've been meaning to ask for a while, but we were fighting and all." She turned her eyes down for a moment, and lock of golden hair slipped onto her shoulder. It was quite fetching, and, more disturbingly, Kazin felt his stomach go numb. She looked up shyly. "Would you teach me about magic? Your kind I mean."

Kazin stood there for a long moment, his mind completely blank. "I…" He made an effort to control the trembling in his voice. "This is sudden." He realized how stupid that must have sounded and felt a slow flush creeping up his face. He was suddenly very glad that the night was a dark one. "Why not Chaz? He has a more thorough understanding of magic than I, more practical for battle at least."

Truth to tell, the request conflicted him. On the one hand, he couldn't deny that it was pleasing, very nearly flattering. But the fact of the offer made him both angry and ashamed. Angry that she would ask at all, that she hadn't before. Ashamed… Ashamed that I'm talking to Taya and not… not to her? Or ashamed that she's not talking to me?

"But you know sorcery too," Taya said eagerly. "Surely you have a better grasp on the mechanics if you know both fields." She stopped, and blushed. She did it very prettily too, Kazin noted with a dull resentment. "That wasn't very kind, I suppose, but I also heard that you studied shamanry! And I could teach you more about sorcery."

That much was certainly true. But where by Volcanon's stones did she hear about the shamanry? I can't do anything with it. "Well," he said, feeling rather awkward. "I suppose I could… go over some of the basics with you."

"Oh, thank you!" Taya beamed at him and, laughing, gave him a hug. She turned and practically skipped back towards the fire they had vacated. He stood there, rooted numbly to the spot.

So the hero of the Rhyl is worth learning from, is he? He was almost immediately ashamed of the thought. With an angry grimace, he turned away and trudged a few feet forward. It had been curious seeming, but why not after all? They could equally well benefit from such an arrangement, so why not? He shook his head, disgusted. My nerves are all shot to pieces. That's all.

Taya's manner had struck him as odd, but that was likely because the two had never talked before. His mouth tightened. The victor of the Rhyl is worth speaking to, it would seem. He shuddered briefly, filled with nothing but rage at his companions. "Damn the lot of them," he muttered. "I'm a Gransi, as much as the others. I've fought before, proved myself no craven. Bloody Bowie."

It all flowed from Bowie. Bowie had befriended him, yes, but distantly. Bowie had come to him for help initially at Zeon's revival, yes, but he and Chester and Jaha had humiliated him… I did not choose to have Yeeli mother. I didn't ask my father to rape her, dammit. And damn them for judging me for it!

He took another two angry strides forward, scarcely noting the drizzle that had started up. Just at the moment he didn't care about war with Galam or any of the rest of it. He didn't care about seeing Bowie, didn't care if respect was eternally denied him. All he wanted was to not have to talk to anyone else, to be able to get to his tent and stay there, to not have to consider Sarah again…

He halted. Sarah again. Always again. Always Sarah. A hysterical laugh nearly burst from his lips, but with pure force of will he strangled it. "I will not," he whispered angrily. "I will not be made a fool of."

The sky rumbled ominously, and Kazin glanced up. Within moments a heavier rain began to fall. With another curse, he set off, hoping to get to a thicker part of the trees at least. He ran heedlessly forward, hoping to get to some thick underbrush. Perhaps a tent, though he wasn't certain where... He shivered deeply as the spatters of water started coming down heavily. He pushed hair out of his eyes, squinting. With such poor visibility... Was that a glow, a bit off to the left? A fire? Under tree cover? I'd better bloody well hope so.

He ran forward, determined to get to some kind of shelter. He couldn't even make out the glow he'd thought he'd seen anymore, likely he would just go slipping in the muck for a while. But then, Kazin reflected, many things in life were hard. What was rain compared to the litany of suffering that raised its voice across every land, in every soul, in every hurt? What was rain but the most pathetic complaint of a comfortable man? "Blaze," he shouted.

The burst of flame was enough... there was a fire and close. Kazin pushed himself harder than ever, silently berating himself for his foolishness. He could have improved the bloody visibility anytime he wanted. He skidded to a halt a fraction of second too late and tripped over a tree root, falling straight forward, nearly into the fire. He cursed, pushing his face out of the ground. "I..."

"Kazin." Sheela sat there, looking at him, her dark eyes unusually solemn. "You can share the fire if you want."

"Thank you," he said, genuniely grateful. He had always liked Sheela a bit more than most of the others anyway. There were no illusions about her, no pretensions. He'd never really talked much with the woman, but she was better to talk to than most and none else seemed to be with her. Tomorrow. Bowie can wait until tomorrow.

He stumbled upright and settled against the back of a tree, glancing sourly back out into the night. The burst of rain had subsided into a drizzle again. Probably because I'm not there to be rained on. A humorless laugh burst through his lips. Self-pity. Gods above and below, I'm growing more pathetic and needy by the second.

Sheela sat there, her legs pulled up to her chest, head resting on her knees, arms wrapped around her legs, just looking at him with an inscrutable expression. Kazin ignored it; such silent contemplation was more to his taste than conversation, particularly in his current circumstances. He huddled a bit closer to the fire, shooting one quick glance at her. The mastermonk returned his gaze, but offered no comment.

Kazin sighed in pleasure, and closed his eyes, determined to sink into the comfortable warmth of the fire. No concerns. No regrets. No doubts, for at least just a little while.

"I... wanted to thank you," Sheela's voice came abruptly.

Kazin's eyes opened. With an effort he restrained himself from groaning. "What? You..." His mouth snapped shut. Of course. The bloody Rhyl. "I did my duty."

Sheela's eyes were so dark, so reflective as she just looked at him, a faint smile curling her lips. She was quiet for several moments before she said, "You saved my life. Thank you."

And what, pray, am I supposed to say to that? "It was my duty," he finally offered, grudging every word. Why had she had to bring the thing back to the front of his mind. Now he had concerns again. Regrets. Doubts. "I didn't mean to intrude," he continued. "If your encounter with such a... encounter has predisposed you to ponder your own mortality, I would understand. I would..."

Sheela just kept looking at him, smiling faintly. "You don't have to stay," she said.

Kazin's lips twisted for a moment and he studied the ground at his knees. Grass, that was wet with the rain, but not so muddy as it may have been. There had been understanding in that offer. The fact that she would tell him that, did that not denote understanding? Kazin paused, torn between true gratitude and his own oppressive company.

Sheela took his silence for an answer. "Your actions were very considerate."

Considerate. He shook his head darkly. Next she'll be telling me that I'm punctual, damn her. And must she stare at me like that? "You were lucky. We were both lucky. This whole bloody expedition has been lucky. Aside from more war." And how I'm lying in that. War is good all around, for Granseal. We don't have to be in the awkward position of offering anything; we can merely destroy the weaker power. War takes off the responsibility to do good by our former allies. He jerked to his feet. "Pray excuse me."

He trod off into the darkness, flushed with shame and embarrasment. That was unfair of me, dammit, but I have no stomach for any sort of praise. Sheela's manner had struck him as rather odd, too, that he could not deny. It wasn't truly just my discomfort. she was being... odd. Yes, distinctly so. And she didn't object to my extrication.

Kazin shook his head. He'd have to do better. He'd have to fairer to these men and women that he rode with, for better or worse. Tomorrow. He could make a start tomorrow. But for tonight, let him have his sweet rage. It's their fault too. Now that I'm the hero of the Rhyl, they all flutter around me, trying to suck the strength from me. Gods be good, no wonder Bowie sometimes looks half a corpse. With a loud curse, he made for the direction of the tents. He did not want to think of Bowie. He did not want to understand him, to sympathize with him. Bowie was the best friend Kazin had ever had, even if this darkness kept consuming Kazin's thoughts. And Bowie was also better than him in all the ways that mattered. All the ones that matter to Sarah.

He felt like hitting something, but he merely tightened his grip on his staff, until his knuckles went white from the pressure. He was slipping badly if he'd been able to think that baldly. Dammit, no. I do not submit. I do not admit. I philosophically, categorically, and logically deny it. "I won't!" He continued onward, unbothered by the shout. "I will not bend me knees. I will not care, I will not...." He stopped. Bit his lip until it bled. Looked at the sky. "Dammit..." He was making a fool of himself. I've tried, so hard. It's a helpless situation, and that's reason enough to leave it alone. I'm not the man that she wants...

That was not much of a conclusion to come to. It was anti-climatic, self-indulgent in its way... Oh, what was the use of dissembling? It was pathetic. I'm acting the lovesick boy, that's what I'm doing. I, who have always noted the foolishness of such a... a... predicament. He shook his head, swaying unsteadily. He felt nearly as sick as he had on the night of the feast. "This is no good," he muttered. "Better sleep." His impatience with the others, his distaste with Frayja, his struggle to be friendly with Sheela or Bowie or anyone... I'm temporizing, dammit. This wound, the sudden attention, my act of heroism and all of it, it's just put me on the raw. I'm admitting things to myself now... and jumping about to extreme conclusions. To ward off any claim in the one direction, I go fully in the other. Temporizing. I just need a little time.

He shook his head again and took two stumbling steps forward. He needed to find his tent. Solitude. Sleep. Dreamless sleep. That was all he longed for. In sleep he could escape himself and the others to the greatest extent that was possible. The sound hit him then. Sniffling. Weeping. Unwillingly, he turned his head in the direction of the sound. There, he could see the nearer tents... and, gods be good, it was Sarah. His fingers curled. He stared up at the sky for a moment. Gods, no. Why? Why this? Why now of all times?

His mouth twisted shut, the lips pressed tightly together. The muscles in his shoulders tightened. His arms, his neck. His fingers twitched. With a great force of will, Kazin walked towards her. Leaving would be preferable of course... wouldn't it? But Kazin was enough of a man to be disgusted at that thought. If this burden was upon him, and it was, then he would face it, distasteful though it might be. And anyway, it was his fate. He had asked the whys of the situation. Kazin did not believe in whys.

Grinding his teeth, he came to a halt, a rough five paces shy of her. Her back was to him. He squared his shoulders as best he could, ignored the sweat beading on his forehead and said hoarsely, "Sarah?"

The elven girl (woman, truly, but her youthful antics sometimes rendered that impossible to remember) jumped slightly and turned. "Kazin! It's you." Her tone was relieved, yet... yet what?

Disappointed? He didn't know if he felt like laughing or crying himself. "Is..." For some reason, his throat wasn't working properly. "Is aught amiss?" A moment later he could have kicked himself. She was crying and his response was to ask her if aught was amiss? "I..." he stumbled onwards quickly. "Can I get you anything?"

She tried to smile, but her lips quickly quivered downward. "It's... nothing."

Nothing. It's always bloody nothing, so why bother with the asking fool of a mage? "I don't suppose... that I could... do anything."

She smiled weakly at him, managing the expression this time. "Just... thank you for being here. I can talk to you about anything, Kazin." She sighed a bit wistfully. "You've been a better friend to me than anyone," she murmured, looking out into the night. "Better even than Bowie. You always listen. You understand."

Do tell, he thought, for a moment sardonic. But then his own wave of emotions sprang up. The shame. The self-dsigust. The desire and the rage. He looked away. "No moreso than most."

She shook her head. "It's... I feel so... I shouldn't weigh you down with anything." Nonetheless she came to stand closer to him, clinging to his arm, as though for support. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know I just said..."

Kazin's arm started to ache worse than ever. "Whatever works, I suppose," he said mechanically. How did I saddle myself with this? I think dying in the Rhyl would have been easier.

She smiled again, still weak, but a bit more genuine. "Thank you. It's just... I've been thinking about Bowie again," -Bowie again. Always Bowie- "and it's just... I've always..." Her face screwed up and for a moment Kazin feared that she would burst into tears all over again. But her face cleared, and she suddenly shouted as though shouting a curse, "I've proved it haven't I?" There were tears on her cheeks and his hand had tightened on his arm, as though she were about to fall to her knees but had thought better of it.

He didn't have to ask what 'it' was. "Yes," he said, helpless, not knowing what to say. "But I'm not Bowie." As if you hadn't noticed. "If you talked to him instead of me..." He didn't say what he was really thinking, which was that it seemed like the best thing to do would just not bother with love of any kind. In a different mood, she might be prepared to listen to a rational proposal in a negative form, but now... This whole sort of mess renders people incapable of reasoning their way through things, most of the bloody time. I, blessedly, am an exception.

She sniffled a bit, releasing him, as if abruptly noticing his discomfort. "It's not that easy, when you're love." She stepped back, her lips twitching between a smile and melancholy expression. "You'll know that, someday."

"I... suppose you're right." The fingers of his left hand started twitching. He was glad that it was dark enough outside that she couldn't see that, or the red anger in his face. "If you.... need anything... to talk again, I..."

She gave him the first real smile he'd seen that night. "Talking with you always makes me feel better. Thank you. That's very sweet."

The ache in his arm throbbed harder than ever, even as the twitching redoubled. "Yes, well," he muttered. "I..." But he couldn't think of anything else to say.

Sarah suddenly ran up to him and gave him a hug. "Thank you," she repeated. "You... that was good for me, I think. Maybe now I can..." She shook her head at him, smilingly and proceeded off in the direction of her own tent.

Kazin stood there, waiting until she was out of sight. His shoulders sagged, and he discovered his legs shaking. "Bloody hell," he muttered. "I need to get myself out of this." With a sudden rage he took off at his own pace, finally reaching his tent. He stepped in, no longer with any intention of going to sleep. Just have bloody nightmares at this rate. He found a small cup and rummaged around, looking for a little wine or water or something. After a few minutes of scrabbling about, he had a jug of water in his hand. He poured it, and took a mouthful, swirling it around for a moment. He swallowed. "Bloody fool," he burst out, abruptly, hurling the cup to the ground to shatter.

Red faced with anger and embarrasment, he berated himself, "Nothing, it's always bloody nothing and that's what it should be. You shouldn't..." A wave of exhaustion hit him and he slumped back down into his chair, staring at the shards of the cup. He shook his head, feeling more numb than angry now. My bloody temper. Waste of a perfectly good cup. And for a time, Kazin just sat there, staring at the remains of the cup, not moving, not thinking, just sitting. It could have been hours. It could have been years. I could spend the rest of my life sitting on my own, with nobody helping me... nobody to help. No Bowie or Sarah or Chester or any of them. I wouldn't need to use my eyes to see, then. I could spend my life in magical research again. Quiet afternoons with tea, and reflection. The occasional walk... The waterside whenever I wanted it. Just endlessly sitting on my own. The vision very nearly broke his heart, but it was sweet while it lasted.

Absently he picked up a quill and dabbed it in his inkwell, scrawling absent mindedly on a bare piece of parchment. After a moment he decided to go to sleep, and realized that he had the quill in his hand. Frowning with curiosity, he bent over the page. And he stared. And stared at what he had written with not a thought in his head towards the writing.

Well the pressure's down

Because hot air won't stick

But neither will it let me sleep

Yes the pressure's down

If we're taken to war

But will we be?

Well war makes the air grow hotter

At the price of your blood in the water

But the night is dark

And the air is cool

And I'm looking up above

Wondering

Why the gods

Inflicted us with love

He read it through at least three times before swearing softly to himself. He jumped up, walked over to his pallet and then, slowly swung back around towards the parchment. With another muttered curse, he sank back down, studying the verses, quill in hand.

---

A hundred swords, Bowie thought, hollowly. He stared at the crackling flames of the fire. He had only made that proud boast… was it two days ago now? How far away it seemed. How arrogant it had been. In his haste he had left the castle with near only his friends. And not even all of those. Rohde of course had stayed behind. Claude, May… Slade.

He would not deny it. Now that Astral had been taken, he wondered sometimes. Wondered if there had been anything in Slade's enigmatic warning. A conspiracy. Well, why not? The Galamani had taken Astral very effectively. Who was to say that they hadn't had inside help? But who? Graig was a pathetic minister, truly, but he was loyal to Granseal. Of that, Bowie felt assured. Mrell?

He didn't know that old man well enough to judge. But what would drive a loyal general of Granseal, a man who had fought the kingdom's enemies for at least forty years, to betrayal? He hunched his shoulders. The night was chill, and these contemplations all the colder. If not Mrell or Graig, then who? Slade? No… He shook his head.

A hundred swords… More like half that, total. More like forty than fifty, even. Most of his friends and bare dozen other swords gathered from the guards. Mostly unblooded or only just so. But there are Gerhalt's forces. I neglected that consideration before, but if we link up with his forces, we at least have enough men to resist any attacks that the Galamani may throw at us.

It was a plan he needed now. A plan to save Sir Astral. And to stop another disastrous war from happening, just like the last one. I didn't speak to Kronos enough… Kazin may have his measure, but what can I do to insure that the lords of Galam bend the knee? Lord Zocc seemed reasonable enough, but how much sway does he hold with the rest? Would he even be willing to sue for peace?

Bowie simply didn't know. He could argue, of course, that since the Galamani had abducted Sir Astral, he had washed out that insult in blood back at the Rhyl. But that would just lead to the Galamani digging up some ancient forgotten insult. And war would be inevitable if that happened, those sniping accusations. It would not serve. But then what? His jaw felt hard as a rock, as he felt it, all along the bone.

Lives would be wasted, in war. There would be too much lost. Everyone will have their own version of the lonliest man in Grans if we let another war happen.

He sighed, looking up at the sky. The day had dawned, bright and clear from the damp night and Bowie had not found an answer despite his lack of sleep. With a grunt, he rose, knowing that he'd have to act now, anyway. He nearly staggered for a step or so, so stiff was his hunched back. I will not run back to suffer Graig's smirks, he resolved. I will make this work. I will save Sir Astral and spill as little blood as I can. If war wasn't inevitable even before I marched... That was a dark thought, but what other course was there in Grans? The Galamani had dishonoured them, and he, Bowie, had shamed them in turn. Bowie the Butcher.

He stepped forward, past the ring of his fire and found Gyan standing guard. The dwarf was a stout-hearted fellow, but evidently not immune to the strains of such duty; evidenced by his snores. Bowie clapped him lightly on the shoulder.

With something between a snort and a cry, Gyan dropped his axe, stumbled to the ground, brought it up, and chuckled weakly.

He'll have to do better than that, if war is to come. "Gyan," he said. "You ought to have gotten some sleep." He held up a hand, waving off the dwarf's immediate response. "Be that as it may. Bring me Ch..." He hesitated for a moment, abruptly pressed in another direction. Different council. A duty I've put off since we won yesterday. "Bring me Kazin."

The red-bearded dwarf bowed low, and hurried off. Bowie freed his sword in its sheath, pulled it out, looked at the blade, looked at what he could see of his face in the polished metal. I look tired. I look a grim man. He sighed. The burgenoning thoughts in his soul on the pointless waste of war, it was making him old before his time. He still had friends. He still had Granseal to love. Prospects. I still... I still have Elis. Not that it was ever a matter that he had spoken to the princess about, the king... nor indeed had he ever spoken to his friends. Not even Sarah or Jaha. I never had a hope of that until recently...

But now was not the time for pondering his lady. Now was the dawn of a new day, a new era, in all likliehood, a new war. Bowie had to be ready to meet it. He needed to prove as strong as the steel in his sword. Else, I may as well go back to Granseal and resign in Zellar's favor. The ghost of a smile flitted across his lips.

He heard the steps, but didn't bother to turn. "Bowie." Kazin's voice sounded slightly uncertain.

After allowing another moment of weakness to elapse, Bowie turned to face his elven friend. "Kazin." His rust-brown robes were rumpled, his face was drawn, not as guarded as it usually was. His shoulders stooped slightly, his eyes ringed with darkness. "You look awful."

The mage shook his head. "Just... tired."

Bowie smiled. "Indeed." He gestured towards the fire. "Sit." Kazin gave him a curious glance, but did as he was bid. Bowie stalked over, planning to sit himself, but at the last moment, he changed his mind. He clasped his hands together. "Kazin... what you did yesterday... that was... well, frankly, it was incredible. It was insane... or so I would be saying if it had not won the battle for us. That is what makes a leader different from a common soldier. One who can harness such a chance, though a chance it always remains."

Kazin's face drew itself up slightly. He looked more strained than usual, but a bit more guarded again. "Thank you. Is that what you wanted to tell me?"

"No." Bowie sat, ignoring the early morning dew. "I wanted to call you to my council."

Kazin's jaw twitched. "You have a strategy?"

Bowie paused, nonplussed. The mage sounded almost defensive that his advice was being solicited. He had meant it as an honor. "There are many things to be considered. You spent the most time with Lord Kronos..."

"Kronos wants this war," Kazin said. "And no, I doubt Lord Zocc could overule him. Even if the Green Baron could, I am far from certain that he'd want to. And after yesterday... well, anyone who speaks against the war will be called a coward, possibly a traitor."

Weeper! Cravenly weeper! "Negotiations cannot be wholly useless. We can call on support from Granseal."

"Graig was not enthusiastic about you coming this far."

"When we tell him of the troop movements on the Rhyl..."

"He'll conclude that your march made that inevitable. Seizing Astral was as good as declaration of war, and Graig is not like to want to move the bulk of troops from the city." Bowie was quiet, stung by the accuracy of Kazin's comments. "And an offer of negotiations will just make the Galamani think you are weak."

A leader indeed. "Kronos was not the only lord vying for power in Granseal."

Kazin arched a brow. "If you can find a man willing to use your assistance, I congratulate you, but I wouldn't count on it. Kronos's bitterest rival is more like to spit in your face than to accept such a dishonorable proposal."

"Are you telling me that peace is useless?"

"No, and you know that. I'm telling you that it's not achievable."

Bowie looked for a moment at Kazin, a frown on his lips. The mage's voice had been peculiarly sharp. Not as though they were having a tense discussion of limited possibilities, but more as though... Mayhaps its just the futility of the situation. "Are you alright?"

Kazin looked away. "Just tired."

Bowie sighed. "Well, I really wanted your words on two matters." He paused, regretful that he had to consider this next angle. But tactics, he understood. "The Yeeli."

Kazin's composure finally faltered definitively. A look a mild startlement on his face, then a flash of interest. His mouth smoothed out. "Will they attack you, you mean?" Bowie nodded, and the mage was quiet for several minutes. Finally he said, "Not you. Not after you cut down King Galam." Kazin's hands clenched, but he continued in a perfectly normal voice, "They won't be so quick to forgive Granseal. But they won't attack you. Nor," he added, abruptly, "will they help you. You are Gransi, after all."

It was more than Bowie had expected. It would be wrong to use the Yeeli, anyway. We made this problem, we should shed the blood righting it. But at the same time, he could hear the voice of the old man in his mind yet again. There are no crimes when you are the only one left. "We need to get word back to the city," he burst out, trying to blot out the memory. "It's an important mission, and one that probably won't be without danger. I want you to lead it."

Kazin said nothing. For a moment he looked at the ground. After a while, he said, "Yesterday, you would have asked Chester to do this. Or Jaha." Bowie said nothing to that, knowing it to be true. Knowing that there was nothing to be said. Kazin finally grunted. "I suppose it's your perrogative. Who do you want me to take?"

Bowie sighed in a relief. For a moment, he'd feared that the mage might refuse. "Randolf, you'll need a strong arm and I don't need him here. And Rick, I think, will round off the party nicely." He started to stand and then said, "Oh, and I nearly forgot. Sarah of course."

Kazin stood, his face pale. "You think it wise to remove a healer from the front?"

"We're strongly camped here, and unlikely to come to blows soon. I have sufficient healers to risk removing one."

Kazin's jaw twitched again. His voice took on a very deliberate quality. "I think that Sarah might prefer to stay where she could be more useful."

Bowie shook his head. "Wrong, for once, Kazin. I know that Sarah's been down lately. She needs to get away from all this. A brief visit to the city will be great for her."

Kazin stood there, and his jaw twitched. Just as it seemed that he meant to do nothing, he jerked his head down in a quick nod. "As... you wish. Incidentally," he added, over his shoulder, walking away, "I think that Luke's been wanting to talk to you."

Bowie shook his head. "Of course. Bedoe. I forgot about that. But now more than ever..." He ground his teeth. He'd deal with that when he had a spare moment. "Kazin," he shouted. "Start as soon as you can. Time is against us." The mage, further off now, raised his arm in acknowledgment of the command.

Bowie looked after him, then slowly paced around the fire. The smoke was rising off of the wood. Fire could be used to for life, but also it was always the precursor of bloodshed. He sighed. The others would want to know what happened next. They'd want to know if they would fight, if it would come to war. "Not yet," he whispered, staring into the distance. "Not just yet." Bowie smiled sadly. If it went that far, as it seemed that it must, at least then he was good at war. He was that.