Behind her Vereesa heard the scrape of steel as it slid from its sheath. She quickly glanced up at
Duncan, who had already begun shaking his head at the knight in question. “No, Wexford, a Knight of
the Silver Hand cannot slay any foe who cannot defend himself. The stain would be too great to our
oaths. I think we must post guards for the evening, then see what happens with our spellcaster here in the
morning.” Lord Senturus's weathered visage took on a grim aspect. “And, one way or another, justicewill
be served once he awakes.”
“I will stand by him,” Vereesa interjected. “No one else need do so.”
“Forgive me, milady, but your association with—”
She straightened, staring the senior paladin in the eye as best she could. “You question the word of a
ranger, Lord Senturus? You question my word? Do you assume that I will help him flee again?”
“Of course not!” Duncan finally shrugged. “If that is what you want, then that is what you want. You
have my permission. Yet to do so all night with no relief—”
“That is my choice. Would you do any less with one left in your charge?”
Vereesa had him there. Lord Senturus finally shook his head, then turned to the other warriors and
began giving orders. In seconds, the ranger and the wizard were alone in the center of camp. Rhonin had
been left atop two of the bedrolls, the knights not certain as to how to remove them without getting
burned.
She examined the sleeping form as best she could without touching him again. Rhonin's robes appeared
torn in places and the face of the wizard bore tiny scars and bruises, but otherwise he seemed to be
unharmed. His expression looked drained, however, as if he had suffered great exhaustion.
Perhaps it was the near darkness through which she inspected him, but Vereesa thought that the human
looked so much more vulnerable now, even sympathetic. She also had to admit that he had fair looks,
although the elf quickly eliminated any other thoughts along that line. Vereesa tried to see if there was any
method by which she could make the unconscious mage's position more comfortable, but the only way to
do so would have meant revealing that she could tolerate touching him. That, in turn, might have
encouraged Lord Senturus to try to use her to better secure Rhonin, which went against the elf 's bond to
the mage.
With no other recourse, Vereesa settled near the prone body and looked around, eyeing the area for
any possible threat. She still found Rhonin's sudden reappearance very questionable and, although he had
said little about it, clearly so did Duncan. Rhonin hardly seemed capable of having transported himself to
the midst of their camp. True, such an effort would explain why he now lay almost comatose, but it still
did not ring true. Rather, Vereesa felt as if she looked at a man who had been kidnapped, then tossed
back after the kidnapper had done with him what he would.
The only question that remained—who could have done such a fantastic thing . . . and why?
He woke knowing that they were all against him.
Well, not all of them, perhaps. Rhonin did not know exactly where he stood—providing he could stand
at all— with the elven ranger. By rights, her oath to see him safely to Hasic should have meant she would
defend him even against the pious knights, but one never knew. There had been an elf in the party from his last mission, an older ranger much like Vereesa. That ranger, however, had treated the wizard much
the same way as Duncan Senturus did, and without the elder paladin's level of tact.
Rhonin exhaled lightly so as not to alert anyone just yet to his consciousness. He had only one way of
finding out where he stood with everyone, but he needed a few more moments to collect his thoughts.
Among the initial questions he would be asked would be his part in the disaster and what had happened
to him afterward. Some bit of the first half the weary wizard could answer. As for the second, they likely
knew as much as he.
He could delay no longer. Rhonin took another breath, then purposely stretched, as if waking.
Beside him, he heard slight movement.
With planned casualness, the mage opened his eyes and looked about. To his relief
and—surprisingly—some pleasure, Vereesa's concerned countenance filled his immediate field of vision.
The ranger leaned forward, striking sky-blue eyes studying him close. Those eyes suited her well, he
thought for a moment . . . then quickly dismissed the thought as the sound of clanking metal warned him
that the others knew he had awakened.
“Back among the living, is he?” Lord Senturus rumbled. “We shall see how that lasts—”
The slim elf immediately leapt to her feet, blocking the paladin's path. “He has only just opened his eyes!
Give him time to recoup and eat at least before you question him!”
“I will deny him no basic right, milady, but he shall answer questionswhilehe has his breakfast, not after.”
Rhonin had propped himself up by his elbows just enough to be able to see Duncan's scowling visage,
and knew that the Knights of the Silver Hand believed him to be some sort of traitor, possibly even a
murderer. The weakened mage recalled the one unfortunate sentry who had plummeted to his death and
suspected that there might have been more such victims. Someone had no doubt reported Rhonin's
presence on the wall, and the natural prejudices of the holy order had added up the facts and gotten the
wrong answer, as usual.
He did not want to fight them, doubted that at this point he could even cast more than one or two light
spells, but if they tried to condemn him for what had happened at the keep, Rhonin would not hold back
to defend himself.
“I'll answer as best I can,” the wizard replied, declining any aid from Vereesa as he struggled to his feet.
“But, yes, only with some food and water in my stomach.”
The normally bland rations of the knights tasted sweet and delicious to Rhonin from the moment of the
first bite. Even the tepid water from one of the flasks seemed more like wine. Rhonin suddenly realized
that his body felt as if it had been forcibly starved for nearly a week. He ate with gusto, with passion, with
little care for manners. Some of the knights watched him with amusement, others, especially Duncan, with
distaste.
Just as his hunger and thirst at last began to level off, the questioning began. Lord Senturus sat down
before him, eyes already judging the spellcaster, and growled, “The time for confession is at hand, Rhonin
Redhair! You have filled your belly, now empty the burden of sin from your soul! Tell us the truth about
your misdeed on the keep wall. . . .”
Rhonin went on with his story, telling next how he fled to the dubious safety of the tower, only to have it
collapse about him. Here, though, he hesitated, knowing for certain that Senturus would find his next
words questionable, at the very least.
“And then—something—seized me, my lord. I don't know what it was, but it took me up as if I was a
toy and whisked me away from the devastation. Unfortunately, I couldn't breathe because I was held so
tight, and when I next opened my eyes—” The wizard looked at Vereesa. “It was to see her face.”
Duncan waited for more, but when it became clear that his wait would be fruitless, he slapped one hand
against his armored knee and shouted, “And that is it? That is all you know?”
“That's all.”
“By the spirit of Alonsus Faol!” the paladin snapped, calling upon the name of the archbishop whose
legacy had led, through his apprentice, Uther Lightbringer, to the creation of the holy order. “You have
told us nothing,nothingof worth! If I thought for one moment—” A slight shift by Vereesa made him
pause. “But I have given my word and taken that of another. I will abide by my previous decision.” He
rose, clearly no longer interested in remaining in the company of the wizard. “I also make another
decision here and now. We are already on route to Hasic. I see no reason why we should not move on
as quickly as possible and get you to your ship. Let them deal with your situation as they see fit! We
leave in one hour. Be prepared, wizard!”
With that, Lord Duncan Senturus turned and marched off, his loyal knights following immediately
thereafter. Rhonin found himself alone save for the ranger, who walked to a spot before him and sat
down. Her eyes settled on his. “Will you be well enough to ride?”
“Other than exhaustion and a few bruises, I seem in one piece, elf.” Rhonin realized that his words had
come out a little sharper than he had intended. “I'm sorry. Yes, I'll be able to ride. Anything to get me to
the port on time.”
She rose again. “I will prepare the animals. Duncan brought an extra mount, just in case we did find you.
I will see to it that it is waiting when you finish.”
As the ranger turned, an unfamiliar emotion rose within the tired spellcaster. “Thank you, Vereesa
Windrunner.”
Vereesa looked over her shoulder. “Taking care of the horses is part of my duty as your guide.”
“I meant about standing with me during what might have turned into an inquisition.”
“That,too, was part of my duty. I took an oath to my masters that I would see you to your destination.”
Despite her words, however, the corners of her mouth twitched upward for a moment in what might have
been a smile. “Better ready yourself, Master Rhonin. This will be no canter. We have much time to make
up.”
She left him to his own devices. Rhonin stared at the dying campfire, thinking about all that had
happened. Vereesa did not know how close to the truth she had been with her simple statements. The
journey to Hasic would be no easy gallop, but not just for the sake of time.
He had not been entirely truthful with them, not even the elf. True, Rhonin had not left out any part of his
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