"Mariabronne has returned," Wingham informed Olgerkhan when he found the large half-orc back at Nyungy's house. "He has brought a commander from the Vaasan Gate, along with several other mercenaries, to inspect the castle. They will find a way, Olgerkhan. Arrayan will be saved."
The warrior looked at him with undisguised skepticism.
"You will join them in their journey," Wingham went on, "to help them in finding a way to defeat the curse of Zhengyi."
"And you will care for Arrayan?" Olgerkhan asked with that same evident doubt. He glanced to the side of the wide foyer, to a door that led to a small closet. "You will protect her from him?"
Wingham glanced that way, as well. "You put the great Nyungy in a closet?"
Olgerkhan shrugged, and Wingham started that way.
"Leave him in there!" Olgerkhan demanded.
Wingham spun back on him, stunned that the normally docile—or controllable, at least—warrior had so commanded him.
"Leave him in there," Olgerkhan reiterated. "I beg of you. He can breathe. He is not dangerously bound."
The two stared at each other for a long while, and it seemed to Olgerkhan as if Wingham was fighting an internal struggle over some decision. The old merchant started to speak a couple of times, but kept stopping short and finally just assumed a pensive pose.
"I will not care for Arrayan," Wingham said decided at last.
"Then I will not leave her."
Wingham stepped toward Olgerkhan, reaching into his coat pocket as he did. Olgerkhan leaned back, defensive, but calmed when he noted the objects Wingham had produced: a pair of rings, gold bands with a clear gemstone set in each.
"Where is she?" Wingham asked. "Back at her house?"
Olgerkhan stared at him a bit longer, then shook his head. He glanced up the stairs then led the way to the first balcony. In a small bedroom, they came upon Arrayan, lying very still but breathing with a smooth rhythm.
"She felt better, a bit," Olgerkhan explained.
"Does she know of Nyungy?"
"I told her that he was with you, looking for some answers."
Wingham nodded, then moved to his niece. He sat on the bed beside her, blocking much of Olgerkhan's view. He bent low for a moment then moved aside.
Olgerkhan's gaze was drawn to the woman and to the ring Wingham had placed on her finger. The clear gem sparkled for a brief moment then it went gray, as if smoke had somehow filtered into the gemstone. It continued to darken as Olgerkhan moved closer, and by the time he gently lifted Arrayan's hand for a closer inspection, the gem was as inky black as onyx.
The warrior looked at Wingham, who stood with his hand out toward Olgerkhan, holding the other ring.
"Are you strong enough to share her burden?" Wingham asked.
Olgerkhan looked at him, not quite understanding. Wingham held up the other ring.
"These are Rings of Arbitration," the old merchant explained. "Both a blessing and a curse, created long ago by magic long lost to the world. Only a few pairs existed, items crafted for lovers who were bound body and soul."
"Arrayan and I are not—"
"I know, but it does not matter. What matters is what's in your heart. Are you strong enough to share her burden, and are you willing to die for her, or beside her, should it come to that?"
"I am. Of course," Olgerkhan answered without the slightest hesitation.
He reached for Wingham and took the offered ring. With but a fleeting glance at Arrayan, he slid the ring on his finger. Before he even had it in place, a profound weariness came over him. His vision swam and his head throbbed with a sharp pain. His stomach churned from the waves of dizziness and his legs wobbled as if they would simply fold beneath him. He felt as if a taloned hand had materialized within him and had begun to tug at his very life-force, twanging that thin line of energy so sharply and insistently that Olgerkhan feared it would just shatter, explode into a scattering of energy.
He felt Wingham's hand on him, steadying him, and he used the tangible grip as a guide back to the external world. Through his bleary vision he spotted Arrayan, lying still but with her eyes open. She moved one arm up to brush back her thick hair, and even through the haze it was apparent to Olgerkhan that the color had returned to her face.
He understood it all then, so clearly. Wingham had asked him to "share her burden."
That thought in mind, the half-orc growled and forced the dizziness aside, then straightened his posture, grabbed Wingham's hand with his own, and pointedly moved it away. He looked to the old merchant and nodded. Then he glanced down at his ring and watched as a blood-red mist flowed into it and swirled in the facets of the cut stone. The mist turned gray, but a light gray, not the blackness he had seen upon poor Arrayan's finger.
He glanced back at the woman, at her ring, and saw that it, too, was no longer onyx black.
"Through the power of the rings, the burden is shared," Wingham whispered to him. "I can only hope that I have not just given a greater source of power to the growing construct."
"I will not fail in this," Olgerkhan assured him, though neither of them really knew what «this» might actually mean.
Wingham moved over and studied Arrayan, who was resting more comfortably, obviously, though she had again closed her eyes.
"It is a temporary reprieve," the merchant said. "The tower will continue to draw from her, and as she weakens, so too will you. This is our last chance—our only chance—to save her. Both of you will go with Mariabronne and Gareth's emissary. Defeat the power that has grown dark on our land, but if you cannot, Olgerkhan, then there is something else you must do for me."
The large half-orc stood attentively, staring hard at old Wingham.
"You must not let the castle have her," Wingham explained.
"Have her?"
"Consume her," came the reply. "I cannot truly comprehend what that even means, but Nyungy, who is wiser than I, was insistent on this point. The castle grows through the life-force of Arrayan, and the castle has made great gains because we did not know what we battle. Even now, we cannot understand how to defeat it, but defeat it you must, and quickly. And if you cannot, Olgerkhan, I will have your word that you will not let the castle consume my dear Arrayan!"
Olgerkhan's gaze went to Arrayan again as he tried to sort through the words, and as Wingham's meaning finally began to dawn on him, his soft appearance took on a much harder edge. "You ask me to kill her?"
"I ask for your mercy and demand of you your strength."
Olgerkhan seemed as if he would stride over and tear Wingham's head from his shoulders.
"If you cannot do this for me then…" Wingham began, and he lifted Arrayan's limp arm and grabbed at the ring.
"Do not!"
"Then I will have your word," said the merchant. "Olgerkhan, there is no choice before us. Go and do battle, if battle is to be found. Mariabronne is wise in the ways of the world, and he has brought an interesting troupe with him, including a dark elf and a wizened sage from Damara. But if the battle cannot be won, or won in time, then you must not allow the castle to take Arrayan. You must find the strength to be merciful."
Olgerkhan was breathing in rough pants by then, and he felt his heart tearing apart as he looked at his dear Arrayan lying on the bed.
"Put her hand down," Olgerkhan said at length. "I understand and will not fail in this. The castle will not have Arrayan, but if she dies at my hand, know that I will fast follow her to the next world."
Wingham slowly nodded.
"Better this than to enter the castle beside that troublesome dwarf," said Davis Eng, his voice weak with poison.