“Toller would have made a great commander, Robrand,” he said after a long moment. “He died too soon.”
Robrand drew a deep breath and opened his eyes again. “We die when it’s our time. No sooner and no later. It’s how we die that’s important. Toller died well. I think he must have had a good teacher.” He stood and offered Singe his hand. “I trust you, Etan. I’ll help you however I can.”
CHAPTER 11
Dandra could scarcely believe that Robrand d’Deneith was the same man she had ridden with the first day out of Vralkek. The man she had known as the General had been dour and tight with words. Robrand was charming, talkative, and pleasant. She knew that it had been an act intended to deceive Singe and Geth, but Robrand’s self control was still remarkable. He was a joy to be around. Over the next three days, he spent most of his time talking with Singe, swapping shared reminiscences and stories of the things they had seen and done in the years since they had last been together, but he also opened up to all of them. He talked with her about her experiences, discussed business with Natrac, and made the most of what little common ground he shared with Orshok. He even attempted to address Tetkashtai-an attempt the presence answered with a terse response that earned her a laugh from Robrand but the mental equivalent of a glare from Dandra.
The old man was particularly interested, however, in Ashi. “I had a feeling that you were Deneith the moment I saw you,” he told the hunter.
Singe’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “How could you possibly have known?”
“The members of House Deneith may be spread wide across Khorvaire, Etan, but we still share ties of blood.” Robrand took Ashi’s chin between his fingers and tilted her face up. “She has a Deneith jaw, Deneith eyes.”
Ashi flushed “Isn’t a dragonmark the only way to know for certain?” she asked.
“It’s one way, but not the only way. There are rites of divination that will confirm it, though I can tell you their results now: you are Deneith.” He patted her shoulders in a fatherly gesture and Ashi’s pierced lips stretched into a smile.
After that, she and Robrand spent a part of every day talking together as he told her something of life as part of the great house. In spite of an obvious distaste for Deneith, the old commander’s eyes took on a wistful nostalgia when he spoke of past heroes and ancient glories. Dandra could tell that he still had pride in his house’s history.
One night, as she and Singe watched, he even stripped off his shirt and showed Ashi his dragonmark. The Mark of Sentinel covered his age-softened chest, a colorful pattern like a tattoo but far more vivid and elaborate. Ashi stared at it in wonder. “It’s bigger than I thought it might be,” she said. “Did it hurt?”
“Hurt?” Robrand blinked in surprise. “Dol Dorn’s fist, no. A dragonmark only looks like a tattoo. This is a part of me. When it first manifested, it was smaller-dragonmarks grow as bearers learn to channel their powers. My power is only middling.” He slipped his shirt back on. “The most powerful dragonmarks-the Marks of Siberys-are supposed to cover their bearers from head to toe.”
“The lords of the dragonmarked houses must be astounding to see,” Ashi said in awe.
Singe hadn’t been able to suppress a laugh at the hunter’s wonder. Robrand gave him a disapproving glance-and Ashi a shake of his head. “The lords of the houses gain power through skill and guile, not the strength of their marks. The Marks of Siberys may be powerful, but they’re rare. My mother used to tell stories of meeting an old gnome of House Sivis who carried the Siberys Mark of Scribing. He could draw a magical symbol of such power that it would kill anyone who looked on it but he was virtually a slave to his house.”
Ashi looked confused. Robrand gave her a brittle, bitter smile. “You have a lot to learn about the dragonmarked houses, Ashi. You may wish you’d stayed in the Shadow Marches.”
For all that the rest of them found companionship in Robrand, however, there was one person left out of the old man’s pleasant circle. Geth took to riding apart from the rest of them, a little ahead of the column of ogres, silently but blatantly avoiding Robrand. As far as Dandra could tell, though, it was a mutual avoidance. Geth stayed away from Robrand and Robrand made no move to reach out to Geth.
Unfortunately, the shifter also took to keeping his distance from the rest of them, and the more withdrawn he became, the more tempting it was-in spite of what all of them had been through together-to spend time with Robrand instead, listening to his stories. Over three days, though, Dandra noticed something else as well. Among all the stories that Robrand and Singe swapped between themselves, they never mentioned Narath, and it seemed to her that if they ever got close to it, one or the other of them would glance toward Geth and quickly change the subject.
They traveled the last stretch of the road to Tzaryan Keep in the dark. Rather than make camp when they were almost within sight of their destination, Robrand pushed Tzaryan’s troops onward as the sun sank below the horizon. Night or day made no difference to the ogres-they could see as well in the dark as shifters or orcs. Those few traveling with the column who couldn’t rode together, laughing like revelers, in the pale glow of magical light called by Singe.
Geth rode alone beyond the light. Dandra watched him for a long while as Robrand spun out an account of how he had bested a squad of knights in Thrane as a young man on his first command. The others hung on the old man’s words. When Dandra leaned over to Natrac and murmured, “I’m going to talk to Geth,” the half-orc just nodded and grunted. Dandra urged her horse away and trotted ahead to join Geth.
He looked up at her approach, bared his teeth, and snarled. “Go away, Dandra.”
“No,” Dandra said. She pulled her horse around so that it walked beside his. “What’s going to happen when we get to Tzaryan Keep?”
He blinked. “What?”
“What are you going to do when we get to Tzaryan Keep?” She nodded back toward the others, now well out of earshot. “You’re supposed to be a guard. A guard’s place is with his master.”
The shifter growled under his breath. Inside Dandra’s mind, Tetkashtai gave a derisive snort at his sullenness. Pathetic. No concern for anyone but himself.
You’re not one to talk. Dandra pushed the presence away “This is part of what’s between you and Singe, isn’t it?” Geth stiffened. She pressed him. “You need to get past this. We need to work together. All of us.”
He glared at her. “Have you given Singe this lecture, too?”
“He’s not the one riding alone.” She paused, then added, “This isn’t just between you and Singe anymore, Geth. You’ve barely talked to any of us since Robrand revealed himself. It’s all part of what happened in Narath, isn’t it?”
He looked away-then back again. “If I say yes, will you leave me alone?”
His voice was thick with emotion. Dandra hesitated. “No,” she said after a moment. “I’m not going to leave you alone. When I said we need to work together, I meant it. You’re going to have face Robrand and Singe.” She reached out and laid her hand over the cold metal of his great gauntlet. “But I want you to know this: I’m not judging you. Whatever you did in Narath, you’ve proved yourself to me. The first time we met, you were coming to my rescue.”
Geth looked down at her hand, then covered it with his. The shifter’s palm and fingers were rough and calloused. He said nothing for a long moment, then lifted his hand and sat up straight, looking away from her and up into the night sky. “Robrand let you see Ekhaas today.”
Dandra knew a change of subject when she heard one-but at least Geth was still talking to her instead of falling back into silence. She turned her eyes to the sky as well. The night was bright: six of the twelve moons were full or very close to it. Their combined light cast deep shadows across the hillsides. “He did,” she told him. “We thought maybe we could persuade her to tell us what she knows about Taruuzh Kraat. If she’s the self-appointed protector of the ruins, she must know something.”