‘Yes,’ Steven finally agreed. ‘We ought to stay here a while.’
The day passed slowly. Brynne slept, and Mark looked in on her occasionally, watching her chest rise and fall steadily in the waning twilight. Steven and Garec busied themselves with simple tasks, stacking firewood, organising rations and fletching arrows. Steven’s leg felt stronger, and he diligently replaced the querlis with new leaves Lahp had found somewhere along the riverbank. The three men talked idly of their families, their work, and finally, sports, while Lahp listened, resting in one corner of the room with his leg straight out in front of him, his own wound bound and treated with querlis. Steven had no idea what, if anything, he understood, but it was comforting to talk of home. Garec was fascinated at the notion of golf and Mark promised to teach him to play if they could somehow fashion appropriate clubs. Garec reciprocated with an offer to teach the foreigners chainball as soon as they reached a flat stretch of land. They avoided discussing Gilmour, Sallax, Welstar Palace, or Lessek’s Key, and each was happy to bask in the illusion of normalcy for a day.
Just before dark, Garec took his bow and quivers out to the river. Mark watched as Steven redressed his leg, wrapping strips of cloth over the therapeutic leaves on his calf. For the second time that day, Mark took stock of how much his friend had changed. His hair was too long, tucked under his collar, and his trim beard made him look older. Rather than his sometimes lackadaisical attitude of old, now Steven’s motions were deliberate, with little wasted effort; he moved with the purposeful conviction of a warrior preparing for battle. Perhaps that was it, the crux of his transformation: Steven had become a warrior. Although still untested in real battle – he had fought only to protect himself and his companions – it looked as if he had developed a willingness to risk his life for a cause he had embraced wholeheartedly.
Steven’s spirit had changed as well. He was no longer the bored assistant manager who would never complain or inconvenience anyone; now he was a powerful foe who would somehow find a way to confront Nerak, even without Gilmour along to lead them home. Mark had watched him in a Denver restaurant one night, eating roast chicken with red potatoes, asparagus and corn bread. Steven ate the entire meal, commenting on the flavour and the artful presentation – and Mark teased him for weeks afterwards, because Steven had ordered a salad. He had eaten someone else’s meal, because he didn’t want to inconvenience anyone by complaining or sending food back to the kitchen.
Mark wondered how Steven would manage when they did finally return to Idaho Springs. Watching as his friend ran his hands thoughtfully along the wooden staff, inspecting every grain pattern and bloodstain, Mark was glad Steven had been forced to fight, to toughen his spirit. It might prove to be the one thing that ensured their eventual survival.
What was most ironic was that Steven didn’t see the change in himself; he was still convinced that if he showed compassion, everything would be all right in the end – but would it? Mark doubted Nerak could be defeated with compassion; as a historian, he believed there were times when destroying the enemy utterly and completely was the only real option. Nerak needed to be destroyed, annihilated. Did Steven’s compassion give him real strength? Mark could only guess. Garec was different. His strength was formidable: he fired arrows and killed foes. Real strength, real results and an unquestioning will to win.
That’s what Steven needed. He might be developing the spirit of a warrior, but unless he also had the tools of a warrior, the magic of a Larion Senator and the willingness to destroy Nerak, Mark worried their cause might be in jeopardy.
Feeling a little guilty for doubting Steven, Mark went to inspect his roommate’s medicinal handiwork. ‘How’s the leg?’
‘Much better, thanks.’
‘Maybe we’ll get you out for a walk tomorrow. If the weather holds, it will be nice along the river.’
Steven looked puzzled. ‘What’s on your mind, Mark?’
‘Nothing much, just the fact that you’re our only hope.’ He pointed at the staff in Steven’s lap. ‘Do you think you can get us into Welstar Palace and through the portal without Gilmour?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Steven admitted, ‘but we’ve still got to try. I was hoping Gabriel would help us to find a way to get in.’
‘I hadn’t thought of him. That’s actually not a bad plan.’
‘To be honest, I have my doubts that we should be making this attempt at all.’
‘Do we have any choice? It’s our only way home.’
Steven stared into the fire. ‘We could stay and fight.’
Mark almost laughed, and then he realised his friend was serious. ‘What? Here? For ever?’
‘No, just until Nerak is defeated. Going into Welstar Palace before I really know how to use this thing is suicide.’ He adjusted the hickory shaft across his lap. ‘We ought at least to find someplace safe to research the staff, to practise with it. I can feel its power. It calls to me when trouble is coming. I do nothing; it controls everything.’
‘And it killed that grettan.’
‘Yes,’ Steven finally looked up. ‘After I passed out. At least I think it did; I can’t remember.’
‘Do you have enough power to beat him, though?’
‘I can’t say. Gilmour wasn’t much help; he had no idea how powerful the staff might be. I may be ten times stronger than Nerak, or a hundred times weaker.’
‘Then this is crazy. We’ll get in there and be dead in minutes.’
Steven remembered his mantra, and how it calmed him. He repeated it now, to explain. ‘We might not make it. You’re right, but somehow I’m certain the strength of the staff lies in my willingness to wield it.’
‘So wield it then. Crush him, if you’re convinced it’s strong enough.’
‘No.’ Steven shook his head to emphasise the point. ‘It doesn’t work that way. You saw it shatter on that Seron. It broke like a piece of kindling. I have to show compassion.’
Mark moved towards the fireplace and tossed a misshapen log into the flames. ‘I don’t know that Nerak is the kind of enemy who deserves compassion. Maybe the staff will recognise how insidious he is.’
Steven stood and hobbled awkwardly across the room to stand beside Mark. ‘We have to find the far portal. Nerak controls it. He doesn’t seem to be able to detect the staff’s magic, nor can he locate Lessek’s Key from afar. If he could, he would know we don’t have it, and God love Sallax for not sharing that information with Malagon’s spy. So, there are five things we know, and there are about seven hundred things we don’t.
‘I think we need to buy ourselves some time, work with the staff, decipher its purpose and its power and then make a decision about how to get home.’
There was something Steven hadn’t said, so Mark added it for him. ‘And we may find news of Hannah.’
‘ If Hannah arrived here,’ Steven interrupted hopefully.
‘It just doesn’t feel like a lot to go on.’
‘To me it does.’
Mark pushed his palms against the mantel and leaned there, enjoying the warmth of the fire. Garec pushed his way into the room, brandishing dinner: five large trout, each neatly skewered through the gills. ‘Fish, anyone?’
Steven grinned. ‘Fry ’em up, Garec!’
‘I’ll get Brynne,’ Mark said. As he made his way through to the bedroom, he thought about Steven’s desire to study the staff’s power and use its magic to help the Eldarni people win back their freedom. He obviously had no intention of going back to Idaho Springs before the evil controlling Nerak was banished into the Fold.