"YOU ARE CERTAINof this?" Marcalo De'Unnero asked, trying hard and futilely to keep the excitement from showing on his weathered face.
Sadye's brown eyes twinkled mischievously.
"How do you confirm . . ." De'Unnero started to ask, but he stopped short and waved his hand, knowing better than to doubt his clever companion. If Sadye said that the sword and bow of Nightbird, the great Tempest and Hawkwing, were buried side by side in cairns just outside Dundalis, then Marcalo De'Unnero would accept her claim as fact.
"It may be guarded," the former monk reasoned.
"The grove is outside the village, and few travel there - particularly now, since Jilseponie sits on her throne, and Roger Lockless haunts Palmaris," Sadye replied. "Beyond those two, few care enough to bother, I would guess. We are far removed from the days of heroics."
De'Unnero smiled, but there was a sadness in that smile, a regret that all the momentous events of just a dozen or so years before, including those heroics of Elbryan the Nightbird, could be so readily and easily forgotten. Sadye spoke the truth, though, he had to admit. Those years of turmoil before the plague had all but been erased, aside from ceremonial tributes - De'Unnero had heard of the impending canonization of Avelyn Desbris - and the resulting gains for the victors, as evidenced by the mantles of bishop on Braumin Herde and queen upon the shoulders of Jilseponie.
So much had happened in the years he had been running wild along the frontier of Wester-Honce! In truth, De'Unnero didn't really care about Jilseponie's ascension, other than the implications it might hold for his young companion; nor was he much bothered by Braumin Herde's ascent. Herde was a good, if misguided, man, De'Unnero knew; and while, in De'Unnero's eyes, he was nowhere near possessed of the willpower and charisma of a proper bishop - his demeanor more suited to leading a small chapel somewhere - his rise to bishop of Palmaris was of little concern to the former monk.
Of most concern was the general direction of the Church, the news that Jilseponie was serving as a sovereign sister as well as queen, and the news that Fio Bou-raiy, a man Marcalo De'Unnero hated profoundly, was now the father abbot of the Abellican Church. These were truths that now gnawed at Marcalo De'Unnero. But in reality, even being able to care about such things again had come as a breath of fresh air to the beleaguered man. For so many years, he had been compelled to think about the basic needs of existence, of how he would eat and where he would sleep. But now he had Sadye, dear Sadye, and Aydrian, who could not only divert the weretiger, as Sadye could do, who could not only bring forth the weretiger, as Sadye could do, but who could also find the spark of humanity beneath the feline exterior, reaching Marcalo De'Unnero and helping him to dismiss the beast. Because of Aydrian, Marcalo De'Unnero could live in Palmaris again, could walk right by the oblivious Roger Lockless on the Street, as had happened several times, without fear that the beast would come forth. Because of Aydrian, Marcalo De'Unnero could stop worrying about the basic needs of life and could start concentrating on the more important aspects of truly living. The world was again full of possibilities for him.
Along those lines of thinking, he had planned to leave Palmaris with his two friends to begin the boldest move yet, a journey that would take him all across the southern reaches of the kingdom to distant Entel and, if everything went well there, far, far beyond.
But now this information concerning the sword and bow of Night- bird . . .
"It is two weeks to Caer Tinella, and two to Dundalis beyond that," he said, as much thinking out loud as informing Sadye of anything. "And if we dare to travel to the north and get stuck there when the first snows fall, we'll not be able to head for the southern reaches until late next spring. We could lose a year on this chase."
"Worth it?" Sadye asked, her tone showing that she considered these prizes well worth the journey.
De'Unnero smiled. "Let the boy find his father's toys. We may find a way to put them to good use."
He could only hope that no grave robbers had garnered the information. How angry he would be to travel all the way to that frontier town to find the graves already emptied!
De'Unnero, Sadye, and Aydrian came to a hillock outside Caer Tinella on a cold and windy autumn day, a day much like the one that had seen the dedication of the chapel that now dominated Marcalo De'Unnero's line of sight and line of thinking.
That whitewashed building - small by the standards of the Abellican abbeys but huge compared to the other buildings of the small town - sat on a hill, making it appear all the larger. Rising above it, atop the small steeple, was a statue of an arm, an upraised fist - one that Marcalo De'Unnero recognized. He had seen the original arm, the arm of Avelyn, petrified on a plateau hundreds of miles to the north. How he remembered that man! The fallen brother; the murderer of Siherton the monk; in effect, the man who had brought about the disaster that was now the Abellican Church. When people thought of Marcalo De'Unnero, they usually spoke of him as a rival of Nightbird and of Jilseponie, but, in truth, De'Unnero held some respect for both of those two. They were worthy. Not Avelyn, though. Avelyn was the man Marcalo De'Unnero had truly hated. In De'Unnero's eyes, the drunken wretch was undeserving of the legend surrounding him, and to see a chapel dedicated to the man standing so prominently on a hill in the growing community of Caer Tinella was nearly more than De'Unnero could tolerate.
"You knew that they would acclaim him as a hero," Sadye said to him, easily seeing the disdain and despair on his face. "They name him as the one who saved the world from the rosy plague, as well as the man who destroyed the physical manifestation of Bestesbulzibar. You know they are beatifying him; we have even heard that he will be named saint by the end of the year. Is this chapel such a surprise to you, truly?"
"Whether or not it is a surprise has little bearing on my hatred of the place," De'Unnero retorted.
"Why would you care?" Aydrian dared to put in. "You have divorced yourself from the Church, so you say. Take this as just another example of why you felt compelled to leave. Let it prove the point you constantly make of their endless string of errors."
De'Unnero's hand snapped out to grab the young man by the front of his tunic. "So I say?" he asked angrily. "Are you questioning me?"
Sadye was there in an instant, easing De'Unnero's hand away, staring at De'Unnero and forcing him to look back at her rather than continue to foolishly challenge Aydrian. "I know why you care, but he does not," she reminded. "You have told him little of your - of our - plans."
De'Unnero relaxed and nodded. "The sight of that place offends me," he said calmly to Aydrian. "It is a symbol of all that is wrong with the formerly great Abellican Church. It is a testament to the man who destroyed all that once was."
"Obviously, the current leaders of the Church do not agree," Aydrian said, showing no signs of backing down.
"Leaders," De'Unnero echoed with obvious scorn. "They are Falidean rats, all," he scoffed, referring to a rodent indigenous to the southern reaches of the Mantis Arm, notable because thousands often followed a single misguided individual onto the mud of Falidean Bay, where the sudden and devastating tide, the greatest tide in all the world, inevitably washed them out to sea and drowned them.
"And there," De'Unnero continued, dramatically sweeping his arm out toward the chapel, "there, young Aydrian, is your proof!"
He grumbled and growled and swept his hand down, balling it into a fist and smacking it hard against the side of his leg, seeming on the verge of an explosion.
"It will not stand," De'Unnero declared.
Lute in hand, Sadye put her free hand on De'Unnero's shoulder, and she relaxed visibly as the tension flowed out of De'Unnero's body.
"It will not stand," the former monk said again, this time quietly and in complete control.
Sadye wore a concerned expression, but Aydrian merely smiled.
It wasn't hard for Aydrian to figure out where his monk companion was, when he awoke in the middle of the night to find De'Unnero gone from their encampment in the forest outside Caer Tinella. He grabbed his sword and his pouch of gemstones and, after checking on Sadye, who was sound asleep, slipped out into the night.
He entered Caer Tinella quietly, moving from shadow to shadow, though there seemed to be no one about. When he reached the base of the hill, he noted a small candle burning inside the chapel.
He crept up and peered in through a window. There stood Marcalo De'Unnero, across from a large man who seemed to be in his late twenties or early thirties. Seeing the stranger with De'Unnero again reminded Aydrian of how young his companion seemed compared to his professed age of a half century, for in looking at the pair, Aydrian could envision them as peers.
It occurred to Aydrian, and not for the first time, that there may be a secret of immortality buried within the weretiger.
The two were talking calmly, though Aydrian couldn't make out the words from his vantage point. He crept around the building and was relieved to find the door slightly ajar, so he slipped in and moved behind a column, listening curiously.
"Are you then the same Brother Anders Castinagis who was taken prisoner at the Barbacan and dragged to Palmaris to stand trial beside the one called Nightbird?" De'Unnero asked, and Aydrian noted the disdain in his tone, a clear tip-off to the other man.
"I am indeed," the other man said, a bit of suspicion evident. Aydrian peeked around and could see the monk's face, and noted that he was studying De'Unnero intently, as if trying to figure out where he might have seen the man before. De'Unnero had remarked to Aydrian how much the years on the road had changed his appearance, and this, combined with the fact that he and the former monk had walked right past several of De'Unnero's old enemies in Palmaris without any hint of recognition, confirmed the man's claims. "I am Parson Castinagis now, for Bishop Braumin has seen fit to bestow upon me the responsibilities of this chapel."
"Ah," said De'Unnero, and then in a casual tone, he added, "Bishop Braumin was ever the fool."
That set the parson back on his heels, a confused expression coming over him.
"Did you believe that I would suddenly embrace Bishop - " De'Unnero snorted and shook his head, as if he thought the title ridiculous, then continued. "Did you believe that I would suddenly embrace Braumin Herde at all, after all these years? Will the passage of time alone change the truths?"
"Who are you?" Castinagis asked, his hesitance telling Aydrian that he was starting to catch on here.
"Why did you not stand trial those years ago?" De'Unnero asked him. "Do you believe that the simple fact that because Nightbird and Jilseponie proved the stronger exonerates you from the crimes you committed against the Abellican Church?"
"What foolishness is this?" the man asked, his voice rising with his outrage.
"Foolishness?" De'Unnero echoed incredulously. "Do you not recall your secret meetings in the bowels of St.-Mere-Abelle, where you and the others plotted treason against the Church? Do you not remember the illicit readings of the old books - tomes banned, all! - that Braumin would lead?"
"De'Unnero," Castinagis breathed, and he fell back a step.
"Yes, De'Unnero," the former monk answered. "Master De'Unnero, come to complete the trial that was wrongfully aborted in Palmaris those years ago."
"You are d-discredited," Castinagis stammered. "The Church has seen the truth - "
"Your truth!" De'Unnero snarled at him, and Aydrian heard a bit of a feral, feline growl behind those words. "So do the victors rewrite the histories to shed a favorable light upon them!"
"Even after the covenant of Avelyn, you speak such foolishness?" Anders Castinagis said boldly, apparently regaining his heart after the terrible shock of seeing his old nemesis. "All the world knows the truth of Avelyn now, and of Jilseponie, who is queen!"
"All the world believes the lies," De'Unnero replied. "But I will teach them the truth. Yes, I shall!" He came forward as he spoke, poking his finger hard into Parson Castinagis' chest.
"Begone from this place!" Castinagis roared at him. "In the name of God -"
His words were lost as De'Unnero stiffened his finger and poked hard again, this time hitting the man in the throat. Coughing, Castinagis staggered backward, and De'Unnero stalked in.
Aydrian expected the tiger to come forth at any second, to rend the man apart, but De'Unnero did not need the great cat at that moment. Indeed, he wanted to savor this fight with all of his human senses.
He walked up to Castinagis and slapped the man hard across the face, then blocked the parson's responding punch, catching Castinagis by the wrist and giving a sudden and violent jerk to twist his arm. The two were barely two feet apart, but that was enough room for Marcalo De'Unnero to bring his foot up hard against the parson's face.
Castinagis stumbled backward and would have fallen to the floor had not a railing caught him.
"Pity, brother, that you have forsaken your training," De'Unnero taunted, wagging his finger in the air. "You are a decade and more my junior, and yet you have grown soft."
With a growl, Anders Castinagis pushed out from the railing, charging hard at De'Unnero.
De'Unnero slapped his hands aside, but the big parson drove on and managed to grab De'Unnero by the shoulders, pushing on, driving his enemy back.
But Marcalo De'Unnero never even blinked, just snapped his hand up to clamp tightly on Castinagis' windpipe, and with a look of pleasure, he began to squeeze.
Castinagis grabbed wildly at the man's arm, and when he could not pry the grip free, he punched at De'Unnero's face. But De'Unnero was too quick, knifing his free hand up to intercept the blow. He did let go of the windpipe then, and stabbed his hand hard into Castinagis' throat, then hit the man with a left-right combination, finding holes in the pitiful defensive stance, then lifted his knee hard into Castinagis' groin.
As the parson doubled over in pain, De'Unnero grabbed him hard by the hair and jerked his head up high. "The trial commences," he declared. He cupped his free hand under Castinagis' chin and ran and turned him, then jerked hard and flipped Castinagis over the railing to crash down on his back, his neck resting on the rail.
"Guilty," De'Unnero proclaimed.
Aydrian looked away as De'Unnero dropped a forearm smash onto Castinagis' forehead, but he heard the terrible sound as the parson's neck shattered.
It took the young warrior a long, long time to compose himself. "What have you done?" he managed to ask, staggering out from behind the pillar, his legs weak from the sight of the brutality, of the murdered man.
"What I should have done years ago in Palmaris," De'Unnero replied. If he was surprised or upset at seeing Aydrian, he hid it well.
"Are we to go on the run again?" Aydrian asked, his thoughts whirling.
De'Unnero snorted and smiled, as if it hardly mattered. With a look at Aydrian, he walked out of the chapel.
Aydrian watched him go, every step, noting the ease, the peace, that had come over him. He didn't know what to make of all of this. He, too, had killed, but this . . . this was something very different, something more awful.
And yet, Aydrian found it hard to judge Marcalo De'Unnero, who had been treated so badly by these hypocritical priests. He looked at Castinagis, lying dead, propped against the railing, and thought of a way he could prevent this from forcing De'Unnero back into the wilds.
He took out his ruby.
A short while later, Sadye joined De'Unnero and Aydrian as they watched the flames leap high into the night from the burning Chapel of Avelyn, the confused and frightened townsfolk running all about, helpless to control the blaze.
De'Unnero, obviously satisfied, was the first to start away, walking off into the woods, heading north.
The information that Sadye had garnered in Dundalis proved perfect, and she led the way through the forest to the grove that held the cairns of Elbryan and Mather.
De'Unnero went at the cairns immediately, removing one stone after another, eagerly tossing them aside. After a few throws, though, he recognized that something strange was going on, for he seemed to be making no progress at all. He lifted another rock and stepped back, staring at the seemingly intact cairn.
"Magic," Sadye remarked, and De'Unnero nodded. He turned to Aydrian then, but the young warrior seemed distracted and was staring off through the trees.
"There is magic on the cairn," De'Unnero said, rather loudly, getting Aydrian's attention. "What is it?" he went on, seeing a perplexed look on the young man's face.
Aydrian seemed unsure. He shrugged and said, "A call, perhaps. Perhaps not." Then he shook his head.
"There is magic on the cairn," De'Unnero said again. "I cannot move the stones." As he finished the statement, his gaze went back to the seemingly undisturbed grave.
Aydrian, too, looked at the cairns, but said nothing as a long, long while slipped past.
"I knew that it could not be this easy!" De'Unnero fumed at length. "It all seemed too convenient."
"Better that it is not easy," Sadye reasoned. "Else the items would likely already have been taken."
Again it seemed as if Aydrian was only then considering the situation.
"Earth magic," he remarked, staring at the cairns. "Lady Dasslerond's emerald holds such powers."
"Gemstones?" De'Unnero remarked. "Then you can defeat the magic with your own."
Aydrian seemed unsure. "Dasslerond is difficult to beat where the earth is concerned," he said, and he screwed up his face and shook his head. "There is more here," he said. "I sense it."
"What, then?" De'Unnero asked.
"I will soon enough know," said Aydrian, and he walked to a stone outcropping farther back in the grove. There he found a tiny cave and took out his pack, fumbling through it to find the mirror he had wrapped in a thick blanket.
He went to Oracle then and discovered a curious image in the mirror: a field of small snow domes with burning candles set inside them. He understood what was meant, what was expected of him - that he should build those glowing snow domes, thus summoning the spirits of his father and great-uncle - but he searched for some alternative, since the first snows could be weeks away and he knew that De'Unnero did not wish to spend the winter trapped up here.
An hour later, Aydrian emerged from the small cave knowing that he had few options. He went quietly by the camp De'Unnero and Sadye had set, and strode back into the grove, pulling forth his hematite, graphite, and sunstone.
He went at the rocks physically first, bringing forth a tremendous, stone-splitting lightning blast. But again, as with De'Unnero's excavation efforts, the attack seemed to have little effect on the integrity of the cairn.
Next Aydrian worked the sunstone, the antimagic stone. He clearly felt the bonds Dasslerond had enacted here, strong earthen bonds. He went at them with all his heart, trying to insinuate his negative energy to break their hold, or at least to weaken them. He soon realized that he might as well be trying to steal the strength from the earth itself. This was an old enchantment, he recognized, something more powerful than Dasslerond, some ancient and powerful bond, a covenant of some sorts, between the elven lady and the earth.
"That was your work?" De'Unnero asked him when he returned to camp. Both the former monk and Sadye were up and about, awakened by Aydrian's thunderous strikes.
"Futile," he replied. "There is an enchantment about the place that I cannot circumvent."
"But there is a way?" Sadye quickly asked.
"I must wait for the first snow," Aydrian explained. "There is no other way.
De'Unnero started to respond - and he did not seem pleased at all - but he held back and merely nodded. "Then so be it."
The reaction surely surprised Aydrian, and on some level, it was not the response he had wanted to hear. Patience was not the young man's strong suit. On many levels, he had hoped that De'Unnero would either dismiss this mission for the time being and press on to other matters, or work harder to find some way to circumvent Aydrian's claim.
"We should go into Dundalis in the morning, then," said Sadye. "I do not care to spend the next weeks sleeping on the forest floor."
Thus, the trio entered the small community the next morning. They were greeted warmly by the secluded folk, eager, like so many living on the borderlands of the wilds, for outside news and new tales. De'Unnero grew a bit anxious when he noted the name of the one tavern in the town, Fellowship Way - the same name as the tavern that Jilseponie's adoptive parents had owned in Palmaris. He knew the barkeep, as well, an old man named Belster O'Comely; but Belster, half blind now and not in the best of health, did not seem to even suspect the true identity of one of the strangers who had come to his town.
And so they stayed, and lived among the people of the small community, as they had in so many towns over the years, as the autumn passed into winter. As luck would have it, the first snows came very late that year.
That first storm began early one morning, stretching late into the afternoon. Aydrian, a sack of candles tied to his belt, was out before the last flakes had fallen, trudging his way through the drifts to get back to the grove and the cairns. Sheltered by the thick evergreens about them, those cairns had not been fully covered.
Aydrian went right to work, moving about the field outside the grove, bending low to shape small domes out of the snow, then opening one side and setting a candle in each. He used his ruby to move about and light candles when the last of the domes was completed, and then he went back to the grove, in sight of both the cairns and the glowing snow domes, and waited.
And waited.
He fell asleep soon after, or thought he had, for certainly everything about him seemed dreamlike and surreal. He imagined stones rolling open of their own accord, imagined . . .
Aydrian's senses returned in a flash as the grisly image of a rotting corpse rose up right in front of him! It lifted a heavy arm and swung it hard, and if Aydrian had any doubts of the reality of this creature, they were greatly diminished when he flew away, his jaw nearly broken.
He came up in an instant, recognizing this for what it was: the test of the rangers seeking to possess the elven-crafted artifacts of their forebears. To defeat the ghost in battle was to earn the right to carry its weapon. Aydrian then understood some of the shadowy images he had seen at Oracle over the last few weeks, blurry scenes of Elbryan battling in this same place against the ghost of Mather, earning the right, Aydrian then realized, to carry Tempest.
The ghost advanced, saying nothing, revealing no emotion at all, just methodically stalking in. Aydrian studied it carefully and didn't even have to glance over at the cairns to realize that it was the right one, Elbryan's, that had opened to release this horrid creature. Yes, this was his father, the young ranger knew without doubt, and he knew, too, that he was expected to take up his weapon and drive the specter back.
The very idea that fighting this battle was expected of him - by the elves who had placed the enchantment here - made Aydrian recoil. He had no intention of following any rules placed by Dasslerond!
He ducked another swing of the approaching ghost, then got clipped and sent flying again by a backhand across his shoulder as he tried to skitter to the side. He stumbled toward the open grave and noted the polished wood of a magnificent bow within its dark depths.
He noted, too, that the stones of the other grave had begun to shift, and understood then that he might be in trouble, that his glowing globes had awakened both ghosts!
He veered away from the open grave then, stumbling to turn and put his back against a tree, watching the approach of his father's ghost, watching the stones of the other cairn roll away and the second, even more decomposed and gruesome creature, rise from the realm of death.
Aydrian fought hard to maintain his composure. If only the other grave, the one holding Tempest, had opened first! Sword in hand, he could have gone straight to Elbryan's ghost then and dispatched it quickly, before the ghost of Mather could join the fighting!
But, no, he decided. No, that was the route expected of him, demanded of him by wretched Dasslerond!
Aydrian only then realized that he was holding a gemstone, a hematite, the soul stone, the portal that could bring him to the realm of his opponents or perhaps . . .
Smiling wryly as the first ghost stalked in, Aydrian lifted his arm and sent all his tremendous willpower into the soul stone, through the soul stone, hitting the unwitting spirit with a wave of mighty magical energy. The ghost stopped abruptly and seemed to teeter.
Aydrian felt beyond the rotting corporeal trappings, reaching to the spirit itself, the tiny flicker of the consciousness of Elbryan that remained. He grabbed at that with his spiritual will, called to it, demanding that it, and not this mockery of human mortality, come forth to face him. With sheer willpower and magical energies, Aydrian did battle then and there with the oldest and strongest bonding of them all, the bonds of death itself.
He watched in amazement, but worked hard not to lose his concentration, as the gruesome figure began to transform, gray rotting skin taking on the healthy hues of life, a hollowed eye socket refilling as the collapsed eyeball lifted back into place. And in that eye, a flicker of inner spirit, a flash of life!
The creature before him was suddenly more Elbryan than Elbryan's ghost!
But the second ghost was approaching. Aydrian thought to go to it, but sensed that this second battle would be even more difficult, for Mather had been dead much longer, his spirit even more settled into the grasping embrace of death.
Unsure, he hesitated as Elbryan retreated, to be replaced by the grotesque Mather. He feared that his hesitance would cost him his life as the ghost rushed in and grabbed him by the throat, lifting him from the ground with amazing strength and pinning him against the tree. He had to counterattack, to fall back into the hematite and likewise assault this inhumanly strong creature! He had to find some way to break the hold, for he could not draw breath.
He could not.
Aydrian squirmed physically and tried to detach his mind enough to find the hematite's power again. But it was no use, he realized, as he started to slip into blackness. Each passing second removed him further and further from the desperate situation, put him deeper and deeper into the inviting blackness.
He heard a swish and a sickening crackle, and then he was free suddenly, dropping to his feet and stumbling to the side. He glanced back as he fell to all fours, to see Mather's ghost waving the stubs that used to be its arms, trying to club the half-ghost half-alive creature that was Elbryan, who was now brandishing a shining elven blade.
Aydrian crawled further away, to the first open grave, and pulled forth the mighty bow, Hawkwing. Amazed to see that it had survived apparently intact, string and all, including a quiver of arrows, he quickly stood and set the bow between his legs, then bent and strung it.
He fell back, turning to watch the continuing battle, Elbryan slashing apart Mather's ghost, as he had done those years before to earn Tempest, the sword he now swung again.
When Mather at last fell, the strange creature that was neither living nor dead - the thing that was part Aydrian's father's mind and part his father's flesh and yet the two not truly joined as they had been in life -slowly approached, Tempest low at its side.
Aydrian stared at his hematite then, wondering how much farther he could go, wondering if he could somehow rip asunder the bonds of death, bringing his father back to life completely! It seemed incredible to him, impossible, and ultimately, horrible.
The creature approached slowly, staring at Aydrian with a look that was part apprehension, part horror, part curiosity, and ultimately confusion. The spiritual connection was still there somewhat, allowing Aydrian to clearly sense the creature's every thought, its pondering of who it was and of who Aydrian might be.
"Yes, you know me," he said to the ghost, and he stood straight and tall and proud. "I am your son."
The creature stared at him, eyes going even wider, and a hint of a smile began to appear, the stiffened edges of the mouth curling up.
Aydrian recognized two choices here, for this abomination could not stand, its very presence assaulting the young warrior's every sense. He clasped the hematite, thinking to dive back into the dark realm and fighting more fiercely to bring forth the complete resurrection, but the mere thought of it again horrified him.
He brought up Hawkwing instead, drawing back so that the three capping feathers widened like the fingers at the end of a flying hawk's extended wing. The half ghost, half ranger gave him a puzzled and sad glance.
Aydrian let fly. The arrow thudded in, and the creature staggered back.
And Elbryan looked at Aydrian with all the more confusion.
A second arrow slammed in, and then a third, and the creature seemed less human then, and more cadaver. The fourth shot laid it low.
Aydrian awoke in the morning, shivering but strangely unhurt, right beside the intact, seemingly undisturbed cairns. Even the traces of snow were upon the graves again, exactly as Aydrian remembered them from the previous night, before his snow-globe enchantment had summoned the ghosts.
There was one significant difference, though, one that had Aydrian confused, blurring the lines between reality and fantasy: Hawkwing and Tempest rested atop their respective cairns, waiting for him.
He took up the bow and quiver and slung them over his back, then reverently lifted the mighty sword, the elven blade, Tempest, its pommel a round hybrid gemstone, white and sky blue, like drifting clouds on a summer's day.
His new possessions in hand, and taking with him a new understanding and a greater confusion about what might follow this life, a haunted Aydrian walked out of the grove.