With a breathless laugh, Merrin collapsed against the wall, panting and flushed from the exertion. "I am sorry," she said in reply, halfway teasing. "I promise not to keel over, and spare you the need."

It struck her as easier said than done when she straightened and the room blurred and settled. Merrin thought of all the supplies they'd already carried, then tried to estimate the distance to Riversmeet. There could not be so many refugees. "I think T'mor will appreciate all of this more than he can say," she offered. "They cannot carry very much more."

_________________

Master Azwuld muttered something under his breath and stabbed a finger at the last pile of crates. They shuddered, much like a dog shaking water off its fur, and floated three feet off the floor. With systematic precision they lined themselves up in midair, then happily proceeded to march out the door. The crates, that is. The crates had just drifted out the door.

Kendath was apoplectic.

The cleric planted his staff on the threshold. Gray brows shot up. "Coming?"

"You just - you made them - "

"So I did. Your powers of observation never cease to astound me." Those gray brows drew together at an alarming rate. "I imagine T'mor and the refugees are enjoying their noonday meal. I myself would like some tea, and Lula needs her polishing."

Noonday meal. Kendath snapped his mouth shut.

_________________

The noonday sun was very bright, bright enough that Merrin leaned against what remained of the temple's broken archway and waited for her head to stop pounding. Breath still came quick and fast, but the supplies were down where they needed to be, for T'mor and the refugees.

T'mor was going home. Merrin started down the path, lost in her own thoughts. The scene played itself in her head. T'mor would walk in, grinning with rakish abandon, announce he'd brought home some friends...her mother would scold, of course, and Da would wonder about where they would all sleep. She couldn't quite envision Jayen, grown so much older than gangly nineteen. Nineteen, when last she'd seen him. Merrin was nineteen. And the twins...was it possible, for them to be grown past serious four-year-olds?

Glancing over her shoulder to check that Kendath followed, Merrin wondered how the scene might be different. She would like for him to meet them. She couldn't imagine life without Kendath, not now. The last month had seemed a year, a year in which she'd gone from Merrin Dragonrider to the Chosen of the Gods, and the only one to witness it had been him. Merrin raised fingertips to her lips and dropped them.

She was glad to reach the base of the willow. Faint treble voices were audible from inside, and the sounds of footsteps. With one more glance up at the blazing sun, whose rays tried to chase the shadows from Dey'tarn but only succeeded in refracting off metal helmets and breastplates, they were inside the hollow tree.

Down the first few flights of stairs, on the landing where most of their boxes, barrels and sundry other items had ended up collecting, there was a small cluster of boys, most not past thirteen. Their chatter filtered up through the dim, musty air, high voices punctuated by the occasional baritone. Baritone -

"It's T'mor!" Merrin exclaimed, turning briefly to Kendath, and half tumbled down the steps in her haste. There was an orderly train of boys with various items in their grasps, and the burly figure standing at the top of the steps with a torch was happily familiar.

He glanced up as she hurried down, eyebrows lifting. "Merrin! Master Azwuld said you were -"

She hugged him tightly and found it returned in enthusiastic kind - rather too enthusiastic. Her ribs hurt. Merrin stepped back, breathless once again. Gods, it was good to see him - she'd thought, in the eternal darkness of the Citadel, never to see any of them again. "I was," she responded. "Sleeping, I mean - I was so tired."

"Aye, take two of those - you'll drop the torch! - you look tired," T'mor said, turning from shouting his directions to appraise her. "What happened, after -"

"Nothing," said Merrin, too quickly, and flushed. "I'll tell you later," she amended guiltily, not wanting to in the least. She picked up one of the remaining sacks, intending to help carry the supplies.

T'mor neatly snatched it from her grasp. "I've got it. Coming down with us? Kendath too? Good. Off we go, then."

Merrin paused to wait for Kendath. "I always forget not to hug him," she muttered wryly. "It hurts."

_________________

[Curunir sorry about the dialogue sequences, but you're actually free to have Garthag wake up and catch up with them. ]

_________________

Kendath hung back at the top of the stairs, just beyond the circle of torchlight. He watched Merrin dart around the boys with frightening agility - a feat he would never have dreamed of accomplishing. His temples already ached from their voices, shrill within the echoing confines. Then he heard T'mor's rumbling baritone, and his apprehension tripled.

What he recalled of T'mor was an ox of a man, with a crushing handshake and smithy walls gleaming with finely forged blades. T'mor had been polite enough, if a bit painful with his grip. Kendath had no cause to dislike him on sight and certainly no excuse for nerves, but nevertheless...

The man was Merrin's brother. Merrin wanted him to meet her family.

A single glance at Merrin, though, and Kendath felt himself caving in. When was the last time he'd seen her this energetic? He reached the bottom of the stairs - nearly tripping over a lanky boy whose head barely reached his chest - and bent to swing a sack over his shoulder. He coughed. "How far is it... to Riversmeet?"

_________________

Garthag, after being left alone with master Azwuld, quickly finished eating and made himself comfortable. The wound might not have been bleeding anymore in a great magnitude yet it still remained as an obstacle and rendered him as a liability. A fact, that he found most irritating yet he supposed his betrayal had a prize and he had expected it to have been death yet luckily Adeila had not held a grudge for too long. After a moment of pondering Garthag found himself slipping to the darkness and he welcomed it with open arms.

Once his eyes blinked open yet again Garthag found himself alone, abandoned to the room, where he had woken the first time within the temple. Sluggishly, he stretched his limbs and stumbled up with an annoyed expression on his face for the fact, that he would have to bother finding the others. He exited the room and passed trough the kitchen, but luckily the matter of exiting the temple and finding the others around there was not a great task. He approached them quietly as they had engaged in conversation with some people, whom from a far he did not recognize nor cared to know.

"It would appear that the chosen has seen fit to rise from..." He began, but the two last words were caught in his throat and for the of subtlety he saw it fit to derive the ending to another direction. "Her rest."

He was bot being subtle for the sake of Merrin nor Kendath, but the sight of the large man, of whom he had a vivid memory of threatening him with a sword, made changed his tone. Startling T`mor, by telling him of his sisters recent death and apparently miraculous recovery, seemed like a bad option. Whether he did it to protect himself from a possible freak out by T`mor, who might misunderstand his words and charge at him or to simply not seem like a rude, heartless monster, he did not know.

He quickly dispersed the thoughts from his mind and gazed at Kendath, then at Merrin. T`mor`s presence was a surprise, but then again not impossible as they had been naturally on the run from the Meiltha.

"The ha... Adeila, I imagined she`d be with you, considering what she is still carrying around.... Any news, that I should be aware of?"

He asked somewhat bluntly, but the manner he presented it seemed as, if he was attempting not to insult anyone with his words. Indeed, had he been talking as usually did he might have insulted someone, once or twice.

_________________

Let him curse my name
On these blood stained pages of misery
Let him call me a tyrant so cruel
Let him curse my name, but remember the truth!

"Took me a week of riding from Riversmeet to Vryngard," T'mor answered over his shoulder. "Longer with wagons and supplies. And kids," he added, with a grin, evidencing that he didn't really mind the kids.

The tunnel was very different with the torch in T'mor's hand throwing a friendly glow against its walls, and treble voices echoing from behind and ahead. The rasp of Garthag's inquiry, from behind, made Merrin shoot T'mor's back a glance. Considering what she is still carrying around. "No," she returned, acutely aware of T'mor ahead of them and her own piercing desire to avoid the subject as long as she could help it. When he knew...when he knew that she had been...

She didn't want to consider his reaction. Any of their reactions - Jayen - Mama and Da - Merrin found herself cringing from the thought. "T'mor is with those who escaped...the Meiltha," she added. "They're leaving today. For ho - for Riversmeet."

When she turned, it was in time to catch T'mor's eye. He arched an eyebrow in silent inquiry. Merrin hoped she did not look as exhausted as she'd felt. With an apologetic glance at Kendath, she hurried the few steps forward to trot beside T'mor and converse in a low voice. "I'll tell you later. I will."

He conceded the point with a shrug. "Aye, later. You shouldn't have been carrying all that."

He was right, and Merrin would have preferred not to admit it. "When did you become my mother?" she muttered.

"Never did," returned T'mor, brisk. "I'm Jayen. Our dear mother was never half so concerned as him."

Merrin's head was starting to ache again.

_________________

"Took you long enough," Kendath shot over his shoulder at Garthag. His arms still ached from hours of hefting crates. Muttering something unintelligible, he shifted the sack to his other shoulder and trudged after T'mor.

The trek down the tunnel took shorter than he'd expected. T'mor set a brisk pace, with his torchlight flaring the way ahead and his gaggle of midgets prancing along behind, and before Kendath had quite found the opportunity to throttle a few scrawny necks, they were already ascending the stairs into the crisp mountain air. A breeze, still warm but reminiscent of autumn evenings, stirred the treetops and scattered pine needles across the damp ground. White specks nestling in root hollows were all that remained of snow.

Master Azwuld was leading now, the thunks of his staff guiding him steadily upslope as the others followed. The ground hardened as they climbed. The towering conifers thinned. Kendath jumped every time he heard the flap of leathery wings on the wind, but the Meiltha patrols swooped by overhead without a second glance. He was just beginning to wonder if the Meiltha dragons had gone blind when Master Azwuld halted short of a silent, empty glade. He raised his hand. The air shimmered like a veil. The cleric stepped forward...

And vanished. T'mor, unconcerned, beckoned them on and disappeared right at his heels. Kendath glanced at Merrin, then shrugged and followed.

It turned out that the glade wasn't so silent after all. Or so empty.

The first thing Kendath did upon stepping through the magical barrier was to trip over a train of toddlers scurrying across his path. He stumbled, catching himself before he fell, just in time to dodge a maternal figure shrieking after them. He straightened and managed to catch a glimpse of bustling people and scattered bedrolls and half-filled wagons before a wall of brown fur obscured his vision. The butt end of a staff whistled perilously close to his nose.

"Onto the horse, boy. The sack, not you." Master Azwuld yanked the horse's halter in a way that sent the beast skittering onto Kendath's toes. "We have an hour to load up before the concealment spell wears off, and - what kind of knot is that, you bumbling blockhead?"

Lula greeted Kendath's nose with a painful thud. From that moment on, the proper method of tying a sailor's knot was one that Kendath would remember to the end of his days.

_________________

Merrin sidestepped an oncoming horse laden with bundles, blinking at the sudden appearance - and the sudden noise - of the camp. It resembled a kicked anthill, every member scurrying in a different direction with an urgent sense of purpose, real or no. She cast a glance over her shoulder at Kendath, who had been accosted by Master Azwuld, and then swiveled to take in the entire camp.

The boys who had been assisting T'mor with the supplies were the oldest male members. Many of the mothers carrying babies looked as though they could be younger than Merrin. T'mor, burly shoulders rising above most, stuck out startlingly. If they hadn't stopped in Adeila's village - if Ironlegs and the rest hadn't been following - if there was some way Merrin could have given them back all their husbands and fathers and sons and brothers -

Unprepared for the sudden rush of guilt, she dropped her eyes to the ground and followed T'mor. It was her fault. It was Merrin the Meiltha hunted for, Merrin who had brought disaster in her wake.

Lost in her own thoughts, she didn't anticipate the impact with a small body until Kiril had already wrapped her arms around Merrin's waist.

Letting out an inarticulate exclamation, Merrin realized she had entirely forgotten Kiril, and the promise she'd made in that frenzied escape. How close she'd come to breaking it. She caught T'mor's crooked grin before bending to hug Kiril back.

"You came back," said the little girl, loosening her hold just enough to look up at Merrin. She was not smiling, but the gravity of her expression was testament enough to the importance of her words.

Merrin smiled over Kiril's head at T'mor. "Aye, I did. I...I said I would, didn't I?"

Kiril nodded and dropped her fingers into Merrin's hand, clinging as they both followed T'mor to the nearest half-full wagon. Four or five women, all with toddlers around their skirts, were in the midst of trying to load it. "Here, I've got that," she heard T'mor say loudly from the other side, as well as the relieved reply, and then a haggard women holding a baby was pressing it to Merrin and asking her to hold it for just a moment.

"Yes - of course - what's his na -" began Merrin, but the woman was already gone. She looked down at the bundle in her arms. He had a fist stuffed in his mouth and enormous wide dark blue eyes, just beginning to fill -

Merrin hurriedly began to rock him, murmuring soothing nonsense, and with Kiril in tow, went around the other side of the wagon to T'mor. He was busy loading crates, and turned briefly as she rounded the pair of hitched horses. "Where are you off to, then?"

The baby was beginning to make sounds that threatened to turn into sobs. Merrin rocked him back and forth. "I...don't know," she said in reply. "I hadn't thought past..." the Lich. The Citadel. "Past now." A pause. "You're going home."

"Aye." He lifted the last crate and turned to lean against the wagon, looking at her. "Why not come with us?"

Merrin blinked. Go with them? Go home? See them all - the baby whimpered and Kiril reached up to slip her finger into his tiny fist. He stopped. T'mor, too, looked at Kiril. "I'll talk to mother," he added, lower, and indicated her with a jerk of his head. "She's the twins' age. She could stay."

Merrin nodded. "I'd love to," she admitted, glancing once over at the horse that obscured Kendath. "It's been...too long."

"Jayen thinks so too, I'll tell you that much. And the twins. You can't stay in Dey'tarn forever, not with the Meiltha - coming with us is as good as anything." T'mor swung up into the wagon seat, and looked down, about to speak, but shook his head and seemed to change his mind. "We are leaving within the hour. If you want to..."

She nodded again. "Aye."

There was an inquiry from the other side of the wagon and T'mor turned to answer it. Merrin scanned the camp for Kendath. Kiril tugged her hand. "Are you coming with us?"

"I'd like to," returned Merrin honestly, and spotted him on the other side of the same horse. She shifted the baby into one arm and boosted Kiril into the wagon, smiling up. "Just give me a minute."

She didn't see, in winding her way through the bustle, anywhere that the baby's mother might have gone. His heaviness in her arms indicated that he might be falling asleep. Ducking around a wagon and sidestepping a cluster of children, Merrin maneuvered around the skittish horse whose back was currently being piled with sacks, and found Kendath on the other side. She shifted the baby once more and managed to catch his sleeve. "T'mor thinks we should go with them," she said as soon as he turned. "I think...well, do we have anywhere else...?"

_________________

"I need you to hold still, sweet, while I clean this," Adeila instructed as she gently dabbed at the scrape on the boy's knee with a wet rag. It was by no means deep enough to require a bandage, but it made sense to clean it while they had the time. The boy - Lyam Cooper, aged six, who was rather solemn for his age but took pleasure in climbing trees and collecting shells - made a small sound of protest but didn't resist.

"There, bravest patient I've ever had," she declared as she finished up. "That was very kind of you to help you mother load the cart - next time you'll know not to try to carry quite so much. You'd best get back to her now, before she forgets to leave space for you."

As the small boy complied, Adeila found that she could not suppress a quiet sigh. Lyam had lost not only his father, but an older brother and an uncle. A tragic story, made all the more tragic by the fact that it was hardly unique. All here had suffered loss. Even the very few like herself who had lost no immediate family had lost many dear friends, and all had lost their homes and most of their possessions. Belongings could be replaced, but the men who were gone....

Even as they had navigated the dark labyrinth of the citadel, the image of the villagers camped in the snowy mountain pass had never fully left her mind. She cared about her newest acquaintances - she truly did. And she did not regret at all her decision to accompany them, especially not now. But the moment Master Azwuld had informed her of the refugees' presence, Adeila had taken half a moment to ascertain that Merrin was still resting, then made her way down to the camp to help in any way that she could.

Which was precisely what she was still doing when she spotted her companions among the crowd. Quickly standing up, Adeila wove her way toward them through all the activity. She arrived just in time to learn of T'mor's proposal. "You, Miss Merrin," she interjected firmly, quelling the urge to jump at the opportunity to stay among the refugees for several more days, "should still be resting in bed."

Kendath, glimpsing an armful of an infant, almost didn't recognize Merrin until he turned to face her. She had a baby balanced on one hip and a tiny girl clinging to the other - a sight he concluded was strangely fitting. She could have been their sister.

He secured the last knot - a sailor's knot, and he hoped Master Azwuld wasn't around to verbally abuse it - then paused, his arms halfway propped on the horse's back. He had a good view of the camp over the brown tangle of mane. The women with their woolen shawls and drab skirts. The children with their threadbare slippers. Their faces, weathered by summer planting and bitten by winter frost. It was a humbling sight - a sight he would have never found within the cold walls of Dey'tarn.

"I don't know," he said at last, not meeting Merrin's gaze. She wanted to go. Riversmeet was her home, where her family waited. Why shouldn't she go?

The horse, tired of playing armrest, sidled away and dropped Kendath's hands back to his sides. He turned to look at her. "We have the Shard. I don't know what we'll be doing with it. Vryngard's gone. We'll need to find another Renegade stronghold." He stopped. Strolling into another Vryngard was not something he anticipated. His voice lowered, though no one would have cared to eavesdrop. "And our dragons. We don't know where they are, and I don't know if we can..."

His words trailed off. He looked at her, and the pause was longer this time. Finally: "All right. You win." He flashed a grin. "T'mor can drag us to Riversmeet.""

Adeila came over at that moment, chiding Merrin about rest, and Kendath couldn't help but shake his head. "She's right, you know. You shouldn't have woken up this morning. You must be every healer's worst nightmare."

_________________

Grinning, Merrin looked down at the baby - who had fallen asleep with his fist in his mouth, even amid the chaos of the camp. Going home! She could almost lose herself in happy fantasies of it. She spared a brief, wistful thought for Wyvern, who had filled her letters when she sent them. The twins, especially, would have died a thousand deaths to meet a real live dragon.

She looked up, flushing, as Adeila chided her for being out of bed and Kendath echoed. An uneasy sensation in her midsection gently suggested that perhaps they were right, as did the insistent headache - but it was T'mor! And to go back to Riversmeet!

"Sorry," she said, looking from one to the other. "I couldn't help it - it was just -"

At that moment, someone arrived to whisk the horse Kendath had been loading away by the reins. Beyond it, the camp was just beginning to organize itself into a recognizable caravan. Children were clambering over and between the cargo T'mor had piled into the first wagon, and the traces of belongings still littered over the half-frozen ground were being swiftly collected by various mothers. Instinctively, Merrin scanned the sky. No Meiltha patrol - not yet.

"I'll rest on the way," she promised Adeila with an apologetic grin.

"Well?" said T'mor from behind Merrin, and she swiveled. He quirked an eyebrow. "Coming?"

_________________

Garthag could not, but help grin at the very mention home and this town Riversmeet from where Merrin originated from. The thought of meeting Merrin`s family did not concern him, mainly because they most likely would not want to meet him or would simply abhor at the very sight of a mage. Yet even, that alone was not the reason he would have wished to have avoided such an encounter.

Even now as he gazed at this caravan of people, who had once been the population of their own little village, he felt a sting. As simply as he could describe the feeling, he did not belong and would never again belong to a society such as this in any manner. It was mainly because he envied them all, every single brat, man and woman within this caravan. They still had their village even tough they might not think of it as such, they still had each others and they had managed to escape the horrors wrought upon them by the monsters, that had hounded them.

Garthag had none of those thing, the people of his villages had not been able to escape the flames and his family did not remain to live tell their tale. With annoyed expression grimacing his face Garthag remained near the others, waiting for the caravan to set forth, there was nothing for them here either way so they might as well go to this Riversmeet. However the anguish beating within him did not disappear as he gazed around trying to get his mind off things and hoping, that the whole caravan and it`s people would simply disappear.

In the midst of all these normal people Garthag, who was possibly most dangerous, cruel and fast-witted person amongst them, felt that he was all alone and envy all those around him. Also he felt, that whirling a fireball into the crowd might lighten his mood, but knew all too well he wasn`t like that and never been.

And despite all his power he simply had to remain aside, quiet in his own misery and he hated how that felt. It felt like retribution for the crimes he had committed against people like these.

_________________

Let him curse my name
On these blood stained pages of misery
Let him call me a tyrant so cruel
Let him curse my name, but remember the truth!

It was eventually decided, with a bit of shoving from Adeila, that Merrin would ride in the wagon with the children and the other three would take turns on a horse. Master Azwuld cloaked the caravan with another concealment spell. It should, he barked at T'mor, last them through the mountains if they "wagged their lazy buttocks and got to it."

Just as the vanguard of the caravan began rolling, the cleric reached over the side of the wagon and jabbed Lula against Merrin's shoulder. "Not even a farewell for old Master Azwuld? Tsk." But before Merrin could open her mouth, he charged on, "I've got a present for you, lass." He reached into a pocket of his robes and, with a scowl at the nearest eager children, pressed something into Merrin's palm.

Kendath, curious, peered over the rim of the wagon for a closer look. His eyebrows lifted. "It's a rock," he observed.

"Ah-hah!" Master Azwuld looked smug. "Not just any rock."

Kendath peered again. He nodded. "You're right. It's a scratched rock."

Master Azwuld glared. "What do you know of rocks, boy - besides the one that sits on your shoulders?" He turned back to Merrin. "Keep it, lass. I imagine you'll find it useful someday. May the gods bless - What are you ogling at?" And with a final scowl at wide-eyed Kiril, he pivoted and stalked off, Lula thunking beside his feet every step of the way.

"Ready, T'mor!" came a cry from the caravan's rear. With a creak and a groan and a squeal of shrill voices, the wagon lurched forward.

_________________

Merrin opened her palm at Kiril's insistence. The stone was some sort of granite, tiny bright facets sparkling in the sun when she turned it. It appeared innocent enough, marked and dented with the normal irregularities of a rock. Inquisitive small fingers - several having insinuated themselves - probed and found nothing especially unusual.

Master Azwuld had disappeared in the trees. Merrin exchanged a glance with Kendath, and grasped the edge of the wagon as it started to move. A tug on her sleeve made her turn.

The girl was perhaps five, clutching a doll and staring unblinkingly up. She solemnly proffered it. "Want t' hold my baby?"

---

By late afternoon, the small train of wagons was still winding through the sharp curves of the mountainous roads, and Merrin's fingers hurt from grasping the side of the wagon while she yanked small children back from the edge. Stabbing up on either side, the peaks let in a patch of blue sky still, framed by snow and the dark green of pines. Occasionally, when the caravan cleared a high point, the faintest glimmer of sea was visible, growing smaller as they made their plodding way inland.

Unexpectedly, Merrin found herself yawning widely. The smallest children, two and three, had fallen asleep curled again sacks and barrels, and the older ones sat quieter than they had at the beginning. She almost felt it was invading their privacy to watch their faces - all dirty, but infused with unquenchable life even while their huge eyes reflected loss and inability to understand what was happening to them. Turning instead, she sighed and followed the carpet of pines up the slope of the mountain with her eyes.

"Tired?" inquired T'mor from the wagon seat, twisting to glance over his shoulder. Merrin suspected that he'd been casting surreptitious looks at her throughout the journey. She shrugged, stifling another yawn. The wagon jolted. T'mor winced and corrected it, then shifted over to make room on the seat.

She wasn't needed to prevent small children tumbling over the edge as the wagon lurched - the mountain road had grown more regular - so Merrin climbed up beside him. "Think we've wagged our lazy buttocks sufficiently?" he asked lightly, flicking the reins as the trail bent upward.

She grinned. "I haven't seen you doing much of it."

"You're one to talk. I am the wagon driver, leading fearlessly into uncharted territory. What are you? Babysitter?"

"Yes, thank you." Merrin stuck her tongue out at him. "Would you like to do that?"

T'mor shrugged. "Kendath not want to?"

Merrin spotted his grin and elbowed him. "They won't let me walk or ride. Adeila said..." She let the words trail off, as T'mor knew exactly how persistent Adeila could be.

"Bet you wouldn't mind riding with him," T'mor insinuated slyly.

Merrin shot him a lofty look and lapsed into silence.

_________________

He assumed having the strength to walk up straight without much effort, but in fact it began to seem, that the burden of his wounds began to catch up on him with every step he took. Another wonderful lie he had managed to fool himself to believe in.

And Adeila was worried about Merrin`s physical well being? What a joke, but then again considering his relation to everyone else in their little group it was no surprise. However he stubbornly refused to allow his own wounds to strain him nor slow him down one bit, stoically he displayed an occasional grin on his face yet hid it when anyone glanced his way. Certainly he had not gone beyond the grave and returned, but he had not been far from it and he was one person, that the gods were not willing to spring up from the netherworld.

Things seemed to be going swimmingly for Merrin and Kendath, indeed the two would be shocked, if they were to find out the truth about what happened within, that lake. They did not still trust him, but they knew, that they had not yet died by his hand as promised. He supposed they might show a sign of trust, but Adeila might actually understand him, or not. In any case he would have to make Adeila swear upon her brittle bones, that she would not tell a single word of what had happened there.

He did want them casting any pity filled looks his way, they did not need to see a weakling, who dwelt within the guilt of all the failures and atrocities he had committed during his life. They needed someone to remind them of the present, that the battle was not over and keep them on their toes, breathing in their necks as a shadowy reminder of what had already once come to pass.

Despite whatever heroics the chosen might have to perform, she for one would not understand the inhuman actions required to achieve such feats. Then again had it not been a human feat, that had led him down this road? Oh the dilemmas life offered, but in any case he would have to remain strong in order for them to see this trough to the end.

Once this was all over he might as well commit suicide because he was too tired, guilt ridden and burdened, that he might start anew once again. He might as well have been dead already. With a few swift step, and after waiting for the right opportunity of having Adeila remain slightly farther away from Kendath, Garthag walked beside her. He leaned over slightly and spoke only with whispers.

"Whatever you thought you saw in the middle of that lake, within that maelstrom of souls, forget it. Nothing specific happened there and even, if you think remember then never, ever tell a single word to a living soul. There is no need to burden Merrin nor Kendath with useless information of my debauchery.

And if feel tempted to do as I forbid you to, then remember this, telling about this matter serves no purpose and only works against everyone of us."

He said with calm tone yet there was a detectable undercurrent of seething anger and frustration brewing underneath. As before he hated people seeing him being weak, it served no purpose at all and caused people like the chosen to have delusions of pity towards him. Which was completely ridiculous and useless, he never faltered when he was required and would not do so again.

Such thing had once led to the destruction of everything he held dear and he did not wish others to repeat his mistakes.

_________________

Let him curse my name
On these blood stained pages of misery
Let him call me a tyrant so cruel
Let him curse my name, but remember the truth!