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Brand did not seem convinced by the deepening of his frown, but Aedon let him be. He knew the Aerian warrior never let his guard down.
“Are you sure there’s no reason to worry?” Ragnar looked toward the inky void of the cave mouth again.
“If Brand says not, I’ll trust to that,” Erika said.
Brand inclined his head to her, then turned to Ragnar. “You’re safe here, Master Dwarf.”
Even so, the night closed about them, leeching in from the cave entrance and Aedon was glad for the light and warmth of the fire, though he would not admit it. He leaned back onto an elbow and smirked. “What a tale for the ages, eh? The legendary Thief of Pelenor takes on the elves of Tir-na-Alathea and wins. I can hear the adoration already.”
Erika snorted at Brand. “You should have dropped him.”
“My apologies,” Brand said, shrugging. “He carried our prize. I could not, though I considered it.”
“You would be lost without me,” Aedon crooned.
“We’d be in a lot less bloody trouble,” Ragnar said, jabbing his wooden spoon at Aedon.
Aedon only grinned wider and swiped a taste of the broth from it, making Ragnar rap his knuckles. “Yum.”
“If you knew what hunted us, you wouldn’t be so cocky,” warned Brand.
“I do know what hunts us,” said Aedon. “Why worry about what we cannot control? They shan’t catch us. We’re masters of evasion.”
“They’ll see your fat head from a mile off,” the Aerian warrior grumbled, moving closer to the fire between Aedon and Erika.
The only sound besides the crackle of the fire and the rasp of Erika’s blade on her whetstone was the sizzle of the roasting meat dripping fat into the flames. The nomad woman’s gift to them that day was a young wild boar, caught before Aedon and Brand had returned from their mission. It had been a long trek since for all of them, up into the foothills and as far away from the waking forest as they could travel.
They had fled long into the dark without stopping. Erika had guarded their rear, whilst Aedon magically swept away any trace of their passing. Brand had carried their prize, ready to take to the skies at a moment’s notice to save it, should it come to that. Yet, somehow, they had evaded capture. Aedon held their prize before him, the top and bottom of the vial between his finger and thumb, admiring the way the faceted crystal caught the orange light of the fire and shattered it across the cave in hues of honey and amber.
“Is that it?” Erika asked. She frowned and leaned forward, as if it might seem more impressive if she got closer.
“What do you mean, ‘is that it’?” Aedon spluttered, glaring at her indignantly. “It cost a lot—nearly my head, thank you very much—to get this much!” His numb buttocks protesting, he shifted on the hard ground. Even though the furs beneath them were warm, they grew worn from age and the earth’s cold seeped through.
The stoppered vial was a beautiful specimen, the likes of which few in Pelenor would see. The perfectly clear, tear-shaped crystal vessel was small—smaller than Aedon had hoped. However, in the heat of the moment, and having come so far, there had been little reason to not take it. The clear liquid within glimmered with every hue of the rainbow and a light of its own, if Aedon squinted at it. However, there was not enough to take even one mouthful.
“We were hoping for more, I think,” Ragnar said. His quiet, measured voice made Aedon wince much more than Erika’s sharpness. Somehow, his disappointment was worse. Aedon threw a troubled glance at the dwarf, who stared at the vial as he turned the meat on the spit, basting it in its own juices. He sighed. “I would have taken more had it been available. This was it. The sum total of all that distillation.”
They all stared at it, and he knew they wondered the same. Did it hold salvation, and would it be enough? The liquid seemed so insubstantial. Aedon swallowed and pushed thoughts of failure aside. That was not an option. They all knew it. “It’ll be enough,” he said, more strongly than he felt.
No one questioned him.
“We still might not return in time,” said Ragnar, his fingers fiddling with one of the embellishments upon his braided beard. “They were quite unwell.”
“The sickness was slow, though,” Brand argued.
“Aye, but we have already been gone too long. Who knows how their condition has developed.”
“We should take some horses on the way. Brand, you can fly, but the three of us will be far faster on horseback.”
“We cannot! We should buy some,” Ragnar said. He still turned the spit, but it was force of habit. He paid no attention to the roasting meat. He was too busy glaring at Aedon.
Brand barely suppressed a snort of laughter. “With what coin?”
Ragnar’s shoulders sank a little, but there was still a plea in his gaze as he searched Aedon’s.
Aedon smiled gently. “I’m sorry, my friend. We shall have to take. There’s no other way.”
Ragnar looked away. A jerk of his head was the only acknowledgment Aedon received.
