Silas & Eryn
Somehow Eryn managed to hold herself together, until after Silas had left and Sena had brought her a fresh bowl of soup. She drank the soup under the woman's watchful eyes, and then was ordered to lie down and rest. Only once the minstrel had left her alone did she give herself the opportunity to cry.
Except she surprised herself. She didn't cry in anger about what Silas had told her, even though she had plenty of anger about it. She didn't even cry because he was not what he had seemed. She found that the tears she shed were first for Aren, Silas' son who he had killed, and second for Silas himself. She had seen the guilt and pain in the man's eyes while he had told her his story. She had seen the agony he was in, every time he returned to those memories. What she had seen was a repentant man, a remorseful man.
She knew how he took people in, and forced them to become something they weren't. Master Lewyn had always been kind, until it was his wife's life at stake. But, Silas had made a choice. He had decided to become a soldier, to be a commander, and to kill his own son. Did it matter that he was sorry for it now? Could she forgive him, and see him as the man who came to her aid to rescue the Cursed? Or would she see only the soldier, every time she looked at his weathered face?
"Amman," she said softly in prayer. "Help to guide me. Help me to understand the evils that people do, and their capacity to change. Help me to believe in forgiveness, and to forgive one who has wronged so many, and yet wishes to make things right."
She closed her eyes, sending her thoughts to her God, wherever He may be. The priests said Amman lived among the clouds, and smiled down on those He favored. The priests said that Amman had love for all of his children. The same priests also said that Amman despised the Cursed, and that was why He afflicted them so, but Eryn had never believed it. How could both of those things be true?
"If Amman can forgive, then I can forgive," she said, making her choice. Silas had proven himself to her, both in his actions at the camp, and for saving her life, and for revealing so much of his past to her even though he knew she might despise him for it. She had lost so much already. She didn't want to lose the only ally she had found who might be able to help her succeed in her goal.
She took a deep breath, finding peace and comfort in her decision. Now she just had to convince him that they should travel together. She fell asleep with that thought in mind.
***
Silas walked past Robar, when the minstrel approached outside the carriage. He looked straight ahead, his eyes itching from his tears, and kept going until he reached the small fire the bards had made. He could hear echoes in the distance, shouting and yelling, no doubt in warning about the flames that were still raging to the northeast.
He sat down and stared into the campfire, his mind racing with the memories he had shared with Eryn. He saw the face of his wife in the flames, proud and strong but also tender and loving, her brown hair streaked with grey. She hadn't been anything extraordinary in her looks, but she had the incredible heart it took to love someone in spite of their disagreements and opposing loyalties. She had never been in favor of his policies on the Cursed, or on the mines. She had been willing to accept that he had, to a fault. At least until it had cost her son.
Next was the face of his son, Teran. He wondered if the boy was still alive. He should be married by now, and maybe have children of his own. If he could ever settle down and have children. He remembered that his firstborn had been as ambitious as they came, running off to join his army on his sixteenth birthday, the very moment he was free to enroll as an adult.
Aren had been so different. Quiet and thoughtful, every bit his mother's son. He had a strength of his own, one that he bolstered with words and kindness instead of sword and bow. He had always seen a hidden fire in his second son, sitting just below the surface of the calm and wise exterior. He had never imagined what he was seeing was the Curse, laying in wait to claim him.
That was what he remembered. There was still so much he didn't. How had he come to join his army? Where had he trained? Who did he know? Why had he been allowed to stop serving? Where had the vicious wound across his body come from, and how in the name of Amman did he survive it?
It was question, after question, and no matter how hard he tried to bring his past to the surface, there was still so little he could recall. He saw Alyssa clearly now, and he could bring to mind most of the fighting they had done over Aren. He could remember bits and pieces of things in flashes of images and voices.
Murderer.
Almost all of the memories had to do with his time as a soldier, moments in the time of the one part of his life he most wished he could forget. But did he? Would he be the same today, if all of that pain was taken away, and only the good came back? Would Eryn be alive, if he had no cause to help her? Would he even care to help the Cursed, or would he settle somewhere, and spend his days reminiscing on a past he could never recapture?
Even so, he found no comfort in the vast holes of his past. He may have spent years in the gutter, scrounging for enough coin to keep himself drunk, but he would have thought he could recall something about himself. His parents? His birthplace? It was as though he had not existed, and then he had, his entire life already arranged.
Silas reached into his pocket, seeking the paper he had taken from Roque's corpse. It was the message that the rider had been in such a hurry to deliver that he hadn't waited for the Mediator to reach the collection point. He took it out now, and turned so he could hold it up to the fire light.
Roque,
If you are sure it is him, you must prevent him from reaching Elling. If he has somehow thrown off the yoke of inebriation, it won't be long until he comes for me. You cannot allow this to happen! I don't need to remind you how dangerous he is, and how much more dangerous he can become if his memories return. Find him. At all cost, find him!
- Iolis
Silas stared at the note for a long time. He was certain that it was in reference to him, though he was unfamiliar with the sender's name. Who was Iolis, and why would he seek him out? It was clear the man didn't wish him to.
"He knew I was drunk, but he didn't know where I was," he said out loud. "How could that be?" And why was he so afraid his memories might return? For that matter, how had this Iolis known he had lost them? All he had were more questions. The only thing he was sure of, was that at least some of the answers were to the north.
"Silas," Robar said, approaching him again. "May I sit?"
"If you can answer a question for me."
"Does it have to be the truth?" The minstrel smiled.
"Yes, although I don't expect you to know this answer. Who is Iolis?"
Robar started laughing. "How do you not know who Iolis is?" The look Silas gave him quieted his mirth. "His full name is Iolis Germaine Elling. He is the Overlord. The twelfth of his name."
"Sit," Silas said. The minstrel complied. Silas handed him the message. "Are you familiar with the Overlord's hand?"
Robar took the note and read it. "Very, very interesting," he said. He handed it back. "You are a mystery, aren't you, Silas? I was afraid of you before. I'm more afraid of you now. What is it like, to not know who you are?"
Silas glared at him. "Is that his hand or not, minstrel?"
Robar leaned back, putting a little more distance between them. "It is," he said. "I'm sure of it. The Overlord has to sign our permit to perform in Elling City each year. Entertainment taxes, you know. He wrote that note."
Silas looked at the paper again. "So the Overlord doesn't seem to want me to pay him a visit," he said.
"It certainly looks that way," Robar replied.
"There's good coin in mystery, isn't there?"
Robar nodded, his smile returning. "There certainly is, my friend."
"So you'll get me into Elling?"
"I wouldn't miss it for anything."