everything all right?â
Eddereon smiled. âYes, I am fine. Master Reldamar and I were having a chat.â
Artus snorted. âSo, whatâÂhe was insulting you and you gave him a smack?â
Tyvian scowled at him. âI should have left you to burn, brat.â
âHey,â Artus snapped. âNext time you throw somebody out a spirit engine, maybe pick somewhere with ground, huh?â
âArtus, leave us.â Eddereon said.
Artusâs mouth popped open. âItâs damned cold out, though! Iâll freeze!â
Eddereon pointed at the door. âOut. It will not be long.â
Grumbling, Artus left, shooting Tyvian one more rude look before going. When the door was closed, Eddereon held up his ringed hand again. âI, once, was very much like you, believe it or not. I was a brigand, a bandit. I and my men raided the caravans along the Kingâs Highway that runs from Freegate to Benethor. I was elusive as the wind, mighty as the lion, and brutal as winter. All men knew my name and feared me.â
âLet me guess,â Tyvian snorted. âThen some cheeky, moralistic git stuffed a magic ring on your finger and it trained you to jump through ethical hoops, too?â
Eddereon nodded. âMy reaction was much the same to my Initiator. I tried to kill him several times; I sought to cut the ring from my hand, with little success. I cursed it and cursed all who saw it put there. The ring is not as restrictive as I thought, however. It does not tell you what to think. It does not seek to make you a sheep. You will find it can be resisted sometimes, and there are those who endure its effects for decades, continuing in their old lives, if with markedly less pleasure.â
âIf it isnât meant to control me, then what, pray tell, is its purpose?â
âYou are no sheep, Tyvian Reldamar. You are a wolf, just as I am. It is not our destiny to settle down on a farm or weave baskets in a humble shop. We are too volatile and too restless for that. We need adventure, challenges that tax the body, mind, and soul. Before the ring, we found that life as villains. The ring will guide you to that same life,â Eddereon smiled broadly, âbut this time as something far more noble.â
Tyvian glared at Eddereon for several moments, working up the proper reaction. Were his mouth not so dry, he might have spit in the burly strangerâs face. He took a sip of tea, but it was bitter and too hot to help in that regard. Besides, he thought perhaps that spitting on Eddereon might be misinterpreted; Tyvian was willing to bet Eddereon washed his face with his tongue.
Instead, he rose. âWhere are my clothes?â
âQuite destroyed by the fire and the river, Iâm afraid. You may wear the leathers and furs I acquired for you over there.â Eddereon pointed to the corner of the cottage, where Tyvian saw a pile of material he had hitherto thought some kind of trash heap.
He marched over to the clothes, scowling, and pulled on a pair of leather breeches and a fur vest. He felt like a wild animalâÂno, an impoverished wild animal. He turned back to Eddereon, lip curled. âI am going to Freegate. Once there, I intend to find a talismonger or thaumaturge whose art exceeds that of your masters, whomever they are. Then, I will have him excise this odious item from my hand, after which I will track you down and take great pleasure in putting a rapier through your heart.â
Eddereon stood and handed Tyvian a waterskin, the knife, and a small pack. âFood and hearthcider for the journey. The knife for protection. I fear that you will find the ring hard to remove, however. It will only release you when you have become Redeemed.â
Tyvian took the items with a scowl. âI am through talking with you now.â
Eddereon nodded. âI will never be far away, should you need me.â
Tyvian pulled on a great fur cloak, slapped a hat made
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