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I hoped that she was right, even though part of my mind was trying to remind the rest that we would have Sir Hambert and his men coming up to the cottage at dawn, that they would certainly wake us, but when you're as tired as I was then, irrational fears seem saner than logical thought. I even got to the point of Perhaps my danger sense will keep me from oversleeping with the enemy so close, with the nervous tag but it might not wake me until the cottage is surrounded.
We reached the orchard and dismounted to lead our horses the last stretch. They were near the end of their endurance. Even Gold seemed hard put to keep up with my own slow walk. There were no lights on in the cottage, no sign of people or horses already there, but we checked the cottage and orchard out thoroughly before we put our horses in the tiny attached stable, unsaddled them, and brought in water and hay for them. Then we carried our stuff-and the sea-silver-into the cottage.
There was no real bed, just the hard bench where my father's body had been. I had no intention of sleeping there. Ghosts had been in my mind all too much lately. I got my thermal blanket and my saddle and found a spot on the floor where I thought the morning sun would get me in the face, just in case. The night was a trifle chilly after the heat and sweat of the long ride. I shucked my weapons and boots and settled myself in, wrapping the blanket around me., I had my elf sword close-and my own regular sword. I took a couple of deep breaths and started to drift off, doing a fairly good job of not thinking about A
I thought.
I yawned, relaxed, sliding down the incline. Sleep was waiting to jump all over me for a change. There would be none of the long tossing and turning that I usually have to wade through to reach slumber. I could hear A
When I opened my eyes, A
Tired as I was, I couldn't ignore her. I could feel both our hearts beating, not in time. Between us, we got my clothes off. A
Afterward, when I fell asleep, A
19 – The Congregation of Heroes
I guess I slept soundly through most of the night-what was left of it-but it wasn't a peaceful sleep. I had a long dream, very detailed. It seemed so real that I never realized that it was a dream until after I woke, and even then it didn't fade away the way dreams normally do.
It started with a long walk down the stairs leading to the burial crypt below Castle Basil. I was alone on the stairs, not part of a procession. My footsteps echoed. I looked around almost constantly, as if I were trying to tie the echoes to someone else. There was a nervous knot in my gut, but my only companions were the multiple shadows I cast in the torchlight.
When I reached the doorway to the crypt, I hesitated for a long time, or so it seemed, before I entered. I didn't want to go into that chamber. I felt a powerful dread.
A long table had been set up inside, parallel to the burial wall. The capstones of the burial niches for all the Heroes of Varay were missing. The dead Heroes were sitting along one side of the table, my father at the center. They all stood and raised golden goblets in toast when I appeared in the doorway. They looked as though they belonged in a reunion picture of victims from slasher movies. Dad's wounds were all open, gaping, both the wounds that had killed him and those that had scarred over long before-the scars that had once made me believe that he was a spy like James Bond. All of the other Heroes sported similar wounds. There was no blood-just open gashes in skin and clothing.
The man standing next to Dad at the center said, "Hail the Hero of Varay," and then he took a long drink from his golden goblet. The rest of the Heroes echoed his toast and drank. Then each introduced himself-in chronological order, I think. The one who had offered the toast called himself Vara. Dad was the last. I caught a few other names in between that I recalled seeing on the missing capstones back in Basil.
Even Dad introduced himself formally when it finally came down to his turn.
"We've been waiting for you, son," he said after he drank his toast. He raised his goblet again. "I had hoped that the wait would be much longer, though. Your mother and I had such great dreams for you. Come, your place is waiting."
I didn't move from the doorway. I couldn't move. I was frozen in place. Moving would mean-at least in my mind-that I was accepting this… this verdict, and I wasn't ready to do that. I held on to the doorjamb.
"What's this all about?" I asked. My voice echoed over and over, so thickly that the words were almost obliterated by the interference. None of the other voices had raised even a hint of an echo.
All of the Heroes but Father and Vara sat down. Most seemed to busy themselves refilling their goblets from a row of decanters. Father looked to Vara. Vara spoke.
"My dying vow was that no other Hero of Varay should ever die alone," he said. No echo.
"I haven't died," I said.
"We will be with you," Vara said.
"I see." I shifted my gaze to my father. "At the same place you died?" He didn't answer. He looked away from me. I had little choice but to look to Vara again.
"Does this mean that you can see the future?" I asked.
"There is no time on our side," he said, which wasn't an answer at all. "Come in and have a drink with us." He pointed at the one empty chair at the table.
I stared at the chair for a while-I can't even guess how long. Finally, I closed my eyes and shook my head. "I don't think so," I said, opening my eyes to focus on Vara. "It's too soon. I can't give up yet. I've still got a job to finish." I looked to my father again. "Your job." He acknowledged that with a nod.
"I'm leaving now," I said. And then, I wasn't sure that I could leave. I experienced some kind of split-existence thing. My mind had me turning around and walking back to the stairs, but my body wasn't responding. It took a moment before I figured it out-a dizzying realization. My hands gripped the jambs of the door yet and I had to consciously relax my grip and remove my hands.
I'm leaving now, I told myself, and this time I did. Movement still wasn't automatic. I had to concentrate on every step, watching as I moved each foot out in front of the other. I seemed to be sweating profusely by the time I got to the stairs and started up, and it wasn't over even then.
I climbed those stairs forever. Now, the stairway leading from the crypt back up to the living levels of Castle basil is extremely long, but no stairway could be as long as the one I climbed in that dream. I climbed and climbed, and when I looked back down, I had scarcely gone a tenth of the way. I climbed some more, making a little progress, but not as much as I should have. I counted my steps over the next stretch and looked back down when I reached fifty. It looked as though I had actually made it up about a dozen.