The morning that the group of travelers left the village was a silent journey. Each person was lost in their own thoughts, not bothering to burden anyone else with what might have been on their minds. They hadn't even stayed in Casteel long enough to have breakfast in the eatery. Cameron had been too insistent that they move as fast as they could, but he failed to say why. This only put Kamil in darker spirits. None of them seemed to notice the silent figure that followed them into the foothills surrounding the mountains, winding along the twisted path that cut a swath through heavy rocks and trees that had exposed roots running like veins along the soil. He was quiet as the night, running in time with the horses that each of them rode though he could have gone much faster if he so chose. But it was his duty to follow them, to find out the course that they took so the men that tracked them could catch up. It wasn't clear to the scout why he must trail them but he guessed that the men in pursuit meant to kill them. That was what the king decreed. And if the king decreed it, then it was his sworn duty to do all he could to ensure that these people made it safely to the place that they were making their way for.
Verion leapt over a thorny hedge, landing with silence on the path, not even displacing dirt as his feet touched down. His eyes were keen, taking in detail greater than any human would ever know. The riders were well ahead of them, not even the drudic knew that he was following. The path they took cut a route directly through the Torvana Mountains. Verion surmised that they were heading for Banthas, and they were making haste, riding the animals faster than a casual run. He pondered, could it be that they knew he was following them? He had been ordered by the commander, Emeron Jaist, that he was to be silent, ensure that he wasn't noticed in any form. That was an order that he couldn't twist else he would have warned them already.
He paused on the path when a pair of songbirds caught his interest, their melody enchanting as it played on the wind. Closing his eyes he let his mind drift as the song filled him. Thoughts came to him. Thoughts of his brother Raisha, of his beloved, Tiar. Thoughts of the elders in the Council of Stone. His eyes flashed open and he rid himself of the thoughts. They caused him too much pain. Verion picked up his pace, making haste to catch up to the horseback riders. He knew that they would never, could never traverse the Torvana Mountains in a single day of riding, not unless they chose to gallop and ride the horses into the ground. And their leader seemed too smart a human to do such a foolish thing. Once he noticed the riders enter a cliff like pass that had high windswept ridges on either side of them he knew their course was set.
Taking one last look at the five of them he turned on the path and opted for the thicker cover that the forest accorded. In leaps and bounds he made his way through the groves of trees that dotted the landscape. He cared not where obstacles lay, knowing that the woods and all they held would never harm one of the centiant. He went miles south of the village known as Casteel, heading to the camp fire hidden near a rocky alcove at the end of the forest. Six humans were waiting for him there. The leader of the party was a brash youth called Drawn Faleem. His peers respected Drawn because he held the position of the second in command of the Honor Guard. Verion thought that the youth had too much ego for such a little mind.
Jumping down from the top of the alcove and landing square in the middle of the group of men managed to scare all of them, which brought a smile of joy from Verion's lips. Drawn pressed past another of the men that he had been speaking with and approached Verion. He was in chain armor, as were all the others, and had an elegant one handed blade at his hip. A round shield was slung over his back, holding his dark colored cloak close to him. The man wore a very serious face as he came near Verion, always looking like he was scheming.
"Damn you, Verion! You could have been killed sneaking up on armed men like that! What the hell were you thinking?"
"That if you killed me then I would be free of the servitude I despise so much, and that you would be out of a scout," Verion paused, waiting for Drawn to shout heated words. It was too easy to make the man lose his composure. Verion knew little of the human culture but gathered that Drawn wouldn't make a very apt leader.
"If that's what you wish," Drawn began, "Then you will never have it. Emeron isn't here to defend you any longer, Verion. You would do well to remember that. Now where are the people that we seek? Can you lead us to them?"
"I can," Verion retorted, still smiling, "I will lead us to the south and around the mountain tip, near the hot spring that is buried in the earth there."
"And that is where they are going?" another soldier, a man named Gregor Thundar, asked him.
"Would I be leading you in that direction if they were not heading there?" The look that showed on Gregor's face told him that he believed him. Drawn ordered his men to get their things together, that they were moving through the night in the hopes that they could take the party before the dawn broke. Verion knelt where he had jumped off the alcove, watching the men pack their belongings into the saddlebags of horses, dousing the fire they started.
Drawn looked to the centiant. Verion met his gaze and remained smiling. The fact that it seemed to bother him made him smile broader.
"Let's move. Verion, lead us." They left the alcove, trailing first to the south then off to the west, trailing along the bulk of the darkening mountains in an attempt to go around them. Verion could hear the thunder of the horse hooves pounding soil and took up his pace. Before the night was through the animals would be too tired to go any farther and he would have bought them another day, at least. When they made camp before the sun rose along the western side of the mountain peaks Drawn dismissed him, his voice tense with the fact that his plan didn't pan out. Verion went into the woodland and slept under the needled boughs of a pine tree, dreaming of the land that he might never see again.
It took three days for the lot of them to exit the mountains. There had been scarce space to camp on the road side, the wind that whipped through it always biting. Cameron had replenished rations when they were in Casteel and filled water skins which the father carried on the saddle of his horse. Cameron went back to the nightly ritual of teaching the pair of youths how to swordfight. Kirstin was fast to take up the practice sword even though it was painfully clear that she ached from the riding that had been done in the light. Kamil fought as well, fencing with Cameron, but he retired early for the night, wanting to be left alone for a time so he could sort his thoughts, he said. Damien remarked to Cameron that he did a very good job of sorting his thoughts because he would come back to the light of the campfire refreshed, feeling less tense.
On the third night, when they were camped on the west mountain ridge, Ferrin followed Kamil from the camp sight, leaving the good father to his prayers and Cameron to beating the poor girl senseless with his lessons. Kamil seemed drawn to a place north of the campsite by nearly a mile. It had a clear pond and a stream that flowed into it from the mountain side. A perfect line of trees was its cover, making it hard to see from the path, or from anywhere else, for that matter, unless one knew how to fly. He waited in the shadows of the trees as Kamil sat on a stump near the pond's edge, staring blankly into it for a time. Nothing unusual happened the Ferrin noticed, and it seemed to him that Kamil was growing agitated. Finally, with a sneer plain on his face, Kamil pushed up from the stump and stormed back to the camp, coming within arm's reach of Ferrin. The youth never even noticed him. After Ferrin was sure that Kamil was gone he broke from the brush that he had been hiding in and skulked to the pond. A chill breeze blew past him, off the water's surface. A cold light glinted from the pond, beaming silver in the dark. Ferrin put his nose to the wind and scented it. There was the lingering scent of danger hanging there, a presence that he couldn't see. Shaking his head and cursing himself for staying with people that drew so much trouble to themselves, he went back to the camp for the night.
The next day found them on an old trader's route, packed down earth under the hooves of their horses. They rode south along the ridge of heavy clinging rocks that dotted the landscape, rows of dense pines to their left. Cameron strayed further then the rest of them, scouting the land and making sure that they weren't riding right into the den of some demorn, or worse. He spied an old cabin after a time, rotted and falling in from age. He guessed that miners or traders used the house long ago, before the demorn grew too numerous in this region. He realized that the house could easily house some of them, or thieves, or worse. Drawing free his blade, Cameron tapped his heels into Starn's flanks and rode closer. From one of the broken windows he saw a figure cross, tall and broad from the look that he got. Whoever was calling the place home didn't care much that he had just been spotted. Cameron could see the bait when it was presented, one of the men acting careless to make him come closer, drop his guard.
The sound of other horses behind him made him start. Turning, he saw Damien and Ferrin right behind him. The priest had a haggard look on his face, stubble growing from his chin. Dark lines dominated his face just below his eyes.
"Not sleeping so well, father?" Cameron whispered, reining his horse back to fall in time with his.
"A dream," Damien told him, "A dream that bothers my sleep. Nothing more. What do you make of that house there?"
"That was why I was waiting for you. I have need of Ferrin." The youth looked surprised that Cameron had said that, putting a hand to his chest with his mouth gaping.
"Yes, you. What do you make of the cabin ahead of us?"
I think there's only one person in there, a human.
"Why would one man attempt an ambush on a party of five?" The father asked Cameron. Cameron smiled and rubbed his chin. It was his turn to be surprised at how fast the priest had taken to learning sign.
"Is there anything else that you can tell us, Ferrin?"
My eyes are only so good, Cameron! What do you expect from me?
Oh, I have my own theories about what I should expect from you. But now isn't the time to discuss them. If you ride closer do you think that you could see who it is?
I could, Ferrin signed, looking uneasily at Cameron, but I would feel safer if you came with. After all you are the one with the sword.
Cameron rode with as Ferrin approached the cabin on foot. He took care to stay low to the ground, make himself a harder target if the man that was hiding in the derelict house produced a bow. His nose caught sickness in the air, strong and filling. The man had caught something that was killing him, making him rot from the inside out. Ferrin breathed through his mouth, hoping that he could avoid the stench in the air, but it grew only stronger when he came closer. The sound of boots coming down on stone made his head crane around, but it was only Cameron dismounting. The horse seemed to feel the sickness as much as he, but it refused to come any closer to the source.
Smart horse, Ferrin thought with a silent chuckle, smarter than I am. He spun again, Cameron crouching low beside him, sword out, when there was a loud crash in the cabin. A billowing cloud of dust flew out from the door and there was the figure of a man stepping out, hacking up ropes of phlegm. He dropped to his knees, losing a small sword he had clutched in his hand. The man couldn't be any older then Ferrin was, he was guessing, but he was very tall, better than six and a half feet with a girth that put even Cameron to shame. The youth sat up from the ground and wiped the drool from his face, cheeks bright red from fever. He seemed to be talking to himself. Cameron stood, sheathing his sword and stepping from the cover that the nearby brush accorded. The youth spun, eyes wild and dangerous as Cameron called to him. He was akin to an animal that was crazy with starvation.
Benmont threw himself from the door of the cabin when a part of the ceiling came down, nearly burying him under the weight of the dead wood. The dust that had been expelled was enough to make him puke what little he had in his stomach back up. There was only pain for him, endless in the torment. Heat rose in sheets from him, his lips blistered with fever. Drinking water became a task that was too strenuous for him to commit to. He was having thoughts of using the blade in his hands to spill his blood and end the pain he was in when there was noise from his side. He spun on his feet, sword out before him; it was all he could do to keep it in place.
There was a man in front of him, dressed in dark leather with a sword at his side. The man seemed to be speaking, his mouth was moving but words failed to come forth. Benmont took a step back, not trusting what his eyes saw, and then he saw the truth. Before his eyes the man in dressed in leathers transformed before him, flesh shifting and changing until he took the form of one of the dark skinned demorn. With jagged teeth and wild flowing hair the thing gibbered at him, claws glinting at the end of muscular, misshapen arms.
Benmont gathered what little strength he had and screamed his battle cry, a ragged sound that made his head feel aflame. He leapt at the demorn and locked swords as the beast drew his blade from his side with impossible speed. Another appeared from the brush that littered the side of the path heading north, eyes wide with the look of fear. Still there were more coming, three more that rode horses like men would.
Benmont pulled away from the first attack and slashed again at his foe’s midsection, but again he was denied as it demonstrated skill that none of the others seemed to have when he last fought them. Taking the blade two handed, he resigned himself to dying, knowing that he was too weak to fight for much longer. Grunting lowly, he brought the short sword down two handed over and again in a cross slash, hoping to take the demorn with what strength he could muster. The demorn only side stepped the assault and let him bury the tip into the ground, using the hilt of the blade to smash him square in the face. Benmont staggered from the blow, feeling white hot anger that matched the heat in his face. He stepped in and swung low in a wild attempt to cut the demorn's legs right off. Again there was a burst of speed and the beast leapt over the assault, landing with another sword handled blow to the top of Benmont's skull. Then there was a rush through blackness. Then the dark claimed him.
He woke to cold all around him. It was dark where he lay, with a draft that coursed over him, making his flesh break into goose bumps. The intense pain that was his only memory for weeks now was gone: bled from him, leaving him weak and trembling. Voices made him start, two men that were not far off, just on the other side of some barrier. It was then that he realized where he was. He was in an old cabin. Half the floor was missing and another half of the ceiling to match that. He tried to stand, wanting to see who it was that was talking, but there was no strength left to work with. He could only lay there in the cold dark and stare at the black above him. He had the vivid impression that this is what it must feel like to be a corpse. That was enough to make him stand on his own, getting to his feet with the hold of the crumbling wall. A rush of blood into his head made him see stars and he sat down hard, almost going right through the floor. That must have enough noise for the men outside the cabin to hear him because they stopped talking.
But it wasn't a man that came to check on him. It was a young woman that wasn't any older then he was, carrying a hooded lantern in her hand, yellow light spilling over him, making his eyes hurt badly.
"Your eye sight will become less sensitive in time but the father says that you will always be sensitive toward the sun. There was nothing that he could do about that. You were sick for too long when we found you."
Benmont held his hands before him to block the painful rays and gritted his teeth, feeling a touch sick to the stomach, "When you found me?" He asked her, voice weak as he was, "Who...is the father?"
"Father Damien Alohm. He is a priest from Hamla. Perhaps you have heard of it?"
"Hamla?" Benmont tried to think but his mind was blank, only the pain of the light managed to enter, "Would you get that forsaken light out of my face!" he snarled, clasping one large hand over both eyes. He really didn't want her to see if he shed any tears because she was shining a light in his eyes.
"Oh," she commented softly, and turned the metal shades of the lamp down until there was nothing left of the light save for a dim red glow that circled the floor. Benmont found that it was bearable and looked up at her. She was of slight build, with bright red hair that was tightly pulled back along her back. She wore soft leather travelling clothes, an over coat and breeches with high boots that rode up to her knees. But what really caught him were her eyes, bright green, even in the shadow of the cabin he could see that. They were the same as his.
"Is that better?" she asked him, "I didn't mean to make you upset so soon after you were so ill. I was only coming in to see how you were, I didn't even think that you would be awake so soon."
"Who are you?" Benmont asked abruptly, fearing that she would just keep on talking if he allowed her to. She woman seemed taken aback, putting a hand to her chest and balked at him.
"Oh, how rude of me! I haven't even introduced myself yet! My name is Kirstin Telba. I am pleased to meet you, even if you did try to kill Cameron."
"Cameron?" Benmont felt the old headache coming back for all new reasons, "I don't know any Cameron. The last I remember is a band of demorn were attacking me. One of them struck me, knocking me out. Then I was here, in this cabin," as an undertone he added, "talking with you."
"Demorn? There wasn't any demorn here when we found you. But you did attack Cameron, screaming and drooling and ranting like a maniac. The father said that you were in the thralls of the fever but you sure looked fearsome like that. Cameron knocked you out and he and the father drug you in here so you could rest in quiet. Why are you turning red?"
"Never mind." Benmont told her, running a hand through damp hair. He attempted to stand again putting his hands underneath him and doing a push up. The strength just wasn't there any more and he floundered back down to the ground.
"Oh, let me help you," Kirstin said, going over to him and bringing her hand out for him to hold onto.
"Get away!" he waved a hand, almost striking her, frantic to stand on his own. Kirstin back stepped his open hand and stood there, hands at her sides, feeling a little awkward watching him try to rise. Then the father was in the cabin, pressing past her and putting his hands on the youth's shoulders pressing him back to a sitting position.
"You will stay right where you are. You are still recovering from being ill and have no business being up and about."
"I didn't ask for your help!" Benmont said gruffly, trying with no good luck to peel the priest's hands off his shoulders, "I just want to get to Southcross! You're not going to stop me!"
"There will be plenty of time for Southcross later, young man. You had the black fever. Do you know what that is?" by the look on the young man's face Damien was guessing that he did know, "You were very sick with it. I am admittedly surprised that you even managed to move about at all in that condition, let alone attack Cameron the way you did. You should thank the One God that you yet live."
"Thank him? For what? Killing my mother? For making me flee the only place that I've ever known? That sounds like a lot to be thanking him for!"
"I am sorry about your mother, child. It is terrible to hear when someone passes on, but that is the way of life. There must have been reason for her to leave this world."
"There was reason all right! Plenty of reason when someone slit her throat and let her bleed to death in my closet!" Tears streaked his face at the memory, one that he hadn't allowed himself to think of for weeks. He no longer cared if the girl was watching him. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that he had to reach Southcross and find justice for what happened.
The priest hung his head, muttering a quiet prayer to his God. Then he raised his head again and knelt before the youth, wiping tears from his face, "Tell me, child, what is your name?"
"Benmont Grimnight."
"Benmont, I am Damien Alohm. I took the illness from you with the great power of the One God, so there is one reason that you should thank him. Another is that you live where others die for lesser reasons. The wound on your shoulder tells me that we are not the first signs of life that you ran across."
"Demorn," Benmont told him without looking at him, "I battled demorn. One of them bit me. I suppose that if he would have lived that I would have passed on the black fever to all of them."
"I am sorry to hear of your plight, Benmont. Would you know why men would come to your house and do that to your mother?"
"Why are you asking me? You're saying that there was some reason that she was killed? My mother didn't do anything that merited her death! I can't believe a priest would even say such a thing!" Benmont fought to sit up, clutching Damien by his travel worn shirt, but the father pressed him back down. Benmont raged, anger smoldering in his overly bright eyes. Damien shook his head, realizing that he had to speak carefully to this one. It seemed that he jumped to conclusions too often where his mother was concerned.
"I didn't mean that she was bringing on this action. But there are men who would kill another for debts owed to them. Did she owe anyone in your village coin?"
"No, she didn't. I don't know why they were there for her, but they stayed long enough to try and kill me as well. They failed and I ran from the house, not looking back. I found out that there were men after me, riding the roads so I couldn't stay on them. I wound up here. I have no idea where I would have caught the black fever."
"You may have lain near an animal's carcass that had it. The fever is an airborne illness, carrying itself to the bodies of the healthy. It would have been that easy for you to get it." Damien produced a blanket not far from where Benmont sat. The youth noticed how he shivered in the chill; his great strength nearly spent battling the sickness. He snatched the blanket from the priest and pulled it over his shoulders, holding it tight around him.
"I must step outside for a moment, but if there is anything that you need from me, don't hesitate to ask."
Damien was nearly out the door when Benmont called out to him, "What is it?" The priest half turned.
"You said you took the fever from me? Was that difficult?"
"It drained me, yes. I beseeched the One God for the power to heal you. So in truth it was he that saved your life. I was merely the tool to that end."
"Thank you, father."
Damien noted the tone of humbleness edge into his voice and smiled at the youth, "There is no need to thank me. I did what any man of the faith would have. It is the One that you should give your thanks to. If not for his glory you surely would have died tonight."
The father left them in the cabin, Kirstin and Benmont, each looking solemn in the light of the lantern. Benmont leaned back on the moss covered wall and let his eyes close, blocking the light from them. He felt better than he had in a long time. He guessed that the father was a good man, he looked older then Benmont only by a handful of years. Kirstin, if talkative, also seemed like she meant well. Another cold draft made him pull the blanket closer to him. The sound of breathing in the room reminded him that he wasn't alone. His eyes flashed open and he saw Kirstin staring at him, taking in the details of his face. She was staring so intently that it made Benmont blush after a moment.
"What are you looking at?" Benmont finally asked, growing irritated at her unspoken words.
"You look a lot like Kamil. Not like brothers, but similar nonetheless."
"I don't know any Kamil, and if I happen to look like him then it is only coincidence." Benmont closed his eyes again and rested. There was no way he was going to sleep. He gathered that he had been sleeping for some time, anyhow.
"Is Kamil your betrothed?" Benmont queried without opening his eyes.
"No!" she replied, her voice so powerful that Benmont's eyes flashed open a second time, "He...he happens to be a relative of mine, so I'm told. Whether that is true or not remains to be seen."
Benmont grunted, a smile playing on his lips. Then there were more noises and two men entered. One was Damien. The other was a taller broad shouldered man with close cut hair and travel worn leather armor. Benmont had the impression that he had already seen that man before, but he couldn't remember where for now.
"You said your name is Benmont Grimnight?" the leather clad man asked him.
"It is."
"The father told me that you fled the village you lived in because there were men after you. He said that they killed your mother. I think I know why." Benmont sat straight up, letting the blanket fall to his lap. HIs eyes were fixed on the stranger. One hand was balled up into a fist, clutching the side of his torn leggings.
"What do you know? Tell me!"
"They were trying to kill you for the same reason that assassins were after Kirstin and Kamil in Hamla village. You're the son of Darius Steelbreeze, king of Dagoth." Benmont blinked, trying to fathom what the man just told him. The king of Dagoth? It was true that Delia never told him who his father truly was, and that was fine with Benmont. The two of them were happy and his father was a shadow on the edge of his thoughts, never clearly defined so he was never entirely thought about. But even saying that he was the son of royalty? He let out a weak laugh.
"Of course I am," Benmont chuckled bitterly, "and you're the High Father of Dynasty, right? How am I supposed to believe that?"
"Have you seen Darius Steelbreeze?"
"No, but what does that have to do with..."
"Then you wouldn't know exactly how much you look like him. The same color in your hair, the same green eyes. The same jutting chin. You are a Steelbreeze. A bastard heir to the throne that could have been overlooked if his majesty wasn't waging war with Southcross to seize the High Throne."
"Pardon?" Benmont's eyes widened. It seemed that every time this man spoke things just became more and more warped. Shaking his head, he asked, "The king of Dagoth is waging war against Southcross, its neighboring kingdom? Why in the name of the One would he do that?"
"I just said that he intends to take the High Throne. He doesn't want any loose ends showing up at an inconvenient time, I guess."
"Then Kirstin? And this Kamil...?"
"Both of them are heirs as well, heirs that I have put in charge of. I'm taking them to Cromley Tower near Twin Port and you're welcome to come with if you wish. I'm sure the baron wouldn't mind one more stray."
"I'm travelling to Southcross!" Benmont shouted hoarsely, "I'm going to bring my mother's killers to justice!"
"Your mother was killed by word of the king of Dagoth! Do you intend to storm the castle? I just said that the land around Southcross is a war zone! There is nothing for you to the north, but there might be safety for you if you decide to travel south with us."
"Oh please say yes, Benmont," Kirstin pleaded, "I think that it would be really dangerous for you if you went north. Come south with us. There might still be some way for you to learn the truth."
"I can't believe this!" Benmont managed to stand, holding the wall for support. Damien went over to him and offered a hand for him to steady himself. Benmont slapped the hand away, glaring at the priest with renewed malice. Damien nodded only once, a sorrowful nod, and stepped back.
"You're feeding me lies! Trying to confuse me with talk of war and heirs!"
"I told you the truth, plain," the warrior told him calmly, "It's up to you if you want to believe the truth when it's right in front of you or not. I really didn't think that Darius would have such foolish heirs."
Benmont lunged for him, hands outstretched for his throat but he fell short and dropped hard on his knees. Kirstin dropped down beside him, asking him if he was hurt but Benmont said nothing, only stared daggers at Cameron. Damien urged the warrior out of the cabin.
"We leave at first light, Benmont. You may come with us when we leave, or you may go north with the blessing of the One. The choice is yours." Damien and Cameron disappeared from sight, leaving Benmont looking after them, anger and confusion fighting for control of his mind.
Outside the cabin, under the sliver of moon that was half hidden in the clouds of the night, Damien walked with Cameron. The pair strode down the path that he ridden along in the light of day, seeing the fire that Ferrin had started to ward off the cold. He and Kamil sat on either side of it, Ferrin rubbing his hands over and over, trying to stay warm, Kamil looking away from the light, as if there was something off in the deep of the forest that caught his attention.
Damien's face was dark, troubled with thoughts of what just transpired. He could hear the footfalls of Cameron's boots, falling in time with his. He could just imagine that he didn't feel bad about the harsh words that he spoke. That wasn't Cameron's way. He couldn't deny the fact that he did tell the youth what the truth was, brash as he was about it. He rubbed his face, placing fingers over one of his temples where there was a dull throb.
"Do you think that he'll come with us when we ride?"
"I think that he'll end up doing what he wants. Nothing more and nothing less."
"We can't allow him to go north! That would be suicide for him!"
"Well father. What happened to 'the choice is yours'?" Damien scowled at the sound of his own words being thrown back in his face.
"I cannot allow him to leave alone. It isn't right. If he chooses to go then I will go with him. I will try to see him safely to Southcross."
"Then you both die trying to get there instead of just him. That's a wonderful idea, father. I'm glad you thought of it."
"What do you suggest? Can you say that you have no compunctions about letting him leave in the morning? When you know that there was something that you could do to change the outcome?"
"I'm getting paid in gold to take these children to Cromley Tower. I'm not getting paid anything to watch over him, troubled as he is. So his mother died. Death is a part life, brutal as it is. There's nothing that we can do but cope."
"Cameron, your lack of respect for the passing of others appalls me. As does your desire for money. Is that the only reason that you came with? How much coin did Devlin offer you to care for his child?"
Cameron flinched at the words, Damien thought, but was quick to recover. There was something more than the money compelling him. It wasn't coin that compelled Cameron to save him on the steps of the church when the assassins found Kamil. He decided that he wouldn't press the subject though. They stopped at the top of a small hook shaped cliff. They stood at the peak of it, looking over the expanse of the forest as it stood silver and black in the moonlight. Cameron stood guarded, arms folded across his chest, eyes far away from where they were.
"I am sorry, Cameron. I never meant to insult you with my rash words."
"It's fine, Damien. You were speaking in the interests of those around you. I...admire that about you. If it means that much to you, we'll try harder to convince Benmont to come along. I think that you should do the talking this time."
Damien laughed heartily and patted him good naturedly on the back before turning to leave. Cameron followed only a minute later, taking in the sight from the cliff top one more time, marveling at how much he would like to have a drink at that particular moment.
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