Fan Fiction ❯ Burning Bridges ❯ Dreaming of a New Day... ( Chapter 7 )

Much of that day, as well as the next several, was spent under Sydney's watchful eye as he diligently taught Hardin about the strange new talent he'd received. Though Hardin was still skeptical as to the gods Sydney believed in, after a few more manifestations of his power, he certainly could not deny that the Dark existed, at the least. He could visualize a place in his mind and then view it as though he stood there in person, and he could find any of the brethren within the city simply by focusing his thoughts upon them and willing his spirit to look. Soon, under Sydney's instruction, he was able to view distant locations while remaining perfectly conscious of his physical body, able to respond to the questions Sydney asked of him without finding himself jolted back to normal perception.

If that were not reason enough to believe, Hardin was beginning to feel the force within him. At first it was faintly uncomfortable, a kind of phantom ache in his soul, but with practice it grew more familiar. Sydney told him that the powers the Dark had unleashed in him were strong, and even tested Hardin for signs of any other latent gifts, but found nothing else. He was exceptionally receptive to the mental rapport used in the mindspeak, Sydney discovered, but that was more a matter of his natural adaptability than anything else. Hardin was grateful for that, for that particular talent still disturbed him, as he was by nature a self-contained person.

Sydney was a stern teacher, pushing Hardin further and faster than he was entirely comfortable with. If he could not report back the precise details Sydney asked him about, he simply had to do it again, and if he again failed, Sydney would lecture him on the principles of the Dark. Not that Sydney was harsh towards him; the mage never raised his voice, and he always wore that shrewd, unfazable expression of his. It was not a lack of ability that prevented Hardin from achieving the tests Sydney set out before him, so he claimed - he was a remarkable judge of a person's limitations, and he knew Hardin could do the things he asked of him. The only reason he did not succeed every time was because he was still wary of the Dark, and his mind unconsciously reigned itself in too tight in fear. But the Dark was not to be feared, as it was only a natural force - though too much could be very dangerous.

Yet he pushed Hardin along quickly, asking him to scrye further and further each time, even to the outskirts of Leá Monde. When Hardin finally became frustrated enough to ask why he was being so persistent, Sydney calmly explained that because Hardin was not of the brethren, and might want to leave their number at some time, it would be best if he gained as much control as possible, as swiftly as possible. Sydney would not leave a half-trained seer to his own resources in a world that would not understand. And besides, he said, he was curious to see just what Hardin could do. The Dark could do many things aside from awakening a man's spiritual gifts, including control of the elements and summoning - but these were spells as opposed to an inborn talent, requiring rituals and incantations rather than a strong will. It was a pity, he stated, that Hardin was not one of their order, or else he'd have begun instructing him in them right away, since his gift was so strong.

Regardless of his praise and reassurance, Sydney remained oddly detached, and despite the irritation that the mage's earlier behavior towards him had caused, Hardin found himself missing the frank conversations they'd shared in the past, the sharp, merciless wit and sympathetic soul Sydney had shown him. Sydney had promised that he would do nothing that might be taken as an unwelcome advance, and he apparently meant to keep that promise to the most severe measure.

Fortunately, he kept Hardin busy enough that there was no time to dwell on it - at least not during the times they spent together in lessons, nor during the rest of the day, when Hardin assisted the brethren with their labors. Most often, he and Padric were assigned to leave Leá Monde for a short time to hunt game for the brethren's meals, and he enjoyed the task immensely. After the past several weeks, his strength was nearly what it had been before the prison, and it felt good to have his muscles moving again.

Padric was a fine companion for the hunt, due to his personable but quiet demeanor, and apparently he had at one time been a guard himself, much like Hardin. Only within a town militia, he said, but he was due to be commended to the king's men when he had chanced to hear Sydney speak. Padric had been one of several assigned to break up Müllenkamp's gathering if it were to become a mob situation, but after hearing Sydney's prophecies and teachings, he had left home and all he had to follow the man. He admitted that to an unbeliever it must sound foolish, but as difficult a life as it could be with Müllenkamp, he had no regrets. The gods had granted him much, not the least of which was the ability to read a man's heart. Before, he'd been self-absorbed, never giving much thought to his fellow man, but the Dark had opened his eyes.

In months past, Hardin would have simply been amused by such a childish expression of faith, but he had come to know Padric as a very cautious individual, not given to flights of fancy. If even he believed in the gods so strongly, then he had good reason to. Padric didn't offer anything that could be taken as substantial proof when Hardin asked, but asked what else he had seen during his time with Müllenkamp that could not be seen or explained through physical means. As his lessons with Sydney in the use of the talent the Dark had granted him were fresh in his mind, he simply nodded and did not ask more.

A few times, also, Hardin spoke with Kirrienne, wondering if there was anything to his idea that she might have been interested in him. Their conversations never went much beyond simple small talk, though at times she seemed to be hinting that she indeed was interested in something more. Since she said nothing certain, however, Hardin decided it was best not to pursue anything. She was the type of woman he would have been interested in back in the days when he had been in the PeaceGuard, for she was well-mannered and proper without being dull, and very sweet; but even if she had taken a liking to him, he doubted he could possibly give her any sort of happiness, as confused as he was about everything at the time - including where his true feelings lay.

Between hunting with Padric and the time spent in training with Sydney, it was only while Hardin lay dozing in his bed at night that the other matter he and Sydney had discussed forced its way into his consciousness. Much like the Dark, at first he found it distressing, and tried to banish the thoughts from his mind. The constant struggle grew tiresome, though, and finally he gave in and let himself examine those unlikely feelings he'd experienced. They had been genuine, he was certain of that, and when he let his mind wander where it would, he discovered that they had not gone away despite Sydney's recent emotional distance. It was not simply physical, either; upon closer examination, he had to admit that if a woman had possessed Sydney's quick wit and mystifying charm, he'd have found her irresistable.

So it seemed as though he had found himself attracted to a man, Hardin confessed to himself. Did it really make so big of a difference? As much as he tried to tell himself that it didn't, his soul shrank from the idea. The inner conflict often left him lying awake long into the night, wanting to laugh or cry - anything to dispel his confusion - until he would finally fall into an exhausted and uneasy sleep.

The weather grew warmer as the weeks dragged on, and finally Sydney told his followers it was time to move on again. They would be heading to the east, to a small village that sympathized with their cause. Duncan informed Hardin that there were a few such villages scattered around, which they spent much of the year at. Leá Monde was safer by far, but crops could not grow on the stony cliffs or even in the soil nearby, soaked with the ocean's salt water. If Müllenkamp was to eat, they had to acquire food elsewhere, and unless they were to work, there was not enough coin to keep everyone fed. It had not been a problem thus far, even if the templars' overzealousness seemed to be increasing with each passing year, making the brethren's travel more hazardous.

As for Hardin, Sydney spoke to him privately after informing his followers of his intentions, telling him that he'd learned all he needed to know. His control over his power was more than adequate to keep it in check, and so if he wished to part ways when they left the city, it would be safe to do so.

He excused himself without asking for an answer, and it was just as well, for Hardin had no idea what he intended to do. On the one hand, he still had no place else to go, and his life was good with the brethren, especially since Sydney had ceased to provoke him. The implications of his newfound ability also worried him, though he didn't like to admit it. If Sydney's teachings about the Dark were true, then it might mean that the other things he spoke of were true as well, even his faith in the gods... If Hardin were to leave, he knew not where else he might find the answers to his questions.

...And on the other hand, Sydney's presence in itself was enough to trouble him. It seemed illogical that this single reason should be enough to make his decision difficult, but he could not deny it. In a way, he thought it might have been better if Sydney had not changed his ways; as foolish as it was, Sydney's recent aloofness bothered Hardin as much as his former behavior, though for different reasons. He now wanted Sydney to speak to him, but he dared not approach the mage himself. If he were to speak to Sydney, he was afraid of what he might find himself thinking again. It would be much easier to let the distance between them remain.

That night, he lay awake for many hours, staring at the ceiling of the sleeping quarters in the keep and wondering what he should do. They would leave at midday tomorrow, and that didn't leave much time. Of course, he realized, he could leave at any time; it didn't have to be tomorrow. Perhaps it would be best to stay with them for the time being, for he could always change his mind and part ways with them later on. If he left them before he was certain and later changed his mind, it might be impossible to find them again.

Yes, that was the logical thing to do - wait until he was certain. Finally satisfied, Hardin drifted off to sleep, and into a dream.

He stood on the seaside cliffs outside Leá Monde, feeling the salt breeze and warm sunshine upon his face. Looking out across the land, he felt a thrill at how the hills and mountains and forests were laid out as far as the eye could see. The world was his to wander, now that he was free - all throughout Valendia, and even to the countries beyond. And when he looked at the ocean, with its crashing waves that stretched on forever to meet the sky, it was like staring into eternity.

Sydney knelt beside him, etching one of his magic circles into the ground with his claws - a normal part of this exercise through which he tested Hardin's abilities. "Focus upon me, Hardin," he instructed him. "Concentrate upon my rhythm, and follow me with your mind." With that, he stepped into the circle and vanished with a murmured spell.

Hardin had done this exercise many times now, and so he did as Sydney suggested. Unusual, though - this time he could not find Sydney's signature energy patterns no matter which way he directed his concentration. In the early days, it had been easier for him when he closed his eyes, and he did so again now, even knowing that Sydney would not be pleased with this step backwards. But strangely, he still could not feel Sydney anywhere.

He opened his eyes again, frowning with displeasure despite the calming scene around him. It had been five or six days since Sydney had managed to elude him thus, and since then, Hardin's power had grown enough that he could easily find him anywhere within Leá Monde, even within the deepest mine shaft or dungeon beneath the city. It was beyond him why he could not sense Sydney this time.

A faint presence flickered at the edge of his consciousness, and he grasped at it, quite pleased with himself. Sydney must have been masking himself somehow, he decided, and focused in on that presence. He was viewing Forcas Rise in the town centre, he discovered - but Sydney was nowhere in sight.

That was unusual; he must have misjudged where that presence had been, Hardin decided. Closing his eyes again, he concentrated once more, and opened them again to look upon the halls of the keep. Once again, Sydney was not present.

In fact, no one was present at all, and Hardin frowned. The sun was almost directly overhead, and at this time of day, the halls should have been filled with men and women going to or from their midday meal. Instead, the keep was silent and deserted. He even sent his astral self walking down the corridors to peer into the dining hall, but found it empty. In the room that served as the kitchen, the firepits were cold and dusty, just as they had been on the day he'd arrived and Padric had shown him around.

Beginning to feel uneasy, Hardin closed his eyes again, and when he opened them, he found himself in the blue light of the undercity. That was a place he had no desire to revisit, and since Sydney once again was nowhere to be seen, he gave up and willed himself to return to normal consciousness.

Nothing happened.

Suddenly Hardin was glad that Sydney was not there, as wary as he was. He'd reliably been able to remove himself from the trances for the last ten days at least, and it would have been highly embarrassing to admit that he was having trouble with such an elementary aspect of the power. Again he summoned his will to end the scrying, and again, there was no response.

Even though he was not technically present, Hardin fancied he could feel a faint wind blowing, whispering words of violence, and it was beginning to spook him. If he couldn't return to normal consciousness, he at least did not want to stay there, and he focused his thoughts upon the town centre again. Instead, he abruptly found himself looking upon the empty interior of Leá Monde's cathedral.

Anything was an improvement over the undercity, he decided, and paused to think. It was odd that he could not seem to view the places he meant to scrye upon, and odder still that he could not bring himself back to normal consciousness. Sydney would be able to help him, though, and so all he had to do was find Sydney. So far the mage had managed to elude him, but similar things had happened in the past. Sydney had told Hardin that all he needed to do if he encountered trouble was open his mind for the rapport, and now Hardin reluctantly did so.

Almost immediately, he heard a strange, muffled sound, as though someone were having trouble breathing. "...there no other way?" someone was asking in a voice that sounded like Sydney's, but somehow contorted and strange. "Please..." The voice broke off raggedly, and it was then that Hardin identified the sound as quiet sobbing. Sydney... crying?

"I don't want to see this," the broken voice murmured. "Please, no..."

The feeling of dread Hardin had felt grew stronger. Something was terribly wrong, and it wasn't confined to just his scrying. Though he loathed it, he called out in the mindspeak. Sydney?

There was a pause. Hardin?

What is it, Sydney? What's happened? I... I can't seem to-

Hardin! Sydney's voice was desperate, almost maddened. I need... please... you can stop this. I know you can! Please, Hardin - I can't bear it!

Without so much as a thought of the distance between them, or the troubles Hardin had been having with his abilities, he focused in on Sydney's rhythm and willed himself to view him, wherever he was and whatever ailed him. Instead, he found himself looking upon one of the chambers far below the city's streets - deep within the dungeon they had called the Iron Maiden. Again, Sydney was not present, though Hardin could still hear the faint sound of his crying in his mind. Sydney! Where are you?

He got no answer, and his feeling of dread began to change to terror. Whatever was happening, if Sydney was affected so much by it, Hardin knew he was helpless as well. He remained even more helpless if he was forced to remain trapped within his mind's roving eye, and so he closed his eyes, making one last desperate attempt to return to normal consciousness. He was relieved when this time he felt the strange rushing sensation that signalled he'd made it.

Strangely, there was no feel of warm sunshine, nor the smell of the ocean, and he opened his eyes to find himself in near darkness. At first he couldn't place where he was, but then his anxiety turned to sheer horror as he recognized his surroundings. The only light came from the weakly flickering flame of a torch on the other side of the iron bars set in the far wall, and all through the cold stone chamber rose the bitter cries and curses of the other prisoners, some driven mad by years of solitude.

"Gods, no!" Hardin tried to fight back his rising panic as well as he could; he couldn't be there again, not in truth! Only moments ago he'd been at Leá Monde! Closing his eyes again, he firmly willed himself to return to where his body truly stood, on the cliffs by the sea, but nothing happened. In desperation, he tried over and over again, and through it all, Sydney's quiet crying continued...

Hardin's eyes flew open, and his wide eyes took in the sight of the carven stone ceiling above his bed, staring blankly for a moment before he comprehended it. Just a dream, thank whatever gods might exist, he thought with a sigh of gratitude.

It wasn't long, however, before he realized that although the dream was fading fast, he was still anxious to make certain that Sydney was still there after all. Not being able to find the mage, despite his crying out for help, had shaken Hardin badly. It was childish, and he knew it, but he took a deep breath and concentrated on Sydney's room, and was relieved when the chamber was laid out before him just as he'd intended.

He was not expecting to see what he saw, however. Sydney was alone for once, and rather than sleeping, he paced the floor beside the hearth restlessly, the quilt from the bed gathered around his thin frame with one hand. The other clutched his head as if in anguish, and when Hardin dared to look closer, he saw that the mage's lips moved in silent, urgent speech. There were small bleeding cuts around his left eye and temple, and when his right hand lowered to furiously brush away a tear, Hardin saw similar marks, left by his own blade-like fingers.

This disturbed Hardin greatly, for he knew from experience that Sydney had enough control over his artificial hands that they could be as gentle as he wished them to be. For him to inadvertantly injure himself, his concentration must have been shattered beyond belief. Something had upset him badly, and it occurred to Hardin that perhaps the part of the dream where Sydney had cried out for help had not been a dream at all - perhaps he truly had dropped into a rapport with Sydney by accident.

Dropping out of the viewing - and rather annoyed with himself for a split second's panic over whether he would be able to do so or not - Hardin got out of bed, changing out of his nightclothes and into something more presentable as quietly as he could in the dark. In the next bed over, Padric stirred, but did not wake as Hardin slipped out of the chamber and into the hallway, making his way through the dark towards Sydney's room. Sydney was obviously upset, but after a few weeks of cool detachment, Hardin wasn't sure if Sydney would really have opened himself up enough to ask for assistance, or if what Hardin had seen when scrying had only been a coincidence, and he would be intruding by acting upon his dream. Either way, he would get his answer when he knocked at the door, and he did so.

There was a moment's hesitation before he heard footsteps behind the door, then a sliver of light spilled out into the dark hallway as the door opened. Sydney's face was calm and composed despite the tiny wounds as he saw who his visitor was, then he stepped away from the door. "You're late, Hardin," he said quietly.

Taking it as an invitation, Hardin pushed the door further open and entered. "Late?"

"Yes, late." His eyes downcast, Sydney resumed his pacing, clutching the quilt around himself tightly. After a moment he halted, his face suddenly tight with pain. "I was hoping that you might come and awaken me as you had said you wanted to do, weeks ago."

"Sydney..." After the past weeks, seeing him like this was a shock, and Hardin couldn't think of what to say. "I... I'm sorry, I was dreaming..."

"So was I, when I heard you calling me," Sydney muttered. "So was I..."

A tear began to slide down his cheek, and he angrily began to reach up to wipe it away. Hardin was as surprised as Sydney was when the mage's wrist was arrested by Hardin's strong grip. "You've already cut yourself," Hardin pointed out gently.

Tear-filled as they were, Sydney's eyes narrowed, burning with a sudden rage. "Do not touch me," he hissed, yanking his hand free.

Hardin took a step back, startled by Sydney's reaction. "Sydney, I'm sorry, but-"

"I bear no grudge against you for it," Sydney said flatly, resuming his pacing. His breath was shallow and quick, and Hardin wondered if he was ill. "I should have known better than to allow the rapport in the first place."

Not knowing what to say, Hardin stood silently and watched Sydney pace back and forth for a time before he attempted to speak again. "Do you wish to talk about it?"

"No."

It looked as though the curt reply was the only answer Sydney intended to give, and Hardin was at a loss. "Then I suppose you would prefer to be left alone."

"No. Ah, yes," Sydney corrected himself quickly.

Hardin was even more disturbed - Sydney had never misspoken in all the time since Hardin had met him. Even so, he nodded obediently and turned to leave. His hand was on the door's latch when Sydney's voice rose behind him in command. "No!"

Turning back to the mage in surprise, Hardin saw a frightening look in his eyes - a frenzied look of desperation that bordered on madness. Apparently realizing how he must appear, Sydney took a deep breath. "Hardin, please stay with me."

So that was what was wrong, Hardin noted as Sydney returned to pacing the floor - whatever he'd seen in this dream had upset him so badly that he was nearly in a blind panic, not unlike an animal caught in a trap. It pained Hardin to see him like this, but he had no idea what to do. "Sydney, you must calm down-"

"Calm down," Sydney muttered, not slowing his pace one bit. "A simple thing for you to say, Hardin. For you, who does not believe in the gods or prophets."

"My belief or disbelief has nothing to do with it. I only meant-"

"Oh, does it not?" Sydney asked harshly. "Even if you had seen the things I have seen, you could simply let them fade away as a dream should, and not think upon it again. But I believe, Hardin - and soon you will as well!"

His voice rose angrily as he spoke, and Hardin frowned. "Sydney, you're raving like a madman! Please, calm yourself before you make yourself ill. Sit down, take deep breaths, try to relax..."

Sydney managed a shaky, hollow laugh. "You sound like a child's nursemaid," he said bitterly, but after a moment's hesitation, he did seat himself upon the edge of the bed. "Still thinking to look after your brother, are you?"

"My brother has nothing to do with it either." Sitting down, the way Sydney's shoulders heaved with every quick, shallow breath he drew was even more apparent, and Hardin saw that his hands, clutching the blanket around himself, were trembling, artificial though they might be. He looked so young and fragile that Hardin could not even manage to be angered by his mocking; he knew it for what it was, a response born of anxiety. "What is this about, Sydney? You've had these types of dreams before, haven't you?"

"Yes, but it becomes no easier with time," he said, his eyes dark and haunted. "If anything, it..." He broke off the thought in mid-sentence, and shook his head stubbornly. "I cannot speak of it, nor do I want to."

"All right..." Hardin was at a loss. Sydney wanted him to stay, but if he would not talk about it, what reason was there to stay? "Is there anything I can do for you? Perhaps a drink to relax your nerves..." Observing Sydney's current state of mind again, he revised his suggestion. "Or perhaps a few."

Sydney shook his head again, laughing a little nervously to himself. "Thank you, Hardin, but it will be dawn soon, and we will be preparing to leave shortly after. It would not do for me to be in my cups then, and we have only a few..." His voice broke, and he bowed his head in anguish. "Only a few hours before we are to depart. Hardin, perhaps I should have a drink after all - just a small one..."

"I'll bring some wine," Hardin agreed, relieved that there was something - anything - he could do. "Will that be suitable?"

Sydney nodded, his head still lowered. "...Thank you, Hardin."

No one was in the kitchen so early, and so it took Hardin a bit of time to find the chest in which the spirits were stored, but eventually he returned to Sydney's room with a bottle of red wine and two cups; it seemed to him that it would be somewhat rude to have Sydney drink alone, and after the dream Hardin had had, he could use a drink himself.

Sydney's emotional state had not improved, Hardin found when he returned, for Sydney was pacing restlessly again, and looked up sharply at the sound of the door opening. "Ah, good," he said quickly, between the shallow gasps of breath he took. "Hardin, thank you..."

Hardin paused to look at him as he set the two cups on the table. It was very uncharacteristic for Sydney to be overly grateful, and he even looked as if he were on the verge of tears. "Think nothing of it. Doesn't everyone need a friend now and then?"

"Perhaps you're right," he murmured breathlessly, pulling the blanket he'd wrapped himself in tighter around his shoulders as he shivered.

Hardin handed the first cup he poured to Sydney, who sipped at it cautiously while he poured his own. After he'd pulled the small table and chair over beside the bed, where Sydney had seated himself again, Hardin sat in silence, sipping at his own wine and keeping a watchful eye on the mage. It was odd, but somehow he felt protective of Sydney, and he was relieved to see the frenzied gleam in his eye fade as the minutes passed, even if his breath still came a bit too fast. Rather than mad, Sydney merely looked fearful and miserable, and though it wasn't a pleasant sight, it was easier to deal with. "Feeling better, are you?" Hardin asked him.

Sydney nodded slightly. "Yes, somewhat."

"That's good."

They lapsed back into silence as they drank, Hardin watching Sydney with pity. He looked weary and filled with dread, as though he were being hunted, and Hardin had to wonder what sort of gods Sydney worshipped. He wouldn't want to believe in any gods who would do this to a man.

Sydney shifted restlessly. "Hardin?"

"Yes?"

"Talk to me," he said softly. "About anything at all, except this."

A strange request, but Hardin supposed he understood. Sydney was picking up his worry about the matter, and so he was unable to put it out of his mind. "All right. Well then..." He paused for a moment, trying to think of something neutral and perhaps even uplifting to say, but nothing particularly interesting came to mind. "I've decided to stay on with Müllenkamp for the time being," he said finally. "You know my faith is weak, but after the past weeks, it is no longer entirely non-existant." Sydney rewarded his words with a small smile, though he did not so much as look up at Hardin. "Perhaps if I stay, I can make some sense out of everything... so much has gone wrong in my life, and the weeks I've spent with you and the brethren have been a time of peace. I know not where else I might find that peace, if I were to depart."

Sydney still did not respond, but his head hung a little lower as if the words upset him, though Hardin could not think why. "...The brethren have been good to me," he continued. "Padric and Duncan have been the first honest friends I can recall having since childhood. Gods!" Hardin let himself laugh lightly. "And to think we nearly killed each other when we first met! Who'd have thought we would become brothers in arms, let alone friends? And you, Sydney - I owe you a great debt, despite the differences we have had. I... suppose I must apologize for the accusations I made against you as well," he said, more seriously. "I was speaking out of fear, in my own blindness... but then, you know that. If nothing else, I can offer you my sword-arm for a time as recompense, for it seems as though you could use another, if the cardinal's men-"

His words stopped abruptly when he saw Sydney's shoulders begin to shake, and his left hand reach up to cover his face in anguish. "Sydney...?" Hardin said carefully. "What is it?" He got no response, and on a sudden impulse, rose from the chair to kneel before Sydney, looking up at him.

The mage's face was tight with agony, and Hardin couldn't stop himself from reaching out to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder as he had done to Hardin in the past. Sydney's reaction, however, was markedly different than Hardin's had been; he jerked away as if it had stung him. "Don't touch me, Hardin," he said bitterly, placing his cup upon the table and pulling the blanket tighter around himself. "I cannot bear it now... and besides, your own kindness betrays you. Do not let concern for me cause you to do anything you will regret."

Hardin hesitated, at first uncertain of what Sydney meant. When it finally dawned on him, he shook his head firmly. "I may still be unsure of... of what I feel... but it doesn't matter," he told Sydney. "What I am certain of now is that something has hurt you deeply."

"It is not as if I am unfamiliar with pain," Sydney muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

Pausing to examine his motivations, Hardin found that there was indeed that troubling spark of desire within him, but he firmly forced that train of thought out of his mind. Besides the fact that it disturbed him, that urge was only a small thing beside the more imperative urge to simply do something to comfort Sydney. Clutching the blanket in trembling hands, his arms wrapped tightly around himself as if to hold himself together, he looked so small and forlorn that it made Hardin's heart ache.

"Go on back to your bed, Hardin," Sydney told him softly. "It is nearly dawn, and the brethren will wake soon..."

Again his voice broke, and he squeezed his eyes shut in pain. Hardin could bear it no longer, and ignoring his misgivings, rose to sit on the bed beside Sydney, placing his arms around the mage's thin shoulders to take him into a close embrace.

Almost immediately upon touching Sydney, however, a jolt of energy shot through him, strong enough to throw him backwards against the wall by the hearth. "I told you not to touch me!" Sydney shouted at him, rising to his feet in a rage.

Hardin's breath had been knocked out of him by the impact, and he stared up at Sydney in shock. The mage's eyes were alight with that half-mad look that he had seen in them earlier, and he trembled violently. "Forgive me, Sydney," Hardin said breathlessly, still uncertain of what had been so bad about what he'd done. Regardless, the wild fury in Sydney's eyes was nearly enough to kill a man with a look, and Hardin did not want to provoke him to do more than look.

With visible effort, Sydney struggled to regain control of himself. After a moment, he turned away. "Hardin, go back to bed," he whispered. "Tomorrow will be busy."

"Yes," Hardin agreed, still trying to catch his breath. "Of course." Once his head had stopped spinning, he got to his feet and turned to go, glancing back at Sydney over his shoulder. The mage's back was to him, the intricate tattoo partially exposed where Sydney had absently let the blanket fall away, and the way his shoulders moved told Hardin that he was having great difficulty trying to breathe evenly.

Well, if Sydney wanted him to leave, then he would, Hardin thought with sudden bitterness. All he'd wanted to do was help, but apparently whatever might help Sydney was beyond his understanding.

Only a few of the brethren had awakened yet by the time Hardin returned to their chamber - the handful of men and women whose task it was to start the cookfires for breakfast had already arisen and gone to the kitchens - but the faint lightening of the sky to the east, visible through one of the windows set high in the walls, told him the rest would awaken soon. It would be no use to lie down again at this point, and so Hardin joined the others in the kitchen, where he could aid them in getting a head start on loading supplies onto the cart.

His mind kept straying back to Sydney as he worked, until finally he took a moment to stop and view Sydney's room, just to see if he was all right. The fire in the hearth had been extinguished, he found, and the bed was made, but Sydney was no longer there. Curious, Hardin focused on Sydney's distinctive rhythms, and let his spiritual sight find him.

Now fully dressed in the black leather attire he usually wore, Sydney stood atop the tallest building in Leá Monde, the central dome of the great cathedral. One metal hand, gleaming in the first rays of sunlight, gripped the center of the gigantic rood that topped the ornate building as the strong ocean gales whipped his hair about his face. His expression seemed cold and composed as he gazed off to the east, but when Hardin caught a glimpse of the mage's eyes, he found them haunted still. Alone with the knowledge of the gods, Sydney stared into the sunrise with a look of dread.