Fan Fiction ❯ Burning Bridges ❯ The Moment is at Hand ( Chapter 15 )

The brethren moved swiftly through the forests, as Hardin had decided to forego silence in favor of speed. Those guarding the rear still carried leafy branches in one hand, swishing them back and forth across the ground to quickly disguise their tracks to casual observers, at least, but by now their number was great enough that anyone close enough to hear their movements was likely to have seen them as well - after all, they did not have the proper garb for hiding in the forest. Hardin had decided he'd have to mention that to Sydney some time ago; if there was enough money after buying food, they might want to invest in something a bit safer to wear while hiding from the knights.

For it seemed unlikely that the Blades were going to give up anytime soon, Hardin thought in frustration as they angled north to avoid the third party of knights that he, Henna, and Branla had discovered in their vicinity by midday. Had they still been hunting six at a time, he'd have simply ordered the brethren onward to meet them in battle, but the knights now travelled in parties of ten, or sometimes twelve. As there were some with him that could not defend themselves in a melee, Hardin did not want to risk it - especially when they had set out hours before dawn, and some were already weary.

The important thing was to reach Sydney. It might not have been an answer to all their problems, and he knew it, but he had faith in Sydney. Sydney had the knowledge and the power to make a better decision on their next move than he could alone.

Hardin did not have much time to scrye Sydney, as most of his time was spent scrying the nearby forest, to find the quickest paths around the knights that came close enough for Henna to sense. When they stopped for a few moments to distribute the midday meal - bread and dried meat that they ate while they walked - he did pause to look, however. To his relief, the Sight showed him that Sydney was moving as well, and towards them. He was a great deal closer than he had been, but seemed still to be some ways off, for the vision came very slowly. Hardin did not have time to see more than a grim expression and the dim shapes of more people travelling in Sydney's wake. More of the brethren, he hoped, and preferably all those that were not with him.

They had just stopped for a moment to rest, a few hours later, when Branla approached with a raven on one arm. Ordinarily he'd have marvelled at the sight of the wild bird so calmly perched on the young woman's arm, as if it were nothing more than a common branch, but Branla's expression was serious. "There is a commotion off to the west," she told him. "My little friend tells me that they seem to be following near the same path we took not long ago, but he can't make out who they are from above the treetops." Beneath the weariness and the urgency, there was a hopeful look on her face as well. "Could it be Sydney and the others?"

Before even considering an answer, Hardin retraced their steps with the Sight to find the commotion that the raven had seen, covering ground quicker than any scout. It confirmed his suspicions; a large group of knights - a dozen, by his quick headcount - and they were eyeing the ground as they walked. Most of them weren't sure they were seeing rubbed-out footprints, from the way they talked among themselves, but one insisted that he could tell. This didn't particularly surprise Hardin, for among the knights there were bound to be a few skillful trackers. "Unfortunately, no."

Branla sighed slightly. "I thought as much."

Those nearby had already heard the exchange, and were watching him anxiously. They truly were all depending on him to make the right decisions - as if he was a commanding officer in one of the military operations he had left far behind - and Hardin had no choice but to rise to the occasion. He cleared his throat to get the attention of those not in his immediate vicinity, and spoke up. "There are knights behind us, and if they haven't already picked up our trail, they are on the verge of doing so. We can spend no longer here - take up what you carry and move out. There is no need to hide our tracks any longer, if they've followed us regardless, so hurry on as quickly as you can manage; we should reach Sydney soon."

From the looks on some of the brethren's faces, it was obvious that they regretted not being able to rest, but fear was enough to keep them moving onward. Again, Hardin thought firmly, if they could just reach Sydney before they were forced into a corner by the knights, then this would be over.

It was not much later that he stopped short, causing those around him to halt as well, when he by habit scouted ahead with the Sight and found another ten knights slightly to the southeast. These weren't heading straight towards them, but they were crossing back and forth - one had a leashed pair of hounds, sniffing along the ground for a scent. Again, this was something Hardin had anticipated, but not so quickly, and certainly not so soon after another scouting party had discovered their trail. The hounds had not found anything yet, Hardin noted, but their current path would take them across their trail soon enough.

They probably would not be able to tell right away which direction the brethren had been headed. "This way," he decided, gesturing to the northwest, and the brethren obeyed without questioning. It would take them longer to reach Sydney, which didn't please him at all, but the near doubling-back would buy a little more time, and might confuse the hounds for a short time as well.

By the time the knights caught up, Hardin thought as they continued onwards for a time before turning northward, they may well have reached Sydney and those with him. Another look with the Sight came much quicker than the last, which meant Sydney was much closer. Circling around to the north would definitely be the safest option, he decided - so long as he was not underestimating how far away Sydney was.

And then there was the matter of making sure they could reach him at all. Hardin had only slept a few hours the night before, as he'd been keeping the second watch, and those who had reached them just the day before had not slept enough before they'd set out again. Some were not used to the fast pace they kept, and were panting heavily after keeping it up all day. Henna looked as if she might collapse at any time, if it were not for Burchard's arm around her waist, urging her onward, and Kirrienne was not much better. There would be time enough for rest once this was through, Hardin told himself firmly, trying to put the worry out of his mind.

He was about to turn their path eastward again, when Henna's sharp cry roused him from his thinking. "Hardin!" Before she even explained the exclamation, Hardin had already turned his talent to scrying the surrounding area. Another party of knights with hounds just to the northwest, heading east. If the brethren continued on, they would cross paths; if they remained where they were or backtracked, one or both of the other parties would be sure to catch up.

Hardin swore bitterly, and again scryed those that had been approaching from the west. Just as he'd feared, they all agreed upon following the trail by now, and there was no way he could think of to make them lose it again, unless there happened to be a stream nearby he could use to backtrack. He had Branla ask whatever woodland creatures happened to be near, but she shook her head - there were no substantial bodies of water nearby.

Thinking quickly, Hardin made his decision - as those knights to the west knew that they were nearby, and those to the east and north did not, there would have to be a confrontation with at least that group at some point. "Ready your weapons and your magic - we're going to turn back and break straight through the party that's been trailing us." From there, he thought, perhaps they could make their way southward again, then eventually circle around and continue eastward as they had been, so long as they did not stumble upon any more knights. Hardin was beginning to lose hope that they would ever be so lucky, but he decided that he would determine what to do about that if and when it happened. So many unlucky circumstances had appeared already that it seemed as if any plans he might devise in advance would simply have to be discarded anyhow. At least with this plan, they would not have to fight twice their number at once, if all went well.

Still cautious after days of being chased, most of the brethren moved with admirable quiet, and Hardin kept an eye on the party of knights as they drew nearer. They were concentrating on the footprints, talking among themselves, and judging quite accurately how long ago the brethren had passed. They had no idea, Hardin thought with grim satisfaction.

The timing was perfect, and the brethren echoed his shout as they broke through the bushes into the relative clear between two thickets, facing the knights who had just emerged opposite them. Those who carried weapons alone gave raised their voices in battle cries, while those few who used magic filled the air with chants and the rushing sound of the elements bending to their commands. Arms were outstretched, directing the energies, and bolts shot from the cloudless sky to strike down a handful of the surprised knights.

Those remaining saw the danger in remaining at a distance, and sought to quickly close it before the mages were prepared for another attack, but Hardin and the other fighters were ready and waiting for the approach. Crossbow bolts were loosed, dropping a few more opponents before they met the charge with a charge of their own, backed up by the healing spells of the mages behind them. Almost before Hardin even felt the pain in his thigh from a knight's blade, he heard Kirrienne's voice calling upon the Light, healing his wound. He had no time to even nod a thank you, for the knight before him required his attention. Taken by surprise and already wounded by a crossbow bolt in the shoulder, the knight Hardin faced fell without much difficulty, and he turned to help Burchard with another.

The sounds of battle died away quickly, and for a moment, Hardin thought that perhaps he should use precisely the same tactic to confront the other scouting party on his own terms. One look around put that idea to rest - the brethren were exhausted. Bloodstained and breathless, some leaned wearily against the trunk of a tree here or there as Hardin took a quick head count to make sure they were all still there. The fighters were present, and without any significant damage, he saw with satisfaction. Those who were neither fighters nor mages were still all gathered behind those who could use offensive magic...

Hardin's blood ran cold as he realized they were one head short - one blonde head short. "Kirrienne!" He should have thought of something else, Hardin thought, furious with himself. Something that was not so dangerous...

"She's all right," Branla called, and Hardin turned back towards her to see what he had missed a moment before - Branla had been leaning over Kirrienne, who lay clutching her leg. "She will be, anyhow," she corrected herself.

Everyone was looking at him, awaiting his word of what to do next, and Hardin held up a hand, motioning for them to wait and rest for a moment while he went to see what had happened. A crossbow bolt still jutted from her thigh, Hardin found, but she was not bleeding too badly, and she smiled faintly through a grimace of pain. "I wasn't paying attention to the enemy... I was looking at our men, to see if anyone needed healing..."

"I see one person readily enough," Branla commented dryly. "I'm afraid my spells have run dry from the battle - yours as well?" Kirrienne nodded.

"Mine also," Landrik added tiredly as he approached. "I'm sorry..."

"I do have my herbs," Kirrienne murmured, wincing as she drew a bloodstained hand away from her wound to go to the sack at her waist. "They won't completely heal me, but they should stop the bleeding, given some time."

"Which we don't have." Hardin's words were not a rebuke, but a reluctant acknowledgement. "Kirri, go ahead and use your herbs now, and I'll remove this. Branla, you have your raven take another look around, if he's still nearby. Landrik, tell the others to clean their weapons and prepare to move on."

They did as he asked, and Kirrienne began to breathe a little easier as she lay back against Hardin's arm, biting her lip to avoid crying out as he carefully pulled the bolt from her leg. Blood flowed freely for a moment, seeping through her dress, but slowed quickly as the medicinal herbs began their work. "I... may not be able to walk right away," she said faintly. "You and I both know that with the knights on our trail, we can't afford to wait." The look she gave him was serious. "But that's... that's fine. So just go on and get the others to safety." She gave him a slight, shaky laugh. "The gods will protect me, perhaps... or if it is my time to go to them, I will be sure to give Padric your regards."

Hardin shook his head. "An honorable offer, but not one I intend to take you up upon today." Glancing around, he saw that the others were ready to go. "I did tell Sydney I would keep you safe until his return, after all."

"No you didn't. He ordered you to keep us safe, and you sputtered." Her laugh came a bit easier now, as the pain began to subside.

"Regardless, no one will be left behind." Hardin was firm on this. When he'd not seen her immediately during his earlier headcount, there had been a moment of terror he'd never felt during or after a battle as one of the king's men; even while counting, he'd been far more anxious than a veteran such as himself should have been. He'd had men under his command before. But these were not soldiers - they were innocent men and women being hunted under the excuse of a lie, their lives sought by those who supposedly upheld the law. They had not agreed to live their lives in such a way that it might end at any moment.

More than that, they were the brethren. His brethren now, for he knew that after all of this, he could not leave them. They needed him, if for nothing more than another worthy swordsman and an experienced strategist. But just as much, he could hardly remember a life that had not been about protection; he needed them as well. It was his family scattered about the clearing now, weary and worn - brothers and sisters that he would have mourned, any one. He wished Padric were at his side - it had not been long since his death, but to Hardin it seemed almost years already - and that he knew whether or not Duncan and Kermiak were safe.

And Sydney... Sydney went so far beyond something as simple as family or duty that it frightened him. Cold and unfazable to the observer, and sometimes even downright heartless, Sydney was much more than he appeared, and all that Hardin had seen thus far proved it. Even thinking about it now, while he prayed that Sydney would hurry to arrive and assure them of safety, thinking of Sydney made him feel anxious and protective - as if it was Sydney who needed him rather than the other way around. He reached out again with his talent, drawn by both his desperation and his worry, and found Sydney moving closer still. The intensity of the mage's eyes and the purpose in his step made him appear to be stalking his prey, and Hardin breathed a sigh of relief. Soon.

For the time being, it was the brethren who needed him, and another look with the Sight told him that the first of the parties with the hounds had picked up their trail. After giving the order to move out southward, as he'd planned, he knelt and slipped his arms beneath Kirrienne. She gave a faint moan as he lifted her to his shoulder, and he turned his head to look at her with concern as he straightened. "I'm sorry..." she murmured.

"Hmm?" Hardin was puzzled, but didn't have time to pause as he followed after the others, trying not to jostle her too much. "What do you have to feel sorry for?"

"For... for slowing you down, being a burden like this," she whispered faintly. Looking into his eyes through the tears in her own, she gave him a smile. "If you give me my crossbow, I can fire it over your shoulder if our pursuers catch up..."

Hardin felt a wave of regret wash over him; she truly would have been exactly the type of woman he could have happily spent the rest of his life with, if he had not met Sydney. "No, Kirri... I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't be... these things do happen, after all, and you protected me the best you could..."

"Not for the wound," Hardin told her. "Though I do wish I could have avoided it."

She looked at him curiously. "...I don't understand..."

He turned his attention back to the land ahead of him, watching for uneven ground that might cause him to stumble and drop her if he was not careful. "Someday you will." Someday, but not now, when you're wounded and in pain... If nothing else, for now you can rest on my shoulder, happy that I am carrying you to safety. ...Or so I hope and pray.

Even with the addition of Kirrienne's weight upon his shoulder, Hardin caught up to the rest of the brethren in no time at all. Rather than being relieved, he found this somewhat discouraging, and he anxiously scryed the newest party of knights who had found their trail. They were gaining ground easily, but at least Branla's raven reported no one ahead of them - unless someone lay quietly in an ambush. It was not very likely, considering that even Hardin himself did not know which way he might be directing them from one moment to the next, but he was unwilling to take chances, and asked Henna to go to the front of their party, concentrating her talent ahead of them to give them any warning. She was not meant to be in the front lines, not at all, but seeing as the more obvious danger was approaching from the rear, it seemed that the front lines might be the safest place to be anyhow.

They pressed onward as quickly as they could, finding no danger ahead, while Hardin paid close attention to the space left between him and the knights, which was dwindling constantly. Stretching his Sight behind him, he heard the knights talking and laughing amongst themselves, cursing the "depraved heretics" they chased, and he saw the light gleam off the sharp, white teeth of the hounds as they snarled and strained against their leashes, eager to fall upon those they hunted.

About to urge the brethren to pick up their pace, Hardin cut the thought off before it could be voiced. It was obvious they could go no faster, not as weary as they were, and instead he instructed them to halt, to sit down and rest. Perhaps, he thought, even a few minutes of rest would give them the strength they needed to fight or flee when they were in more imminent danger. Besides, a moment's scrying found Sydney crossing the clearing where they had confronted the last group of knights; he glanced over the fallen knights, armor blackened or bloodied, and continued onward. There was a moment's alarm when Hardin realized that the knights were now between his party and Sydney, but Sydney was close on the heels of the knights and their hounds, so it might be that he would overtake them before Hardin and his party were forced to take action. Besides, his face was calm and determined, and Hardin found that comforting.

Letting the Sight slip away from him, Hardin paused to look around at the state those with him were in. A short rest had made barely a dent in their exhaustion, he found with dismay, so it very well might be that Sydney's proximity to the knights would be what saved them in the end. It was likely their only hope of survival.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Hardin closed his eyes to rest them for just a moment, leaning his head back against the trunk of the tree he sat beneath. He was so tense that he had to fight not to open his eyes in alarm as the breeze gusted through the underbrush in a manner that brought to mind the sound of the knights and the hounds passing through the same not far behind him. He imagined he could still hear it in the wind, their hurry and their conversation, and the sounds of the dogs barking...

He froze, even holding his breath to make certain he had not imagined it. Next to him, Kirrienne heard the pause of his breathing and turned her head to regard him with worry. "Hardin?" she asked softly.

"On your feet," he ordered the brethren, his voice harsh with urgency as he rose, one hand on his sword. After the initial rustling of fabric and flora that accompanied their obedience, he listened in the near-silence again, and heard the same - he could hear the hounds' braying with his own ears now, without the aid of the Dark.

"They're close," he muttered to those around him, letting the Dark give him a glimpse of Sydney as he spoke. The vision was instantaneous and clear. "Sydney is close as well. Our only chance is to evade the knights until Sydney can join with us - or until he can overtake them on his own. Make ready to flee... and to take as many of them down as we can should we fail to do so."

The faces of the brethren were tight, worried; even the more experienced fighters among them looked grim as they loosed their weapons in their sheaths. Even the mention of Sydney had granted only a glimmer of hope, and they looked to their unexpected captain for their final orders. Even Kirrienne, still unable to stand without the help of a tree to lean upon, held her head up high and silently waited.

Hardin could not stand to see his companions so anxious, and he sought something more to say, something more comforting. "...This should be the last, for the time being," he said finally, "for good or ill. We shall live or die - and if we live, we can rest." To his surprise, his fond smile was not entirely forced as he turned his eyes to each of their faces in turn. "Pray to your gods for a miracle - and live."

There were a few nods and murmurs of agreement from those around him, but that slight noise was not enough to drown out the unmistakable sound of barking in the distance. Turning to Kirrienne, Hardin lifted her to his shoulder again with one arm, drawing his sword with the other. "Go now," he told them all quietly, and followed as they did so.

Their pace was still not quick, but it at least gave Sydney a bit longer, Hardin thought. Regardless, with each passing moment, the barking of the hounds tracking them grew louder, and it was not long until there was a triumphant shout. They'd been spotted - the knights were within visual range now. Magic was useless, however, as the trees were too thick to give them a clear shot; the same ruled out bows. It would be hand to hand combat, doubtless - and though the brethren outnumbered the knights slightly, only half could fight with weapons at all.

Given his options, Hardin made the only choice he had. "Run!" he shouted, and the brethren obeyed as well as they could, given their weariness. Some were not fast even on a good day - trying to pick their way through the thick forest did not help - and Hardin kept his pace slow as well, making certain that all of them stayed ahead of him, so that he could keep an eye on them. If one should fall...

He was in danger of falling as well, for weaving in and out of the trees at a jog would have been difficult enough without allowing for Kirrienne's weight over one shoulder and watching for any branches that might strike her, slashing them from his path with the sword he carried. "I don't suppose you can walk," he asked, knowing that it was probably futile to ask.

"Walk, perhaps, but not run. I'm sorry-"

"It's all right." It had to be all right. Sydney had been so close the last time he scryed that he would certainly catch up any moment now. He moved much more quickly than Hardin did, after all, and then he would summon, or... do something that would save them. So where was he, Hardin wondered desperately - he should have caught up already, by his estimation. A chill went up his spine as something occurred to him. Surely the knights couldn't have...

He shook his head firmly. He had no time to scrye, with his attention on keeping himself and the others moving, but Sydney would come - with every footstep he forced himself to believe it. He had to have faith, in Sydney and the gods he served. Not knowing what else to do, Hardin offered them prayers born of desperation. Marduk, god of the Air, make our feet swift as the wind; Tamulis, lord of the Fire, light a flame within us and give us energy; Palolo, Earth Mother, strengthen us to stand firm as a stone wall against our foes; Talia, goddess of Water, may misfortune cover our enemies as a great wave crashing down upon the rocks; Kadesh, guardian of love and Light... Hardin's prayers faltered, and in his heart, there was only one request to be made. Please, bring him to us - to me - quickly and safely!

No answer seemed to be forthcoming, for all he heard was the sound of his own heavy breathing echoing in his own ears, brush crackling beneath his feet, and the sounds of the dogs coming ever closer. Even if they managed to keep up their present pace, it would not be long before he and Kirrienne were overtaken, and then the others would fall one by one as the knights caught up to them also.

"Run, damn it!" he shouted to the brethren again, his desperation causing him to sound almost furious. It was their only chance. If nothing else, Hardin thought, perhaps he could slow the knights down a bit, give them a bit more time... of course, it would mean sacrificing Kirrienne as well as himself, and so it would have to be a last resort.

It seemed more likely with each passing moment, however, for now he could hear not just the shouts and barking from behind him, but the movement of the knights through the underbrush as well. He dared not waste a second to look back, but he thought he could hear the creak of the knights' armor, the panting of the dogs. He had no choice; he had to make his stand now, or they would all be lost.

He lowered Kirrienne to the ground; he could not take the time to steady her as she almost stumbled, her weakened leg still uncertain. "Go," he breathed. "As fast as you can manage." Without waiting for any protests or goodbyes, Hardin turned back, raising his sword to meet three knights and the two hounds. Now loosed from their leashes, they had been almost on his heels, and they rushed in for the kill.

He was just in time to see what he'd thought were two fallen logs suddenly tilt upwards, as if drawn by a puppeteer's strings, just behind the three who had pulled ahead of the others. The ground shuddered from the impact as a shorter, thicker trunk rose and fell with a tremendous thud, landing squarely atop the splintered ends of the two that now stood upright.

The hounds' barking turned to yelps as they abandoned the hunt and fled. The knights didn't seem to have any idea what was happening, and the three facing him turned away to see what the great crash had been. Hardin ordinarily would have taken advantage of the moment to strike down at least one of them before they recovered, but he too was shocked to the point of inaction. Staring up in amazement, he watched two thick stumps rise into the air as well, hovering on either side of the inexplicably animated logs and giving them an appearance not unlike a child's crude marionette - arms, legs, and gnarled torso. The creature turned, swiftly for something so massive, and one limb swung downwards, sweeping across the forest floor where the knights stood and knocking them off their feet. The other lifted and then smashed down on top of one of the knights, as if it were a giant fist, then repeated the motion upon another before anyone had a chance to react.

Knowing that they were badly outmatched no matter what had caused this, the knights tried to scramble to their feet and run, but their escape was cut off by one mighty arm. The other swung in a powerful swipe that sent one knight flying into the side of a nearby tree, and he slid to the ground limply, his head bent at an impossible angle.

Still unable to comprehend what was happening, Hardin simply backed away and watched with a mixture of awe and horror as the wooden creature methodically crushed one knight after another without any apparent effort whatsoever. As a knotted limb lurched past his field of vision, crashing down once more, something behind it caught Hardin's eye, and he looked closer, to a dark figure standing in the midst of the trees beyond.

He sagged back against the closest tree in exhausted relief as he caught sight of a wisp of blond hair as it was dragged from the shadows of the cloak by an errant breeze, the glitter of dark, colorless eyes beneath the hood, and then the long, angled gleam of metal where a normal man's hands would have been as the arms rose to throw it back, revealing a small, satisfied smile. "...Thank you," Hardin whispered gratefully.

A few minutes later found Hardin almost numb after the vanquishing of his fear, and he watched in silence as Sydney sent out those who had followed him to bring back those who had been a part of Hardin's party. Duncan was among those who had come with Sydney, much to Hardin's relief, but he hadn't had time to make certain that everyone was accounted for before they split up again. He'd thought for a moment to warn Sydney of all the knights searching the area, but abandoned the thought almost immediately; Sydney undoubtedly knew the danger at least as well as he did. For the time being, they must be safe.

The wooden golem still loomed nearby, making Hardin vaguely uneasy, but with little more than a glance and a gesture from Sydney, the trunks and limbs slowly disassembled themselves and dropped to the forest floor. His back to Hardin, Sydney nodded slightly as the enchantment dispersed and the fallen trees became nothing more than fallen trees once again, and then the enchanter turned around.

Hardin had seen Sydney, of course, since they'd parted ways, but now that they were face to face and alone, it was a bit different. To have those dark eyes fixed on him again gave Hardin a feeling of relief over many things, and after everything that had happened in the past few days, it was difficult to stifle the urge to cross the short distance between them, to offer a warm, grateful greeting. Instead, feeling oddly awkward, he said nothing as he straightened to face the mage, waiting for him to speak first.

"I'm glad to see that you and the others are well."

Not a flicker of emotion crossed Sydney's face, and he met Hardin's eyes with no warmth, no guilt, and no sign whatsoever that he had any idea how worried Hardin had been. This was not at all the meeting Hardin had expected, and he remained silent, dismayed at Sydney's lack of reaction to what had happened.

"I must admit, you performed far beyond what I expected of you," Sydney continued. "To not only protect those entrusted to you, but to empower them - to gather whomever you could find and mold their motley talents into a fighting company..." A faint, cold smile touched the mage's lips. "I knew you would not disappoint me."

"Of course not," Hardin said sharply, memories of their last conversation returning easily when confronted with the same coldness Sydney had shown before. "And that, of course, was why you simply gave me what seemed like a near impossible order - we came damned near to dying a few times, mind you - and then left without any explanation or assurance. Because you knew I would simply do as I was told, regardless of how I felt about the matter, since you deigned to bestow a kiss upon me, to seal my obedience. As if I were some lovestruck youth to be prodded along with promises of more!" he exclaimed bitterly, his patience snapping easily after days of fleeing, hiding, and fighting on little sleep.

Sydney offered no apology or explanation, nor even a look of remorse, in the face of Hardin's anger. Crossing his arms, he let one gleaming finger tap against the metal of his forearm as he stood waiting, the very personification of impatience.

It did nothing to improve Hardin's mood. "Do you know why I protected them, Sydney? Do you? It was not for you - it was for Kirri and Branla. If I had not known that they would likely die without my protection, I'd have left to flee the king's men and the Blades alone. I was doing a fine job of it until I met you, after all, and now that I've recovered, certainly I could do it again with ease. I wouldn't have given a damn if I had disappointed you - I did what you asked of me because they needed me, not because of your orders."

Sydney listened in cool silence until Hardin had vented his rage. "If that is how you feel," he said at last, "you are free to leave us anytime you like. You've done what I asked of you, after all."

Hardin stared at him, stunned. "By the gods," he managed to sputter through his anger and disbelief, "you're the most black-hearted... after all that I - that we..."

"I am black-hearted because I offer you your freedom?"

The mage was still perfectly calm and composed, and Hardin had to take a few deep breaths before he could respond, lest he say or do something that he would regret. Although, he admitted to himself, the way things were going, it didn't seem that there was anything he could say or do that he didn't have a very good chance of regretting. The best he could do, it seemed, would be simple honesty. "...This hurts, Sydney."

"And why is that?"

"You know I don't want to leave you," he replied evenly. "You said yourself not long ago that you thought you might have need of me, and I believe you were right. And besides-"

"We have other swordsmen," Sydney interrupted. It was odd, but Hardin thought he saw a touch of anxiety in his eyes. "Though you are skilled, you are not indispensible. We can find others to take up with us, I'm sure."

"I didn't mean Müllenkamp," Hardin told him firmly, meeting his eyes. Yes, he definitely looked troubled, and that made him all the more certain of what he was about to say. "I meant you."

Sydney sniffed. "Hardin, you're talking nonsense."

"Am I? I've seen the parts of you that you allow no one else to see. I've forgiven your indiscretions, I've borne witness to your unhappiness, I've held you during your weakness..." Thinking about it, Hardin found that much to his annoyance, he could not even remain entirely angry at Sydney - he knew perhaps better than anyone how complicated the mage was, how he was so many things all at once, and it fascinated him as much as it frustrated him. "...This isn't you."

Honesty, he had decided, and honesty it would be, as much as the words he wanted so badly to say frightened him. "You told me that every man has needs," he said hesitantly, uncertain of how he could say it. "As much as you drive me mad, I know it's... it's only because you hide yourself away, you hide your needs, you pretend you feel nothing at all... Gods, if only you would just stop forcing me to guess at what you want from me, because... because Sydney, I want to... to continue to be the one to meet the needs you hide away, just as you have met mine. It's foolish of me, I know... and at the moment I despise myself for it," he growled as a bitter aside, "but-"

"Hardin," Sydney protested, but Hardin shook his head firmly and continued on the path he had chosen.

"Sydney." Looking into the mage's vaguely troubled eyes, Hardin's anger softened. He prayed that Sydney would remain silent - he had not said anything like this to anyone for quite some time, and it had been longer still since he'd actually believed he could mean it. Even through the anger, he believed. "...I-"

His prayers went unanswered. "John, please..." Sydney murmured.

"No." His tenacity surprised even himself, but he had not believed in anything so strongly for many years, not even the gods whose presence he had felt so surely. "Sydney, I-"

Sydney's eyes suddenly flashed with anger, so tangible it stopped Hardin short. "Don't say it, Hardin." Crossing his arms, Sydney refused to look Hardin in the eyes, choosing instead to stare bitterly off into the distance. "Don't ever say it."

"And why shouldn't I?" Hardin insisted. "This is no whim - I honestly mean it."

His words were halted by a sudden sharp look from Sydney. The mage's face was stormy, filled with a rage Hardin hadn't seen since that last fateful morning in Leá Monde, and Hardin took half a step back before he caught himself.

Sydney appeared to catch himself as well, and after a moment, his face regained the distant serenity that he so often assumed. "I do not love you, Hardin," he said, letting each word settle in the quiet peace of the forest. "I... do not... love you."

Each word was like a punch to Hardin's stomach, and he stood there, dazed, as he stared at Sydney in disbelief. He couldn't believe that - all these months that Sydney had seemingly been pursuing him, the way he'd been pushed into the self-discovery that he wasn't ready for, and all the nights he'd lain awake trying to come to terms with these feelings rather than put them out of mind...

Sydney nodded simply. "So you understand."

His voice was so calm, so cold, while stating these words that shattered his soul, that Hardin was furious. "You bastard," he growled. "You couldn't just leave me alone - you had to stir all this up, push me to the very edge of my sanity, and all over you... and now you tell me? Why did you do this? Why?"

"Because you could meet those needs you so like to remind me of. Because your attentions please me." A slow, cruel smile spread across Sydney's lips. "And would it have made any difference if you'd known?"

Hardin's mouth opened, but he closed it again immediately as he realized he had nothing to say. For a moment, he almost lifted a hand to strike Sydney, but he found that despite what had just been said, his own feelings had not changed at all; Sydney was right. Suddenly he felt terribly ill.

Sydney stalked past him deeper into the woods, leaving him alone. Just in time, Hardin thought, because he was so furious and confused that he had to sit down quickly, before his knees gave out beneath him. Staring blankly down at the ground, he found their exchange repeating itself endlessly in his head, and he desperately sought for some other meaning - any other meaning. None could be found.

So Sydney did not love him. All the times he'd been so close to surrendering to the feelings Sydney stirred up, he'd only been feeding a primal, instinctive desire, not the emotional closeness he'd thought Sydney needed. And Sydney had let him go so far, taking what he offered readily, without even telling him.

Placing his head in his hands, Hardin forced himself to breathe evenly; making himself sick would solve nothing.

It was some time later when, much calmer, Hardin finally rose to his feet again, setting off to find the place where the Sight had taken him. If knights still remained nearby, he didn't care much; exhausted physically and emotionally, he would not have been able to defend himself no matter how careful he was. His shuffling steps were heavy upon the ground, leaving clear footprints and trampled ground to mark his passing, and he could not care less, for his attention was on something further away - something that might never come within his reach, no matter how far he walked.

The colorless eyes were as blank as the rest of his face, standing out sharply against his fair skin, which in turn stood out sharply against the bark of the great oak tree he was perched in. The gods only knew how he'd gotten up there, Hardin thought - perhaps those claws were useful for climbing? But there he was, and even if he was indeed untouchable, Hardin intended to get as close as he could manage anyhow.

He had realized something only a few minutes after Sydney had departed. Sydney had written off all the closeness they'd shared as mere lust on his part, nothing of real value - but then, why had Sydney apologized after he'd driven him to run away, into the Undercity where he'd nearly met his end? Why had Sydney stopped him, when his inhibitions had completely fallen away in his grief, and he'd sought to satisfy his helpless desire? Why hadn't Sydney simply reached out and touched him a few nights ago, when he must have known that a single caress would set his body afire? For that matter, why hadn't Sydney simply said nothing at all, and continued to take what Hardin would offered him, if it pleased him so much?

And then there were the numerous smaller kindnesses - the way Sydney had carefully instructed him in the ways of the Dark and the gods, and the way he'd taken it upon himself to keep the brethren from troubling him in the days after Padric's death. There were hundreds of little things that Sydney had done for him that could not be attributed to attempts at seduction, and they all added up to paint a picture of a man who honestly did care. The empty look in Sydney's eyes now, when he thought no one was watching, simply confirmed what Hardin had already realized.

He cut off the scrying as he drew nearer, finding Sydney's refuge, and simply looked upwards to where the mage sat, far above his head. "You're a lying bastard, Sydney," he called softly.

Sydney glanced down through the leaves, a hint of surprise lighting his eyes, and Hardin knew he'd been lost in thought; Sydney would never have been startled by his approach ordinarily, even if he'd taken pains to move silently. After a moment, though, a slight smile crossed his lips. "Sometimes, yes."

"...You need me."

The smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. Sydney looked down at him, eyes glittering with disdain, but he did not give any denial.

"Good, so you've decided not to lie again." Hardin counted it as a small victory. "...Sydney, come down."

Sydney obliged, causing Hardin to do a double-take as the mage simply vanished, then reappeared on the forest floor a few paces away. Seeing the look on Hardin's face, he gave a faint, wry smile. "I frighten you."

"Yes, you do." That was not much of an admission. "You frighten me constantly. I should really hate you, for all you put me through - and then, just when I think it's over, you go and say that."

Sydney's eyes narrowed. "Hardin, I-"

"Don't worry," Hardin muttered. "I'm too much of a damned fool to hate you, you realize. I even suppose you have your reasons for acting this way. But do you know something? I don't care."

Sydney just looked at him for a long time before responding. "Then you are a fool."

"Sydney..." Hardin shook his head in exasperation. "Why are you trying so hard to drive me away?"

The mage gave no response, instead turning away and idly fidgeting with the limbs of a nearby yew. Hardin just barely stopped himself from taking the mage's thin shoulders beneath his palms and shaking them in frustration. "Sydney, you..."

He bit back the angry words as well, knowing he didn't really mean them at all. "Sydney..." he murmured helplessly, his eyes traversing the familiar planes of the blonde's profile, the fine arc of the hair as a breeze caught it. Sydney had always been able to calm him, just by being so serene himself. "Sydney..."

It took him a moment, but finally he realized what he wanted to say - what he could say. "Sydney... I will not say it, if it truly means so much to you. But..." A sudden realization struck him. "It doesn't matter, really, does it? You can read my heart..." Sydney knew what he thought, what he felt; why then did it trouble him so much that he should put it into words? Why wouldn't he admit that there was something between them? He couldn't be afraid of being disappointed...

Sydney still gave no response. Fine, then, Hardin thought. If he didn't want it put into words... then he would show him another way.

Half-expecting to be shoved away roughly, or at least reprimanded, Hardin was somewhat surprised when Sydney did nothing to discourage him from slipping his hands beneath the metal arms, wrapping his own tightly around the mage's chest and waist. Satisfied that he would at least allow this gesture, Hardin relaxed a little, resting his chin upon the top of Sydney's head as the two of them stood together in silence. "...I missed you these past days," he whispered, after a time. "Even as angry as I was... I missed you a great deal."

Sydney remained silent, and Hardin sighed, absently looking down at Sydney's metal hands, moving so gently over the brush that not a single branch was marred by the blades. "...I cannot understand why it upsets you so," he admitted. "I apologize... I did not mean for this to happen. I never wanted it to happen - gods, but I wanted it not to happen... I still don't know how it did happen..."

"Fate."

The single word, softly spoken, both troubled and reassured him with its finality. "Is that what you believe, then?"

Sydney's fist abruptly crashed down into the foliage, shattering twigs and sending green needles flying, as he broke free of Hardin's embrace. "Damn it all!"

Startled by the outburst, Hardin took a step back before he caught himself. "Forgive me, I..." His apology ended there, for he had no idea what exactly he was apologizing for.

Sydney had turned his back entirely, and it was impossible for Hardin to read his expression or even his posture, with the dark cloak rustling out behind him in a gust of wind, obscuring all but his head. He was becoming accustomed to minor invasions of privacy, though, he admitted as he looked a little closer with the Sight - and saw none of the fury he'd expected in Sydney's face. Instead, Sydney's eyes were turned upward towards the sky with a pained, anxious look, as if he were pleading.

Uncertain of what he could say or do that would not upset Sydney further, he waited a short time before he spoke. "I don't want to believe that it is inescapable - or as we spoke of not so long ago, that means we have no say in our lives. But perhaps in some cases, fate is not a sentence to either fight against or resign yourself to, but a promise to be embraced."

His back still turned, Sydney shook his head. "You know not of what you speak, Hardin."

"Then tell me."

Sydney was silent for a long time, but Hardin waited. "No." Sydney's answer was soft, but firm in its finality. "It does not matter."

"Obviously it matters to you." Hardin dared to take a step closer, and Sydney did not move in the slightest. It seemed to Hardin that he was terribly close to something frightening, but he could not make out exactly what it was. "...Will you continue to shut me out forever?"

One more step, and when Sydney turned to face him, Hardin wasted not a moment in taking the mage into his arms again. Sydney pulled back at first, his claws pricking Hardin's chest through his shirt as he instinctively pushed away, but it wasn't long before he stopped resisting. Hardin felt the shift in Sydney's weight as he sighed in resignation, letting his head rest against the taller man's shoulder. And then, after a long, uncertain moment, he felt Sydney's arms around his waist as well. This was encouraging, and gave Hardin enough courage to reach up to touch Sydney's face, feeling along the smooth line of his cheek and down to his chin, slipping a finger beneath to gently turn his face upwards.

As he leaned forward, however, Sydney shook his head again and slipped one hand up to part them gently, resting one sharp finger upon Hardin's lips. "Hardin... there are things to be done, matters to be attended to. I should see to my followers," he murmured, his tone carefully soft and neutral. "They've gathered in a place of my choosing, and are setting up camp - many of them are weary beyond measure."

"...Of course, you're right." Reluctantly, Hardin released him. "But Sydney-"

"No." Sydney remained firm as he stepped away, turning to go. "We will speak later, Hardin, but not of that."

Hardin wasn't even entirely sure what he'd intended to ask - there were so many questions now that he felt dizzy trying to put them into coherent form. Even so, he nodded his grudging acceptance; nothing had been settled, but at least that meant that nothing had been discarded completely.

Sydney looked back at him with a critical eye. "Come and sleep, Hardin - you're utterly exhausted."

That did offer a good explanation for why he was having so much trouble thinking clearly, come to think of it, and Hardin absently rubbed his hand across his jaw, rough from the last few days without shaving. "Of course, you're right." Sydney seemed to be acting normally again, whatever the trouble was, but perhaps it was only Hardin's fatigue that allowed him to speak so frankly without fear of setting him off again. "I... confess that I have not slept so well since we last saw each other."

The quiet admission made Sydney pause - obviously he'd picked up on the underlying meaning in Hardin's statement - then he continued on his way as he replied, softer still. "Nor have I."

It was enough to let Hardin relax for what seemed like the first time in many days. It was very nearly enough to make him smile.

One more chapter to go...!