“Thank you,” Phelan said after a few dozen steps, as they neared the light that meant they were close to the tents and the world beyond them. Behind him, Sif snorted.
“You say it as if thanks were necessary.” The warrior rolled her shoulders as she drew abreast of him, studying him for a long, silent moment. “Wanderer, I owe you more than I care to say and there are too many here that love you besides. I would come even if no one had asked.”
He exhaled a sigh and shook his head, studying her as they stepped out into the light. The shadows that had ringed her eyes for weeks were finally gone, life slowly returning to her face, to her expression. He was glad to see it, truth be known.
“Move faster, Wanderer. The last thing we need is for them to get restless or worse.”
A weak, faint laugh escaped him.
I can think of things we’d need even less than that. He let it go. Really, the last thing they needed was him—or anyone else—inviting new kinds of trouble to come and pay them a visit.
A few of their friends waved as Phelan and Sif headed for the bridge over the ravine and Phelan waved back with his free hand. The storms of the night before had given way to a brighter, warmer day—warmer, at least, than it had been since winter had set in. It was a nice change.
Anselm was waiting when they reached the arboretum, leaning against a metal cudgel that Phelan swore must have weighed nearly half as much as the warrior did. He inclined his head to Sif, then turned to Phelan.
“There are two of them,” he said quietly. “Apparently gifted, both, if the scouts are right. A girl and a man.” Anselm gave Phelan a long, hard look. “They told you who the girl claimed to be?”
“Aoife,” Phelan said softly. “My sister.”
“She didn’t give a surname, but she used the one you were born with when she asked to see you. O’Credne.”
Sif shifted her weight slightly, resting one hand on the throwing axe at her hip. “How many know that name these days, Wanderer?”
“I’ve gone by Conrad for a long time,” Phelan murmured. “The only ones who would remember O’Credne are either family or…”
His voice trailed away as he stared blankly at the trees.
“Or?” Sif asked.
He shook his head, standing mute.
Or could be out to see me dead.
Phelan has spent so long “making friends” that the only ones who know anything about him tend to be family or those who want him dead. sigh.