Haunted Past

Chapter 33

Orin couldn't wait for Modric to appear patiently. Tonight didn't give any real indication of time either. The Emperor could arrive in the evening during dinner or late into the sleeping hours. It gave Orin plenty of the day to be sitting and waiting. Everyone had vetoed the idea of slipping through to the elven plane to walk through the mountains that way. Orin didn't try to argue it, tiredness overcoming again as the stress of everyone collided at once. Once it was apparent that it barely noon, Orin slid out of the rooms and into the town.

It wasn't like Scythe didn't have a charm on him to locate him. His sword was on his hip. Orin needed the air. He followed his feet to Yass's smith. The man took one look at him and got him to work on the next batch of daggers.

The clang of metal echoed. Orin let his mind slip away as he worked. Sparks singed his hands but not his awareness as he continued to strike at the metal. Could he slip through without them? It wouldn't be impossible. He knew the crossing points. A river flowed not too far away from Tardide. One of the forks had a large enough tree that it would be child's play to jump through. It was a game children played but then elves always had a soft spot for children even if they did dump their halflings back in the human world once they were old enough to question the world around them.

His back complained, his neck muttered dark curses and his arms wanted to sink to the earth and never lift again. He continued. Hours passed. His stomach ached for food, his throat for liquid and several new blades were born. Just awaiting someone to sharpen them up to scratch. Wiping sweat from his forehead, he let out a curse as he looked as his arm. One of his bandages was soaked red with blood. Grimacing, he put down the tools. He needed to bind that up before he made a mess of Yass's floor.

"Was waiting for you to notice that," Gazion's voice rang through the shop.

Orin was not too ashamed to say he jumped. Unlike Cedit and Ailin, Gazion was sitting on an actual chair. From the wood shaving around him, Gazion had been there a while. "The sparks numb you to a lot when you're smithing," he grunted, looking for any spare cloth. There was usually some lying about to be used to clean blades. It wasn't the cleanest things he could use to replace the thing but better than nothing.

"I'd say, you do enough of that yourself," Gazion stood, and was next to Orin in a heartbeat, hands removing the cloth from Orin's fingers. The look of disgust the man gave was heartfelt. "You should be resting."

The laughter that bubbled from Orin was hard. "Almost sounds like you care, Gazion. Try again with a little less dislike and a little more scolding." He tried to grab the cloth again but Gazion was quick to push Orin to sit down on the nearest surface. Orin followed where he was pushed without question. The scrapped out feeling in his chest was ringing. It had growth. He shielded his arm more out of instinct than anything else as Gazion tried to pull it from him. Gazion's hands were cold against his skin and his eyes flickered at they meet.

"Vonn," Gazion warned.

Orin wasn't sure what he was warning about now. Knowing Gazion, it could be anything. Gazion wasn't Pyen. Gazion was a little more free-spirited than the average man who served in a war but Orin had brought up his brother. If Modric's arrival was not looming any moment, Orin would be looking for the dagger against his throat. Possibly Gazion was hinting that with how he was saying the name Vonn. Like he was tasting it, sharpening it down into its own weapon. Or possibly Gazion didn't like the idea of not using the more intimate version of his name. Gazion had a thing about using first names.

What would Modric want to call him? His chest filled with pain. Assuming Modric even called him by name and not by some humiliating pet name. The troops had come up with some inventive ones for the rumours. Ailin wouldn't like that though and Orin didn't want Ailin to be in any danger.