Undying Ch. 01-10

Comprehension dawned over her delicate golden features. "Vreya! I was told it used to be larger. It stops at the Acrine and it's bordered by Laegrenna in the west now, not the sea, the upper border is where the Freeholds start, they go up into the Dragon's Cradle Mountains."

"Freeholds?"

"Dwarf mines, and human towns or cities that either stand alone or have attached themselves to the mines. The town of Lew is attached to Delver's Deep. It's like an alliance of sorts. There are only a few across the Acrine, but the human Freehold cities know they're on dwarf land. They pay their tax for it and get left in peace by everyone. The dwarves don't tolerate foolishness."

Dwarven Freeholds on his lands. That must have been what Olthon offered the dwarves to entice them to join him. He'd kept his lands free of them after what they had done... Syreilla reached out and touched his arm and he felt the threads cling and tighten. Her intent was to soothe him.

"I didn't mean to upset you by talking about what you'd lost. I should have known that would be unpleasant."

"I didn't wish to believe the seer when she told me I would lose all I had built, but she did assure me that I would not be utterly defeated." He smiled faintly, "I would be captured and compelled into a death-like sleep until the spawn of my most bitter enemy freed me. Until he sprang his trap, I didn't realize it was Olthon." The woman had at times been infuriatingly nonspecific but that at least was clear.

"What else did she tell you?"

*Nine*

Syreilla listened in fascination as Syvilas gave her dribs and drabs of information. If she'd learned anything from Master Odos, the questions he skirted were as important to pay attention to as the ones he answered.

"What else did she tell you?"

"I was told, once my true name was on your lips and you had made the choice to free me, I would be in no danger of being 'put back into my box' as you so eloquently phrased it. And if you would tell me your true name I would gain something I had never been able to possess."

"And what would that be?" She was almost certain it would be something ridiculous like friendship or true love.

"She did not say. There is nothing I have never been able to possess." Syvilas looked smug.

She snorted. "Leaving it mysterious is what any good charlatan does." Syreilla reached back for a bottle of mead, "At least she didn't tell you something asinine like friendship or love."

Syvilas grinned, "There were times I thought she was lying or being absurd, but almost everything she ever promised has come to pass. And I have never had a half-elf sister before."

Mead came out of her nose, and she started coughing. "Mead burns when it comes out of your nose, Syv."

Syvilas' laughter as he took the mead from her was infectious. After he drank, he handed it back. "Syv. Syv and Syr. That is remarkably pleasant. A matched set of thieves." He beamed at her with his too-wide smile.

Syreilla returned his broad grin with one of her own, "Don't get ahead of yourself, brother, you need to learn the finer points of theft." She opened her mouth and then sighed glancing back at the box. "If we didn't have Kaddal to get home, I'd suggest we make a detour over the river and hit Brosa. It's big enough to have some fun in and it's outside the Freeholds so it's fair game for any mischief we feel like making. I make it a point to visit the temple of Imos there every time I go." The look on his face was almost scandalized. She gave him her most impish grin. "Gods seem to collect a lot of expensive stuff while their followers go hungry. I sell it and spend my money in the worst parts of town. It's practically charity. It's only pious to care for the poor after all."

"I now understand why you were on the headsman's block." His dry tone was almost disapproving.

"You disapprove?!" Syreilla shoved his shoulder. "You?!"

"You will have to forgive me if I have some lingering respect for the gods. They have blessed me as often as they have damned me."

Shaking her head incredulously, she made herself comfortable, stretching out on the bench seat. "I'm used to mages talking about the flow of power and the beliefs you use to reach into it, but I've never been able to find a god that seemed real. It's all fat priests fleecing their flocks. No god ever struck me down for fleecing them back." She gave Syvilas a confident smile, "The best thing that ever happened to me was ending up on the headsman's block in Pale."

His lips twisted wryly, "My dear Syreilla, whatever god is favoring you I am certain you push their goodwill to its limits."

"If there's a god favoring me, it would be the kind you'd hide your purse from but enjoy drinking with." She grinned at him and took a drink. "I bet they'd play dice with a loaded set too."

"Trickster gods are seldom in short supply."

She shrugged, "Tell you what, if I ever meet one I'll buy'em a bottle of mead." His sour expression at her lack of religious conviction was deeply amusing. "I hadn't pegged you for the type to be upset over a little mild blasphemy, brother. Did you spend a few years in a monastery or something?"

"A hundred years. It was before I chose to rule." Syvilas glanced at her.

"How did that happen?" Syreilla leaned forward putting her elbows on her thighs as she looked at him. "You just decided to go from a monk to a King?"

"It took a great deal of time and preparation."

Nodding, she remembered something she'd been told more than once by Master Odos, "I was once told, 'Time is all the luck a man needs.' It made more sense to me than 'Fortune favors the bold.'"

"Both are true, sister mine," Syv said with a smile. "As is 'Heavy is the head that wears the crown.'"

"Ha!" The annoyed look he gave her made her explain. "Responsibility is heavy, but kings usually have plenty of people willing to take it off of their hands. Not to mention plenty of pretty men and women looking to lighten their troubles and their treasuries."

Syvilas' annoyance turned to chagrin. "True. I enjoyed being King more than I should have. There are pleasures offered to a king unrivaled by any most men can imagine. But those willing to lighten his responsibilities do so for their own ends, and when I began I had wished to rule well."

"And when your rule ended?"

"I thought myself harsh but fair, but my subjects had not responded to my fairness as I had hoped." He looked stricken, betrayed, and hurt. "They called me a monster and they have struck my name from memory but not my defeat."

"I'm sorry it didn't go as well as you'd hoped." Syreilla reached out and squeezed his hand as he drove.

He sighed and smiled sadly, "As am I. But now I can choose to become something else."

"True!" She sat up and shifted on the hard bench seat. "I'd be happy to teach you all I know about thievery if you wanted to learn a trade."

His smile brightened. "Thievery as a trade. There would be no punishments they could levy that could deter me."

"You'd just have to be a little smarter about your own particular brand of theft, no more whole villages for instance. That draws attention, and thieves don't like attention as a rule."

The amusement in his glance was clear. "I rarely prey on so many at once. I simply needed a great deal to restore myself. And my mistake may have been allowing at least one of them to live."

"Why'd you decide not to prey on me?" Syreilla smiled as he began to laugh. "I mean, once you'd gotten the things you needed from me, you could have slid Kaddal out of the back of the cart and gone your merry way with less annoyance and-" She stopped speaking and gave him a curious look as he put the reins in one hand, reaching over to stroke her face with the back the other. The gesture made her feel warm and oddly safe.

Syvilas' smile was doting. "I would have no purpose and no company. That you still do not flinch when I reach out to touch you pleases me more than you can imagine, my dear Syreilla."

She smiled wryly and took hold of his hand, holding it to her cheek for a moment. "Batran says I'm enamored with danger and stupidity. He offered to beat it out of me but changed his mind when Mordaeg told him it would be like trying to beat the wood out of a tree."

Grinning broadly, Syvilas was definitely teasing her now, "Sister, I have no doubt of that. I watched the way you defended your helpless brother from two elves with nothing but a hammer and hope."

Syreilla nodded, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly as she laughed. "I'm lucky my helpless brother isn't actually helpless. And that he's a gifted healer." She nearly added that she should have used her wards.

"Healer." The look on his face was proud and somehow wistful. "I haven't been called that... for a very long time, sister mine."

*Ten*

Syvilas caressed the threads with a thought each time he teased her and called her sister. She had a strong reaction to it, warming to him quickly, though he doubted she understood what was happening.

"Healer." To be seen as a healer again, by sweet Syreilla... "I haven't been called that..." Memories of the time he'd spent in his youth learning to care for the sick and injured bubbled up. "...for a very long time, sister mine."

"You could choose to do that instead, you know." She moved closer and leaned against his shoulder, she was strengthening the bond as if she were the one trying to bind him. "I'm a thief because I can't seem to help myself. I live for the challenge of it. If I had to become something else..." Syr shook her head. "If being a healer is what you love, do it, Syv."

"I did love it once." He leaned into her, the tighter the bonds the better. Healing was no longer something he could do openly. "I doubt many would be as forgiving of the cost as you are, Syr."

"I think you'd be surprised. You could always use criminals, those who were going to be killed anyway. That would ease some consciences. And when they see the beautiful work you do..." She held out her arm admiring it.

It was difficult not to call her a naive child. "Money, dear sister. No one would allow me to make the attempt without paying for a criminal to use, and I would require guards to deter attackers. Lest I be required to kill a great many people in my attempt to heal."

"Money, your dear sister can help you with. And you won't want to buy someone off the block. They only sell those who aren't completely irredeemable." Syreilla steepled the first three fingers of her hands and tapped her index and middle fingers idly while keeping her thumbs together. Olthon had done that when he was deep in thought. "We'd need to approach it like a con, make the marks do the heavy lifting, at least at first."

"Marks?" Syvilas elbowed her, breaking her concentration. He didn't want to think of Olthon when he looked at her.

"Well, that's usually how it goes. You have to be well dressed, have a bunch of expensive-looking baubles and make big promises to someone clinging to an impossible hope. They pay loads of money and then you-AH!"

Syvilas lashed out punching her in the thigh. He remembered the plight of those who had been abused that way when he was a healer. The memory still infuriated him

"Dammit Syv! You're not going to be fleecing them, you'll be able to give them what they're hoping for! But you have to approach it that way. You'll have them pay on top of getting you the criminal to use. If they invest that much in it you're safe. You can heal without having to worry." He watched as she rubbed the painful spot on her thigh and felt the bonds loosening. "Once word spreads of the amazing things you can do, even with the cost, you can help more people and not have to worry about being attacked for it."

"Forgive me, Syreilla. I should not have..." The loosening felt like ice water being poured over him. She had been trying to help.

"I'm a thief, brother, decent people like yourself tend to find my line of work upsetting." Syreilla moved away from him and it cut worse than any blade.

"Decent." He closed his eyes, needing to brace the bond so that it would not detach when he pulled her back. "I think you misunderstand what I am."

"You get upset when you hear of hopeless helpless people getting fleeced?"

His eyes opened. The bond was still very much intact. "Yes. But-"

"You wanted to rule well, I assume you mean justly. Did you want to improve people's lives?"

He marveled at her, she was reinforcing the bond herself. "Yes, but sister-"

She bent back two fingers. "Healing people makes you happy." Bending another finger, she continued, "You think poorly of your gifts because they require you to harm." Syreilla wiggled four fingers at him. "You have a good heart, brother. Whether you've let it get a little tarnished or not you can still shine it up. Start over. No one knows you but a few elves and they barely leave Orileria."

The half-elf truly thought the best of him. "You may be completely mad, my dear Syreilla. Yet I think I adore you." Sweet Syreilla was binding him as close as he could bear. He looked from her back to the road, he would more than allow it. "Clan Hammersworn will have to learn to do without you."

They were not the right words. She kicked him gently and cautioned. "Clan Hammersworn can do without me, I can't do without them, Syv. They're the first real family I ever had."

He could feel that she would give him up for them if he did not bind her closely enough by the time they reached her home. "And you are my family now, Syr. How can I risk you being married off to a dwarf and being kept from me?"

Laughing, she told him, "If Kaduil Hardjaw can persuade me to marry him he'll be punished enough by having me for a wife. Batran encourages, and prods, he doesn't force, brother. These are dwarves, not elves." She was treating this as a jest.

"I notice you do not promise he will not keep you from me." Syv let her hear his bitterness.

"Syv." Syreilla sighed. "Outside of the mines, I don't think siblings stay together. I'm going to help you decide what you want to do, and I'm going to help you make it happen. But leaving Clan Hammersworn isn't going to happen."

"All those I care for die, Syreilla. I will be alone again all too soon. You call me brother and accept my affection, do you believe I will allow you to be taken from me?" Syvilas pulled her by the bonds.

"You're not alone yet, Syv." She moved closer and leaned against him again. "I remember what it's like, being alone. It's why I always go back to Delver's Deep anytime I can think of an excuse, and stay until it feels like my skin is on too tight."

He felt a twinge of guilt, a long-absent feeling. Pulling her under his arm, he needed her to willingly part with them, to accept her place at his side.

"My dear Syreilla, I will keep you from them. I need you more." If she would do that, no one could break his hold. She would-

"Crushing." Syr croaked out. He released her immediately, he had forgotten himself for a moment. "You are definitely not helpless, brother. I'll split my time between my dwarvish family and you. You don't have to crush me to keep me close."

A small concession but he needed more. "And if I do not want you to leave me for even a day?"

"You're going to have to find a way to deal with that, Syv. I don't stay in one place for long."

More carefully, he pulled her back under his arm. If she wished to give him a challenge... "Chains might keep you in one place, sister."

She began to laugh, slapping him on the thigh. "What am I, Syvilas? I got through a maze of traps and wards, broke into a seamless stone sarcophagus, pulled your dried up carcass out of a warded and locked steel and glass coffin just to get the amulet you were wearing." The realization dawned on him that chaining her physically would be pointless with her skills. "Chain me. I'll even hold still while you do. I'll be gone if you so much as blink."

Had she not said she was bought off of the headsman's block? "How did they get you on the headsman's block?"

Snorting, she tried to sit up. Syvilas held her in place. She didn't want to tell him...

He stroked the bonds and she began to speak, "Batran had come to Pale to make some money off of a new lock he'd made. He thought it was perfect and he charged a pretty penny for the damned thing. But he hadn't met me. I got out of the chains with his lock on them, and out of the cell with his lock on it, but there was a sack of shit who screamed about me escaping and got me caught again. Batran came and held onto me himself until the time they sold me off of the block." Her tale was clipped and coarse but it gave him the answer he wanted.

"Ah. Physically holding onto you is the only way."

"I could bite you, brother." She was annoyed and it amused him.

"You could."

Syreilla tried to sit up and he held her in place proving that she wouldn't.

"I think you would prefer not to hurt your family."

"You're an ass, Syv."

She began to twist and writhe in his grip. It was difficult to hold her with one arm but it seemed she was enjoying the challenge of escaping his grip as much as he was enjoying the challenge of holding onto her. Their shared joy in the game reinforced the bonds impressively.

He saw the elves approaching and hoped they might let them pass without comment if they looked engrossed in their game. With his sharper elvish senses, he noticed their glances to the tree line above the road and felt the eyes on him. Syvilas knew the pair of elves was not alone.

"Two half-elves at play, but what is that stench with them?"

Syreilla stiffened against him. She hadn't noticed them before they spoke.

A gentle tap on his arm told him the game was done. She sat up and spoke coolly, "We're taking Kaddal Forgepike's body back home. My brother's got a knack for lightening the miles."

"A dwarf, that would explain it." One smirked at the other.

"Why would half-elves be dragging a stinking dwarf carcass along with them?"

"Perhaps it smells better than they do?"

Syv put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed as her hands balled into fists. She had a temper.

"What are elves doing outside of Orileria? I thought you lot stayed there fucking your kin and raising sickly inbred little elflings." Syreilla leaned forward showing her teeth in an imitation of a smile, the sickly sweet tone to the almost dwarvish provocation was somehow jarring.

"Syr." Syvilas pulled her back forcefully.

The elves looked at her coldly, all pretense of mockery had vanished. The threat of her getting herself killed was far more plausible than the threat of her leaving him.

"Let them attack, Syv. Clan Hammersworn has a long memory." If she expected them to back down because of a possible feud with dwarves she would be shown the error of her ways. He knew one of the elves that stood in front of them, Pelinel, he would not hesitate to kill her for her insults.

He cautioned her quietly, "There are more than just these two, sister."

Syreilla leaned back sullenly. "It's annoying when you're being sensible, brother. I like a good fight."

"Do you have dwarf in your lineage?" Pelinel asked snidely.

"If I did I'd be prettier." She shot back with a vicious grin, "But any children I have will have lovely beards I'm sure."

Their faces contorted with revulsion and Syv snorted, muttering. "You know I disapprove."

"And you know I love you despite your poor taste, brother." Syr slapped him on the thigh playfully. He couldn't hide his smile. Love. The bonds were doing better than he had hoped.

He was aware of movement in the tree line but he did not turn to look. If Syreilla hadn't noticed, it might be strange if he did. The other of the armored elves looked toward it. "You're being followed by something unsavory."

"Is it a lich?" Syreilla asked sharply. She hated the lich, he'd been told.