“Do you suppose they have boar here?”
“What difference does it make?” Bek found the small talk irritating and unnecessary.
“I was just wondering.” Quentin seemed unperturbed. “It just feels a little like home to me.”
Ashamed of his disgruntled attitude, Bek forced a smile. “They have lots of boar here, and you couldn’t track a one of them without me.”
“Do tell.” Quentin arched one eyebrow. “Will I see some proof of your prowess one day soon? Or will I have to go on taking your word for it for the rest of my life?”
He leaned back and stretched his arms over his head. Quentin seemed loose and easy on the outside, but Bek knew he was as anxious as the rest of them where it couldn’t be seen. The banter was a time-honored way around it, a method of dealing with it that both instinctively relied on. They had used it before, on hunts where the game they tracked was dangerous, like boar or bear, and the risk of injury was severe. It moved them a step away from thinking about what might happen if something went wrong, and it helped to prevent the kind of gradual paralysis that could steal over someone like a sickness and surface when it was too late to find an antidote.
Bek glanced across the decking to where the Elven Hunters clustered around Ard Patrinell, talking in their low, soft voices as they exchanged comments and banter of their own. Ahren Elessedil stood a little apart from them, staring off into the trees, where night’s shadows still folded through the gaps in thick layers and the silence was deep and steady. Nothing of his newfound maturity was in evidence this morning. He looked like a little boy, frightened and lost, stiff with recognition of what might happen to him and fighting a losing battle against the growing certainty that it would. He carried a short sword and bow and arrows, but from the look on his face he might as well have been carrying Bek’s weapons.
Bek watched him a moment, thinking about how Ahren must feel, about the responsibility he bore as nominal leader of the expedition, then made a quick decision and climbed to his feet. “I’ll be right back,” he told Quentin.
He crossed to Ahren and greeted him with a broad grin. “Another day, another adventure,” he offered brightly. “At least Ard Patrinell gave you a real sword and an ash bow.”
Ahren started at the sound of Bek’s voice, but managed to recover a little of his lost composure. “What do you mean?”
“Look what Walker gave me.” Bek gestured at his dagger and sling. “Any small birds or squirrels that come after me, I’m ready for them.”
Ahren smiled nervously. “I wish I could say the same. I can barely make my legs move. I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“Quentin would say you haven’t hunted enough wild boar.
Look, I came over to ask a favor. I want you to keep this for me.”
Before he could think better of it, he took off the phoenix stone and its necklace and placed them about Ahren’s neck. It was an impulsive act, one he might have reconsidered if he had allowed himself time to think about it. The Elf looked down at the stone, then back at Bek questioningly.
“I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely honest with you, Ahren,” Bek admitted. Then he told his friend a revised version of his encounter with the King of the Silver River and the gift of the phoenix stone, leaving out the parts about his sister and the spirit creature’s hints of the stone’s real purpose. “So I do have a little magic after all. But I’ve been keeping it a secret from everyone.” He shrugged. “Even Quentin doesn’t know about it.”
“I can’t take this from you!” Ahren declared vehemently, reaching up to remove the stone and necklace.
Bek stopped him, seizing his hands. “Yes, you can. I want you to have it.”
“But it isn’t mine! It wasn’t given to me, it was given to you! By a Faerie creature at that!” His voice softened. “It isn’t right, Bek. It doesn’t belong to me.”