deeper evil, than giving the opportunity for vengeance to a soul such as Janni,
who craves it?”
Ischade waited, but Niko didn’t answer. His gaze was fixed on the thing that
shambled toward him, arms outstretched, to embrace its erstwhile partner.
Strat, were he the one faced with love from such a zombie, would have run
screaming, or shot the bow, or lopped the head off the undead who sought to hold
him.
But Niko took a deep breath that Strat could hear, so shuddering was it, dropped
the bow, and held his own arms out, saying, “Janni. How is it with you? Is she
right?”
And Strat had to turn away; he couldn’t watch Niko, full of life, embrace that
thing who’d once ridden at his side.
And when he did, Ischade was waiting there to take Strat’s hand and cool his
brow and usher him inside.
But no matter the depth of her eyes or the quality of her ministrations, this
time Straton knew he had no chance of forgetting what he saw when a Sacred Band
pair was reunited, the living and the dead.
Niko was drinking off his chill in the Ale keep, which opened with the rising
sun, when he realized that somebody was drawing his picture.
A little fellow with a pot belly and black circles under his eyes, who was
sitting in the beamed common hall’s far corner, was looking at him too often,
then looking down at a board he held on his lap.
Just the day barman was present, so Niko didn’t try to ignore a problem in the
making. He’d had too rough a night, at any rate, to have patience with anyone
let alone a limner who didn’t ask permission.