Zu handed Little Grask a skin of water. He flourished his yari before leaning it against the half wall surrounding the amphitheater. The pair had spent the afternoon sparring, as much for the exercise as for the distraction. They’d kept vigil over Yechvan throughout the night, but once it was clear he was on the mend, they went in search of an outlet for their nervous energy. Yechvan had been asleep most of the morning, dizziness and pain mooring him in Zadria’s Realm. The shaman had forced some drink and food into him, but he’d lost weight, the skin stretching like wet clay over his shrunken, unused muscles. He was alive, however, and recovering. The relief was liberating. Zu hadn’t been so at ease since before Yechvan had fallen in the battle half a turn ago.

  “Who does Yechvan talk to while everyone sleeps?” Little Grask asked abruptly.

  “What do you mean?” Zu replied, studying the boy.

  “Don’t evade my question. We’ve spent nearly a year living in the same tent. You and Ulula have seen him conversing, drinking, yelling. He responds to questions no one asks. Who is he talking to? You can’t expect me to believe he’s speaking to himself.”

  Zu shrugged. How could he give Little Grask an answer when he wasn’t sure himself? “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know? The last night we were together, before you left for Gard Pass, you were awake. Your eyes were open. Who was he talking to?”

  “I told you, I don’t know.” Zu growled a warning, but Little Grask was undeterred.

  Deep in thought, the boy didn’t notice. “Whoever it was, they must have informed Yechvan of the troops riding up the Terythalans. You’ve no idea? I heard him say the name Dosto. Does that ring a bell?”

  “That’s no name. It’s the northern language. He uses it when he figures something out. It’s like ‘Aha!’”

  “Oh,” Little Grask sighed, deflated. “But you’ve discussed this with him, surely. What has he told you? I’ve been afraid to ask.”

  Zu hesitated. Yechvan had never asked him to keep his ghosts a secret, but Zu wasn’t entirely comfortable sharing the knowledge with Little Grask either. Stalling, he snatched the water from the boy and took a sip. He swished it around and spat, watched as it turned to mud on the dusty cobblestones.

  “You’re hiding something,” the boy said, sweeping his sweaty hair from his face. “Does Ulula know?”

  “As much as I do.”

  “Then tell me or I’ll get her to do it.”

  Clever as he was, Little Grask would no doubt coax it out of Ulula. Better a clear-headed Zu than a grumpy Ulula to paint this picture, so Zu relented. “Fine, you sneak. But you cannot say a word to anyone, not even our father. Especially not our father. I want your promise on this.”

  “I promise.”

  Zu sat on the half wall and settled in for an uncomfortable conversation. “Yechvan has told me he speaks with spirits from our past, those who died under his command or by his own hand. Sometimes, he is visited by men and women he was close with who died without his knowledge.”

  Little Grask contemplated Zu’s revelation. At last, he said, “Does it worry you that he speaks with ghosts, real or imagined?”

  His response was not what Zu had expected. Perhaps the boy was wiser than he realized. He lay back on the broken stones and soaked in Solonia’s gift. “Mostly when Yechvan goes days on end without sleep. Does it bother you?”

  “I’ve had some vivid dreams since my first battle. Of friends and foes, of struggle, of death. All red.” Little Grask stared up at the wide-open sky. “Was the first war as harrowing?”

  “For you? No,” Zu joked, holding up a hand when the boy began to protest. “War is war. Death is death. It doesn’t matter if you’re killing your first foe or your hundredth—if you no longer feel the weight of each, you are not a man.”

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  “Then what are you?”

  “The elves have a word for this: Zu’ha. Soulless one.”

  “Does it get lighter over time?”

  “No. You must be stronger.”

  “Does that mean you are stronger than Yechvan?” the boy asked.

  “Because he feels the weight more keenly than I? That isn’t how it works, Little Grask. We all bear it differently. Neither of us chose this life.”

  “Yechvan said you volunteered during the Great Northern War.”

  “True, but Grusk had us training to be soldiers, and Banx was to war. We simply chose where we would fight. We didn’t have to stow away in a trunk to get there, mind.” He gave the boy a playful nudge and nearly toppled him over the side of the half wall.

  “You could have retired after the Great Northern War,” Little Grask said.

  “Yes. And leave our brothers and sisters to die without Yechvan’s strategies.”

  “And without your brilliant martial prowess.”

  Zu scoffed. “No choice at all.”

  “I see what you mean.”

  A group of villagers passed by, waving and bowing to the pair. The boy waved back. “I always supposed you were the popular one, but these seats were packed full last night. Even the streets beyond were brimming. They came for Yechvan.”

  “Of course they did.” Zu stood and stretched. “They may never understand just how much they owe him, but they understand he is the reason we held our ground in two wars we rightfully should have lost.”

  “You said ‘they.’ Do you not owe him anything?”

  “Whatever debts Yechvan and I owe each other, we will have ample time to repay. In this life and the next.”

  “I’ve never known either of you to worship a particular god or goddess. How can you be sure you’ll go to the same realm after life?”

  “Neither of us is devout, I grant you, but we will end up in the same place. Elsewise, I shall tear the heavens asunder in search of him.”

  “I can imagine.” Little Grask chuckled. “If you didn’t want to be a soldier, what did you want to do?”

  “I always wanted to sing, to travel the world and sleep in as many beds as I could find.”

  “I’ve heard your singing,” Little Grask said. “I believe you made the right choice.”

  “Ah! Laughing at my expense.” Zu ruffled the boy’s hair.

  “What did Yechvan want to do?”

  “He wanted to be a farmer, if you can believe it. He wanted to raise animals and take a wife and sire a dozen children or more. But he told me that when we were younger than you. I’m not certain he feels the same now.”

  “Why doesn’t he have children? He could take a wife.”

  “And leave her behind while he wanders off to war?”

  “Plenty of soldiers have wives and children.”

  “I don’t suppose Yechvan is much like those men,” Zu said. “As I’m sure you are well aware.”

  “Still…” Little Grask fought to reconcile Yechvan’s happiness with his nature, but Zu had long ago resigned himself to losing that battle.

  “He and I remain with Grusk because we want the children of Banx to grow up in a world where they may look upon Solonia without fear of being chased back into the Udaro, where they may build homes with windows so that Solyn might breathe upon them the scent of wildflowers and apples and honey. Where they may giggle at stories about the giant spiders and the bajulu and the demons that wander the tunnels in the deep beneath rather than live with those very real threats each and every day.”

  We gave up our dreams so that they might be singers and farmers in our stead.

  “What’s the bajulu?”

  “Koruzan’s hair, no one ever told you about the bajulu?” Zu smiled, glad of a reason to turn his mind away from melancholic thoughts.

  “No. Who told you?”

  “Yechvan, come to think of it. It is a legend to keep orcish children in line, a monster that lurks in the underground rivers and lakes, waiting to steal away those who stray too far into the darkness. Its victims vanish without a trace.”

  “What does it look like?” Little Grask asked, eyes wide.

  “It has horns, three of them, here and here and here.” Zu pointed to the boy’s brow and behind his ears. “And sharp, jagged teeth, with two great fangs. It lures younglings away from their parents with a hypnotic hum only they can hear. The sound resonates from the one huge horn in the middle of its head.” Unable to contain himself any longer, Zu belted a hearty laugh, breaking the suspense and Little Grask’s withering resolve. In war, the boy had stared down the worst monster of them all and still he feared a mythical creature lurking within the depths of Ex’ala.

  “You’re lying,” the boy yelled. He pummeled Zu in the belly, which did nothing to quiet his brother’s thunderous laughter.

  “Koruzan’s hair, I had you going. How in the hells would anyone know what it looks like? It’s never been seen. Not by anyone who lived to tell the tale.”

  Little Grask glared at Zu as his mirth faded one chuckle at a time. “Are you quite finished?”

  Zu wiped the tears from his eyes. “Oh, gods, isn’t it good to have a bit of levity?”

  “Not at my expense,” the boy grumped.

  “I will remind you that you started it by joking about my singing.”

  “Who says I was joking?”

  The two laughed and traded good-natured insults, unburdened by the heaviness of war or Yechvan’s impending fate. He would live, and thus the gods had reopened the gates of merriment for them all.

  “What did our father say upon learning you stood with us through the entire war?” Zu asked.

  “He looked at me differently. Perhaps it was…respect?”

  “He has always been a man who values action. I am glad he will be forced to see you. You’re a veteran now—no one can deny that. You fought bravely and should be proud.”

  The boy’s eyes glimmered in the sun’s light as he fought to hold back tears of pain and honor. Tears he had earned.