Page 21 of Sword & Shadow
Evylin pulled at one of the leather clasps on her coat. “I wouldn’t even know how to begin,” she whispered.
“If you’re already doing it subconsciously,” he offered, “then I’d imagine it’s as simple as making a conscious effort to control it.”
Though Evylin didn’t respond to the suggestion directly, she did turn to Rafferty and tip her head toward the forest around them. “Should we give it a go?”
His pale eyes grew wide. “What, now?”
“Why not?”
“Though I appreciate your enthusiasm,” Deckard interrupted with a low chuckle, “wearesupposed to be on watch. And others are sleeping.”
“I’m not suggesting we spar,” Evylin said. “There isn’t room here for that anyway. I’m simply thinking that if I can pass my power to others, then perhaps I don’t have to be in a fight to do it.”
“What do you mean?”
She stood and unhooked her cloak, dropping it onto the log next to Deckard. With deft, swift movements, she unbuckled her weapons belt, removed her harness of throwing knives, and freed the clasps on her coat. Deckard attempted not to overtly appreciate her well-formed figure as she shrugged the coat off, leaving her only in her dark trousers, gray tunic, leather armor vest, and vambraces.
Rafferty, however, sniggered. “Don’t stop on my account.”
Deckard sent him a withering glare.
Evylin ignored the innuendo, beckoning Rafferty to join her. “Come on,” she said, voice still hushed. “We don’t have to duel. We’ll just exercise.”
“That’s my least favorite part of life.”
Evylin reached over and hauled the weasel to his feet. Then she looked down at Deckard with one of her more charming smiles. “Can we leave you here for ten minutes while we run a mile?”
“You need ten minutes to run a mile?” Deckard returned. “I’d imagined you’d be faster than that.”
“The ten minutes are for Rafferty’s sake.”
As the soldier in question grumbled through the removal of his cloak and weapons, Deckard found himself grinning. His initial reaction was to tell her no; splitting up wasn’t a good idea, especially if she left her weapons behind. However, it was just a mile; she’d have Rafferty with her, and he knew perfectly well that Evylin was never without a weapon. If nothing else, she had the blade hidden in the ankle of her boot. But he imagined she’d concealed several others on her person as well.
And Deckard relished the opportunity to be alone for even ten minutes.
“Be careful,” he charged.
Evylin dropped her chin in deference, a bright smile warming her expression. “As you wish,” she replied sweetly, then grabbed Rafferty’s arm and started off at a jog.
Watching until the pair ran out of sight, Deckard swallowed his instinctive nervousness. He didn’t like being separated from Evylin these days. An anxiousness now swelled within him until he saw her again, and he was reassured that she was safe. But he shoved down the feeling to glance over his shoulder at his sleeping comrades.
With only four of them asleep at the moment, they each had more room than before. Auden and Ilain slept nearest one another. The brother and sister looked comfortable, despite the damp and chilly night. Ethenn curled up in Thom’s old spot, having traded out when their watches switched, leaving Thom to huddle against the rock outcropping for shelter. A healthy ten feet away from the nearest member, Deckard didn’t fear that their conversation had woken anyone.
Which gave him all the courage he needed to turn back to the shadow that lingered in the trees. “It’s an interesting theory, isn’t it?” he asked, voice even quieter than when Evylin and Rafferty had been with him.
The figment stepped out from the densely grown trees, wholly unchanged: dark brown beard unruly, massive forearms crossed, steel-gray eyes unyielding. “If you believe in magic,” Hewitt’s ghost said—Deckard’s personal form of insanity manifested.
With some emotion between annoyance and amusement rising, Deckard shook his head at himself. Ever since he’d dug Hewitt’s grave, he’d started seeing the vision. Out of desperation, he’d spoken to it. And even though he knew he was merely soothing his conscience, he couldn’t help holding onto the apparition.
Deckard saw Hewitt’s ghost everywhere. It had become his constant companion since they left the man’s grave—a shadow always lingering in the trees, at his side, in the distance. Whenever Deckard looked for him, Hewitt was there. That’s how he knew he was going mad—he only saw him when hewantedto see him.
“You know magic is real,” Deckard said, feeling idiotic for arguing with his imagination. “You’ve seen it. You’ve fought it.”
Hewitt’s ghost leaned against the large, gnarled oak near Deckard’s side. “It killed me.”
The acknowledgment cut deep into Deckard’s chest. “So you agree then?” he asked. “You think Rafferty’s theory is correct?”
“No,” Hewitt rasped, “I don’t.”
