Discordant Harmonies 2: Severe Notes

Chapter Seven

Géta had never been so exhausted in his life. He dismounted and looked around, feeling worse than he had after his trip to the Capitol in Shélan's company. They were still three days behind the herd, but they'd been riding hard. Part of it was simply the weather. It had turned bad just after they'd crossed the border back into Ruphlan and had been raining almost constantly for the past four days. This was, according to Asthané, typical autumn weather. Knowing that didn't make it any easier to deal with, because it just made him cold, and cold made him tired, and he had lost his appetite so many days ago he'd lost count thanks to the stress of the whole damn venture.

Before he could escape with his packs, Asthané grasped his shoulder and pulled him into the house. So much for seeking bed. Asthané's Custodian had apparently offered to take care of Hunée's body, because he wasn't with them. Then again, only Asthané truly needed to give a report, though Géta didn't doubt the ranch hands had had plenty to say about the excursion. Why the Mage wanted his presence, he didn't know, and he wasn't going to ask. All he had to do was endure the time afoot, and he listened to the report with half an ear, actually dozing on his feet until he dropped his saddlebags and almost fell on top of them himself. Asthané gave him a look of irritation, but dismissed him, in apparent sour temper, but he didn't question the dismissal, collecting his things and scurrying out.

He didn't think much about what he was doing, only sought a member of the household and asked for the room where Téus was sleeping. If he had been thinking clearly, he wouldn't have, but it was easier than trying to explain his presence to Asthané would have been if he'd gone to the room Asthané had been assigned. Little as Géta had wanted to deal with this situation with Téus, he simply didn't care to worry about it right now, and dropped his things in the same corner they'd occupied before, stripped to his underwear, and crawled into bed. The moment his head hit the pillow, he was asleep.

Sometime later—it must have been dark because no light came in the one window over the bed though he thought the curtains were open—someone joined him in bed. For a moment, Géta's half-asleep mind was confused as to this person's identity, and he tried to escape, but arms clamped around him.

"I'm glad you got back safe." Téus sounded weary, relieved, and near tears.

Géta calmed at the sound of the other musician's voice and let Téus gather him close, relaxing again. Oddly, he wasn't afraid of the situation he was in with Téus at this moment. He was actually rather appreciative of the other musician's company. Géta had always wondered what it would be like to come home to somebody, like his parents had, and realized it was actually kind of nice to be snuggled with someone else. It made coming home more real. Made him appreciate being alive, even though he was still too tired to put much thought behind his feelings. It just made him feel happier, and in a way which filled him with contentment. Someone cared about him. He was home.

Uncertainties about Téus's feelings and intentions completely forgotten for the time being, Géta snuggled up to him and drifted back to sleep in the other's embrace. For a time, he was aware of nothing, then mists slid into his dreams. They took away the innocuous chat he was having with Udé at Capitol Temple and brought him to the border post.

But it was different. A solid stone wall towered around it—behind him. He didn't look back to see it, but felt it there. His gaze focused on Enemy Mage, who stood several paces away in a patch of ground devoid of the Gods' Will. He didn't know how he'd negated the Obnubilate Codicil around the Mage, but Géta knew he was the one who'd done it. He stopped just outside of the perimeter, drew his sword to raise, and stepped into the dead area.

Enemy Mage reached for the Gods' Will, an attempt betrayed by a swirl of power from the Mage himself, but it faded quickly, sucked into the earth. Géta crossed the ground, boots brushing through waving grasses, gaze dancing over his opponent. Enemy Mage drew his own sword and held it awkwardly. Coming to stand the length of two swords' blades away, Géta gave a low whistle. Mists curled away from the sound, unfurling into the air to sweep the vision away.