His return to Gruntle and Stonny, each time, held the bitter flavour of flight.
'You chew on things like no other man I've known,' Gruntle said.
Blinking, Itkovian glanced over at the Daru. 'Sir?'
'Well, not quite true, come to think of it. Buke …'
On Itkovian's other side, Stonny sniffed. 'Buke? Buke was a drunk.'
'More than that, you miserable woman,' Gruntle replied. 'He carried on his shoulders-'
'None of that,' Stonny warned.
To Itkovian's surprise, Gruntle fell abruptly silent. Buke. ah, I recall. On his shoulders, the deaths of loved ones. 'There is no need, Stonny Menackis, for such uncharacteristic sensitivity. I see how I appear, to you both, similar to Buke. I am curious: did your sad friend seek redemption in his life? While he may have refused me when I was Shield Anvil, he might well have drawn strength from some inner resolve.'
'Not a chance, Itkovian,' Stonny said. 'Buke drank to keep his torment at bay. He wasn't looking for redemption. He wanted death, plain and simple.'
'Not simple,' Gruntle objected. 'He wanted an honourable death, such as his family was denied — by that honour he would redeem them in exchange. I know, a twisted notion, but what went on in his mind is less a mystery to me than to most, I suspect.'
'Because you've thought the same,' Stonny snapped. 'Even though you didn't lose a family to some tenement fire. Even though the worst thing you've lost is maybe that harlot who married that merchant-'
'Stonny,' the Daru growled, 'I lost Harllo. I nearly lost you.'
The admission clearly left her speechless.
Ah, these two . 'The distinction,' Itkovian said, 'between myself and Buke lies in the notion of redemption. I accept torment, such as it is for me, and so acknowledge responsibility for all that I have and have not done. As Shield Anvil, my faith demanded that I relieve others of their pain. In the name of Fener, I was to bring peace to souls, and to do so without judgement. This I have done.'
'But your god's gone,' Stonny said. 'So who, in Hood's name, did you deliver those souls to?'
'Why, no-one, Stonny Menackis. I carry them still.'
Stonny was glaring across at Gruntle, who answered her with a despondent shrug. 'As I told you, lass,' he muttered.
She rounded on Itkovian. 'You damned fool! That new Shield Anvil — what about her? Won't she embrace your burden or whatever it is you do? Won't she take those souls — she has a god, damn her!' Stonny gathered her reins. 'If she thinks she can-'
Itkovian stayed her with a hand. 'No, sir. She has offered, as she must. But she is not ready for such a burden — it would kill her, destroy her soul — and that would wound her god, perhaps fatally so.'
Stonny pulled her arm away, but remained beside him. Her eyes were wide. 'And what, precisely, do you plan on doing with — with — all of those souls?'
'I must find a means, Stonny Menackis, of redeeming them. As my god would have done.'
'Madness! You're not a god! You're a damned mortal! You can't-'
'But I must. So, you see, I am like yet unlike your friend Buke. Forgive me, sirs, for "chewing" on such things. I know my answer awaits me — soon, I believe — and you are right, I would do better to simply exercise calm patience. I have held on this long, after all.'
'Be as you are, Itkovian,' Gruntle said. 'We talk too much, Stonny and I. That's all. Forgive us.'
'There is nothing to forgive, sir.'
'Why can't I have normal friends?' Stonny demanded. 'Ones without tiger stripes and cat eyes? Ones without a hundred thousand souls riding their backs? Here comes a rider from that other lagging company — maybe he's normal! Hood knows, he's dressed like a farmer and looks inbred enough to manage only simple sentences. A perfect man! Hey! You! No, what are you hesitating for? Come to us, then! Please!'
The lanky figure riding what seemed to be an odd breed of dray horse cautiously walked his mount forward. In terribly accented Daru, he called out, 'Hello, friends! Is this a bad time? It seems you argue-'
'Argue?' Stonny snorted. 'You've been living in the woods too long if you think that was an argument! Come closer, and how by the Abyss did you come by such a huge nose?'
The man wilted, hesitated.
'Stonny!' Gruntle admonished. He addressed the rider, 'This woman is rude and miserable to everyone, soldier.'
'I wasn't being rude!' she exclaimed. 'Big noses are like big hands, that's all…'