Free The Three Lands Omnibus (2011 Edition) by Dusk Peterson

yet addressed it; it told of everything that has happened recently, from Hamar's death until the events of two nights ago. Fenton ended the letter by saying, "From all that I have written, you will understand why I believe that my duties will soon be ending here and that, when we meet again, it will be in the manner which we once discussed. That this prospect does not grieve me is due mainly to Adrian: I feel that I have received richer rewards during my four years here with him than most men receive in a lifetime. Therefore, I leave now with the god's peace in my heart and need only record here my very great love for you, in anticipation of our reunion."

I read the last paragraph several times, my heart beating harder each time, until I looked up and found Fenton standing next to me.

For a moment, I failed to recognize him; all I saw was the sober-colored lesser free-man's tunic. It has been many years since I last saw Fenton without his priests' robe. Then I noticed that the man before me had no blade at this belt. I swallowed the hardness in my throat, saying, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been reading your correspondence."

"It doesn't matter," he replied with half a smile. "I never write anything that might be dangerous for others to read."

I tried to puzzle this out, as he reached over to place the pen and ink back where they belonged, on the table where he keeps the holy instruments that are used only in the gods' service. Finally, finding no better way to speak my thoughts, I blurted out, "You're leaving!"

"Only if the gods will it," he said. His long hair, which is usually tucked into his hood, veiled his face as he leaned forward. "If the gods permit it, I'll stay."

I wanted to tell him that my father would never send him from the village, but my voice faltered as I watched Fenton gently place the pen and ink next to the silver blade. Fenton was a priest, and he had vowed to serve the gods; if he could not serve them here, he would have to go elsewhere. "I'll come with you," I said at last.

Fenton raised his eyebrows as he turned round. "Leaving your father with no son to be his heir?"

I could make no answer to that; I knew that Fenton would think less of me if I failed in my duty to my father and my village. In the end, I asked, "Who were you writing to?"

Fenton glanced over at the doorway. People were passing by, and I could hear my father's voice nearby, giving instructions to our village carpenter. Without need for instruction, I went over to Fenton, and he and I left the sanctuary together, walking past the village boundaries toward the top of the mountain.

I went slowly, for Fenton's sake; he did not grow up on a mountain, as I did, and it takes him time to scramble over the rocks. When we had reached the edge of the cliff, where the mountainside breaks free of forest, and scrub tickles the legs of passersby, Fenton said, "I was writing to your cousin Emlyn."

I looked at Fenton with surprise. I knew, of course, that Fenton was the one who took Emlyn to the priests' house in hopes that the priests there could cure Emlyn's long-standing mind-illness; I also knew that he had tutored Emlyn when they lived together at the priests' house. But Fenton had scarcely spoken of Emlyn since that time, except when my mother asked questions about him. Since Emlyn's mother was my mother's sister, my mother has a special fondness for my cousin.

"I didn't know that you'd kept in contact," I said.

Fenton nodded, though his concentration was focussed on climbing over a jutting ledge. I paused to help him over the hard part. "Emlyn and I have written to each other since I left the south," Fenton said. "He sends his letters to the priest at Blackpass, and I pick them up there whenever I visit."

I thought about this as we made our way up the rocky path to the top of the mountain. Fenton's exercise in subterfuge was perfectly sensible, of course. My father would not like the idea of any of us sending friendly letters to a