“Davrian was undefeated when he lived. It took a very large red dragon to kill him finally, and the dragon nearly died from that battle, if the books are to be believed,” Valor explained, then shrugged. “But then, as far as the books explain, he never faced a Stormlord so we shall see.”
“Stormlord?” Fiona asked with another faint chuckle. “I only see two elements branded on your armor. That doesn’t exactly qualify you as a Stormlord now does it? Gusty wind lord perhaps. Your father has command of all of the Elements as well as the Paraelements. You are a far cry from him yet, pup.”
“I am really going to hate traveling with you,” Valor sighed as he began digging through his packs with a disgusted expression.
“Going to hate it even more when Davrian makes you a permanent resident of the Darklands and I am your constant companion,” Fiona chimed in bitter amusement.
Valor glanced up long enough to glare at her and went back to digging through the bags.
“Death can’t keep Finn and you can’t have Valor,” Jala cut in, causing them both to turn and look at her. She raised an eyebrow at them daring either to object.
“Well said, I agree she can’t have me,” Valor mumbled and began digging through their bag once again, at last pulling free a small silver container and lifting it out with a triumphant smile. Pulling the lid free he carefully removed a cigar and grinned faintly at Jala. “Most people complain about their smell. Here I think it can only be an improvement.”
“I’ve never seen you smoke those before, but by all means,” Jala agreed with a wave of her hand. Shaking her head she leaned back against the cave wall once more trying not to think of what might be coating the stones behind her.
“I bought them for my brother, actually. I had planned to give them to him before he left the city, but I didn’t have a chance to see him before he left. So I’ve been carrying them around,” Valor explained and then smiled sadly as he tapped one on his hand and glanced toward her again. “It’s somewhat of a tradition my father started. After every victory you smoke one of these. Normally, Honor and I tease each other with it and give half-smoked cigars. He was going against the Blights when he left, though, so I bought him a dozen.” He fell silent again and then lit the cigar taking a long drag from it.
“I’m sure he has already had more than one victory so you can save the ashes for him and give them to him on your return and thank him for winning. The smoke does smell much better than this cave,” Jala offered as she stretched her leg out before her. It was difficult to find a comfortable position to rest the ankle, without propping her foot on the pile of bones before her. She could feel the tingling of the healing though. Despite how foul smelling was the tonic Fiona had found, it did seem effective. She looked up to find Fiona still silently watching her with an enigmatic expression on her face. “What?” she asked after a long moment of the woman’s unflinching stare.
“Nothing to discuss now,” Fiona murmured, shaking her head as if she had been deep in thought. With a last glance at them she went back to scavenging the cave in silence.
Valor leaned back beside her and took a long drag from the cigar. Jala glanced over at him and smiled faintly. He returned the gesture with a weary sigh and nodded to her.
“At the very least, we will never forget this trip,” Valor mumbled with a slight shake of his head. “It may not be fond memories, but I’m sure we will find something suitable to say about them when others ask.”
Jala’s smile faded a bit and she nodded slowly. Turning back to Fiona she cleared her throat. The fragile pieces of a plan were forming in her mind and it was difficult to keep from growing too hopeful. “Fiona, are there those among the Forgotten that are like you. I mean strong undead such as yourself that have an actual form or are they all wailing banshees?” she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.
“There are a few among them that are formidable, their leader being the foremost in that. He is quite powerful. Not even I would care to fight him. That’s why it’s best to avoid them,” Fiona answered, looking up from a rotting bag that was her latest find in the bone heap.
“I don’t want to avoid them, then. I’d like to go see them before we continue on,” Jala said with another faint smile forming on her lips. If what she had in mind worked, retrieving Finn was about to get a lot easier.
“What do you have in mind?” Valor asked quietly. If he was at all concerned he didn’t show it.
“Finding a suitable way to remember them,” Jala replied quietly.
“This is their border. Are you sure you wish to continue in this? I don’t think they will listen to you,” Fiona said.
Jala nodded slowly, her eyes roving over the terrain ahead. Tall black pines covered the ground as far as she could see, while heavy fog blanketed the forest floor. That, combined with the ever-present gloom of the Darklands, and it was nearly impossible to see anything in the Forgotten territory. “I still wish to speak with them,” she said quietly.
“Your funeral,” Fiona said with a shrug and motioned a gauntleted hand toward the forest. “I will wait here for you. If you cannot return to this exact point, I will find you along the borders. If you return that is.”
“Not coming with us, then? I do so hate to part with your charming company, Fiona.” Valor said sarcastically.
Jala turned in the saddle to look back at him with a slight shake of her head. “Don’t mock the dead, Val,” she scolded lightly.
“Especially when you are about to be one of them,” Fiona added dryly, offering a last tight smile to the pair of them as they rode across the border.
“Is it just me or did the temperature drop another ten degrees once we entered the fog?” Valor asked quietly.
“Twenty, you must not have noticed how severe the change was through all that metal,” Jala replied, pulling her borrowed cloak tighter around her.