Veiled Empire by Nathan Garrison

“Your family . . .” Today was the anniversary of their deaths. “I had not realized.”
    Yandumar waved the sentiment away. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. I’ve always tried to keep these little pity parties to myself but couldn’t manage it this year. Not now that we’ve kicked things off. I’m afraid we’ll be keeping even less from each other than before.”
    Gilshamed stepped over to his friend. He touched his hand upon Yandumar’s shoulder. “Either way, I am truly sorry for what happened to them. If there is anything I may do for you, please do not hesitate to ask, my friend.”
    Yandumar nodded. Gilshamed remained by him, offering his support and comfort.
    So often, words expressed were actually the least appropriate thing in the world. Times like this reminded Gilshamed of that. Despite both of their propensities for the superfluous, this stillness, this silence, it fit them, filling the empty spaces in their souls with that which naught else could.
    Yandumar peered down into his empty mug, then tossed it to the side. “It is good, though,” he said, straightening in his chair, “to be reminded of why you fight.”
    “Indeed it is.”
    “And you know,” Yandumar said, a bit of his old self already starting to return, “this road we’re on feels good, don’t it?”
    Gilshamed marveled at the resiliency displayed by Yandumar, which, at times, put his own to shame. Without such an attribute, he doubted any of their success thus far would have been possible. “Treading the path of justice often grants such feelings, especially while rectifying an evil so pernicious as this.”
    “Gotta be careful, though. The line between justice and revenge is thin, especially when you’ve lost a loved one.”
    “Yes . . .”
    The words sent Gilshamed plunging into distant memories. Not a flood of images this time, but rather a single frame, holding the likeness of a valynkar woman. She had hair of violet and a smile that melted glaciers. The woman he loved. The woman he lost. The woman he had not spoken of to anyone, nor dared to allow his thoughts to dwell upon. This solitary window was all he had left of her, all he could allow himself to keep locked inside, for the pain of her loss still ached like a hammerblow to his soul.
    And with pain came the rage. The rage he felt towards the one responsible for her fate.
    Gilshamed flinched as Yandumar’s hand came down on his shoulder. “Who was she, Gil?”
    A protest of ignorance sprang onto his tongue, but he clamped his lips shut. It was no use. “Am I really so transparent?”
    “Only when you think of old things. Old, painful things. Your face looks like I feel when I think of my wife and children.”
    With solemnity, Gilshamed closed the window, sighing as the image of his one and only love faded away into oblivion. “She was my life-mate. I do not . . . that is . . . I suppose I should have told you before now.”
    Yandumar let loose a warm chuckle, the kind Gilshamed knew meant that all was well. “I understand why you didn’t. Still, we need to keep an eye on each other. Now especially, since things are in motion that we have little hope to control, we must keep our motivations in check. I know you’ll be there for me. I just wanted to let you know that I am also here for you.”
    Gilshamed smiled, placing his hand on Yandumar’s shoulder, their embraces now intertwined. “You constantly surprise me. It seems I may never learn all there is to know about you.”
    Yandumar dropped his hand, grimacing briefly before he turned away. “Just don’t go digging too deeply, Gil. You may not like what you find . . .”
    To this, Gilshamed did not know what to say.
    V O REN STEPPED FROM the carriage, blinking, into the newly risen sun. The image jarred him. On principle, he avoided sunrises, for they could hardly fail to conjure memories of his early days of confinement. Days when he still harbored thoughts of his redemption, of his own