The party arrives at the last rise before the monastery. No one says a word as they rein in and prepare to change horses one final time. Imre leaps down from his mount and reaches for the—wait, why isn’t Wil going to his alternate horse? “Wil? You should get a fresh horse for this final charge…”
Even as he says the words, Imre realizes that Wil’s horse, although exceptionally nervous, shows no sign of exhaustion. He frowns. The half-elf is clearly capable of great destruction, but he would not have guessed that he was also capable of channeling such restorative energy. He wrestles with his curiosity, and loses. Surely he can risk a quick glance into the upper world …
... i rise. the trees the grass glow yellow, my hand red with murder the dull weight of the skull behind me slowly fading here are serge here are devar there my gaze caught by wil his aura gyrating if i could move my spirit body THAT way i’d but no the horse how is the horse what has he done to the horse there is something wrong i reach for the aura i am trapped no there is no me to trap but i cannot move what is this the horse the horse i look it splits it branches there are two there are four there …
The others see Imre take a step towards Wil. He stiffens, and then collapses onto the ground.
there are a thousand horses a million there i am pulled free ripped free i waken
He blinks and rolls over. He’s lying on the ground bleeding from his chin. The others are rushing to him. “Another ambush?” “No he just collapsed.” “He better not do that when it counts.” He slowly gets to his feet. A return that sudden will leave him aching for days.
He ignores Serge and the Pelor man. “Wil Varis. What are you? And what did you do to that horse?”