The next morning, Zepar approached Orin and asked him to teach him the way of the sword. This came as a shock to the knight. After all, he'd never heard of a mage wielding a sword.
Despite his surprise, Orin was more than happy to indulge Zepar's request. And that is how, after breakfast, the two found themselves going through cuts and parries.
"I must say, you've already got a decent build for this," Orin commented, gazing pointedly at Zepar's toned abs.
"If you train the mind, you should also train the body, and vice versa," Zepar replied.
Orin nodded in agreement. He knew well that strength and speed were but one way to come out on top during an altercation. Strategy, wit and cunning were weapons just as deadly as any blade.
A week went by with the two sparring, playing chess, and debating philosophy when they made camp each night. Zepar was progressing rapidly, too rapidly. Orin found himself pitying anyone who ran in to try attacking the 'weak' mage in melee range only to find that he was just as deadly without magic.
"Captain Vance was right," Orin said, laughing. "You really do have plenty of raw talent. Honestly, your potential is frightening."
"I've still got room to grow," Zepar refuted. "I'd still be in a bind if faced off against a true master in a fight to the death."
"That's a good attitude to have," Vance commented from the side. "Overconfidence breeds misfortune."
Zepar nodded and handed his practice sword back to Orin, thanking him again for the lesson. They were still a couple weeks of travel away from Ravenwood, so they couldn't dawdle.
Along the way, they encountered more small groups of armored orcs, quickly dispatching them as they did. At Captain Vance's request, Zepar only aided them, allowing them to do the bulk of the fighting in order to gain experience.
"I don't understand," Zepar said one night while sitting by the fire.
"Don't understand what?" Orin asked as he moved his bishop to cut off one of Zepar's pawns.
"It doesn't make sense," Zepar replied, taking the bishop with his rook. "To outfit these orcs would take an enormous amount of iron."
"Yes," Orin nodded, moving one of his rooks to block Zepar's advance. "Not to mention the sheer labor to forge it into armor for orcs."
"Right," Zepar agreed. "Then there's the question of why. Why would anyone want to make orcs deadlier than they already are?"
"Trade perhaps?" Orin mused. "Or fearmongering for political gain?"
"Of course," Zepar growled. "Fearmongering." He tipped over his king, closing his eyes as he was deep in thought.
"Just like that?" Orin said, confused. "You were winning."
"This mystery is souring my mood for chess," Zepar admitted. "I guess I'll need to cheer myself up somehow."
"How?" Orin asked suspiciously.
"How else?" Zepar said with a smirk. "Magic."
"You say that like magic is a cure-all," Orin accused.
"No," Zepar shook his head. "But it has limitless possibilities." Zepar pulled his staff from the ground beside him and looked at it with the kind of wonder Orin had only seen small children look at sunsets or dragons. "Magic can do anything," Zepar said in a quiet voice. "Anything you can imagine. Want to heal the sick? Will it. Want to lay waste to enemies? Will it. Want to fill a meadow with wildflowers?"
"Let me guess…Will it," Orin finished for him.
"Exactly," Zepar said excitedly with a nod. "Want to play a prank on a companion?" He aimed his staff at one of the knights, whose back was turned as he set up his tent. "Will it." He whispered some words that Orin couldn't make out before setting his staff down. "And now we wait."
"Hey Zepar," Orin began. "I don't wanna bring down the mood, but when you said, magic can do anything you can imagine…does that include raising the dead?"
"Sadly no," Zepar said solemnly. "The magic itself is capable, the problem is the caster."
"What do you mean?" Orin asked.
"If someone you love dies, and you're a mage, of course the thought will occur to you to use magic to bring them back," Zepar shook his head. "But even if you try to imagine them alive and healthy, your image of them is tainted with grief. As a result, the resurrection is corrupted, and they will be undead."
"So, every undead…"
"No," Zepar refuted. "Some are made intentionally. But without exception, every attempt by a grieving loved one to bring back someone lost, has resulted in an abomination."
As if on cue, a loud sound echoed through the camp. It started as something almost like a low purr before turning into a wet continuous squelching noise. Everyone in the camp looked over at the knight Zepar had pointed his staff at, who had just sat down. He stood up abruptly, the noise ceasing as he did. Just as he felt safe to sit down, however, the noise filled the camp again.
"You didn't," Orin said in disbelief, clamping a hand over his own mouth while trying to keep from laughing too loudly.
"Oh I did," Zepar said with a wide grin.
Zepar then sat back and looked up at the sky as the knight continued to attempt to sit, only for him to fart again each time his rear touched the log.
"This helps," Zepar admitted. "But I still worry."
"About what?" Orin asked. "You're clearly a decent person."
"Am I?" Zepar challenged. "My home village was burned to the ground, by my own hand. Whatever justification I had, it doesn't change what I did."
"No, it doesn't," Orin agreed. "But you were a child, children often lash out when they're hurting. Maybe you went insanely overboard, but look at what you've done since then."
Orin smiled as he poured a cup of tea for Zepar and then for himself. "You saved strangers from death, you continued to offer your aid to get them home safe, and you have repeatedly demonstrated remorse for your past." He toasted Zepar before sipping his tea. "You are not your father, Zepar," he said quietly. "Remember well, the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb."
"But blood is still blood," Zepar argued. "And whatever good I've done, I still feel the darkness, the anger."
"Blood is blood, is it?" Orin challenged, pulling a knife from his belt and running its edge over his palm. "Then share it with me…brother."
"My blood…should die with me," Zepar argued.
"Just shut up and accept it," Orin replied with a grin. "Whatever faults you have, and believe me, you've got plenty…there's a definite trace of goodness in there…and I'd be proud to have you as a brother."
Zepar blinked back tears as Orin made this declaration. He hadn't even realized it was happening, but somewhere along the way, he'd come to regard the brave, stupid knight as his friend. That made him smile. His first friend that actually knew his history. And that very same friend was offering brotherhood.
"Then on your own head be it," Zepar said, wiping away tears with the back of his hand before taking Orin's knife and slitting it across his own palm. "Idiot." He reached out to take Orin's hand.
"You don't scare me," Orin said, still grinning ear to ear as his hand clasped Zepar's. "Stupid."