Once more the Oltor’s sweet voice broke out in song. Duvo waited for several moments, feeling the rhythm, charting the melody. Then he began to play. Even through the velvet blindfold he could see the brightness grow. It was sharp and painful, and he turned away from it. The music was similar to the Song of Morning which Ranaloth had taught him many years before. But it was infinitely more rich and multi-layered. And slowly the song swelled, other voices joining in, until it seemed that a great choir was filling the Temple with a magic so potent that Duvo’s senses swam.
He sank to his knees and let fall his harp. The music washed over him like a warm wave, and he lay down upon the stones and dreamed. In his dream he saw the Oltor Prime, standing before a host of his people. The Curtain of Time was open once more, and the people filed slowly through it to a land of green fields and high mountains: a place of peace, harmony and tranquillity. Duvodas longed to go with them.
He awoke as the Oltor Prime touched his face, feeling more rested than at any time in his life. Pulling clear his blindfold, he saw that the Eldarin father was still pointing towards the high altar. But now there was nothing upon it. Swiftly Duvo scanned the great hall of the Temple. It was empty. Not one shard of bone remained – save the skull held in the hands of the Oltor Prime. ‘You brought them back from the dead!’ whispered Duvo.
‘We brought them back, Duvodas. You and I.’
‘Where are they?’
‘In a new land. I must join them soon, but I need your help one last time.’
‘What can I do?’
The Oltor lifted the skull. ‘This is all that is left of me, my friend. I cannot join to it, for I cannot both sing and be born again. You must play the song you heard.’
‘I cannot do it like you. I do not have the skill.’
The Oltor Prime smiled. ‘You do not need the skill. You need the heart – and this you have.’ The Oltor retied the blindfold. ‘Join with me in the music. And when I fall silent, play on!’
Once more the song sounded. Duvo’s fingers danced upon the harp strings. There was no conscious creation of sound, no planned melody. The music he played was automatic and instantaneous. He failed to notice when the Oltor’s voice faded away, and his fingers continued to dance effortlessly along the strings of his harp.
A hand touched his shoulder, and he let the music die away. ‘We are here, Duvodas,’ said the Oltor. Duvo untied the blindfold and rubbed his eyes. Lying on the floor was the sleeping figure of Brune. No longer golden-skinned, he was the sandy-haired young man Duvo had first seen in the Wise Owl tavern with the swordsman, Tarantio. Beside him stood the tall, naked figure of the Oltor Prime.
‘I must leave now,’ said the Oltor, ‘and you must return to the world.’ He handed Duvo a small piece of red coral. ‘I have imbued this with a spell, which will open the Curtain twice only. It will take you to the land below a monastery on a high mountain some forty miles south-east of the ruined city of Morgallis. There you will find Sirano. He has the Pearl with him. Take Tarantio with you, if he will go.’
‘Could you not stay and help us?’
‘I wish to see no more wars. I have touched the stars, Duvodas, and seen many wonders. The Eldarin allowed the humans through the Curtain many centuries ago. Do you know why?’
‘Ranaloth told me it was because our world was dying.’
‘Yes, there was charity and kindness involved in the deed. But the underlying reason was that the Eldarin knew you were similar to the Daroth. They felt great guilt for imprisoning an entire race. You humans were not as grossly evil as the Daroth, but you had a capacity for vileness which the Eldarin were trying to understand. They believed that if they could master relations with the humans it would better help them when they restored freedom to the Daroth.’