The Duke made a speech at the tomb. It was simple, dignified and, to Forin, deeply moving. Then the crowds were allowed to file through, past the open coffin, to pay their respects. It remained open for two days, then was sealed. In the months to come a statue would be raised upon it of a warrior woman, her sword sheathed, her hand extended towards the north.
Tarantio opened his eyes on the morning of the ninth day to see Miriac sleeping in a chair beside the bed. His mouth was dry and his body ached; he tried to move, and groaned. Miriac awoke immediately and leaned over him. ‘They told me you would die,’ she said. ‘I knew they were wrong.’
‘Too much to live for,’ he whispered.
‘That’s true,’ said Dace.
Tarantio felt a surge of emotion that brought a lump to his throat. ‘Thank you for coming back, brother!’
‘Don’t go maudlin on me, Chio. Where else could I go?’
Tarantio closed his eyes.
‘What about the child in the mine?’
‘He can wait for a while longer. One day, maybe, we’ll find him together.’
Tarantio felt the warm touch of Miriac’s hand on his own. ‘Don’t go back to sleep,’ said Dace. ‘Tell her we love her, you fool!’
Forin stood alone before the newly sealed doors, remembering what had been and mourning what could have been.
‘I can’t stay in Corduin, Karis,’ he said. ‘There is nothing for me here without you.’
He strode away in the gathering dusk, only pausing at the foot of the hill to look back. Seeing that a dark shape had moved out of the trees and hunkered down by the door, Forin retraced his steps. Stealer looked up as he approached, bared his teeth and growled.
‘I don’t much like you, either,’ said Forin, reaching out his hand. For a moment it seemed that the hound would snap at him, then Stealer sniffed his fingers, and he ran his hand over the broad, ugly head. ‘How do you feel about travelling south?’ he asked. ‘We’ll see the ocean and live like lords.’ Rising, he took several paces down the hill. ‘You coming or not, you ugly son of a bitch?’
The hound cast a lingering look at the tomb, then rose and padded after him.
Epilogue
The Oltor Prime brought Duvo to the centre of the desert which had once housed the city of Eldarisa. There were no buildings now, sculpted in light, merely a great emptiness and an ocean of barren rock.
‘Why did you come for me?’ asked Duvo. ‘I would have killed them all.’
‘That would be reason enough, Duvodas.’
‘They deserve to die.’
The golden figure stepped back from Duvo and the human refused to meet his eyes. ‘I have brought you here so that you might learn a terrible truth. I wish it were not so.’
‘What truth? I have no need of truth! There is a war being waged, Oltor, and I am a part of it.’
‘There is no war, Duvodas. It is over.’
The young man surged to his feet, his clenched fist raised. ‘Then I did it! I ruined them!’
‘I cannot say that your actions did not affect the outcome,’ said the Oltor. ‘For they did. But what made the difference was not, ultimately, your slaying of the Daroth, but the death of a single human. Though that is a riddle you are no longer equipped to fathom. I wish you well, human.’
The Oltor Prime’s hands swept down and a curtain of bright sunlight opened on to the darkness. Without
another word he stepped through, and then Duvodas was alone. He felt suddenly weary, and he slept until the dawn. Then, with renewed energy, he climbed the tallest peak and
– careful not to touch the surface of the orb – removed the Pearl from its sack and wedged it deep into the rocks.
It took most of a day to climb down to the lowlands, but Duvodas felt a longing to see the return of Eldarisa, and to be with the Eldarin again. Pushing on without rest, he reached the Twins by late evening and carefully climbed to the ledge where he had stood once before with the Oltor Prime. Taking his harp in his hands, Duvodas prepared for the Creation Hymn. It did not concern him that there was no land magic here, for never before had he experienced such power as had flowed in his body since the Daroth slew Shira.