Forin reached her side, dropping to his knees where she lay only yards from the surviving Daroth. He put his arms around her, holding her close. ‘Sweet Heaven, don’t die on me, Karis! Don’t die!’
The Duke, Vint, and Necklen joined them. Karis felt no pain as her head sagged against Forin’s shoulder. He kissed her brow. ‘Where is the surgeon?’ he shouted.
‘Calm yourself,’ she whispered. There was no tension in her now, no fear. The killing was over, and she felt strangely at peace. Looking up, she saw that fewer than fifty Daroth were still standing. ‘Who is the leader now?’ she asked, directing her question at the nearest warrior.
The Daroth’s white face turned towards her. ‘You will now destroy us,’ he said. ‘The Daroth will be no more.’
‘We do not . . . want to destroy you,’ Karis told him. Gentle heat grew inside her head, and she sensed that all the Daroth were now mind-linked to her. ‘What we desire … is an end to war.’
‘There can be no end,’ said the Daroth. It seemed to Karis that a wealth of sorrow was hidden in those words and then, as if a door had been opened, she was allowed to share the emotions of the Daroth, their anguish at the death of their kindred and their fears for the future.
She could scarcely feel Forin’s arms around her now, and she was almost overcome by a need to let go, to fly free. Struggling to hold on she whispered to the Daroth: ‘Come closer.’ Clumsily the Daroth knelt before her. ‘Take my hand,’ she said, and his thick fingers reached out to
curl around Karis’s slender palm. ‘There can be no … end without… a beginning. You understand?’
‘We have great hatred for you,’ said the Daroth, ‘and we cannot coexist. For one to prosper, the other must die.’
Karis said nothing, and the silence grew. ‘Oh, no,’ said Forin. ‘Oh, no!’ He hugged the dead woman close to him, cradling her head. Tears streamed to his cheeks as he rocked her to and fro.
‘We cannot say whether this be true,’ said the Daroth, still holding to the limp hand. ‘We have no experience of it. But we shall do as you say.’
‘Who are you talking to?’ asked the Duke.
‘The woman. She speaks still. You cannot hear her?’
The Duke shook his head. Releasing Karis’s hand, the Daroth stood. ‘Your wizard with the face of blood has destroyed our Life Chamber. Half of all our people are dead now, never to come again. Karis says we should return to our city. We will do so.’
‘To prepare for war – or peace?’ the Duke asked.
‘We cannot say . . . not at this time.’ The Daroth gazed down at the dead warrior woman. ‘There is much to consider. You are not immortal – and yet Karis gave her one life to save ours. We do not understand it. It was foolish, and yet … it speaks to us without words.’
‘Is she with you still?’ asked the Duke. Forin glanced up.
‘No. But her words remain.’
The Daroth swung away and walked to the catacomb entrance. One by one the surviving warriors followed, vanishing down into the dark.
Tarantio remained unconscious for eight days, and missed the state funeral the Duke gave for Karis, the Ice Queen.
All of the citizens of Corduin lined the route, and Karis’s body was borne in the Duke’s carriage, drawn by six white horses. Karis’s war-horse, Warain – led by Forin -walked behind, followed by the Duke and the army she had led. Spring flowers of yellow, red and blue were cast into the street ahead of the procession, and the carriage rolled slowly on over a carpet of blooms.
Vint did not attend. He sat in his apartments at the palace and watched the procession from his balcony. Then he got drunk, and let his grief flow where none could see it.
Karis was laid to rest in a tomb built on a high hill, facing north. A bronze plaque, cast by Ozhobar, was set into the mortar. It said simply:
Karis — the Ice Queen