Finally, the long line came to an end. The last marchers emerged from the curtain and moved away. The lightning still flared, the rain still poured and the thunder rumbled. No member of the procession that I could recall had seemed wet, however. I had been standing at the edge of the abyss, watching them pass. There was a hand on my arm. How long it had been there, I could not tell. Now that the passage was complete, I realized that the stormfront was advancing again.
The rotation of the sky seemed to be bringing more darkness upon us. There were voices off to my left. It seemed they had been talking for a long while, but I had not been hearing their words. I realized that I was shaking, that I ached all over, that I could barely stand.
“Come and lie down,” Fiona said. “The family has shrunken enough for one day.”
I let her lead me away from the edge.
“Would it really make any difference?” I asked. “How much longer do you think we have?”
“We do not have to stay here and wait for it,” she said. “We will cross the dark bridge into the Courts. We have already broken their defense. The storm may not reach that far. It may be stopped here by the abyss. We ought to see Dad off, anyway.”
I nodded.
“It would seem we have small choice but to be dutiful unto the end.”
I eased myself down and sighed. If anything, I felt even weaker now.
“Your boots . . .” she said.
“Yes.”
She pulled them off. My feet throbbed.
“Thanks.”
“I’ll get you some rations.”
I closed my eyes. I dozed. Too many images played within my head to make for a coherent dream. How long this lasted. I do not know, but an old reflex drew me to wakefulness at the sound of an approaching horse. Then a shadow passed over my eyelids.
I looked up and beheld a muffled rider, silent, still. I was regarded.
I looked back. No threatening gesture had been made, but there was a feeling of antipathy in that cold gaze.
“There lies the hero,” said a soft voice.
I said nothing.
“I could slay you easily now.”
I recognized the voice then, though I had no idea as to the reason behind the sentiment.
“I came upon Borel before he died,” she said. “He told me how ignobly you had bested him.”
I could not help it, I could not control it. A dry chuckle rose in my throat. Of all the stupid things to get upset about. I might have told her that Borel had been far better equipped and far fresher than I, and that he had come to me looking for a fight. I might have told her that I do not recognize rules when my life is at stake, or that I do not consider war a game. I could have said a great number of things, but if she did not know them already or did not choose to understand them, they would not have made a bit of difference. Besides, her feelings were already plain.
So I simply said one of the great trite truths: “There is generally more than one side to a story.”
“I will settle for the one I have,” she told me.
I thought about shrugging, but my shoulders were too sore.
“You have cost me two of the most important persons in my life,” she said then.
“Oh?” I said. “I’m sorry, for you.”
“You are not what I was led to believe. I had seen you as a truly noble figure-strong, yet understanding and sometimes gentle. Honorable . . .”
The storm, much closer now, was flaring at her back. I thought of something vulgar and said it. She let it pass as if she had not heard me.
“I am going now,” she said, “back to my own people. You have won the day thus far-but that way lay Amber.” She gestured toward the storm. I could only stare. Not at the raging elements. At her. “I doubt there is anything of my new allegiance left for me to renounce,” she continued.