were scattering and that Sephrenia was rushing to Vanion’s side
As he whipped that force out again and again, curious Anakha
studied it, testing its power, probing for its limits.
He found none.
Implacable Anakha advanced on the deceitful Styric who had
been ultimately the cause of a lifetime of suffering and woe. He
knew that he could obliterate the now-terrified sorcerer with a
single thought.
He chose not to.
Vengeful Anakha moved forward, savaging the Styric’s last
desperately erected ‘defenses, cutting them away bit by bit and
brushing aside Zalasta’s pitiful efforts to respond.
‘Anakha. It is not right!’ The voice sPoke in Trollish.
Puzzled Anakha turned to look.
It was Bhlokw, and Bhelliom’s Child had respect for the
shaggy priest of the Troll-Gods.
‘This is the last of the wicked ones!’ Bhlokw declared. ‘It is
the wish of Khwaj to cause hurt to it! Will the Child of the
Flower-Gem hear the words of Khwaj?’
Troubled Anakha considered the words of the priest of the
Troll-Gods. ‘I will hear the words of Khwaj,’ he said. ‘It is right
that I should do this, for Khwaj and I are pack-mates.’
The enormity of the Fire-God appeared, steaming away the
snow covering the meadow around him. ‘Will Bhelliom’s Child
be bound by the word of his pack-mate, Ulath-from-Thalesia?’
he demanded in a voice that roared like a furnace.
‘The word of Ulath-from-Thalesia is my word, Khwaj,’
honorable Anakha conceded.
‘Then the wicked one is mine!’
Regretful Anakha curbed his wrath. ‘The words of Khwaj are
right words,’ he agreed. ‘if Ulath-from-Thalesia has given the
wicked one to Khwaj, then I will not say that it shall not be so.’
He looked at the terrified Styric, who was struggling desperately
to retain some small measure of defense. ‘It is yours, Khwaj. It
has caused me much hurt, and ‘I would cause hurt to it in return,
but if Ulath-from-Thalesia has said that it is the place of Khwaj
to cause hurt to it, then so be it.’
‘Bhelliom’s Child speaks well. You have honor, Anakha.’ The
Fire-God looked accusingly at Zalasta. ‘You have done great
wickedness, one-called-Zalasta.’
Zalasta stared at Khwaj in terrified incomprehension.
‘Say to it what I have said, Anakha,’ Khwaj requested. ‘It
must know why it is being punished.’
Courteous Anakha said, ‘I will, Khwaj.’ He looked sternly at
the dishevelled Styric. ‘You have caused me much pain, Zalasta,’
he said in a dreadful voice, speaking in Styric. ‘I was going to
repay you for all those friends of mine you destroyed or corrupted,
but Khwaj here has laid claim to you, and for variOUS
reasons I’m going to honor his claim. You should have stayed
away, Zalasta. Vanion would have hunted you down eventually,
but death is a little thing, and once it’s over, it’s over. What
Khwaj is going to do to you will last for eternity.’
‘Does it understand?’ Khwaj demanded.
‘In some measure, Khwaj.’
‘In time it will understand more, and it has much time. It has
always.’ And the dreadful Fire-God blew away Zalasta’s last
pitiful defenses and laid a strangely gentle hand on the cringing
Styric’s head. ‘Burn!’ he commanded. ‘Run and burn until the
end of days!’
And, all aflame, Zalasta of Styricum went out from that place
shrieking and engulfed in endless fire.
Compassionate Anakha sighed as he watched the burning
man run out across the snowy meadow, growing smaller and
smaller in the distance and with his cries of agony and woe and
unspeakable loneliness receding with him as he began the first
hour of his eternal punishment.
EPILOGUE
The following day dawned clear and cold. The sun on the snowfields
blanketing the surrounding mountains was dazzling, and
the lake at the center of the hidden Valley of Delphaeus gleamed.
The wedding had, of course, been postponed, and was now to
take place this evening.
There had been questions, naturally, but Sparhawk had put
them to rest by explaining that everything that had happened
had been Bhelliom’s doing, and that he had only been its instrument which
was not exactly a lie.
They spent the day quietly and gathered again as the sun
went down and the shadows of evening settled over the valley.
A strange sense of anticipation had nagged at Sparhawk all afternoon.
Something was going to happen here. Bhelliom had told
him that he would behold a wonder, and that was not the kind
of word Bhelliom would use lightly.
The shadows of evening deepened, and Sparhawk and the
other men escorted Vanion down to the shore of the glowing
lake to await the bride’s party while the Shining Ones once again
sang the ancient hymn which had been so abruptly broken off
the previous evening.
Then the bride appeared at the gate with the Queen of Elenia
at her side and the other ladies close behind them. The Child
Goddess, whirling and dancing in the air and with her clear
voice raised in flute-song, preceded them, again strewing their
path with flower petals.
Sephrenia’s face was serene as she came down the path to
the lake. As the small Styric bride approached the man whom
two major religions had forbidden her to marry, her personal
Goddess provided a visible symbol that she, at least, approved.
The stars had just begun to appear overhead, and one of them
seemed to have lost its way. Like a tiny comet, a brilliant spark
of light descended over the radiant Sephrenia and settled gently
on her head as a glowing garland of spring flowers.
Sparhawk smiled gently. The similarity to the crowning of
Mirtai during her rite of passage was a little too obvious to miss.
‘Critic,’ Aphrael’s voice accused.
‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘Well, don’t.’
Sephrenia and Vanion joined hands as the Delphaeic hymn
swelled to a climax. And then Xanetia, all aglow and accompanied
by two other glowing forms, one white and the other
blue, came walking across the lake. A yearning kind of murmur
passed through the Delphae, and, as one, they sank reverently to their
knees.
The Anarae tenderly embraced her Styric sister and kissed
Vanion chastely on the cheek. ‘I have entreated Beloved edaemus
to join with us here and to bless this most happy union,’
she told the assemblage, ‘and he hath brought with him this
other guest, who also hath some interest in our ceremony.’
‘is that blue one who I think it is?’ Kalten muttered to
Sparhawk.
‘Oh, yes,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘That’s the form it took back in
Cyrga, remember? – After I stuffed it down Klael’s throat.’
‘I was a little distracted at that point. Is that what it really looks
like? After you peel off all the layers of sapphire, I mean?’
‘I don’t really think so. Bhelliom’s a spirit, not a form. I think
this particular shape is just a courtesy – for our benefit.’
‘I thought it had already left.’
‘No, not quite yet.’
The glowing form of Edaemus straightened, somehow managing
to look uncomfortable. Xanetia’s face hardened and her eyes
narrowed.
‘I had thought ill oF thee, Sephrenia of Ylara,’ the God of the
Delphae admitted. ‘Mine Anarae hath persuaded me that my
thought was in error. I do entreat thee to forgive me.’ Gentle
Xanetia, it appeared, was not above a certain amount of bullying.
Sephrenia smiled benignly. ‘Of course I forgive thee, Divine
Edaemus. I was not entirely blameless myself, I do confess.’
‘Let us all then pray to our separate Gods to bless the union
of this man and this woman,’ Xanetia said in formal tones, ‘for
methinks it doth presage a new birth of understanding and trust
for all of mankind.’
Sparhawk was a little dubious about that, but like the others,
he bowed his head. He did not, however, direct his words to
his Elene God. ‘Blue Rose,’ he sent out his thought.
‘Art thou praying, my son?’ The answering voice sounded
slightly amused.
‘Consulting, Blue Rose,’ Sparhawk corrected. ‘Others will
direct our entreaty to our Elene God, and I do perceive that the
time fast approaches when thou and I must part.’
‘Truly. ‘
‘I thought to take this opportunity to ask a boon of thee.’
‘if it be within my power. ‘
‘I have seen the extent of thy power, Blue Rose – and in some
measure shared it. It is uncandid of thee to suggest that there
are any limits to what thou canst do.’
‘Be nice,’ Bhelliom murmured. It seemed quite fond of that
particular phrase. ‘What is this boon, my son?’
‘I do entreat thee to take all thy power with thee when thou
dost depart. It is a burden I am unprepared to accept. I am thy
son, Blue Rose, but I am also a man. I have neither the patience
nor the wisdom to accept responsibility for what thou hast
bestowed upon me. This world which thou hast made hath Gods
in plenty. She doth not need another. ‘
‘Think, my son. Think of what thou dost propose to surrender-‘