“Why are they dying?” Paul asked.
“Because he is draining them to death.”
Diarmuid nodded. “And the dead ones are revived with the Cauldron? Over and over again. Is that how he made the winter? How he was strong enough?”
“Yes,” said Loren simply.
There was a silence. Prydwen rode through a calm sea.
“He will have others with him to do this?” Arthur said.
“He will have to,” the mage replied. “The ones used to source him will be incapable of moving.”
“Denbarra,” Paul said. “Is he so evil? Why is he doing this?”
Matt whipped around. “Because a source does not betray his mage!” They all heard the bitterness.
Loren laid a hand on the Dwarf’s shoulder. “Easy,” he said. “I don’t think he can now, in any case. We shall see, if we get there.”
If we get there. Diarmuid strolled thoughtfully away to talk with Coll at the helm. A moment later, Arthur and Cavall went back to their place at the stern.
“Can he make the winter again?” Paul asked Loren.
“I think so. He can do almost anything he wants with so much power.”
The two of them turned to lean on the railing on either side of Matt. They gazed out at the empty sea.
“I took flowers to Aideen’s grave,” the Dwarf said, after a moment. “With Jennifer.”
Loren looked at him. “I don’t think Denbarra has her choice,” he repeated after a moment.
“In the beginning he did,” the Dwarf growled.
“Were I Metran, what would you have done?”
“Cut your heart out!” Matt Sören said.
Loren looked at his source, a smile beginning to play about his mouth. “Would you?” he asked.
For a long time Matt glared back at him. Then he grimaced and shook his head. He turned once more to the sea. Paul felt something ease in his heart. Not to lightness, but toward acceptance and resignation. He wasn’t sure why he found strength in the Dwarf’s admission, but he did, and he knew he had need of that strength, with greater need yet to come.
He’d been sleeping badly since Kevin died, so Paul had volunteered to take one of the pre-dawn watches. It was a time to think and remember. The only sounds were the creaking of the ship and the slap of waves in the darkness below. Overhead, Prydwen’s three sails were full, and they were running easily with the wind. There were four other watchmen stationed around the deck, and red-haired Averren was at the helm.
With no one near him, it was a very private time, almost a peaceful one. He went with his memories. Kevin’s death would never be less than a grief, nor would it ever be less than a thing of wonder, of glory, even. So many people died in war, so many had died already in this one, but none had dealt such a blow to the Dark as they passed over into Night. And none, he thought, ever would. Rahod hedai Liadon, the priestesses had moaned in the Temple at Paras Derval, while outside the green grass was coming back in a night. Already, through the net of sorrow that wrapped his heart, Paul could feel a light beginning to shine. Let Rakoth Maugrim fear, and everyone in Fionavar—even cold Jaelle— acknowledge what Kevin had wrought, what his soul had been equal to.
And yet, he thought, to be fair, Jaelle had acknowledged it to him twice. He shook his head. The High Priestess with her emerald eyes was more than he could deal with now. He thought of Rachel and remembered music. Her music, and then Kev’s, in the tavern. They would share it now, forever, in him. A difficult realization, that.
“Am I intruding?”
Paul glanced back and, after a moment, shook his head.
“Night thoughts,” he said.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Coll murmured, and moved up to the railing. “Thought I might be of some use up top, but it’s a quiet night and Averren knows his business.”
Paul smiled again. Listened to the easy sound of the ship and the sea. “It’s a strange hour,” he said. “I like it, actually. I’ve never been to sea before.”