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“May I speak with you, Lord Ronigan?” Belab’s voice pulled Ipid from his daze, and he turned in time to see the old man’s shrouded form just before his hand latched on his elbow. The old man’s grip was skeletal and strong, but at least it was not as icy as Eia’s.
Ipid did not want to speak to anyone and was dismayed that Belab had caught him. Somehow, he had managed to make it out of the inn without revealing that his son was the boy in the picture, but he did not know how. It had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep the recognition from showing on his face. His anger over Arin’s betrayal was gone. He was not thinking about his home or the people that had died this day defending it. All he could think about was what Eia had told him that morning and what that meant for Dasen.
“I know it is your son,” Belab said without emotion as they walked from the inn.
Ipid stopped in his tracks and looked nervously around to see if anyone else might have heard. The other te-ashüte had dispersed and were lost to the festivities in the camp. He was alone with Belab, an island of solitude in a sea of celebration. Ipid turned his attention to Belab and focused on the task at hand. “How . . . what . . . what do you mean?” He tried to look surprised, but it was far too late.
“You cannot hide it. I have known for some time. I felt his presence as soon as we arrived on this side of the Devil’s Teeth. It was easy to learn his name from the villagers. The connection to you was just as obvious. I had only hoped that we could find the boy and train him before this happened, that we could spare you this, but the Twins had other plans.”
“What . . . what are you going to do?” Ipid was so upset and confused that he could barely talk.
“Exactly what Arin said. We are of one mind on this. Now that he has discovered his powers, we have no other choice. He is too dangerous. Either he must be trained or he must be destroyed. I know that is hard for you to hear, but I must think of the thousands who may suffer if I allow him to continue as he is.”
“You can . . . you cannot kill him,” Ipid begged. He clutched at Belab, pleading. He could not lose Dasen. After everything that had happened, he could not.
“I desperately hope that we will not have to.” Belab sounded sincere. “But now that he has shown that he can use his powers, we must use any and every possible means to counteract him.”
Ipid tried to interject, but Belab cut him off. “Despite what you think, I do not do this to aid the Darthur. Though I am bound to them, I do not share their ambitions. I do this to protect your people and mine. Your son is dangerous. He has the power to kill thousands without even knowing what he is doing. If it had been men rather than stoche on the field today, I do not think even I could save him. All my people would be at risk of retribution. I cannot allow that to happen, not again.
“So, Lord Ronigan.” Belab gathered himself and looked deep into Ipid’s eyes – his own mere shimmers of light from within his hood. “Please, carefully consider your position on this. Dasen’s only hope is that he come to us peacefully. If you can help us with that, it will save him and potentially countless lives. You should also know that Arin will find out your association soon enough. You gain no favors by keeping this secret.”
Ipid had nothing to say, so he just stood dumbfounded, unable to think, unable to speak. The silence grew, but Belab did not release him. Ipid did not know what the old man wanted. He did not know what he would say even if he had decided to help.
“I will leave you to consider,” Belab finally conceded. “You have been through much this day. You cannot be expected to make rational decisions right now.” The old man looked up so that the light of the nearby camp revealed the outline of a sympathetic smile.
“Eialia told me that you saw the battle,” Belab continued after another long pause. They had stopped walking and were standing in the middle of the empty main street of Wilmont, halfway to the te-am’ eiruh section of the village. The mention of the battle was enough to make Ipid’s blood rise even through his greater concern – he had not forgotten the role of the te-am’ eiruh and their creatures.
“Calm yourself.” Belab stroked Ipid’s arm. “I know that you are upset, but you handled it as well as you could. What I said in the inn was true. This betrayal was necessary. It will save lives, but you have further turned it into currency. The apology you extracted from Arin is a rare and powerful thing. If you use it wisely, it may make the loss of an abandoned city seem petty.”
Ipid opened his mouth to protest – how could any apology be worth the loss of ten thousand (or more) lives and the devastation of an entire city? – but Belab spoke first. “You know better than to let your anger dominate you. You are needed. Your people need you, and they need your head to be clear. You are an important player in this game whether you know it or not. You may not believe it, but Arin trusts you and likes you. That is an advantage that few are afforded. You need to stay focused on the big picture. This will be a long and bloody war. Thousands upon thousands will die. Your part will not be defined by one battle, by one city. Your part will be defined by a hundred little things, which taken together turn the tide, but only if you see them and seize them. Keep your eyes always open, Ipid Ronigan. Chart your course carefully, and you may be the hero who saves your world.”
Belab moved his hand from Ipid’s arm to his chest and placed his palm there while he mumbled a few words. Ipid felt a warming inside as his concerns faded. It was similar to the sensation he had felt that morning when Eia collapsed, as if his fear and anger had been sucked away. “You should not worry on these things tonight,” Belab advised as he stepped away. “Go now and spend the evening with your people. Try to follow the Darthur tradition. It is one of their better ones. Celebrate your freedom tonight. Tomorrow, there will be time to mourn.”
Epilogue