She broke off. There was a trumpet sounding, and a chorus of joyous shouts, and the loud drumming of fronial hooves.
“Antar!” cried the Queen. “Antar!”
She went dashing to the forecourt with Kadiya close behind. They saw the King of Laboruwenda and his men riding in through the main gate. And sitting behind the King was a small figure that Anigel first mistook for either Jagun or Shiki. But those two valiant aborigines were on their own mounts just behind Antar, waving.
“Who then is he carrying?” Anigel cried out to her sister. She stumbled to a halt, out of breath. The King caught sight of her, spurred his animal, and came galloping toward her. Finally the Queen saw who sat behind her husband and burst into tears of joy.
“My baby! Oh, thank God! Tolo! My darlings, you’re both safe!”
The smiling King reined in, leapt from the saddle, and took his wife into his arms.
Kadiya stood, hands on hips, and looked up at little Prince Tolivar with a wry expression. “Well, you’ll have quite a tale to tell, won’t you, young man?”
Tolo shrugged, letting her lift him down. “Nothing much happened. I escaped from the sorcerer during the earthquake. Papa found me. It was almost like magic.”
“We have had enough magic to last us for quite some time,” the Queen said to her son. “And I dare say you have, too.”
“Yes, Mama,” Prince Tolivar said.
He let her hug and kiss him, and then his father picked him up, and they all walked slowly back to Zotopanion Keep in the bright sunshine.
Haramis mounted the stairs. All over the upper floors of the palace stronghold the noncombatants were beginning to emerge like timid lingits shy of coming into the light. The Archimage spent a short time on the third level reassuring those she met, telling them that the war was over and Laboruwenda victorious. Then she asked to be shown to a quiet place where she might rest. An aging noblewoman took her to her own quarters, saying she would be honored if the Archimage used them. After thanking her, Haramis gratefully closed the door and locked it.
The chambers were not large, and of course the casements had been broken in the earthquake. But only soft breezes blew in through the paneless windows now, and the bed was dry. Haramis knew she would be able to sleep.
She took off her shoes, loosened her clothing, and prepared to lie down. But then she sat bolt upright, realizing that once again she had failed in her duty. She must be sure … sure that he was banished.
She took up her talisman for the last time on that long day.
“Show me the Chasm of Durance.”
The vision was hard to fathom, and only slowly did she understand the meaning of the mass of chaotic broken stone that filled her mind’s eye. When she did understand, she was too weary even to weep.
The earthquake had done it, of course. It had shaken all of Labornok and Ruwenda as well. The deep shaft below the Place of Knowledge had collapsed during the great tremor, burying the cavern below and the Cynosure within the cavern under an unimaginable burden of rock.
“Where … where is Orogastus?”
He has gone the way of the Vanished Ones. He is no longer in this world.
She had banished Orogastus into that rock-clogged, airless hell without knowing, and now he was dead.
Had Iriane known? Ah, but it was an affair of the land! Even if the Blue Lady had been aware of the Chasm’s collapse, she was under no obligation to tell. The sorcerer was gone and the archimagical principles remained unsullied.
“It is finished,” she whispered. “I am only sorry he was so afraid at the end … Who would have thought that he would be afraid?”
She closed her eyes at last, and gave herself to dreaming.
EPILOGUE
When Orogastus awoke, it was dark as night all around him. Every bone, every muscle of his body cried out with pain.
The pillow beneath his head felt soft. Wondering, he let his fingers steal over the blankets that covered him. They were pleasantly warm and silken. Dimly, he was able to discern a tall oblong nearby. But surely there were no windows in the awful Chasm of Durance …
He sat up, slipped from the bed where he had been lying, and discovered that he was naked except for the old Star pendant hanging from a chain about his neck. The oblong shape was a window indeed, covered with thin draperies. When he swept them aside, he drew in a shocked breath.
Stars. More than he had ever seen in the sky. And not twinkling white, but blazing steadily in every color imaginable. A great triple river of infinitesimal faint stars flowed amongst brighter ones. Were those the constellations he knew?… Yes. But he had never seen them so gloriously drawn.
“Then I am dead after all.” He turned about in a daze and bumped into a small chair. Starlight now bathed the room in silvery radiance, and he saw a robe flung over the chair and put it on without thinking.
There seemed to be a door beyond the foot of the bed. He limped toward it—then stubbed his toe painfully on something that lay on the floor.
A black hexagon.
A sudden vertigo seized him. He staggered and nearly fell. Taking hold of a bedpost with one hand and the Star pendant with the other, he waited until the terrible flush of mortal terror subsided. Then he knelt and dared to pick the black thing up. It was flat, perhaps half an ell wide, and made of smooth metal. The Great Cynosure.
Still holding it, he opened the door.
Beyond was a cozy, book-crammed study. An old, old man with a dark face looked up from his reading, lifted one white eyebrow, and waited.
“Who are you?” Orogastus whispered. “And why—” He held out the Cynosure.
“You won’t need that thing,” the ancient said. “Just throw it in the corner. Then come and sit down.” He gestured at a dusty sideboard. “Take a drink if you like. Don’t mind my bad manners. I don’t often have visitors. As a matter of fact, you’re the first in a long, long time. But the urge to meddle just came over me!” He chuckled craftily. “Very odd. But so’s this whole affair.”
He went back to reading his book, just as though he were the only one there.
Above the sideboard was another window on the stars. But something else was floating out there, too—a shape like a half-moon painted a brilliant blue and white. For many minutes Orogastus stared at it in mute incomprehension.
“You’ll get used to the view,” said Denby Varcour. “It’s one of the best things about this place.”
About the Author
Julian May is the author or coauthor of eighteen adult science fiction and fantasy novels and over two hundred juvenile nonfiction books. In retirement, she remains an avid keyboard player, gardener, jewelry designer, and fly angler. May lives in the Pacific Northwestern United States.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1992 by Starykon Productions, Inc.
Cover design by Angela Goddard
ISBN: 978-1-4976-7582-7
This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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