The giant sighed dispiritedly.
“Give my love to the Sleeping Child,” Rhapsody continued. “And tell her I will see her in the spring as well. Rest now, and regain your strength. Thank you for keeping the Three intact.”
“Doin’ my best.”
She kissed him again and crossed the room, where she stopped before the Bolg king.
“If you think you can get rid of me that easily, you have misread the field reports badly,” she said matter-of-factly. “You don’t need to preach to me about the cost of war; I have lost my beloved knight, and almost lost one of my dearest friends; our continent has lost tens of thousands of innocent souls; hundreds of thousands across the world are dead. Alliances, kingdoms, dynasties, and friendships have been needlessly shattered. When I return to Highmeadow I will be undertaking a Lirin mourning ritual the likes of which has never been seen on this continent.
“But it is flagrantly stupid to have paid the cost of war and then to not relish the freedom that cost purchased. I am not leaving you and Grunthor for any ‘extended period.’ Ever. I intend to be a pain in your arse, a burr under your saddle, and the irritating other side of your obnoxious coin for the rest of my life. You will need me if you want to ever explore the other colors of the Lightcatcher, and to be the amelystik to the Sleeping Child, to check in on and oversee your schools and hospices, which you will reinstate now that the war is over, to monitor your agricultural program, to train the midwives, and to make certain decorum is being maintained in Ylorc—which means, in addition to all the other rules, no public urination, whatsoever. Make use of the damned privies—it took long enough to unclog and clean them. Don’t eradicate or supplant everything I have done in this place, no matter how much you may want to. I’m not your bloody courtesan, I’m fucking Firbolg royalty. I was the duchess of Elysian long before I became Lirin queen or Lady Cymrian, and I will be damned if you think you can unseat me from my titles in and my responsibilities to Ylorc. Unless you want another war on your hands—”
Achmed laid a gloved finger on her lips.
“Enough,” he said quietly. “Gained. Go home.”
“I also love you,” Rhapsody said. “Don’t forget that. Behave yourself.”
She stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek, then opened the door and took her leave with her husband and son.
The Firbolg king listened until he could no longer hear the sound of her footfalls echoing quietly in the stone hallway. He followed her heartbeat until she had made her way out of the mountain and down to the scarred fields beyond the steppes, then turned back to the Sergeant, who was resting with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling.
“Still bossy, ain’t she?” Grunthor said weakly. “That’s a relief, at least.”
“I don’t expect even an intercontinental war could change that.”
“You still ’aven’t told ’er. Bad plannin’, sir.”
Achmed smiled slightly as he poured the Sergeant some water. “We will see. Before you get too opinionated, have a drink.”
He held the glass to his friend’s lips, banishing the thoughts that were crowding at the edges of his mind.
69
HIGHMEADOW, NAVARNE
Gwydion Navarne was just finishing his supper in the small private dining room in the residence quarters of Highmeadow when a tap came on the door. He wiped his mouth with his linen napkin, bemused at how life had returned from the horror of daily bloodshed and strife to elegant etiquette in a mindlessly quick time, knowing it would take far longer for his soul and memory to go back to normal.
“Come.”
Manus Kral, the chamberlain, opened the door and stepped to the threshold without crossing it.
“M’lord—”
“Let me in—now.” A harsh feminine voice assaulted Gwydion’s battle-damaged ears; he looked questioningly at Manus, who was staring helplessly at him in return; then the chamberlain was pushed aside as a familiar woman thrust herself into the room.
Gwydion’s heart sank.
It was Lady Madeleine Steward.
The Lord Roland’s wife.
Or, more correctly now, widow, even if she didn’t know it yet.
“Lady Madeleine—” he began.
“Where is Tristan?” she demanded as she strode into the room and over to the dining table, where she glared down at the young duke in his chair. “Where is my husband, Gwydion?”
“He—he—” Words failed him utterly.
“I have scoured every brothel, every whorehouse, every tavern from Canderre to this godforsaken forest, to no avail. Where is he?” The woman’s fashionably pale face was even more sallow than usual, and Gwydion recognized grief and fear in her expression beneath the hard mien she was wearing.
“Tell me, please, oh gods, tell me,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’ve had no word for the longest time.”
Gwydion tried to speak, but he could force no sound into his throat.
He thought back to his own father, who had had to break terrible tidings to Melisande and him several times before. Stephen Navarne had always seemed to know what to say, even in the most awkward, painful, or embarrassing situations. He thought back to the only piece of advice his father had ever shared with him on the subject.
Always tell the truth, Gwydion, no matter how ugly or hard it is. People deserve that at least. But, while you’re doing so, remember how damaging words can be in times of tragedy, and be as gentle as you can be while not compromising your word. Try to gauge what is really being asked of you, and do not give voice to more than that. You can always elaborate, but you can never take back words someone didn’t want to hear.
Gwydion cleared his throat.
And, pushing back his chair, he stood.
He reached out and took Madeleine’s trembling hands.
“He’s been in none of those establishments, I assure you, Lady Madeleine; I am sorry to tell you that he is in the Afterlife.”
The Lady Steward let out a sound that reminded Gwydion of air leaving a bellows.
“How? Why—what happened? Why—why didn’t someone—”
“It was a matter of the greatest security,” Gwydion said, groping for words. “His whereabouts were a highly guarded secret of the highest order.”
Madeleine’s face, crumpling a moment before, froze.
“They were?”
Gwydion nodded a little too enthusiastically.
“Indeed. The—er, the very fate of the continent was determined by his, er, sacrifice.”
Lady Madeleine, as talented a social climber as Gwydion had ever met, nodded numbly, though her eyes were beginning to shift from side to side.
“Is—is that something that can be shared in a proclamation? That Tristan Steward’s last action was an enormous benefit to the Alliance, and, in fact, the Known World?”
Gwydion exhaled.
He thought back to the moment when the Bolg king had fired a crossbow bolt into the Lord Roland’s skull.
Tristan had bled his life onto the floor without any hesitation.
Any number of people he knew would consider that an enormous benefit to the Alliance.
“Yes, I think that would certainly be appropriate,” he said, taking the shaken woman’s elbow and leading her to a chair near the fire. He uncorked the brandy and poured her a snifterful. “Have a draught, m’lady, and tell me everything you want to be undertaken at his memorial service.”
Epilogue
The death of the instigator should mark the official end of a war.
It almost never happens that way, of course.
For all that the presence of the Sea Mages and the naval forces of Manosse helped to quell and root out the occupation forces that Talquist had installed up the entirety of the western coast, the process of returning peace to the Middle Continent was a long and occasionally brutal one. Achmed commented later, at the signing of the final armistice, that half as many lives had been lost in the days following the death of Talquist as had been ta
ken in the land war itself.
The only saving grace for the Alliance in the course of bringing the continent back from the war was the intervention of Fhremus Alo’hari, the supreme commander of the forces of the Empire of the Sun. In spite of knowing that his actions could qualify as treason under the military code of conduct, Alo’hari sent the remaining divisions of the Sorbold army to the Threshold of Death with the order to surrender, and rode with his own regiment under a flag of truce to deliver that notification to Knapp and Solarrs, now serving in Anborn’s stead.
Upon receipt of the offer of surrender, word was dispatched by falcon to the Lord Cymrian and caught up with him as his regiment was crossing the Krevensfield Plain in the northeast. Ashe had sighed in both relief and frustration, then diverted the coach and its escort to Sepulvarta, where the Sorbold supreme commander was being held in military custody, and the Patriarch was in the process of resanctifying the City of Reason.
“It seems I shall never succeed in bringing you and our son home,” he muttered to Rhapsody upon his return to the coach.
His wife had merely smiled and kissed his hand.
“Wherever we are all together, we are home. Tend to what needs your attention—we will be by your side.”
* * *
A council of peace, comprised of many of the same members that had attended the war council held in secret prior to the conflict’s commencement, met at the foot of the Scales in Jierna’sid within a turn of the moon of Fhremus’s surrender. The Diviner of the Hintervold, absolved of his participation owing to Talquist’s deceit, stood in attendance, along with Edwyn Griffyth and many of the Council of the Sea Mages; the upper rank of military commanders of the Second Fleet of Manosse; Constantin, the Patriarch of Sepulvarta; Gavin, the Invoker of the Filids; and the Lord and Lady Cymrian, the latter of whom also stood in attendance in the role of Lirin queen along with Rial, her viceroy.
Behind Fhremus stood some of the surviving counts and barons of the city-states of Sorbold, many of whom had gathered almost two years before to see the Scales select a new ruler upon the passing of the Empress Leitha. After a long and somber silence, and a prayer for wisdom offered jointly by the religious leaders, those noblemen who had once pressed for independence from the empire were allowed a place in the conclave which had assembled again at the foot of those Scales.
Talquist’s broken crown, pried from his skull at the bottom of the canyon below the tower of Jierna Tal, was brought forth from a burlap sack and placed on one of the Weighing plates against the Ring of State, also harvested from his corpse.
After a few moments of imbalance, the arm of the Scales that held the Weighing plate with the crown swung violently and catapulted the crown into the canyon below the palace, beyond the sight of any but the raptors that plied the updrafts above the rocky crevasse.
In turn, the counts were Weighed singularly and found wanting.
Finally, at the suggestion of the Patriarch, they were led, shaking nervously from their first experience, as a group into the Weighing plate that was counterbalanced by the Ring of State.
And found to be in balance.
“The Scales have made a determination, clear of deception,” Constantin intoned. “The Empire of the Sun is formally dissolved; the power of the state is now remanded to the provinces, to sort through and establish themselves as independent. I shall offer prayers this evening for the All-God’s wisdom and guidance as you undertake this difficult task.”
The counts looked at each other in stark terror.
* * *
After returning from the armistice signing, the Firbolg king disappeared from the common sight of the world for a long time into the depths of the eastern Teeth. The exterior gates of Ylorc were closed to international visitors, and the northern and western borders were politely but vigorously patrolled, all except for the single entrance that accepted and dispatched deliveries of trade. The Bolg, who had been hesitantly undertaking to be part of the common world, withdrew into the stone and silence of the mountains, lost once more from the sight of that world.
To all but the Cymrian royal family.
True to her word, Rhapsody stalwartly refused to be kept away from the other two of the Three. She returned routinely to Ylorc, sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied by her family, occasionally sitting in solitary siege, singing at the gate of Grivven Post until the sentries begged the Sergeant-Major for mercy and intervention. Finally, at Grunthor’s plea, Achmed relented and allowed her in.
The result was the beginning of the return of peace and normalcy to the Middle Continent and the Known World, which undertook the path that more-or-less-peaceful historic eras bring.
And remained thus for a little over a thousand years.
GLOSSARY
THE THREE
Achmed the Snake: king of the Firbolg and lord of the realm of Ylorc (named so by Rhapsody); Child of Blood (from the Prophecy of the Three); Ysk (named at birth by the Bolg); the Brother (renamed in Serendair by Father Halphasion, his mentor); the Assassin King (called by Rath). The irritable warlord in this world, an unerring assassin in the last, half-Firbolg, half-Dhracian, whose hypersensitive skin is scored with veins and nerve endings by which he can track the heartbeats of those born on the Island of Serendair.
Grunthor, Sergeant-Major: the supreme commander of the Firbolg military forces, the Chief Archon; “The Ultimate Authority, to Be Obeyed at All Costs” (self-named); Child of Earth (from the Prophecy of the Three). The affable soldier, half-Firbolg, half-Bengard, admitted cannibal (though mostly for effect), seven and a half feet of well-trained brute strength but with a soft spot for Rhapsody, children, and people he likes. He is nonetheless single-minded when it comes to military tactics and issues of survival.
Rhapsody o Serendair: Lady Cymrian; Queen of Tyrian [Lirin]; Duchess of Elysian (a joking name given to her by Achmed and Grunthor); Amelia Rhapsody Turner (given name); Emily, Aria (to Ashe); Pretty (to Elynsynos); First Woman (to the Bolg); Child of the Sky (from the Prophecy of the Three). A Lirin Singer and Namer, she is trained in the use of music to affect the vibrations of light, color, and sound that make up the universe, and therefore able to alter reality by manipulating a given thing’s namesong, its unique vibrational signature. She is the Iliachenva’ar, the bearer of Daystar Clarion, one of the ancient elemental swords [combined fire and ether].
THE CYMRIAN ROYAL FAMILY AND THAT OF THE DRAGON ELYNSYNOS
Merithyn the Explorer: ancient Seren; the first mariner to successfully approach the Wyrmlands, falling in love with the dragon Elynsynos in the Seren form she took to meet him, the father of the three triplet Seers, Anwyn, Rhonwyn, and Manwyn. Deceased.
Rhonwyn: the Seer of the Present
Manwyn: the Seer of the Future
Anwyn: the Seer of the Past; daughter of Merithyn the Explorer and the dragon Elynsynos. Wife of Gwylliam, trapped in dragon form with a cwellan disk embedded near her heart. The first Lady Cymrian, who waged a seven-hundred-year war against her husband.
Gwylliam ap Rendlar: the last king of the Island of Serendair, deceased; led the exodus of the Cymrian people from the doomed Island to the Wyrmlands, known as the Middle Continent now. An engineer and smith, known as the Visionary, designed and built most of the great buildings still standing from the First Cymrian Age, including the mountain citadel of Canrif, now known as Ylorc.
Edwyn Griffyth: High Sea Mage of Gaematria; Gwylliam and Anwyn’s eldest son [father’s favorite]
Llauron ap Gwylliam: the late Invoker of the Filids; Ashe’s father; Gwylliam and Anwyn’s second son [mother’s favorite]
Anborn ap Gwylliam: Lord Marshal of the Cymrian Alliance; Gwylliam and Anwyn’s youngest son; Rhapsody’s sworn knight
Gwydion ap Llauron: the Lord Cymrian, leader and high lord of the Alliance of the Middle Continent; Ashe (to his intimates); Llauron’s son; Rhapsody’s husband; Gwydion of Manosse (his title from his late mother’s line); Sam (to Rhapsody); Meridion’s father
Merid
ion ap Gwydion: infant son of Rhapsody and Ashe; the Child of Time (from the Prophecy of the Child of Time)
THE CYMRIAN ALLIANCE
Analise o Serendair: Rhapsody’s oldest living friend, the child she rescued from Michael, the Wind of Death
Constantin: the Patriarch, head of the Patrician faith, a former gladiator
Faedryth: Nain king; Lord of the Distant Mountains; semi-estranged from Alliance
Garth: one of Anborn’s men
Gavin the Invoker: the forester who replaced Llauron as the head of the Filidic [nature] religion of the continent; residing at the Circle in the Great Forest; protector of the Great White Tree
Gwydion Navarne: seventeen-year-old duke of Navarne; Ashe’s namesake
Gyllian, Lady: crown princess of the Nain kingdom; Faedryth’s sensible daughter
Jal’asee: an ancient Seren ambassador from Isle of the Sea Mages
Knapp: one of Anborn’s men; a First Generation Cymrian
Melisande Navarne, Lady: Gwydion Navarne’s sister, an intrepid ten-year-old
Omet: a former slave child in the tile foundry owned by the Raven’s Guild, rescued by Achmed and Rhapsody, now working for Achmed rebuilding his Lightcatcher
Rath: an ancient Dhracian, a demon hunter who seeks both his list of targets and Ysk, the name by which the Common Mind of Dhracians know Achmed, whom they also seek
Rial: the viceroy of the kingdom of Tyrian; Lord Protector; Rhapsody’s right hand
Solarrs: Anborn’s lead scout and longtime man-at-arms; a First Generationer of the Third Fleet
Tristan Steward: the Lord Roland, highest ranking duke in Roland; imprisoned by Ashe for unknowingly fraternizing with the F’dor demon Portia in case he is her thrall
THE MESALLIANCE, THE PERPETRATORS OF THE WAR OF THE KNOWN WORLD
Beliac: King of Golgarn, nervous monarch of the seafaring nation; fears being eaten by Bolg