Chapter 11

In winter the mountains slumbered under a thick layer of snow. The passes were filled with deep drifts, ice formed on every surface, and the cold air cut through the heaviest furs like a fine bronze blade. Summer was more agreeable, though often strange. Warm, humid air from the lowlands got trapped in the high passes, filling them with dense white fog that could linger for days.

This was the situation when Duranix and Pa’alu arrived at Vulture’s Beak, the highest pass in the mountains. On the eastern side of the peak the sun shone, and a dry wind flowed down the slopes to the plain. As soon as they crossed over to the western side, the world was wrapped in chill, damp mist.

“I should’ve flown,” Duranix muttered, rubbing his arms.

“Why didn’t you?” Pa’alu asked. He pulled a fur cloak from his pack and threw it around his shoulders.

Duranix did not reply. Of course, he could have changed to dragon form and carried Pa’alu along, as he did Amero, but he wanted time to get to know this barbarian better. There was an aura of menace about Pa’alu that Duranix couldn’t quite fathom. He needed to take the measure of Pa’alu before introducing him to the peaceful, sheltered world of Yala-tene.

Their rate of progress slowed as the fog closed in, leaving them to work their way along a narrow ledge. The drop-off might have been two steps away or two hundred; the fog made it impossible to tell. Even the dragon’s powerful senses were of little use. Between the muffling effect of his human guise, the cold, and the fog, he could discern little about their surroundings.

As they crept along, they played a game of questions to pass the time. The plainsman began.

“Why do you protect humans?”

Duranix slid his right foot forward, feeling loose gravel give way when he put his weight on it.

“Oh, to be on all fours,” he grumbled.

“Well, what’s your answer?” prodded the hunter.

“I protect what is mine,” Duranix said, moving forward a few inches. “I have rivals, other dragons, who would steal my territory away from me. The worst of these is a green dragon named Sthenn. He thought to extend his influence at my expense by sending a horde of predators to attack the humans living on my range.”

“The yevi.”

“I see the name has penetrated beyond the mountains. Yes, using the yevi to exterminate free-roaming humans, Sthenn hoped to bring my lands under his control.”

Duranix’s progress stirred up a flock of raucous crows. They burst from a rock ledge above the disguised dragon’s head, cawing loudly. Both Pa’alu and Duranix flattened themselves against the cliff as the birds flew off into the mist.

“Damn noisy birds. Another question, dragon-man — ”

“No, it’s my turn,” Duranix said. “How long have you been in love with your chief.”

Pa’alu flinched as if speared. “Who told you that?”

“No one. The signs are obvious. I’ve studied humans, you know. When you’re near her, your face glows with hot blood, and your heart beats faster.”

Pa’alu said nothing. He let the interval between Duranix and himself widen. Duranix looked back and raised an eyebrow.

“I take it from your silence that your feelings are not returned?” the dragon said, waiting for Pa’alu to catch up.

“I won’t discuss this. Ask a different question.”

Genuinely curious, Duranix would not be dissuaded. “Have you confessed your feelings to her?” Pa’alu said nothing and the dragon misread his silence. “You haven’t. Well, then, perhaps she does love you. How can you know if you don’t — ”

“I have told her, for all the good it did me!” the plainsman said.

“She rejected you.”

“Karada is a hunter and a fighter, the leader of our people. She has little time for aught else.”

Pa’alu looked away into the featureless fog. Duranix let him think for a while, then resumed his inquiry.

“Does she love someone else?”

“No. Other men have pursued her. When I joined the hand nine seasons past, she had a close friend, a fellow called Neko. He was like her shadow, never far from her side. She treated him like — a brother, I guess. Karada is a keen tracker and a bold leader, but she doesn’t look deeply into people’s hearts. She never knew Neko loved her and wanted her as a mate. One day, the two of them went out to hunt together. This was before we learned to ride horses. They should’ve returned after two days, yet four went by before Karada came back, alone. She refused to say what had happened, or where Neko was. Pakito, me, and a few others searched the bush and found Neko’s body. His throat had been cut.”

“Now that’s rejection,” said Duranix.

Pa’alu glared. “Don’t speak ill of her! We brought his body back to camp. He was one of us, and deserved a hunter’s burial. The entire band sat in judgment of Karada. She told us what had happened. On the first night out, Neko tried to force himself on her after his spoken overtures were refused. She rejected him and went her separate way, but he wouldn’t be denied. He tracked her down and attacked her.” A look of savage satisfaction darkened Pa’alu’s face. “So she killed him.”

“And you believed her?”

“All of us believed her.”

The ledge widened into a broad path slanting down toward the west. Duranix and the plainsman paused there, sharing swallows from Pa’alu’s water gourd.

“My turn to answer,” said the dragon, leaning back against a boulder. “Ask a question.”

Pa’alu shook his head. “No, I weary of talking.” He excused himself and walked off into the fog.

The golden nugget Duranix had taken from the field of standing stones suddenly awakened and throbbed against his jawbone. Curious about sudden activity in the stone after so many quiet days, he took it out and examined it. It looked just the same as when he put it there. There were no visible changes, yet even as he looked at it, the nugget seemed to pulsate between his fingers.

“Pa’alu!” he called. When there was no answer after a few seconds, he called again.

“What is it?” said the plainsman, emerging from the fog. “I was only gone a moment — ”

The dragon displayed the nugget. “It’s come alive. I can feel it vibrating.”

Pa’alu turned a half-circle, surveying the trail in both directions. “Would it do that on its own?”

Duranix stood up. “Unlikely. It must be reacting to some other source of power.”

“Are there rings of spirit-stones in these mountains?” Duranix shook his head. He had been through this pass many times before.

They picked up their gear and hurried on. The path widened until the towering peaks were shrouded in fog. Heavy mist closed in behind them, cutting them loose from all visible landmarks. Duranix walked ahead, the nugget lying on his open palm.

“Wait,” he said in a low voice. Something about his tone made Pa’alu draw his elven sword.

Noiselessly, Duranix began to swell. His flesh darkened to reddish bronze and his limbs elongated dramatically. Pa’alu stepped back in wonder to make room for a formidable length of tail snaking back to where he was standing. He’d spent four days with Duranix and had accepted his claim that he was a dragon in disguise. However, merely hearing the words had not prepared Pa’alu for the actual sight.

Fifteen paces long, Duranix was four paces tall at the shoulder and seven from the ground to the top of his long, bronze-scaled neck. Fog swirled about his enormous, horned head.

“By all the spirits!” Pa’alu gasped.

Duranix bent his neck around and glared at the astonished plainsman. His vast nostrils flared. “Shh!” he said, and Pa’alu thought it sounded like all the snakes in creation hissing at once.

Arcs of blue light flickered through the mist. Duranix opened his wings and flapped them a few times. The resulting wind parted the fog just enough to reveal a lone figure standing on a patch of level ground not far ahead. Wrapped head to toe in a long garment the color of the fog, the stranger was almost invisible. Duranix advanced slowly, his great four-toed claws driving deep into the rocky soil.

“Priest!” the dragon demanded in a thunderous tone. “Why are you here?”

The stranger came toward them slowly. He raised his hands to shoulder height, parting the pale gray cape he wore. Pa’alu finally recognized him. It was Vedvedsica, the elf priest they’d bested at the field of standing stones.

“You have something of mine,” said the elf. He seemed unaffected by Duranix’s overpowering presence. “I want it back.”

“I don’t think I’ll give it to you,” the dragon replied. “Children and savages shouldn’t play with fire.”

Vedvedsica brought his hands together. A beam of blue light lanced out from them, striking Duranix in the chest. The dragon grunted and slid backward a step. Shaking his horned head, he opened his mouth and exhaled at the elf. Vedvedsica crossed his arms and stood unflinching in the stream of fear-inducing gas.

“I’m not so weak as to succumb to this child’s-play,” he said, smiling benignly.

Pa’alu worked his way around the dragon’s left and crouched behind a low boulder. Closer now, he saw the priest wore a breastplate of shiny white metal, studded with rough gems and chips of striated black granite — just like the boulders where he and the dragon first encountered him.

Duranix snapped his jaws shut, staring with increased respect at Vedvedsica. His huge, panther-like pupils raked the elf priest up and down.

“We seem to be at an impasse,” he said finally. “Your spells cannot hurt me, and my powers will not affect you so long as you wear that breastplate.” Duranix displayed his fearsome teeth. “I could just bite your head off. It’s crude, I know, but it would solve the problem of your being here.”

At that moment Pa’alu stood out from his hiding place and hurled a pair of rocks at Vedvedsica, one from each hand. They never reached their target but fell to the ground a few steps away.

“Keep out of the way, human, or you might get hurt,” said Vedvedsica blandly. “Your barbarian chieftain and her band have already been destroyed by my lord Balif. If you value your life, you’ll keep clear of me.”

“Liar!” Pa’alu started forward, only to find his way blocked by the dragon’s tail.

“Stand away,” ordered Duranix.

The dragon gathered his four legs beneath himself, coiling his back to spring. The elf stood his ground, coolly watching his mighty adversary preparing to attack. When Duranix sprang, however, Vedvedsica whipped his cape around his body and vanished. The dragon landed with a crash on all fours where the cleric had been standing. Looking momentarily astonished, Duranix whirled around.

Pa’alu caught a twinkle of azure from the comer of one eye. Vedvedsica had reappeared behind Duranix. Swiftly the elf threw open his cape and brought his hands together for another blast of that spirit-light he commanded. Silently, Pa’alu lunged. The captured elven sword caught the priest’s left wrist, and Vedvedsica screamed. There was a brilliant flash of light and a thunderclap that hurled Pa’alu to the ground.

Deafness and blindness followed, then Pa’alu felt himself being hauled to his feet. By the time he recovered his senses, he saw Duranix had resumed human guise and was helping him to stand.

“Wh-what?” the plainsman stammered. His head was throbbing, and the ground seemed to spin beneath his feet.

“My thanks,” said the dragon. He steadied Pa’alu until he could stand on his own then added, “I underestimated Vedvedsica. He’s very powerful. His first blow was just a test. The second might actually have injured me.” Duranix closed his human hand around the gold nugget. “Strong as he is, though, he has limitations. You stopped him, Pa’alu. I thank you.”

“What do you mean?”

Duranix pointed to the spot where the elf had disappeared. Lying on the ground was a slender white hand, severed raggedly at the wrist. It was pale as wax, as if it had no blood in it. There was no blood on the ground either.

Duranix picked up the hand. The stump was seared dry, cauterized by the very power Vedvedsica had tried to use against them.

Pa’alu found his sword, knocked from his grip by the powerful blast. The blade was bent and partly melted at a point two thirds of the way from the hilt. Awed, he touched the ruined blade, then snatched his hand back when he discovered how hot the bronze still was.

“That shaman is evil!” he declared, rejoining Duranix.

“No, not evil. He probably serves his lord quite loyally. But he is ambitious, hungry for power, and careless of how he gets it.” Duranix replaced the nugget in his mouth. “This encounter will give him something to think about.”

“Do you think he spoke the truth about Karada?”

The disguised dragon shrugged. “Your chief is a tough woman, but I doubt she can stand against the might of Silvanos.”

Pa’alu slipped the ruined sword into his belt, as it would no longer fit the wooden scabbard. “Then I must go back and find her!”

“Go if you must, but consider!” Duranix called after him. “We’re closer to Yala-tene than to Karada’s last camp. It would be better to go on to the village. Once there, you can get tools and supplies for a return journey, while I fly back and search for your comrades.”

Pa’alu hesitated. The dragon added, “If the battle is over, there’s nothing you can do.”

“I should have gone back with Pakito!”

“Then you might be dead or captured now, too. Come, let’s go. You cannot change what has been, but you can shape what will be.”

Pa’alu turned around, and they marched down the ravine another league, finally breaking through the omnipresent fog. Below the white mist the sun shone brightly on the valleys and lower peaks spread out before them. Duranix pointed to a distant green summit.

“Yala-tene lies below that mountain,” he said. “We should be there by tomorrow afternoon.”

“It will be good to see people again.” No sooner had he said it, Pa’alu apologized.

“No need,” the dragon said. “Humans are herd animals, after all. They’re happiest in a flock of their fellow beasts. But you, Pa’alu, are due a reward. You dealt bravely with Vedvedsica and did me a good turn. I want to repay you.”

“I can’t imagine how.”

“Well, think on it. I am in your debt.”

They continued their descent to the lower valley. The long-hidden sun was warm on Pa’alu’s face. He accepted it without complaint, along with the gratitude of his strange and powerful companion.


“All right — fan!”

Six children from the village were kneeling around a stone-lined pit. Each child held a reed fan. At Amero’s command, they began waving the fans vigorously over the fire. Orange flames leaped up, and the dry cedar firewood filled the air with aromatic smoke.

Amero had spent half a day building this pit, digging a shallow hole in the sand near the base of the cliff and lining it with small stones. In the center of the pit he’d piled up a ring of smaller stones and plastered the resulting bowl with clay. He’d filled this inner bowl with beads of raw copper collected from the tunnel debris. He had then carefully laid a fire in the outer pit and marshaled his helpers to fan the flames.

Duranix had been gone four days and four nights. The dragon had been away from Yala-tene for longer periods in the past, but Amero usually knew why and where Duranix had gone. The twice weekly offering of meat had been placed on the cairn the previous day and was still there, gathering only flies. The family of Konza the tanner had the honor of providing the dragon’s meat, and its apparent rejection didn’t sit well. A family of five could live for two weeks on one offering. So, where was the dragon? Amero had tried to explain Duranix was away on an important reconnaissance, scouting for possible dangers to Yala-tene. The village elders had accepted this in stony silence and departed to their daily work. The rotting meat continued to lie in the open.

It was a hot, sunny morning. As Amero toiled over his copper experiment, lines of villagers led by Farun and Mieda headed for the tunnels. Mieda’s stone-cracking technique was such a success that he and Farun planned to duplicate it in the two other tunnels, finishing the excavation in short order.

Mieda rose at dawn and supervised the laying of firewood at the blocked ends of both passages. About the same time Amero was lighting the fire in his pit, Mieda was putting the torch to the tunnel fires.

“Keep fanning,” Amero said, as some of the children tired. He’d brought a bucket of melons along to reward his helpers, and when anyone faltered, he handed them a sweet wedge of fruit. Some minutes — and some melons — passed, and the beads of copper began to shimmer with heat. Amero poked them with a long stick, which quickly succumbed to the heat and flickered into flame. He’d forgotten how hot the fanned fire would be to his tools as well as the copper.

The children slid back from the pit as the heat grew. Amero sent around a gourd dipper of cold water. Most opted to pour the water over their heads rather than drink it. Knowing a good idea when he saw one, Amero soaked not only himself but another stick. The damp stick survived the heat long enough to prod the beads. To his delight, Amero found the metal bits had grown soft as tallow.

“Keep it up!” he said. “Something’s happening!”

Just then a loud rumble reverberated through the valley. Amero felt it strongly through the soles of his feet. He looked down the shoreline and saw a tall cloud of dust and smoke rising from the mouths of the two tunnels under construction. At first he thought nothing of it, remembering how much smoke had come from the tunnel he’d helped dig. Then he heard screaming.

“Douse that fire!” he said. They stared at him in disbelief. One boy froze, and the flames caught his reed fan. He dropped it, blazing, into the pit.

“Go on, douse it!”

Two boys picked up buckets and poured water over the fire. It died with a loud hiss and much smoke and steam. By then Amero was already running toward the tunnels.

People were crowding around the tunnel mouths, shouting, crying, climbing over each other to see. Amero had to shove his way through the mob to reach the center tunnel. The air was full of acrid, resinous smoke and grit. Lying on the ground were eight diggers, covered in dust and bleeding from gashes on their heads and backs.

Amero spotted Farun through the dirt and soot. He dropped to his knees and clasped Farun’s hand.

“What happened?” he demanded. “What went wrong?”

Coughing, Farun replied, “The roof fell. We had the black stone hot enough, and Mieda sent for water. I was in the first pair to dump water on the rock face — ” Another fit of coughing seized him and blood flecked his chin.

Amero ordered everyone back and called for travois to take the injured away. Eight men were removed from the center tunnel. The north tunnel had also collapsed. No one had managed to get out.

Amero looked around wildly at the sooty, coughing men and cried, “Who was in there? Does anyone know?”

Konza the tanner regarded him with a dull, shocked expression. “Mieda, Talek the mason, Halshi — ”

“Halshi was in there?” Amero exclaimed.

Konza nodded slowly. “So was my eldest son, Merenta,” he said. Tears trickled down his face, cutting tracks in the dust on his cheeks.

Amero tried to think of something comforting to say, but his tongue felt wooden and useless. He could only stare at the blocked tunnel. Halshi was in there, and Mieda, and so very many others.

Suddenly, a tall stranger appeared among the dazed crowd. Dressed in buckskin trews and a sleeveless hunting shirt, his long chestnut hair gathered in a thick knot at the back of his neck, the stranger ran by the grieving Konza and the paralyzed Amero to the pile of fallen stone blocking the tunnel mouth. With his bare hands he took hold of a large chunk of sandstone and rolled it aside. Several smaller rocks he tossed out of the way.

His industry freed Amero from the paralysis gripping him. He fell to his knees beside the stranger and started digging, too. The two men joined forces to dislodge a large, flat boulder. With much grunting and a few skinned knuckles, they got the slab out of the way. Others overcame their shock and horror and joined in the digging.

“Thank you,” Amero panted. He suddenly realized he had no idea who he was speaking to. “I don’t know your face. Who are you?”

“My name’s Pa’alu,” the man said.

“You’re a plainsman. Where did you come from?”

“I’m one of Karada’s band. The dragon, Duranix, guided me here.”

Amero seized the muscular newcomer by the shoulders. “Duranix! Where is he? We need him — he could tear down the whole mountain and free those buried!”

Firmly but gently, Pa’alu broke Amero’s grip. “Duranix isn’t here. He brought me to the valley and showed me the trail here, then he flew away.”

“But why?”

Pa’alu hesitated. Under the circumstances, how could he explain? Duranix owed him a debt, so he’d asked the dragon to flyback to the Thon-Thalas to look for Karada and the rest of his people.

He said simply, “He went to search for survivors of a great battle. Karada and my people fought the elves and lost.”

Amero looked away briefly, searching in vain for a glimpse of his friend, as Pa’alu turned and rejoined the rescue dig. Bare-handed progress was slow, but tools were brought and the furious work organized. The sun bore down on the scene as the men and women of Yala-tene toiled to free their trapped friends. Many of the rescuers worked until the pitiless heat wore them out. The exhausted were carried to the shade.

Besides being hot, the work was bedeviled by constant secondary landslides. Rocks ranging from fist-sized pebbles to veritable boulders rained down on the tunnel mouth. The entire face of the sandstone cliff was shattered, and the cracks ran all the way back to the collapsed center tunnel. Mieda’s technique had worked too well.

The sun had sunk behind the western peaks by the time they reached the buried diggers. One by one they were brought out — Mieda, Talek, Merenta, Halshi, and the rest. None were alive.

They were carried to the nearest open ground, below the cairn that had held the food offerings of the dragon. It had been a long time since Amero had lost someone he cared about, and gazing at the still faces of Mieda and Halshi left him feeling empty inside. Hollow. He didn’t understand why he felt so betrayed. There was no one to blame. Mieda hadn’t known the rock was fissured over the tunnels when he built the fires. He had died leading his diggers, an honorable death. No, the betrayal lay elsewhere.

A foul smell assaulted his nostrils.

“Get that rotten carcass out of here!” Amero shouted. A maggot-ridden ox haunch was dragged off the cairn. As family members gathered to claim the bodies of their loved ones, Amero’s aching emptiness grew larger. An idea formed to fill the void in his heart. He called for firewood — lots of it.

Farun, his head bandaged and his arm in a sling, limped up to Amero. “What do you intend?” he asked.

“Our lost friends were working to make the village a better place,” Amero said. “They died together. We should honor them together.” His head swam. He wiped cold sweat from his brow. “The mountain treacherously crushed them. We will free their spirits and send them to the sky, where the mountain cannot touch them.”

He ordered cords of pine and cedar laid atop the cairn. The eight victims were then laid on the stacked wood, and Amero called for a torch.

No one moved to comply. The villagers, like all plainsmen, believed burial was the proper way to treat the dead. They were paralyzed between loyalty to their young leader and anguish at his flaunting of one of their ancient traditions.

It was Pa’alu, the stranger, who brought Amero a blazing torch. He took it with a grateful nod and held it high above his head.

“Don’t be afraid!” Amero declared. “We have all lost friends we’ve loved. I give them the honor, the dignity of fire! Let their spirits remain ever more watching over us!”

He thrust the torch into the lowest course of logs. The dry pine caught fire rapidly. In minutes, the cairn was a lake of flame.

The people of Yala-tene stood silently around the pyre, watching the thick smoke rise to the stars above. Amero tossed the torch into the flames and stood back beside Pa’alu.

“Thank you,” he said.

“It’s nothing,” the hunter replied. “I hope someone does as much for me someday.”

Duranix, where are you? was Amero’s miserable thought. The words had barely formed in his head when the sky was shattered by the dragon’s terrible roar. Already overwrought by events, the crowd shifted and wavered. Some fell to their knees as the black shadow of the winged dragon passed overhead.

In a rare display of his true shape, Duranix alighted on the shore of the lake, some paces from the blazing cairn. He furled his leathery wings and approached the pyre, scales gleaming in the firelight. People scattered before him, many more dropping to their knees as the dragon’s flashing eyes swept over them. By the time he reached the cairn, only Amero and Pa’alu were standing.

“What is this?” asked Duranix, raising a claw to the fire.

Tersely, Amero told of the disaster, the rescue attempt, and his inspiration to honor the dead with a funeral pyre.

Duranix extended his long neck and put his head in the flames. A wave of horrified gasps flowed from the villagers and several of the women shrieked. Seeming not to notice their reactions, the dragon looked around in the fire for a moment, then withdrew his head. “Mieda,” he said with unusual emotion. “He’ll never see the northern seas again.”

“Where were you?” Amero demanded. Words caught in his throat like stones. “We needed you! You could’ve dug those people out of the mountain faster than the whole village, but you weren’t here!”

Duranix sat back on his haunches. His booming voice carried over the crackle of the fire. “I was scouting for enemies. I found a band of warrior nomads, led by the woman Karada. She’s fighting the elves for control of the eastern plain. Two days ago she lost a battle, and her people are scattered. This man,” he said, pointing to Pa’alu, “came with me to see Yala-tene. He’s one of Karada’s band.”

“Are we in any danger?” asked Amero, wiping tears from his face.

“Not from the elves. They’ve come no farther than the headwaters of the Thon-Thalas.”

“Any news of Karada?” asked Pa’alu anxiously.

The dragon shook his massive head. “I could find no one brave enough to converse with me,” he said, sounding vexed. “The nomads are hiding in fear of elf retribution.”

Duranix backed away from the cairn. The flames had subsided a bit, and the balmy wind off the lake was blowing smoke and hot ashes. He moved off a few paces and unfurled his wings. Without another word, he leaped into the air and flew back to his lair behind the waterfall.

Amero took a deep breath and faced the crowd. “I don’t know what to say,” he said. “Duranix might have been able to save our people if he’d been here. He was away, working on our behalf, and he’s only one creature. He can’t be everywhere at once.” He searched the faces of the stunned, anguished people. “If any of you are unhappy with me, with what I have done, speak now. I will listen.”

For a moment no one said anything. Then Valka, father of Halshi, tottered to the front of the crowd. He was elderly, lame from old hunting injuries. Despite his gnarled limbs and twisted hip, he stood as straight as he could before Amero.

“I’ve lived twice as long as my father,” he said in a wavering, tired voice. “I’ve seen more of my children survive in the last ten years than in all the years before. I have a warm house, a bed, and much family around me. These things I owe to the great dragon and to his son.” When he used the word “son,” Pa’alu turned to stare at Amero.

Old Valka went on. “Halshi was my only daughter, a good girl, hard-working and cheerful. I’ll miss her, but I would rather she died in a cave at Yala-tene than out in the wild, poisoned by snakebite or torn to pieces by the yevi. Here, a hundred families knew her and can mourn for her. That’s as good a rest as any plainsman can hope for.”

Valka doffed his buckskin cap and bowed his head. “Be content, Amero. You’ve made my life more than I ever expected.”

By threes and fives and tens, the people of Yala-tene bared their heads and expressed sentiments like Valka’s. In the end, Amero found their gratitude as hard to bear as their grief. Weeping, he walked off alone into the darkness beyond the dying pyre.

Amero remained in the village until the fire was out. By then it was very late, and the crowd had dispersed, save for a few, like Valka and Pa’alu, who slept on the ground by the cairn. As Amero walked slowly through the quiet village on his way back to the cave, he passed by the remains of his copper experiment. He took a moment to kick apart the clay bowl. Instead of a cascade of separate copper pellets, the bowl contained a single mass of metal, all melted together. At least the day had one success, though he had no heart to celebrate it.

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