The Crimson Talisman

Epilogue

Moonlight washed the ruins on a night devoid of clouds, daubing the broken towers and overgrown walls in unusually brilliant light. A few figures armed with pikes spread along the ancient battlements, and a solitary flag fluttered in a breeze from the northern sea, far below the cliffs. Waves sighed as they broke upon the distant shore. On the tallest of the ruins a group of figures studied the citadel, a brazier burning beside them, smoke from its hot coals drifting up into the crystal skies.

“Marazanath,” said Vaddi, looking down at the former stronghold of his father.

The forces that had brought about its decline had left it as feasting jackals quit a corpse whose bones have been picked clean. Since the fall of Kazzerand, the warlord’s knights had largely withdrawn from it, leaving a few to garrison it. They were more relieved than alarmed at Vaddi’s return, recognizing his birthright to stewardship of the hold.

Beside Vaddi, Zemella and Nyam Hordath took in the scene in silence. Since Vaddi had fled, the site had succumbed to the encroaching ivy and other weeds. In another few years the citadel would be so overgrown as to be no more than a relic of past times, a cemetery. Above the group, on its pole, the recently struck unicorn flag snapped open in a sudden gust, revealing its resplendent colors and motif. The three watchers looked up at it.

“There’s an omen for you,” said Nyam with a grin.

Vaddi also smiled, his fingers twining with those of Zemella, his new bride. “Yes. A favorable wind.”

Their journey home had been without incident. They had gone back down past the immense ruins of the crumbling city of giants, along the river to the coast, where they had met Vortermars within the agreed deadline. It was evident the captain had never expected to see any of them alive. Fallarond’s valiant Deathguard had been reduced in the battle at Azzahareb to a handful of no more than a dozen warriors. They sealed up the citadel, making of it a mausoleum for the fallen. They carried a weapon of each fallen back to Aerenal, and they murmured their prayers for those they had entombed.

In Shae Thoridor the company visited again the ancient grove in the forest above the city and had undertaken a last ritual of remembrance with the families of the dead and had blessed and buried the weapons. A few days later, Zemella and Vaddi were wed, and no one wore a broader, more beaming smile than Nyam. As he told the gathered Aereni, no father could have been more proud of a son nor have wished for a worthier daughter.

Not long afterward, they sailed to Pylas Maradal but decided against visiting Kalfar, in view of Nyam’s previous turbulent relationship with him. There was a surprise awaiting the peddler at the clocks, however. Vortermars took receipt of the promised treasury of his old rival with evident delight, for it was indeed a fabulous trove, but to Nyam’s amazement, he was taken by several of the freebooters’ ruffians to an isolated quayside. There, fully rigged and equipped, was a sleek vessel, not so large as the Sea Harlot, but nevertheless a redoubtable craft.

“It’s yours,” said one of the pirates.

Nyam stared at the craft suspiciously. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Wrong?” snapped the other. “It’s yer eyes that are wrong, peddler! That’s as handsome a ship as you’ll ever see. Vortermars must be mad letting you have it.”

Zemella had laughed at the peddler’s face. “By the time my family have checked it over for you, Nyam, it will be no less seaworthy than any elven craft.”

“Does it have a name?” Nyam asked the pirates, unable to see what had been carved under the prow.

“She’s the—”

“Zemella,” said Vaddi.

“Yes, that was my very thought, Vaddi. From today, she is the Zemella. No prouder vessel will sail the seas of Eberron.”

They had elected not to sail the long sea journey to Khorvaire from Pylas Maradal but had gone instead by airship, this time without incident. When they had at last reached Marazanath, Vaddi had sent word to the authorities in Thrane, which he had learned was itself in some upheaval following the disappearance of Kazzerand. Vaddi’s rights at Marazanath had been recognized.

As Vaddi looked down at the hold below him now, he recalled the last night he had spoken with his father, which seemed a lifetime ago. He recalled the wild flight from here, with Menneath and his friend’s subsequent tragic death.

His reverie was cut short by Nyam, who drew from his voluminous cloak a small casket. “I thought you should have this,” he said. “This seems a propitious moment to give it to you.”

Vaddi frowned. He did not recognize the delicate inlaid patterns of gold on the ebony lid of the casket, though they hinted at the strange arts of Xen’drik.

“I helped myself to the casket,” said Nyam, by way of explanation.

Vaddi grinned. Yes, no doubt Nyam had found other items of value in those ruins, items that would go a long way to compensate for the huge fortune he had bestowed upon Vortermars.

“Ignore the casket. It is the contents you should look at.” So saying, Nyam flipped up the lid.

Vaddi glanced down at the velvet lining within. A single green teardrop jewel glistened in the moonlight.

Zemella gasped. “The family Dendris!” she whispered.

“My mother’s family.”

“It was Indreen’s own jewel,” said Nyam.

“Where did you find this?” asked Vaddi, lifting the teardrop and marvelling at its beauty.

“In Azzahareb, but it did not seem appropriate to give it to you then, with so much fury surging about us all. I took it from the dying hand of Cellester. He had carried it next to his heart these many years.”

“Cellester?”

“Aye. He spoke as he breathed his last. His love for your mother had never dimmed. We must be thankful for it. Zuharrin tried to use it against him. In the end, it was what gave the cleric the power to resist his tormenter. It is how the cleric suppressed your powers, Vaddi—until he chose to rebel against the sorcerer. Your victory was his gift to you.”

Vaddi gazed out across the distance, as though seeing again the chamber in Azzahareb where the sorcerer had been brought down. “I had wondered at his actions—why he defied Zuharrin at the very moment when his powers were about to be realized. In all that turmoil, it was Cellester who tipped the balance. You mean he planned it?”

“Yes,” said Nyam, “but he could never have said so. He had to play his part to the hilt. His perfect deceit undid Zuharrin. The sorcerer’s arrogance did not allow for Cellester’s loyalty to another.”

“Then we will honor the cleric,” Vaddi said. “We will set this jewel in the new foundations of Marazanath.”

They reflected in silence, while overhead the unicorn banner remained taut in the freshening wind. Vaddi’s fingers closed around the Crimson Talisman that he had hung around his neck. It was cool to the touch, its powers dormant. He had no regrets. He would rather not have to recall them. He slid his arm around Zemella’s waist. She, unlike Erethindel, filled him with warmth and energy, a sorcery older than time, and he had come to realize with a surge of elation, as enduring.