The Hidden City

Epilogue

The following day dawned clear and cold. The sun on the snowfields blanketing the surrounding mountains was dazzling, and the lake at the center of the hidden Valley of Delphaeus gleamed.

The wedding had, of course, been postponed, and was now to take place this evening. There had been questions, naturally, but Sparhawk had put them to rest by explaining that everything that had happened had been Bhelliom’s doing, and that he had only been its instrument, which was not exactly a lie. They spent the day quietly and gathered again as the sun went down and the shadows of evening settled over the valley.

A strange sense of anticipation had nagged at Sparhawk all afternoon. Something was going to happen here. Bhelliom had told him that he would behold a wonder, and that was not the kind of word Bhelliom would use lightly.

The shadows of evening deepened, and Sparhawk and the other men escorted Vanion down to the shore of the glowing lake to await the bride’s party while the Shining Ones once again sang the ancient hymn which had been so abruptly broken off the previous evening.

Then the bride appeared at the gate with the Queen of Elenia at her side and the other ladies close behind them. The Child Goddess, whirling and dancing in the air and with her clear voice raised in flute-song, preceded them, again strewing their path with flower petals.

Sephrenia’s face was serene as she came down the path to the lake. As the small Styric bride approached the man whom two major religions had forbidden her to marry, her personal Goddess provided a visible symbol that she, at least, approved. The stars had just begun to appear overhead, and one of them seemed to have lost its way. Like a tiny comet, a brilliant spark of light descended over the radiant Sephrenia and settled gently on her head as a glowing garland of spring flowers.

Sparhawk smiled gently. The similarity to the crowning of Mirtai during her rite of passage was a little too obvious to miss.

‘Critic,’ Aphrael’s voice accused.

‘I didn’t say anything.’

‘Well, don’t.’

Sephrenia and Vanion joined hands as the Delphaeic hymn swelled to a climax. And then Xanetia, all aglow and accompanied by two other glowing forms, one white and the other blue, came walking across the lake. A yearning kind of murmur passed through the Delphae, and, as one, they sank reverently to their knees.

The Anarae tenderly embraced her Styric sister and kissed Vanion chastely on the cheek. ‘I have entreated Beloved Edaemus to join with us here and to bless this most happy union,’ she told the assemblage, ‘and he hath brought with him this other guest, who also hath some interest in our ceremony.’

‘Is that blue one who I think it is?’ Kalten muttered to Sparhawk.

‘Oh, yes,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘That’s the form it took back in Cyrga, remember?—After I stuffed it down Klael’s throat.’

‘I was a little distracted at that point. Is that what it really looks like? After you peel off all the layers of sapphire, I mean?’

‘I don’t really think so. Bhelliom’s a spirit, not a form. I think this particular shape is just a courtesy—for our benefit.’

‘I thought it had already left.’

‘No, not quite yet.’

The glowing form of Edaemus straightened, somehow managing to look uncomfortable. Xanetia’s face hardened and her eyes narrowed.

‘I had thought ill of thee, Sephrenia of Ylara,’ the God of the Delphae admitted. ‘Mine Anarae hath persuaded me that my thought was in error. I do entreat thee to forgive me.’ Gentle Xanetia, it appeared, was not above a certain amount of bullying.

Sephrenia smiled benignly. ‘Of course I forgive thee, Divine Edaemus. I was not entirely blameless myself, I do confess.’

‘Let us all then pray to our separate Gods to bless the union of this man and this woman,’ Xanetia said in formal tones, ‘for methinks it doth presage a new birth of understanding and trust for all of mankind.’

Sparhawk was a little dubious about that, but like the others, he bowed his head. He did not, however, direct his words to his Elene God. ‘Blue Rose,’ he sent out his thought.

‘Art thou praying, my son?’ The answering voice sounded slightly amused.

‘Consulting, Blue Rose,’ Sparhawk corrected. ‘Others will direct our entreaty to our Elene God, and I do perceive that the time fast approaches when thou and I must part.’

‘Truly.’

‘I thought to take this opportunity to ask a boon of thee.’

‘If it be within my power.’

‘I have seen the extent of thy power, Blue Rose—and in some measure shared it. It is uncandid of thee to suggest that there are any limits to what thou canst do.’

‘Be nice,’ Bhelliom murmured. It seemed quite fond of that particular phrase. ‘What is this boon, my son?’

‘I do entreat thee to take all thy power with thee when thou dost depart. It is a burden I am unprepared to accept. I am thy son, Blue Rose, but I am also a man. I have neither the patience nor the wisdom to accept responsibility for what thou hast bestowed upon me. This world which thou hast made hath Gods in plenty. She doth not need another.’

‘Think, my son. Think of what thou dost propose to surrender—’

‘I have, my father. I have been Anakha, for it was needful.’ Sparhawk struggled for a way to put his feelings into archaic Elenic. ‘When I did as Anakha confront the Styric Zalasta, I did feel a great detachment within myself, and that detachment abideth within me still. It seemeth me that thy gift hath altered me, making me more—or less—than a man. I would, an it please thee, no longer be “patient Anakha” or “curious Anakha” or “implacable Anakha”. Anakha’s task is finished. Now, with all my heart, I would be Sparhawk again. To be “loving Sparhawk” or even “irritated Sparhawk” would please me far more than the dreadful emptiness which is Anakha.’

There was a long pause. ‘Know that I am well-pleased with thee, my son.’ There was pride in the silent voice in Sparhawk’s mind. ‘I find more merit in thee in this moment than in any other. Be well, Sparhawk.’ And the voice was gone.

The wedding ceremony was strange in some ways and very familiar in others. The celebration of the love that existed between Vanion and Sephrenia was there, but the preaching which so marred the Elene ritual was not. At the conclusion, Xanetia gently laid her hands in loving benediction upon the heads of the two she had just joined. The gesture seemed to proclaim that the ceremony was at an end.

But it was not.

The second of the two figures which had accompanied Xanetia across the luminous waters of the lake stepped forward, all glowing blue, to add its own benediction. It raised its hands over the man and the woman, and for a brief moment they shared its azure incandescence. And when the light faded, Sephrenia had subtly changed. The cares and weariness which had marked her face in a dozen tiny ways were gone, and she appeared to be no older than Alcan. The changes Bhelliom’s glowing touch had wrought on Vanion were more visible and pronounced. His shoulders, which had imperceptibly slumped over the years, were straight again. His face was unlined, and his silvery hair and beard were now the dark auburn Sparhawk dimly remembered from the days of his novitiate. It was Bhelliom’s final gift, and nothing could have pleased Sparhawk more.

Aphrael clapped her hands together with a squeal of delight and flew into the arms of the nebulous, glowing figure which had just rejuvenated her sister and Vanion.

Sparhawk rather carefully concealed a smile. The Child Goddess had finally maneuvered Bhelliom into a position where she could unleash the devastating effects of her kisses upon it. The kisses could, of course, have been pure, effusive gratitude—but they probably weren’t.

The wedding was at an end, but the glowing Delphae did not return to their empty city. Xanetia placed one supporting arm around Anari Codon’s frail old shoulders and guided him instead out onto the radiant surface of the lake, and the Shining Ones followed, raising a different hymn as incandescent Edaemus hovered in the air above them. The light of the lake grew brighter and brighter, and the ethereal glow of the Delphae seemed to merge, and individual figures were no longer distinguishable.

Then, like the point of a spear, Edaemus streaked skyward, and all of his children streamed upward behind him.

When Sparhawk and his friends had first come to Delphaeus, Anari Codon had told them that the Delphae journeyed toward the light and that they would become the light, but that there were yet impediments. Bhelliom had evidently removed those barriers. The Delphae marked the starry sky like a comet as they rose together on the first step of their inconceivable journey.

The pale, clear radiance of the lake was gone, but it was not dark. An azure spark hung over it as Bhelliom surveyed what it had wrought and found that it was good. Then it too rose from the earth to rejoin the eternal stars.

They stayed that night in deserted Delphaeus, and Sparhawk awoke early as usual. He dressed himself quietly and left the simple bedroom and his tousled, sleeping wife to go outside to check the weather.

Flute joined him when he reached the city gate. ‘Why don’t you put some shoes on?’ he asked her, noting that her bare, grass-stained little feet were sunk in the snow.

‘What do I need with shoes, Father?’ She held out her arms, and he picked her up.

‘It was quite a night, wasn’t it?’ he said, looking up at the cloudy sky.

‘Why did you do that, Sparhawk?’

‘Do what?’

‘You know what I mean. Do you realize what you could have done? You could have turned this world into a paradise, but you threw it all away.’

‘I don’t think that would have been a good idea, Aphrael. My idea of paradise would probably have been different from other people’s.’ He sniffed at the chill air. ‘I think we’ve got weather coming,’ he observed.

‘Don’t change the subject. You had ultimate power. Why did you give it up?’

He sighed. ‘I didn’t really like it all that much. There wasn’t any effort involved in it, and when you get something without working for it, it doesn’t really have any value. Besides, there are people who have claims on me.’

‘What’s that got to do with it?’

‘What could I have done if Ehlana had decided that she wanted Arcium? Or if Dolmant had decided that he wanted to convert Styricum? Or all of Tamuli? I have loyalties and obligations, Aphrael, and sooner or later, I’d have made bad decisions because of them. Trust me. I made the right choice.’

‘I think you’re going to regret it.’

‘I’ve regretted lots of things. You learn to live with it. Can you get us to Matherion?’

‘You could have done it yourself, you know.’

‘Don’t beat it into the ground, Aphrael. If you don’t want to, then we’ll just plow our way through the snow. We’ve done it before.’

‘You’re hateful, Sparhawk. You know I won’t let you do that.’

‘Now do you see what I mean about the power of loyalties and obligations?’

‘Don’t start lecturing me. I’m in no mood for it. Go wake up the others, and let’s get started.’

‘Whatever you say, Divine One.’

They located the rather large communal kitchen in which the Delphae had prepared all their meals and the storerooms where the food was kept. Despite their eons of enmity, the dietary prejudices of the Styrics and Delphae were remarkably similar. Sephrenia found the breakfast much to her liking, but Kalten grumbled a great deal. He did eat three helpings, however.

‘Whatever happened to friend Bhlokw?’ Kring asked, pushing back his plate. ‘I just realized that I haven’t seen him since Zalasta took fire.’

‘He went off with his Gods, Domi,’ Tynian replied. ‘He did what they sent him to do, and now he and the rest of the Trolls are on their way back to Thalesia. He wished us all good hunting. That’s about as close as a Troll can come to saying goodbye.’

‘It might sound a little strange,’ Kring admitted, ‘but I liked him.’

‘He’s a good pack-mate,’ Ulath said. ‘He hunts well, and he’s willing to share what he kills with the others in the pack.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Tynian agreed with a shudder. ‘If it wasn’t a freshly-killed dog, it was a haunch of raw Cyrgai.’

‘It was what he had, Tynian,’ Ulath defended his shaggy friend, ‘and he was ready to share it. You can’t ask more than that, can you?’

‘Sir Ulath,’ Talen said, ‘I’ve just eaten. Do you suppose we could talk about something else?’

They saddled their horses and rode out of Delphaeus.

As he left, Khalad reined in, dismounted, and closed the gate.

‘Why did you do that?’ Talen asked him. ‘The Delphae aren’t coming back, you know.’

‘It’s the proper thing to do,’ Khalad said as he remounted. ‘Leaving it open would have been disrespectful.’

Since they all knew who she really was, Flute made no attempt to conceal her tampering this time. The horses plodded along, as horses will if they aren’t being pushed, but every few minutes the horizon flickered and changed. Once, somewhat east of Dirgis, Sparhawk rose in his stirrups to look to the rear. Their clearly visible trail stretched back to the middle of an open meadow where it stopped abruptly, almost as if the horses and riders had been dropped there out of the sky.

They reached the now-familiar hilltop overlooking fire-domed Matherion and its harbor just as evening was approaching, and they rode on down to the city gratefully. They had all been long on the road, and it was good to be home again. Sparhawk rather quickly amended that thought in his mind. Matherion was not really home. Home was a dank, unlovely city on the Cimmura River, half a world away.

There were some startled looks at the gate of the imperial compound, and yet more startled looks at the drawbridge to Ehlana’s castle. Vanion had stubbornly rejected his wife’s urgings to conceal his head and face with the hood of his cloak, and it quite literally flaunted the fact that some thirty-odd years had somehow fallen away. Vanion was like that sometimes.

There were some visible changes inside the castle as well. They found the Emperor in the blue-draped sitting-room on the second floor, and in addition to Baroness Melidere, Emban and Oscagne, three of his wives, Elysoun, Gahennas, and Liatris ere also present. Elysoun was probably the most notable, since she was now modestly dressed.

‘Good God, Vanion!’ Emban exclaimed when he saw the Pandion Preceptor. ‘What’s happened to you?’

‘I got married, your Grace,’ Vanion replied. He smoothed back his mahogany-colored hair. ‘This was one of the wedding presents. Do you like it?’

‘You look ridiculous!’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ Sephrenia disagreed. ‘I rather like it.’

‘I gather that congratulations are in order,’ Sarabian said urbanely.

There was a marked difference in the Tamul Emperor. He had a self-confidence and a commanding presence that had not been there before. ‘Considering the enormous religious barriers, who performed the ceremony?’

‘Xanetia did, your Majesty,’ Vanion replied. ‘Delphaeic doctrine didn’t have any objections.’

Sarabian looked around. ‘Where is Xanetia?’ he asked.

Sephrenia pointed upward with one finger. ‘Out there,’ she replied rather sadly, ‘with the rest of the Delphae.’

‘What?’ The Emperor’s expression was baffled.

‘Edaemus took them, Sarabian,’ Flute explained. ‘Evidently he and Bhelliom made some sort of arrangement.’ She looked around. ‘Where’s Danae?’

‘She’s in her room, Divine One,’ Baroness Melidere said. ‘She was a little tired, so she went to bed early.’

‘I’d better go tell her that her mother’s home,’ the Child Goddess said, going toward the door leading back into the rest of the apartment.

‘We’ve received any number of reports,’ Foreign Minister Oscagne said, ‘but they were all couched in generalities—“the war’s over, and we won”—that sort of thing. No offense intended, Queen Betuana. Your Atans are excellent messengers, but it’s hard to get details out of them.’

She shrugged. ‘Perhaps it’s a racial flaw, Oscagne-Excellency.’

As she always did now, Betuana stood very close to the silent Engessa. She seemed reluctant to let him get very far away from her side.

‘The thing that puzzles me the most is the rather garbled message I got from my brother,’ Oscagne confessed.

‘Itagne-Ambassador has a great deal on his mind just now,’ Betuana said blandly.

‘Oh?’

‘He and Atana Maris became quite friendly when he was posted to Cynestra last fall. He didn’t take it too seriously, but she did. She came looking for him. She found him in Cyrga and took him back with her to Cynestra.’

‘Really?’ Oscagne said, his face betraying no hint of a smile. Then he shrugged. ‘Oh, well,’ he added, ‘It’s time that Itagne settled down anyway. As I recall, Atana Maris is a very vigorous young woman.’

‘Yes, Oscagne-Excellency, and very determined. I think your clever brother’s days as a bachelor are numbered.’

‘What a shame,’ Oscagne sighed. ‘Pardon me a moment.’ He went rather quickly into the next room, and they all heard the sounds of muffled laughter coming from there.

And then Danae, her black hair flying, came running into the room to hurl herself into her mother’s arms.

Sarabian’s face went bleak. ‘Who finally killed Zalasta?’ he asked. ‘He was at the bottom of all this, when you get right down to it.’

‘Zalasta isn’t dead,’ Sephrenia said sorrowfully, lifting Flute into her lap.

‘He isn’t? How did he manage to get away?’

‘We let him go, your Majesty,’ Ulath replied.

‘Are you mad? You know the kind of trouble he can stir up.’

‘He won’t be causing any more trouble, your Majesty,’ Vanion said. ‘Unless he happens to start a few grass-fires.’

‘He won’t do that, Vanion,’ Flute said. ‘It’s a spiritual fire, not a real one.’

‘Will somebody please tell me what happened?’ Sarabian said.

‘Zalasta showed up at Sephrenia’s wedding, your Majesty,’ Ulath told him. ‘He tried to kill Vanion, but Sparhawk stopped him. Then our friend here was just about to do something fairly permanent about Zalasta, but Khwaj asserted a prior claim. Sparhawk considered the politics of the situation and agreed. Then Khwaj set Zalasta on fire.’

‘What a gruesome idea,’ Sarabian shuddered. Then he looked at Sephrenia. ‘I thought you said that he isn’t dead. Yet Sir Ulath just told me that he’d been burned to death.’

‘No, your Majesty,’ Ulath corrected, ‘I just said that Khwaj set fire to him. The same thing happened to Baron Parok.’

‘The Trollish notion of justice sort of appeals to me,’ Sarabian said with a bleak smile. ‘How long will they burn?’

‘Forever, your Majesty,’ Tynian replied somberly. ‘The fire is eternal.’

‘Good God.’

‘It’s further than I’d have gone,’ Sparhawk conceded, ‘but as Ulath said, there were political considerations involved.’

They talked until quite late, providing details of the campaign, the rescue of Ehlana and Alcan, the freeing of Bhelliom, and the final confrontation between Sparhawk and Cyrgon. Sparhawk rather carefully stressed his surrogacy in that particular event and made some issue of the fact that he was no longer Anakha. He wanted that particular book permanently closed with no doubts remaining in anyone’s mind that there was absolutely no way to reopen it.

Also during the course of that long conversation, Sarabian told them of the attempt on his life by Chacole and Torellia.

‘They might have actually pulled it off if it hadn’t been for Elysoun,’ he concluded, looking fondly at his now-demure Valesian wife.

Mirtai looked at Elysoun with one questioningly-raised eyebrow.

‘Why the change of costume?’ she asked bluntly.

Elysoun shrugged. ‘I’m with child,’ she replied. ‘I guess my days of adventuring are over.’ She looked at Mirtai’s puzzled expression. ‘It’s a Valesian custom,’ she explained. ‘We’re allowed a certain amount of freedom until our first pregnancy. After that, we’re supposed to behave ourselves.’ She smiled. ‘I’d more or less exhausted the potentials of the imperial compound anyway,’ she added. ‘Now it’s time to settle down—and catch up on my sleep.’

‘Has anybody heard from Stragen and Caalador?’ Talen asked.

‘Viscount Stragen and Duke Caalador came back to Matherion a week ago,’ Sarabian replied.

‘New embellishments?’ Ehlana asked with some surprise.

‘Rewards for services rendered, Ehlana,’ Sarabian smiled. ‘It seemed appropriate. Duke Caalador’s accepted a position in the Ministry of the Interior, so he’s gone back to Lebas to settle up his affairs there.’

‘And Stragen?’

‘He’s on his way to Astel, your Majesty,’ Baroness Melidere replied with a bleak smile. ‘He said that he wants to have a few words with Elron.’

‘Did Elron manage to get out of Natayos alive?’ Kalten sounded surprised. ‘Ekrasios said that the Shining Ones had obliterated the place.’

‘The word Caalador picked up was that Elron hid out somewhere while the Shining Ones were dissolving Scarpa and Cyzada. Then, after they were gone, he crept out of the ruins and bolted for home. Stragen’s going to look him up.’ The Baroness looked at Khalad. ‘Krager got out as well,’ she told him. ‘Caalador found out that he was bound for Zenga in eastern Cammoria. There’s something you should know about Krager, though.’

‘Oh?’

‘Do you remember how King Wargun died?’

‘His liver finally gave out on him, didn’t it?’

She nodded. ‘The same thing’s happening to Krager. Caalador talked with a man named Order in the town of Delo. Krager was completely out of his head when they put him on the ship bound for Zenga.’

‘He’s still alive, though, isn’t he?’ Khalad asked bleakly.

‘If you can call it that,’ she sighed. ‘Let it go, Khalad. He wouldn’t even feel it if you ran your sword through him. He wouldn’t know who you were or why you were killing him.’

‘Thank you, Baroness,’ Khalad said, ‘but I think that when we get back to Eosia, Berit and I’ll run on down to Zenga just to make sure. Krager’s gotten away from us just a few too many times to take any chances. I want to see him in the ground.’

‘Can I come too?’ Talen asked eagerly.

‘No,’ Khalad replied.

‘What do you mean, no?’

‘It’s time for you to start your novitiate.

‘That can wait.’

‘No, it can’t. You’re already a half a year late. If you don’t start training now, you’ll never become proficient.’

Vanion looked approvingly at Sparhawk’s squire. ‘Don’t forget what we talked about earlier, Sparhawk,’ he said. ‘And pass my recommendation on to Dolmant.’

‘What’s this?’ Khalad asked.

‘I’ll tell you about it later,’ Sparhawk replied.

‘Oh, by the way, Ehlana,’ Sarabian said, ‘as long as the subject’s come up anyway, would you be put out with me if I bestowed a title on your little song-bird here?’ He smiled fondly at Alcan. ‘I certainly hope not, dear heart, because I’m going to do it anyway—for outstanding service to the Empire, if nothing else.’

‘What a splendid idea, Sarabian!’ Ehlana exclaimed.

‘I can’t really take much credit for the notion of the titles, I’m afraid,’ he admitted a bit ruefully. ‘Actually, they were your daughter’s idea. Her Royal Highness is a very strong-minded little girl.’

Sparhawk glanced briefly at his daughter and then at Flute They wore identical expressions of smug self-satisfaction. Divine Aphrael clearly would not let anything stand in the way of her match-making. Sparhawk smiled briefly and then cleared his throat. ‘Ah—your Majesty,’ he said to the Emperor, ‘It’s growing rather late, and we’re all tired. I’d suggest that we continue this tomorrow.’

‘Of course, Prince Sparhawk,’ Sarabian agreed, rising to his feet.

‘A word with you, Sparhawk?’ Patriarch Emban said as the others started to file out.

‘Of course.’ They waited until they were alone in the room.

‘What are we going to do about Vanion and Sephrenia?’ Emban asked.

‘I don’t exactly follow you, your Grace.’

‘This so-called marriage is going to put Dolmant in a very difficult position, you know.’

‘It’s not a “so-called marriage”, Emban,’ Sparhawk said firmly, cutting across the formalities.

‘You know what I mean. The conservatives in the Hierocracy will probably try to use it to weaken Sarathi’s position.’

‘Why tell them, then? It’s none of their business. A lot of things that our theology can’t explain have happened here in Tamuli, your Grace. The Empire’s outside the jurisdiction of our Church, so why tell the Hierocracy anything about them?’

‘I can’t just lie to them, Sparhawk.’

‘I didn’t suggest that. Just don’t talk about it.’

‘I have to report to Dolmant.’

‘That’s all right. He’s flexible.’ Sparhawk considered it. ‘That’s probably your best course anyway. We’ll take Dolmant off to one side and tell him about everything that’s happened here. We’ll let him decide how much to tell the Hierocracy.’

‘You’re putting an awful burden on him, Sparhawk.’

Sparhawk shrugged. ‘That’s what he gets paid for, isn’t it? Now if you’ll excuse me, your Grace, there’s a family reunion going on that I should probably attend.’

There was a melancholy sense of endings for the next several weeks. They were all fully aware of the fact that once the weather broke, most of them would be leaving Matherion. The likelihood that they would ever gather again was very slight. They savored their moments together, and there were frequent private little interludes when two or perhaps three of them would gather in out-of-the way places, ostensibly to talk at great length about inconsequential matters, but in fact to cement faces, the sounds of voices, and very personal connections forever in their memories.

Sparhawk entered the sitting-room one blustery morning to find Sarabian and Oscagne with their heads together over a bound book of some kind. There was a certain outrage in their expressions. ‘Trouble?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘Politics,’ Sarabian said sourly. ‘That’s always trouble.’

‘The Contemporary History Department at the University has just published their version of recent events, Prince Sparhawk,’ Oscagne explained. ‘There’s very little truth in it—particularly in light of the fact that Pondia Subat, our esteemed Prime Minister, turns out to be a hero.’

‘I should have deleted Subat as soon as I found out about his activities,’ Sarabian said moodily. ‘Who would be the best one to answer this tripe, Oscagne?’

‘My brother, your Majesty,’ the Foreign Minister replied promptly. ‘He is a member of the faculty, and he has a certain reputation. Unfortunately, he’s in Cynestra just now.’

‘Send for him, Oscagne. Get him back here before Contemporary History contaminates the thinking of a whole generation.’

‘Maris will want to come too, your Majesty.’

‘Fine. Your brother’s too clever by half. Let’s keep Atana Maris nice and close to him. She might be able to teach him humility.’

‘What are we going to do with the Cyrgai, your Majesty?’ Sparhawk asked. ‘Sephrenia says that the curse that confined them was lifted when Cyrgon died, and even though it’s not actually their fault, there really isn’t any place for them in the modern world.’

‘I’ve been brooding about that myself,’ the Emperor admitted. ‘I think we’ll want to keep them away from normal human beings. There’s an island about five hundred leagues east of Tega. It’s fairly fertile and it has a more or less acceptable climate. Since the Cyrgai are so fond of isolation, it should turn the trick. How long do you think it might take them to invent boats?’

‘Several thousand years, your Majesty. The Cyrgai aren’t very creative.’

Sarabian grinned at him. ‘I’d say that’s the perfect place, then.’

Sparhawk grinned back. ‘Sounds good to me,’ he agreed.

Spring came to eastern Tamuli in a rush that year. A sudden warm, wet wind blew in off the Tamul sea, cutting the snow off the sides of nearby mountains in a single night. The streams ran bank-full, of course, so it was still too early for travel. Sparhawk’s impatience grew with each lingering day. It was not so much that he had anything pressing to attend to, but more that this prolonged farewell was extremely painful.

There was one fairly extended argument. Ehlana insisted at first that they should all journey to Atan to celebrate the wedding of Mirtai and Kring.

‘You’re being ignorant again, Ehlana,’ Mirtai told her with characteristic bluntness. ‘You’ve seen weddings before, and you’ve got a kingdom to run. Go back to Cimmura where you belong.’

‘Don’t you want me to be present?’ Ehlana’s eyes filled with tears.

Mirtai embraced her. ‘You will be, Ehlana,’ she said. ‘You’re in my heart forever now. Go back to Cimmura. I’ll come by after Kring and I get settled in Pela—or wherever we decide to live.’

Vanion and Sephrenia decided to accompany Queen Betuana’s party as far as Atana and then to proceed on to Sarsos. ‘It’s probably the best place for us, dear one,’ Sephrenia told Sparhawk. ‘I have a certain status there, and I can shout down the fanatics who’ll try to object to the fact that Vanion and I are married now.’

‘Well put,’ Sparhawk said. Then he sighed. ‘I’m going to miss you, little mother,’ he told her. ‘You and Vanion won’t ever be able to come back to Eosia, you know.’

‘Don’t be absurd, Sparhawk,’ she laughed. ‘I’ve always gone anyplace I wanted to go, and I always will. There are ways I can disguise Vanion’s face—and mine—so we’ll stop by from time to time. I want to keep an eye on your daughter, if nothing else.’ Then she kissed him. ‘Run along now, dear one I have to go talk with Sarabian about Betuana.’

‘Oh?’

‘She’s been muttering some nonsense about abdicating so that she can marry Engessa. The Atans are subject to the imperial crown, so I have to persuade Sarabian to keep her from doing something foolish. Engessa will make a very good co-ruler, and Sarabian needs stability in Atan.’

As the spring run-off began to recede and the soggy fields around the capital began to dry out, Sparhawk went down to the harbor looking for Captain Sorgi. There were less battered and more luxurious ships swinging at anchor in the crowded harbor, but Sparhawk trusted Sorgi, and to sail home with him would provide a comforting sense of continuity to the conclusion of this whole business. He found the curly-haired sea-captain in a neat, well-lit wharfside tavern that was quite obviously run by an Elene proprietor.

‘There’ll be thirteen of us, Captain,’ Sparhawk said, ‘and seven horses.’

‘We’ll be a bit crowded, Master Cluff,’ Sorgi replied, squinting at the ceiling, ‘but I think we can manage. Are you going to be covering the cost of the passage yourself?’

Sparhawk grinned. ‘The Emperor has graciously offered to defray the expense,’ he said. ‘He’s a friend, so please don’t bankrupt him.’

Sorgi grinned back. ‘I wouldn’t think of it, Master Cluff.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘It’s been an interesting time, and the Tamul Empire’s an interesting place, but it’ll be good to get back home again.’

‘Yes,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘Sometimes it seems that I’ve spent my whole life trying to get back home.’

‘I’ll reckon up the cost of the voyage and have my bo’sun bring it up to the imperial compound to you. I almost lost him down in Beresa, you know.’

‘Your bo’sun?’

Sorgi nodded. ‘A couple of rascals waylaid him in an alleyway. He barely got out alive.’

‘Imagine that,’ Sparhawk said blandly. Evidently Valash had tried to cut some corners on the hiring of assassins as well as on everything else.

‘When exactly did you want to sail, Master Cluff?’

‘We haven’t quite decided yet—sometime in the next week or so. I’ll let you know. Some of our friends are leaving to go overland to Atan. It might be best if we sailed on the same day.’

‘Good idea,’ Sorgi approved. ‘It’s always best not to drag out the farewells. Sailors have learned how to say goodbye in a hurry. When the time comes to leave, we always have to catch the tide, and it won’t wait.’

‘Well put, Sorgi,’ Sparhawk smiled.

Not unsurprisingly it was Betuana who made the decision.

‘We’ll leave tomorrow,’ she declared flatly at the dinner table a week later.

‘So soon?’ Sarabian’s voice sounded slightly stricken.

‘The streams are down, and the fields are dry, Sarabian-Emperor,’ she pointed out. ‘Why should we linger?’

‘Well—’ he let it trail off.

‘You’re too sentimental, Sarabian,’ she told him bluntly. ‘You know that we’re going to leave. Why prolong it? Come to Atan next fall, and we’ll go boar-hunting. You spend too much time penned up here in Matherion.’

‘It’s pretty hard for me to get away,’ he said dubiously. ‘Somebody has to stay here and mind the store.’

‘Let Oscagne do it. He’s honorable, so he won’t steal too much.’

‘Your Majesty.’ Oscagne protested.

She smiled at him. ‘I was only teasing you, Oscagne,’ she told him. ‘Friends can do that without giving offense.’

There was little sleep for any of them that night. There was packing, of course, and a myriad of other preparations, but the bulk of the night was spent running up and down the hallways with urgent messages that were all basically the same. ‘Promise that we’ll keep in touch.’

And they all did promise, of course, and they all really meant it. The fading of that resolve would not begin for at least a year or maybe even two.

They gathered in the castle courtyard just as dawn was breaking over the Tamul Sea. There were all the customary kisses and embraces and gruff handshakes.

It was finally Khalad, good, solid, dependable Khalad, who looked appraisingly at the eastern sky, cleared his throat, and said, ‘We’d better get started, Sparhawk. Sorgi’ll probably charge you for an extra day if you make him miss the morning tide.’

‘Right,’ Sparhawk agreed. He lifted Ehlana up into the open carriage Sarabian had provided and in which Emban, Talen, Alcan and Melidere were already seated. Then he looked around and saw Danae and Flute speaking quietly together. ‘Danae,’ he called his daughter, ‘time to go.’

The Crown Princess of Elenia kissed the Child Goddess of Styricum one last time and obediently came across the courtyard to her father.

‘Thanks for stopping by, Sparhawk,’ Sarabian said simply, holding out his hand.

Sparhawk took the hand in his own. ‘My pleasure, Sarabian,’ he replied. Then he swung himself up into Faran’s saddle and led the way across the drawbridge and out onto the still-shadowy lawns.

It took perhaps a quarter of an hour to reach the harbor, and another half-hour to load the horses in the forward hold. Sparhawk came back up on deck where the others waited and looked toward the east, where the sun had not yet risen.

‘All ready, Master Cluff?’ Sorgi called from the quarterdeck at the stern of his ship.

‘That’s it, Captain Sorgi,’ Sparhawk called back. ‘We’ve done what we came to do. Let’s go home.’

The self-important bo’sun strutted up and down the deck unnecessarily supervising the casting off of all lines and the raising of the sails.

The tide was moving quite rapidly, and there was a good following breeze. Sorgi skillfully maneuvered his battered old ship out through the harbor to the open sea.

Sparhawk lifted Danae in one arm and put the other about Ehlana’s shoulders, and they stood at the port rail looking back at the city the Tamuls called the center of the world. Sorgi swung his tiller over to take a southeasterly course to round the peninsula, and just as the sails bellied out in the breeze, the sun slid above the eastern horizon.

Matherion had been pale in the shadows of dawn, but as the sun rose, the opalescent domes took fire, and shimmering, rainbow-colored light played across the gleaming surfaces. Sparhawk and his wife and daughter stood at the rail, their eyes filled with the wonder of the glowing city that seemed somehow to be bidding them its own farewell and wishing them a safe voyage home.