The Last Thane

Epilogue

Tarn had expected that his first daylight in two decades would be painful or, at the very least, uncomfortable to his dark-tuned eyes. Instead, he and Belicia emerged into the Valley of Thanes during the ghostly blue of pre-dawn, with the sight of the sky overhead the most beautiful thing he had ever witnessed.

There were thousands of other dwarves here, Hylar and Aghar and even many Klar, all of whom had escaped the Life-Tree and found their way through the mountain to the surface. This was only a percentage of those who had lived and died in Hybardin, but these dwarves were safe-at least for now.

He and Belicia had walked and crawled for a long time. Sometimes they had been alone, other times with nameless others, all seeking refuge. They had followed instinct and guesswork as they sought escape out of the mountain. And finally they had come here, to the ancient burial grounds of the kingdom, the lofty valley cradled among vastly higher summits.

Tarn was startled as a wild-eyed Klar rose to his feet from behind a nearby rock. The half-breed's hand went to his weapon, but something in the other dwarf's manner held his hand from the instinctive attack.

"What do you want?" he growled, stepping protectively in front of Belicia.

"Here," said the fellow, his gaze flashing between the two refugees. He extended a small object, and Tarn heard the splashing of water. "Drink," suggested the Klar.

"Thank you." At once Tarn noticed that he was terribly thirsty. He uncapped the flask and sniffed the odor of sweet water before taking a small drink. He then passed the drink to Belicia. She took a sip, then he slaked his own thirst before handing it back. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Tufa Bloodeye, thane of the Klar," declared the bedraggled dwarf, allowing a hint of pride to creep into his voice.

Tarn noticed that his eyes were shot through with crimson, so stark and red that they might in fact have been filled with blood.

"We're at peace again, your clan and mine?" asked Tarn hesitantly.

"Peace with you. You Hylar, right?"

"Yes, we're Hylar," Tarn replied. For the first time in his life he felt he really belonged to his father's clan. He and Belicia left Tufa Bloodeye, continuing into the vast valley and looking at the dwarves who were huddled everywhere.

"Did any of the Daergar survive?" asked Belicia numbly. "What about your mother?"

Tarn shook his head sadly. "I doubt it."

"And Regal-or Chisel. What about him?"

Tarn forced a rueful smile. "Him I wouldn't be so sure about."

"What is left of Thorbardin? What do we do now?" asked Belicia, slipping her hand through the crook of his elbow and pulling him close. She was numb and grieving, but her eyes were dry and her chin strong, high, firm. "The hill dwarves will help us," Tarn said, with more confidence than he felt. "The time for war between the clans has passed."

"And Hybardin-will we go back there some day?" "Perhaps we shall; certainly our children will." "Until then, we'll have each other," his beloved concluded. And from the sky, low on the horizon after sunset, there came the gleaming twinkle of a lone red star.