“My time has come again, and my brothers come. I have much work to do.”
“Never!” cried Drun, who blazed with golden light, but the red wizard, red from head to toe, merely flicked a finger and Drun’s glorious light winked out in an instant. Then he raised his hands and spoke a short incantation, more out of habit than necessity.
In its wake, the cavern under the mountain was deserted. They disappeared from the mountain, back into a world more terrible than anyone could imagine, a world in which the Elethyn, the bastard sons of Carious and Dow, had returned.
The last of the Sun Destroyers, Caeus, would once more shake Rythe to its very core.
Epilogue
Summer fades, and time moves on. It is a time of legends. The end of legends. It is only fitting that the leaves, as heroes, fall.
Heroes are made every day, as long as there is a witness, solitary, perhaps, but one with the power of words to build the legend, and as the old fade, new ones are born.
On Sturma, brave men fought on without a leader, a thousand songs went unsung as the fallen grew and fewer remained to tell the tales of deeds done by those about to die.
On Lianthre, the rahken nation rises, as does a strange continent, far out in the forgotten oceans, unseen, but felt, by the Seafarers. Mountains crumbled, the suns shone, seas flowed over new lands and around the old.
And on the trees, leaves turned, ready to fall.
