reappeared. They thought she was gone, but she won’t ever be gone, that one. Not her. What is it they called her before she was Ard Rhys? Ilse Witch. She comes back and all this happens? Not by chance, I don’t think.»
« Doesn’t matter what you or I think,” the third man said. «What matters is that the war is over, and we can get on with living our lives. There’s been enough madness. I lost a brother and two cousins out there on the Prekkendorran. Everyone lost someone. For what? Tell me that. For what?»
« For Sen Dunsidan and his kind,” the stocky man declared. «For the politicians and their stupid schemes.» He took a long pull on his ale. «This is good,” he said to the old man, smiling. «Good enough to help me forget the smell of all those dead men. Can I trouble you for another glass?»
When they were gone, the old man went back into the house, pulled aside the rug to the storm cellar, and let the two Elves out. They’d been in hiding down there for several weeks, too damaged at first to do much more than sleep and eat, and then too weak to travel. He’d nursed them as best he could, using the remedies and skills he had acquired from his mother when she was still alive and working the fields with him. The man was the worse of the two, shot through with arrows and cut with blades in a dozen places. But the woman wasn’t much better. He’d helped them because they were hurt and that was the kind of man he was. The war on the Prekkendorran was not his war and not his concern. No Federation war ever had been.
« They’re gone,” he said as the two climbed back into the light.
Pied Sanderling glanced around, and then reached back for Troon’s hand. The day was clouded, but warm and calm, and it felt good to come back into the light. The old man brought them up whenever it was safe to do so, but that hadn’t been often until now. They all knew before the treaty what would happen if they were caught out.
« Did you hear what they said?» the old man asked them.
Pied nodded. He was thinking of those who had gone with him into the Federation camp. He was thinking that their efforts had been worth something after all. The tide of war might have turned on the destruction of theDechtera and her deadly weapon. Twenty–four hours later, Vaden Wick had broken the siege, counterattacked, and driven the Federation off the heights. In the end, the Free–born had prevailed.
Now, it seemed, any danger of fresh weapons of the sort theDechtera had carried was ended, as well. If the Druids had intervened, the chances were good that whatever remained of those weapons had been hunted down and destroyed.
« Sit, and I’ll bring you a glass of ale,” the old man offered.
He had saved their lives. He had cared for and protected them while they recovered. He had asked nothing about them, nothing from them. He had been kind to them in a place and time when some would have wished them dead and worked to make the wish a reality. They were Elves and enemy soldiers. The old man didn’t seem to care.
They took chairs at the table while the old man brought the glasses and set them down. When he left to feed the animals in the barn, Pied looked at Troon. «I guess it’s finally over.»
She nodded. They were mirror images of each other, their faces cut and bruised, their limbs bandaged, and their bodies so sore that every movement hurt. But they were alive, which was more than they could say about any of the others who had gone with them that night. They would have been dead, too, if not for the old man. He had been burning off a field he had partially cleared, the fire still bright even after darkness fell, and they had homed in on that beacon. The old man had seen the flit come down, found them in the wreckage, and taken them in. He had thrown what remained of the flit into the fire, and then lied to the Federation soldiers who came looking the next morning. Neither of them knew why. Maybe he was just like that. Maybe, like the grave diggers, he’d had enough of war.
« We can go home now,” he said to her.
She gave him a bitter smile. «To Arborlon? Where Arling is Queen?»
She was reminding him that he was forbidden to return to Arborlon, that Arling had dismissed him from her service.
They stared at each other wordlessly.
« Let’s not go home,” she said finally. She held his gaze. «Let’s go somewhere else. They think we are dead. Let’s leave it that way. Have you anyone waiting for you?»
He thought about Drum for a moment and shook his head. «No.»
« Nor I.» She took a quick breath and exhaled sharply. «Let’s start over. Let’s make a new home.»
He studied her face, appreciating the straightforward, uncomplicated way it revealed her. With Troon, there was never any question about what she was feeling. Certainly, there wasn’t any question there. She was in love with him. She had told him that night on the flit. She had told him any number of times since. The revelation had surprised him, but pleased him, too. Eventually, while they recovered from their wounds, he realized he was in love with her, too.
She reached out for his hands and took them in her own. «I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But I don’t want to do it in a place that reminds me of the past. I want to do it where we can start over again and leave behind what we’ve known. Do you love me enough to do that?»
He smiled. «You know I do.»
They smiled at each other across the table, sharing feelings that shouldn’t be put into words because words would only get in the way.
They set theBremen down in the gardens that fronted the bridge to the island of the tanequil, anchoring her well back, but safely within walking distance. Stridegate’s ruins were empty and still on an afternoon filled with sunshine and blue sky. They had flown into the Inkrim that morning, sailing out of night’s departing darkness into dawn’s bright promise, the boy and she standing together at the bow and looking down at the world. They had not spoken a word, lost in their separate thoughts. She thought she could probably guess at his but that he could not possibly know hers.
The Urdas were not in evidence on that visit, but Kermadec and his Trolls kept careful watch for them, even after they were anchored and on the ground. Urdas would not enter the ruins, it was said. They would not come into any place they considered sacred. Kermadec was taking no chances, and sent scouts in all directions with instructions to make sure.
Grianne turned to him. «Keep watch for us, Old Bear,” she said with a smile. «This won’t take long.»
He shook his great, impassive face in disagreement. «I wish you would let this wait for a while longer, Mistress. You have been through too much already. If there is a confrontation down there—”
« There will be no confrontation,” she said quickly, putting a reassuring hand on his armored wrist. She glanced over to where Penderrin stood at the bridgehead, looking over at the island. «This isn’t to be an encounter of that sort.»
She took her hand away. «You were the best of them all,” she told him. «No one was more faithful or gave more to me when it was needed. I will never forget that.»
He looked away. «You should go now, so that you can be back before dark.» There was resignation in his eyes. He knew. «Go, Mistress.»
She nodded and turned away, walking over to join the boy. He glanced at her as she came up beside him, but said nothing. «Are you ready?» she asked.
He shook his head. «I don’t know. What if the tanequil won’t let us cross?»
« Why don’t we see?»
She walked out onto the bridge, the boy following, and called up the magic of the wishsong, humming softly to let it build, working on the message she wanted it to convey. She stopped perhaps a quarter of the way across until she had it just right, then released the magic into the afternoon silence and let it drift downward into the ravine. She gave it the whole of what she thought was needed, taking her time, content to be patient if patience was what was required.
It was not. A response came almost immediately, a shifting of heavy roots within the earth, a rustle of leaves and grasses, a whisper of wind. Voices, soft and lilting, that only she could hear. She understood what it meant.
« Come, Pen,” she said.
They crossed untroubled to the other side of the bridge and walked to the trail that had led the boy into the ravine weeks earlier in his search for Cinnaminson. The island forest was deep and still, the air cooler, the light diffuse, and the earth dappled with layered shadows. She watched Pen cast about, eyes shifting left and right,
