The hill plunged down to a sandy beach strewn with rocks. The road ended, half-covered with sand, sloping down into the water and disappearing. Ahead was water, all the way to the horizon,a new sea, still gray with the silt and mud of the land collapsing and the waters rushing in.
A half mile out from shore, a group of battered golden spires stuck upright, barely a man's height above the waves. Gulls were nesting on them.
The men rolled the cart to the beach and stood.
'The golden towers,' Fenris said.
'The marble doors,' Fanris said.
'And excellent drains,' said Darll.
Graym, staring at the spires in shock, murmured, 'I hear that's very important for a city.'
The others laughed for quite a while. Graym sat on a rock by the shore, staring.
Jarek moved down the beach, picking up stones to skip. The Wolf brothers, once they were over their fear of gulls, took off their boots and went wading. Darll walked up to Graym. 'Where to from here?'
'Nowhere.' Graym stared, unseeing, over the open water. 'No horses, no food, no money. No Krinneor.' He blinked his eyes rapidly. 'All gone.'
Darll was shocked. 'There's a world out there. You can start over.'
Behind them, a voice said, 'You can stay here.'
Rhael came forward, holding some sort of medallion and twisting it in her fingers. Her determination was gone; she looked unsure of herself.
Graym stared at her a moment. 'You knew the truth about Krinneor, didn't you?'
'We all knew. No one wanted to tell you before you helped us.'
'I don't suppose you did, Miss,' Graym said heavily. 'And after?'
'Afterward, Elder Werlow was afraid of you. You're fierce warriors.'
Darll had the grace not to laugh.
'So you let us go. Good joke.' Graym sighed.
She twisted the medallion chain almost into a knot. 'I argued with them and said I'd follow you and apologize, and — and give you this.'
She held up the medallion, realized how twisted it was. 'Sorry.' She untwisted the chain nimbly, then dropped it over Graym's neck. 'There.'
The medallion was a small shield with a single piece of black opal in the shape of an axe. Graym looked down at it. 'It was brave, your coming here when you were embarrassed. Thank you, Miss. I'll keep this.'
'Until he gets hungry,' Darll said bluntly, 'then he'll sell it. He'll have to.'
Rhael ignored the mercenary. 'Why not stay in Graveside?' she asked. She touched the medallion. 'To fill the office that goes with this.'
'Office?' Graym said blankly, opening his eyes.
'Of Protector,' Rhael said. On impulse, she kissed his cheek. 'Please take it. Your men, too. You'll have food and lodging, and we know we can trust you.'
Graym stared bemusedly at her. 'Me, a law officer?' He turned to Darll. 'Would I be any good, sir?'
'Unless you rob them, you can't do worse than the last one they had.' He looked at the dangling chain. 'I suppose you'll put me in jail there?'
Graym sighed. 'Can't do it, now that I'm their Protector. Wouldn't be right, would it, sir? I mean, you're their war hero and all.'
He frowned, concentrating, then smiled and slapped Darll on the back. 'You can go, sir. It's all right. You're pardoned.'
Darll's jaw fell and he goggled at Graym. 'You're pardoning me?'
'First offense, like you said, sir. You've matured since then. Probably be an upstanding citizen of Graveside.' He puckered his brow, thinking, and suddenly brightened. 'You could stay and be my military advisor.'
'You lead? Me advise?' It was too much. Darll shook his head and walked away, swearing, laughing, and muttering.
'What's he upset about?' Jarek asked. 'He fought all right.'
'You all fought wonderfully,' Rhael said firmly. 'You're our heroes.' She kissed Graym again, then walked swiftly back through the pass toward Graveside.
'Heroes?' the Wolf brothers said at once, and laughed.
Graym said gruffly, 'There've been worse.'
Darll looked back up the road toward Graveside, at the retreating Rhael. 'Lucky for them they found us, in fact.'
Graym grinned at the others. 'Best thing that could have happened, really.'
Suddenly he was back at the cart, tugging on one of the shafts. Darll joined him. 'Right, then. Let's get back.' Graym pointed at the remaining barrel of ale. 'Skull-Splitter all around, when we get there, on the house.'
It was a surprisingly fast trip.
INTO SHADOW, INTO LIGHT
The knight stalked across the hellish landscape, sword in hand. The fog failed to conceal the desolation around him. Gnarled trees and churned dirt were sights all too familiar after so long. His world, his cursed world, was always much the same: dry, crackling soil, no sun, no shadows, no refuge, no life, just endless devastation… and somewhere in the fog, those who ever hunted him.
The fever burned, but, as always, he forced himself to withstand the pain. Sweat poured down his face, trickling into his armor. The plague that coursed through him never rested. Oddly, it had been a part of him so long that he probably would have felt lost without it.
The rusted armor creaked as the knight stumbled up a small hill. Beneath the rust on his breastplate there could still be seen a ravaged insignia marking him as a knight of the Solamnic orders. He rarely looked down at the fading mark, for it was a mockery of his life, a reminder of why he had been condemned to this existence.
The price of being a traitor had been heavier than he had ever thought possible.
As he started down the other side of the ravaged hill, the knight caught sight of something odd, something out of place in this wasteland. It seemed to glitter, despite the lack of sunlight, and to the weary knight it was worth more than a mountain of gold. A stream of clear, cool water flowed no more than a few yards from where he stood.
He smiled — a rare smile of hope. The knight staggered forward, moving as fast as he could manage, ignoring pain, fatigue, fear. How long since his last drink of water? The memory escaped him.
Kneeling before the stream, he closed his eyes. 'My Lord Paladine, I beseech you! Hear this simple prayer! Let me partake this once! A single sip of water, that is all I ask!'
The knight leaned forward, reached out toward the stream… and fell back in horror as he stared into its reflective surface.
'Paladine preserve me,' he muttered. Slowly leaning forward again, he stared at his image in the stream.
Pale as a corpse, his face was gaunt, almost skull-like. Lank, wispy hair — what could be seen beneath his helm — was plastered to his head. His eyes were colorless; had they always been that way? A faint, sardonic smile briefly touched his countenance. 'I look like a ghost. How appropriate now,' he said to his reflection.
The water continued to flow past, and he recalled the purpose for which he had paused. Again he stretched forth his gauntleted hand. The water might rust the metal, but the parched knight did not care. All that existed was the hope that this once — just this once — he might be allowed a sip.
His fingertips reached the surface of the tiny river, passed through it without even touching.
He cursed, cursed the gods who had doomed him to this wretched life. In frustration, he thrust his hand as
