With a howl of rage, the Gorgon brought his blade down and cut Michael in two.
Aedan went berserk. With a wild scream, he charged Raesene, slamming into him with all his might, but it was like hitting a stone wall. He bounced back and fell, shocked by the impact, and the Gorgon raised his blade to finish him. If he could not
have the satisfaction of bloodtheft from the emperor, he would take what he could get from his lord high chamberlain.
The sword came down, but Aedan rolled at the last minute. It struck the ground beside him with such force that Aedan felt the impact. He struggled to get back up, but the Gorgon was already raising his blade again for the final blow. But it never came.
There was a fierce gust of wind, and a funnel cloud came down, enveloping him and spinning him around, causing him to lose his balance.
A new sound filled the air, rising above the din of battle.
The sound of wailing horns blowing in concert mingled with the shrill, high-pitched war cry of the elves.
As in the Battle of Mount Deismaar, they had arrived to join forces with the Anuireans at the key moment of the battle, when it seemed all was lost, and they pitched into the Gorgon’s troops with a frenzy. As Raesene struggled to rise to his satyr’s legs, the funnel cloud swirled away from him toward Aedan, enveloping him, and Aedan felt the dizzy, falling sensation he had felt once before as his corporeal body faded, transmuted into wind that raised him high into the air, above the battlefield.
Gylvain!
Sylvanna would never have forgiven me if I had let you die, the elf responded.
You should have left me. Michael’s dead. The Gorgon killed him. All is lost. I should have died with him.
All is never lost, the elven mage replied. And you must live. It is on you now to assume the regency and hold the empire together. You must salvage what you can from this defeat and build anew. You must live, Aedan, for
Soo
your wife and for your children, for your friends who love you and for the people who will need you. I share your grief and sorrow and regret that we did not arrive in time.
But life goes on. It must. Even if it hurts.
Below them, on the battlefield, the Gorgon’s troops were in retreat, heading back toward the obsidian fortress. The Anuireans were still fighting them as they retreated, but they were tired and grateful to the elves, who forced the monsters back. There would be no siege, for the siege engines were destroyed. The towers, the trebuchets were in flames. At a glance, it seemed as if only half the army remained. The field was so thickly littered with bodies, it was impossible to see the ground.
It was over. The emperor was dead, and his troops had no will to fight on without him.
It does hurt, Gylvain. It hurts more than I could ever say. And I am so very weary….
Sleep, my friend. Let go of the pain now. Everything shall pass in its own time. Sleep and take your rest upon the wind….
Sol
The Eve of the Dead. The winter solstice. The longest night of the year. It was, indeed, a fitting night to mourn. Aedan Dosiere, Lord High Chamberlain of the Cerilian Empire of Anuire, sat slumped over at the table in his tower study in the Imperial Cairn. The bottle of brandy he and Gylvain had drunk stood empty, and a pleasant warmth suffused him. He raised his head and looked out the window, across the bay at the flickering lights of the city of Anuire.
It was nearly dawn, yet every window in the city was still illuminated with the glow of candles that commemorated the spirits of those who passed on.
“A dying flame. An appropriate, if rather maudlin metaphor,” Aedan muttered with a sigh. The weight of his years rested heavily upon him.
He had sured. Survived his wife, who had passed on and viv left him alone to bear the heavy burden of his responsibilities. Survived his liege lord, who had fallen all those years ago, leaving him to assume the regency and lead the people of Anuire as best he could. Survived Derwyn, who had returned from Battlewaite a cripple and had lingered on for several years before taking his own life in misery; survived Laera and Faelina and nearly everyone else he knew back then. He had survived them all and carried on, even though it hurt.
Now the flame was dying. He could no longer hold the empire together.
Truly, it had died with Michael, and over the years, one by one, the prov inces had fallen away, forming their own independent nations until there was almost nothing left of the glory that once was. The dream.
The goal he and Michael had both fought so hard to accomplish.
“Everything shall pass in its own time,” muttered Aedan drunkenly as he turned from the window.
“Yes,” Gylvain replied. “Even the pain.”
“Truly. It is little more than a dull ache now. An exhaustion that has seeped into my soul and drained me.” Aedan folded his arms on the able and rested his head upon them.
“How is Sylvanna?” he said thickly without looking up. “Is she well?”
“Yes,” said Gylvain. “She is well. And she often thinks of you. You had already asked that once before.”
“I did?” Aedan muttered sleepily. “I had forgotten.
