Kellin wondered about the Endless March that sages sometimes spoke of, that she had discussed with Thanar under Grandfather Tree. The March was the eternal progress of life, growing and changing in all its myriad forms, all stemming from a central point that connected all life with a common origin, like the leaves and branches of a tree. But it held a darker implication as well. If humans had once been beasts, was there not something of the beasts in them still? She thought of what Lanaal said, of the seductive quality of being an animal. Part of that must be toxic, as well—how else to explain the Shepherds? They had worn scales too long, their humanity atrophying in their breasts. But if all people were born of animals, and had wisps of animal in them as surely as Vell did, who could say when such spirits might climb out?
* * * * *
As the strange procession—behemoths, barbarians, a human woman, and a gigantic white swan—filed toward the west gate of Llorkh, the survivors of the city gave them a wide berth. The Lord's Men stood warily, weapons at their sides but enclosed in scabbards and sheaths. Sungar and his slow group began the long trek west following the Trade Way, letting the behemoths drink from the River Grayflow and graze from the trees that still bore leaves. The season was turning, and the weather would soon carry winter's chill. To everyone's surprise, the behemoths proved to be sturdy at the march. They even permitted riders, to let all move at a steady pace.
Lanaal, Kellin, and the barbarians all took turns talking to Vell, hoping to ignite his human spark, but Vell remained silent. By the time they reached the High Forest's edge, Kellin decided the time had come for a new tactic. Clinging to Vell's long neck, she spoke to him.
'Vell, remember when I told you about my True Name?' Kellin said. 'The name that's supposed to explain everything about me? The priests of Oghma said that I should never tell it to another person—to do so would give that person power over me. I'm going to tell it to you. I'm sure Oghma won't mind.'
She spoke it, and clung to Vell's neck, waiting. Vell plodded slowly after his fellows and Kellin began to wonder if he had even heard her. Then he paused in his step and reared on his hind legs, enough to tilt Kellin from her place on his back. As she slid down his great mass, his scales vanished beneath her and she landed in a mound of golden leaves. Something crashed lightly in the leaves beside her, and Kellin turned to look into familiar brown eyes. Everyone rushed over to greet Vell.
'Welcome back, Vell the Brown,' said Sungar, clasping Vell's hands. 'You saved all of our lives. Your name will be remembered in the skalds' songs for many generations.'
Exactly how will they remember me? wondered Vell.
Kellin smiled at Vell and offered her hand to him. Vell took it and they rose to continue their journey. For a long time, they walked together in silence.
Vell said very little the rest of the way to the Sanctuary, but the difference in him was plainly visible. He walked tall, proud, and confident, with a purpose that he had never shown before. Whatever dark issues swam in his mind, they could not outshadow his new courage and strength.
Their travels through the High Forest were blissfully quiet. Nothing in the woods dared to challenge the mighty behemoths. When they reached the foot of the Star Mounts and found the Sanctuary, they discovered that the place had been all but destroyed by the elements. Cold water had rushed into the swamp from the Heartblood River. The behemoths waded in, heedless of the cold, knowing they were home.
Bony frowns were frozen onto the Shepherds' faces.
They showed no sign of welcome or gratitude.
'Shepherds,' yelled Sungar as the ancient people appeared to receive him. Thluna held up the Heart of Runlatha. 'You have made a pact with my tribe, and I expect you to keep it.'
'Sungar Wolfkiller,' said one of the Shepherds. 'We meet you finally—the man responsible for all of our woes. Why? Why did you throw away the axe on that dismal plain?'
'I do not have to justify myself to you,' said Sungar. 'Perhaps I must justify myself to my tribe, but not to you. Will you keep your end of the bargain? For a return of your hideaway and your immortality, it seems like a small price.'
'Yes,' another Shepherd said, full of resentment. 'We give up all claims on the totem spirit, the Thunderbeast, and to Uthgar. We shall never again interfere in your affairs.'
'Uthgar will hold you to this promise,' said Thluna, turning the Heart of Runlatha over to them.
'I'm sure he will,' said one of them, before carrying it over to the menhir.
'There is still the question of Vell.' One of the Shepherds stepped toward him. 'You are one of us. The behemoths have told us of your heroism and your nobility. Even if you are of Uther's mongrel race, we accept you. You may stay with us if you choose.'
'No,' Vell said. 'I will not stay with you or keep any part of what you have given me. Take the powers away from me.'
The Shepherds gasped. They had not considered this possibility. 'You would renounce your heritage? But surely you love the beasts as we do.'
'I do,' said Vell. 'Maybe more than you can know. But they are safe now. I know they will be left in your care.'
'Those few whom you saved,' one Shepherd spat.
'And you wonder why he doesn't want to stay with you,' said Kellin.
'But the behemoths are part of you, Vell,' said a Shepherd. 'Will you give away a piece of who you are?'
Sadness weighed in Vell's voice. 'It was never mine. I carried it, but it was never me.'
The Heart of Runlatha was restored to its place atop the menhir at the center of the Sanctuary. Its glow brightened, and its red light spread across the swamp.
'In time, its magic will restore all of the damage that has been done,' one of the Shepherds explained.
'Can you take these powers away from me now?' asked Vell.
'Come with us.'
The Shepherds led him to the center of the Sanctuary. The ancient men and women surrounded the menhir, whose runes now glowed faintly. They linked hands and bid Vell to join them. He reached out and clutched two shriveled, bony hands.
They chanted in Netherese, the runes on the menhir pulsed with magic, and the Heart glowed brighter. Vell cried out as he felt part of his soul begin to rip away. His connection to the behemoths in the Sanctuary—something he had experienced for so long that it felt like second nature to him, like one of his five senses—faded and extinguished.
'It is not too late,' said one of the Shepherds. 'We can give it back to you.'
'No,' said Vell, though tears filled his eyes. 'Finish it.'
The unnatural strength Vell had felt in his muscles for so long was ripped away, and he felt weak as a child. All of the skills and senses that had imbued him on Runemeet at Morgur's Mound were gone. He was the plain, ordinary, and unremarkable Uthgardt warrior known as Vell the Brown again.
But he didn't feel that way.
* * * * *
'We are your ancestors,' the Shepherds said as they again gathered before Sungar and the others at the Sanctuary's edge. 'We are your history.'
'Yet no songs are sung of you,' said Sungar. 'Perhaps some of the songs our skald sings are about events that never happened. They never tell the whole story, but they hold our tribe together. They preserve the stories we tell about ourselves. You are not part of us.
'And now,' Sungar said, 'I must return something to you.'
Sungar raised the axe and held it high over his head, just as he had that day in the Fallen Lands. 'With this locked inside your walls of illusion, you can live out the remainder of time safely, and the North will never again suffer your manipulations.'
'Wait,' said Thluna, reaching out a hand to stop Sungar. He turned to the Shepherds. 'As you took the magic from Vell, can you also take it from the axe?'
The Shepherds cast glances among themselves. 'Why do you ask?'
