At the crest of the hill a spring trickled from beneath a large boulder, making a shallow pool where the boulder's weight leaned hardest. He stripped and washed himself, ash-colored rivulets coursing off until the pool was black.
He stepped out, skin gleaming in the morning sun, the pool a dark mirror of sorrow he would leave behind.
Then he dressed with care, clean tunic and breeches and a wide leather belt cinching his waist. He stamped on his boots, buckled on his spurs and then looked around to see what he should do next.
But there was nothing to be done.
So he sat on the boulder and waited, although he couldn't remember exactly what he was waiting for.
He thought of Kyrania. It came to him on a fresh breeze of imagination, blowing off The Bride's Veil, clean and full of spring's promise. He saw the valley's broad thawing fields with green sprigs bursting through white. And the orchards shaking off winter, swelling knots on the branches where clusters of cherries and peaches and apples would soon appear. He saw the sleepy-eyed boys leading the goats to pasture, the pretty maids giggling and posing as they passed, the watchful grannies grumbling warnings as they knocked winter's grime between the washing stones. Out on the lake the birds were returning, filling the skies with the sound of courting and challenge. He saw the hearth smoke pouring from the gray-slated rooftops and smelled roasted lamb, picked with garlic, and bread from the oven and toasted cheese crusting by the fire. His saw his family at table, mother, father and all his sisters laughing and gossiping and spooning up his mother's thick porridge to gird them against the day. He heard Naya bleat that she wanted milking and his mother shouting
'Wake up, Safar, you lazy boy!'
Safar's head jolted up. He heard the sound of horses approaching and he smiled when he saw Leiria riding up the path, leading another horse behind her. She had a sword at her hip and Palimak strapped on her back, cooing and gurgling at the world from his little basket stuffed with soft blankets.
Leiria's brow was creased with worry, but when she saw his smile the creases vanished and she smiled back, sweet hope blooming in her dark eyes like the buds bursting from the fields of Kyrania.
She cantered up to him, smile widening.
Then she looked over at the model of the palace, surrounded by dry brush and voltive powders, and the pearly smile melted away.
'Are you ready? she asked, a tremble in her voice.
Safar answered with a question. What day is it?'
'Why, the day I said we'd return. The day of the feast when Iraj declares the Era of Great Blessings. She gestured down the hill. All the villagers are talking about it.'
Safar nodded, remembering his final instructions to Leiria. This was the day she was supposed to return if she could.
'Then I'm ready, he said.
'It's a good thing, Leiria said, because if you weren't I would've knocked you on the head and taken you away tied to the back of the horse.'
Safar could see she wasn't joking.
'He still hunts me?'
'All of Esmir hunts you, she said. His troops are scouring the countryside dreaming of the fat purse your head will fetch.'
Safar laughed. I've been here all along, he said. Twenty miles from his gates.'
'Don't feel so clever, Leiria replied. On my way I saw a patrol heading for the village. I rode with them for awhile. The sergeant told me there's rumors of a mad priest living in these hills who is none other than Safar Timura in disguise.'
She shrugged, the smile coming back. Fortunately he didn't think much of the rumors and was going to inspect a few other places before coming here.'
Safar looked up at her, searchingfor what he didn't know.
'Are you certain you want to do this? he asked. You could leave now. You could give me the child and ride on and find a much better life.'
'Shut up! Palimak cried. He was looking at Safar, hazel eyes turned to demon yellow in his delight at finding him here. Shut up, shut up, Shuuut Uppp!'
And Safar heard Gundara answer from the nested blankets. Shut up yourself! I'm tired of shut up! All the time, shut up, shut up, shuuttt upppp!'
Leiria laughed, horse skittering to the side at the loud sound of it.
'There's your answer, Safar Timura! she cried.
And so he broke a jar of oil over the palace model and surrounding brush. He lit the brush, blew the fire into life until it roared.
Then he leaped on the horse and they rode away.
As they clattered past the startled villagers there was a thunderclap from the hill. A moment later there was another clapfrom a great distance, but louder, as loud as if the gods themselves had awakened.
Then the whole northern sky was a sheet of flame so hot the Demon Moon vanished in the brightness.
But they didn't look back. They didn't pause and wait for the sky to clear and see the molten place where the Grand Palace of Zanzair had once stood. Where kings had come and kings had gone since times most ancient.
And where the last kingthe King of KingsIraj Protarus, Lord Imperator of Esmir, greater even than the Conqueror Alisarrian, abode his destined hour and went his way.
Home was a thousand miles or more distant. But Safar could see it beckoning, a hazy, welcoming vision hanging just before his eyes.
He led them hard and fast across deserts and grasslands and wide rocky plains sprawling to the mountains of his birth.
To far Kyrania.
Where the snowy passes carry the high caravans to clear horizons.
The place he should never have left.
The place where this tale ends.
