“I thought you were wounded?” Kerian called.
“I thought he was dying!” Hytanthas retorted, grinning.
“I thought him long dead,” put in Favaronas.
He and Robien were pleased to find each other again. Favaronas exclaimed over Robien’s escape from Faeterus’s entombment spell. The bounty hunter, uncertain how he’d survived, credited his rescue to the timely intervention of Taranath’s patrol.
“And this?” Favaronas pointed at the bloody rent in the breast of Robien’s tunic.
“I understand that even less. Hytanthas had managed to draw the bolt”—Robien grimaced at the memory—“but got no further. Then we awoke a few minutes ago and I was completely healed!” He fingered the rent open, showing the smooth, unbroken skin beneath.
Kerian asked Favaronas what he made of the miraculous occurrences. The scholar was silent for some time. Perhaps the healing had come about because he himself had completed the poem with the injunction “live,” but the once-ambitious elf had no desire to claim credit. Besides, who could know what really had happened?
Choosing his words carefully, he answered with perfect honesty, “The healing power must have come from the valley itself.”
Robien had gone to inspect the fallen Faeterus. With one foot, he rolled the body over. As it moved, the layers of robe covering it fell away in decayed clumps. The others came in response to his shocked exclamation.
All that remained of Faeterus were bones and scraps of dry flesh. If they hadn’t known better, the elves would have sworn he’d been dead for months rather than hours. He had claimed great age, Favaronas mused. Perhaps the rapid decay was due to the cessation of the preservation spells that had kept him alive for so many centuries.
Robien was disgusted. “What do I tell Sahim-Khan? He hired me to bring the sorcerer to justice.”
“He’s met his justice.” Kerian leaned down and picked up Faeterus’s skull. “Give this to Sahim. Tell him your job is done.”
Disgust became curiosity as Robien studied the grisly memento. Frowning, he said, “It doesn’t look much like an elf’s skull.”
Favaronas took it from him and quickly bound it in a square of cloth from the sorcerer’s robe. “When you have the best of all possible outcomes, it isn’t wise to ask too many questions!”
Dusk was fading into darkness, and a handful of stars had appeared overhead. Kerian wanted to complete the steepest part of their descent before full night set in. She told them to make ready to depart.
Favaronas had one last task he wished to perform. The blast had knocked the Key from Faeterus’s hand. Scanning the Stair, he saw the parchment some yards away, unfurled and fluttering in the evening breeze. The librarian in Favaronas could not abandon so rare a text. But when he tried to pick it up, the parchment fell to pieces at his touch. Kneeling, he used the hem of his robe to cover his fingers and tried again. It crumbled further. He was staring helplessly at the remains of the Key when the Lioness came to tell him they were ready to go. He explained his predicament and the importance of the parchment.
Without a word, she walked around him and deliberately trampled the fragile parchment beneath her boots. Favaronas was aghast.
“Now no one can try to do what Faeterus did,” she said flatly.
He knew she was right. But watching the knowledge of eons ground into dust was painful. He closed his eyes against the sight.
Her calloused hand tugged gently at the neck of his
They departed, descending carefully in the gathering darkness.
Nearly half an hour went by before Breetan emerged higher up the slope.
Blown into a crevice by the explosions, she had awakened to find her broken ankle entirely mended. Her foot wasn’t even swollen. From her hiding place, she could hear the small party of elves moving about and speaking but couldn’t make out what they said. They didn’t seem wroth over the death of their leader, the Scarecrow. That much she could tell.
She found her sword buried in the rocky soil. It was undamaged, but her crossbow had not been so fortunate. Hurled directly into a boulder, the stock was shattered. To keep its secrets from unfriendly hands, she completed its destruction.
The Black Hall was such a long way away, she decided instead to go over the mountains and present herself in Neraka. Her mission was complete. The Scarecrow was dead. As more and more stars crowded the sky, Breetan headed for home.
Farther down the valley, another was awakening after the terrific blast. Wounded by the Lioness’s party when he attacked the bounty hunter, Shobbat had crept under a low thread-needle bush-to rest or die, he wasn’t sure which. He awoke in darkness.
He was human again.
