GOROIEN LIFTED HER silver helm and laid it on the throne, her gauntlets and breastplate beside it. Her swords she kept. Then she walked down to the hall, through the silent ranks of the shadow beasts, and out onto the plain before the keep.
She could see the gray ribbon of the road wending its way into the distance, and upon it stood a shrouded figure. Slowly she walked to the hooded man, her hand on the hilt of a silver sword.
“Are you a servant of Molech?” she asked.
“I am no one’s servant, Goroien, save maybe yours.” He pushed back the hood, and she gasped, hiding her face in her hands.
“Do not look at me, Culain. You will see only decay.”
Gently he took her hands and stared down at her unsullied beauty.
“There is no decay. You are as beautiful now as the day I first saw you.”
She looked at her hands and saw that he spoke the truth.
“Can you still love me after all I have done to you?” she asked him. He smiled and lifted her hand to his lips.
“No man knows where the road leads,” she said. “You think there is a paradise?”
“I think we have already found it.”