EPILOGUE

 

 

At dawn this day, a sun the color of lemon touched the iron-gray sea. To the north, a smudge of lampblack brushed the horizon, and I knew we were passing the far coast of Rhemia. Few ships sail the seas these days, and those that do run clear of that shore. For it is a dead place now, a desert of empty streets, and windows that look out upon nothing.

Many stories are told of that great capital of the Rhemians, and some of them are true. A trader claims that far beyond the ring of fear, one can look toward the city and see great horrors writhe above its towers. I am sure this is so. Whatever apparitions hide in a creature’s heart, he can find them in that place, for the dim red eye of Man lies open in its streets.

I have heard the broken shards of empire are coming together again, to the north of the boot, near Gaullia. This may be so, but I doubt that much will come of it. Rhemia made too many enemies in its prime. Its foes have waited long to taste this moment.

I have played no small part, now, in bringing about the fall of two great civilizations. I cannot say the things that happened would not have happened without me. Still, one cannot help but wonder. If I had not left the University at Silium, and fallen into the hands of Nicieans? If I had turned aside at Duroctium, and never seen Corysia? There is little point in pursuing these fancies. As we say in the Eubirones, it is impossible to pee last Thursday. One must handle such matters today.

However all this came about, I know for certain it was not in the plan of Man. Fabius Domitius was wrong. This rebellion of ours has not been written in the magic windows of Albion. If I believed this, it would be pointless to go on living in such a world.

 

Twice, now, I have met the ghost of myself. I do not understand this, but it happened. Thus, it has a place in this chronicle. Not surprisingly, it is Rhalgorn who has finally turned my thoughts to words on this. Stygianns are close to the gods of the earth, and know a great many things they seldom talk about. “There are worlds and times that mingle with our own,” he has told me. Perhaps this is so. And will there be a time when I am that other self that appeared before me? Where, then, will be the Aldair I am now? Rhalgorn has no answer for this, nor do I.

The Stygiann has been little changed by our ventures. He is scarred about the head and chest, and his long gray muzzle seems slightly askew. But it is hard to change a Stygiann, while he is yet alive.

Thareesh suffered a painful wound upon his thigh, and lost a very small portion of his tail—though to hear him, you would think the whole of it was gone. As for Signar, there are great bare patches on his pelt where fur will never grow again, and he has nearly lost the use of his good right arm. His strength, though, is undiminished, and I would guess he can swing an axe left-handed better than any five creatures he will ever come against.

Corysia has her scars like the rest of us, though she did not wield a weapon in Rhemia. They are small scars, and do nothing to mar her beauty in my eyes. —Or in the eyes of Rhalgorn, who loves her in his own peculiar way. He would not admit this under torture, but I would not care to be nearby if any creature wrongs her.

For myself, I lost an ear, though I have no idea when this occurred. My companions have offered many useful suggestions on this subject, most of which entail cutting off the other so my head will be in balance.

It is a miracle, of course, that any of us are yet alive, for most of the Ahzir’s crew did not survive that battle on the bridge, or the storm of fear that followed. I suppose we were all near to madness when we left that hellish place behind; it will take some doing to put that night away. I cannot say what happened to our foes, or to brave Marcus Sabinus and his followers. Some escaped, no doubt, as we did. But pitifully few creatures left that city.

Corysia has never mentioned her father, nor have I.

 

I wish that I could say I am wiser for my adventures. That I have come to greater understanding of the treachery of Man. Every triumph seems to turn to tragedy in my hands, and I can’t see there is much that I have gained. It may be, in the end, these things will all be to the good, but it is hard to see that now.

One thing lightens my heart, as we sail for the Straits and the open sea beyond. It has been a time since I truly felt my seer was close at hand. Last night, in a dream, I think he stood beside me. I saw myself in a place I have never been before. It was a great, vast land, west past Albion, across the Misty Sea. I know that such a place is there. I saw it once in the milky sphere I found among the Avakhar, and lost again. I am certain this object showed the true shape of the world, and that the Ahzir will not fall off into nothing. Signar agrees with me on this, though Rhalgorn is not so sure.

For now, there is a good sea breeze in our sails, and foam beneath our prow. There is time for barley beer, good companions, and other most pleasant diversions. It is hard to imagine that every creature on Earth does not find joy in these things. Yet, many would scorn them for something less, while others would ask for more. Truly, I believe it is near impossible to satisfy everybody….

 

 

THE END