The Forkrul glanced to one another once again and Kyle intuited a great deal of communication was exchanged in each of these moments. They broke off the gaze and Arbiter turned to Jethiss. ‘We shall fashion for you a blade worthy of you,’ it answered.
‘I accept,’ Jethiss said even as Fisher drew breath to cut in with a shout.
‘No! That wording. I fear that wording. There is something there. Some hidden danger.’
The Andii merely let out a long exhausted breath. ‘It is too late. What is done is done. Now we shall see what the Forkrul can provide.’
In answer, Arbiter curled its thin fingers, inviting Jethiss onward. ‘Come.’ The Andii followed the two up the slope. Eventually he disappeared from sight behind a boulder.
Fisher sat heavily among the rocks. He hid his face in his hands. ‘I fear we shall never see him again.’
Kyle eased himself down next to him, sighed his utter weariness. ‘We shall see.’
Footsteps sounded and a shadow loomed over them: Kyle squinted up at the Jaghut woman and Orman with her. ‘You will await your friend?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘He is a fool to ask anything of the Forkrul. They are vicious, cruel, and amoral.’
‘Then it is best we do not disturb them,’ Fisher observed, sharply.
The Jaghut woman tipped her head to him. ‘I have a modest abode nearby. I will bring you some food and blankets.’ She limped off. The stones rattled and crunched beneath her sandals.
Kyle studied the young man, Orman. ‘You will return to your people?’
He leaned upon the tall spear, touched self-consciously at the patch over his eye. ‘Yes. When the ice melts — and Mother assures me it will quite quickly — it is my wish that we should build a new Greathall where we shall all reside. All we Icebloods. The blood-feuds and vendettas between us, I hope, will be things of the past.’
‘A worthy goal,’ Fisher said.
‘You will always be welcome in our hall.’
‘I shall look forward to such a visit in the future.’
‘And you too, Kyle, friend of the Children of the Earth, and wielder of the white blade.’
‘I thank you.’
‘Until then,’ and Orman bowed and headed down the slope, thumping the butt of the spear loudly to the stones as he went.
Fisher let out a heartfelt breath. ‘That spear makes me as uncomfortable as your sword.’
‘There is something primal about it. And it is an Imass weapon, after all.’
Silverfox approached with Pran Chole and the woman Kilava. Kyle and Fisher scrambled to their feet to bow to her. ‘Summoner,’ Fisher welcomed her.
She waved off their formality, addressed Kyle. ‘Thank you, White-blade. I do not know what it is you carry, but somehow it tipped the scales in our favour. I am not naïve enough to believe that the Forkrul have hearts, but perhaps it touched something within them. A sense of nostalgia, maybe.’ She shrugged. ‘In any case, you have my gratitude.’
‘I think of what I carry as friendship,’ Kyle said.
‘Friendship?’ She brushed back her wind-tossed hair. Kyle was struck by the unexpectedly girlish gesture from such an apparently aged woman. ‘Would that they could understand such a thing,’ she murmured.
‘You are off?’ Fisher asked.
‘Yes. We head south. I would gather up as many of the T’lan as I can, then we shall continue our search.’
‘Your search?’ Kyle asked.
‘Yes. I will find them all, friend Kyle. And when I have found them they will know the gift of the Redeemer and I shall release them. None shall be left behind.’
Fisher bowed once more. ‘I wish you success.’
Pran Chole gave them a nod, dipping his deer headdress. ‘Farewell. Or not. Perhaps we shall meet again.’
‘Perhaps,’ Kyle acknowledged.
Last came Kilava. The short powerful woman now carried a half-smile on her lips. ‘That went far better than I had hoped or expected. Well done, Whiteblade.’ She faced Fisher. ‘Bard. Good to see you again.’
‘And you, Kilava.’
She leaned forward and planted a light brush of a kiss on Fisher’s cheek, then walked off. Kyle watched her go, astonished, then returned his wondering gaze to the bard.
‘You were once …’
Fisher sat once more, sighing, his hands hanging loose over his knees. ‘Another time, Kyle.’
They were alone now with the moaning, gusting wind. The thick deck of clouds churned below, effectively cutting off the world beneath. It seemed to Kyle that here among the frigid peaks they were in the realm of the gods. The day was cooling: the sun had descended behind the cloud cover to the west.
He blew upon his hands to warm them and knew that without his Iceblood, his Jaghut heritage, he would be frozen stiff.
Fisher opened the satchel at his side and withdrew the stringed box, the kantele of the Losts. He examined it to make certain it hadn’t been harmed.
‘Will you play?’ Kyle asked.
He shook his head. ‘No. Too cold.’ He wrapped the instrument and gently returned it to its case.
‘What tale will you tell of what has occurred here?’ Kyle asked.
The bard nodded profoundly. ‘Ah yes. That is the question.’ He extended his legs straight out before himself and crossed them at the ankle, meshed his fingers over his chest. ‘One mustn’t feel constrained by the facts.’ He shot Kyle a sideways glance. ‘Poetic truth is a higher truth, you know. Names and events must be changed to disguise the mundane — and invariably disappointing — truth behind.’
Kyle smoothed his now long and drooping moustache, smiling. ‘Of course. In other words, you’ll make up what you want and claim that’s what happened.’
‘Of course. Now, tell me the tale of your finding of this stone.’
Kyle eased back among the rocks as best he could. He shot a glance high above, searching for any sign of Jethiss, then pulled his cloak tighter against the wind. ‘Well … I didn’t find it. It was given to me. Left behind by a friend.’
EPILOGUE
Shimmer opened her eyes to find herself once more standing among the grassy hills and broad ring of canted stone menhirs mottled orange and olive-green by lichens. It was chill, the day was bright, the sky blue and dotted with wispy clouds, yet she could not see the sun. Now she understood why she was here, and she sighed, hugged herself, and started walking a circuit of the stones.
Soon she discovered she was not alone. Smoky, the dead mage — who was not dead in truth — walked with her. His sandalled feet kicked the frayed and scorched edges of his brown woollen robes. He walked with his hands clasped behind his back, resolutely not looking to her … waiting.
After a time, she asked: ‘How long have you known?’
‘We didn’t really know,’ he answered while he scratched at his patchy beard. ‘We suspected.’
‘Yet you said nothing.’
‘We would not burden the living.’
‘In which I no longer number,’ she observed, and was surprised by the lack of bitterness in her voice.
‘Yet you could return, as before. The option remains for you.’ She halted. ‘Why just me? Why not any of you?’
He stopped with her, rubbed his chin ferociously, his gaze lowered. ‘Not just you, Shimmer. K’azz was the first to discover this.’
Though she understood that she was not breathing in this place, Shimmer felt her breath catch and her chest tighten in dread — old habits. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, slowly.
Still unable to match her gaze, he said, ‘He died long ago, Shimmer. When Skinner and Cowl buried him alive — he died. Yet he did not die. He discovered the truth of the Vow then. Eventually, he clawed his way free.’
He drew a heavy breath — perhaps merely in a gesture to put her at ease. ‘I’m sorry. Anyway,’ and he shrugged, ‘had to happen some time. And we are coming back. Slowly. Eventually, we will return.’