On the last morning of Browyn's life, as he sat on the mountainside, he became suddenly lucid. 'I have always wondered,' he said, 'if my boat could sail.'
'We shall see,' said Duvo. Taking a large hammer, he knocked away the restraining planks and focused his energies on the earth below the boat, drawing up water from deep in the ground. It bubbled through the grass and pooled around the hull, slowly lifting the vessel, which began to move down the hill on a cushion of water. The slender craft sped down into the valley, spearing into the lake before bobbing up gently on the surface, its momentum carrying it forward towards a pine-crested island.
'Ah, what a beautiful sight,' murmured Browyn. He died soon after, and Duvodas buried him in the shade of a spreading oak.
'Farewell, my dear friend,' he said, when the grave was completed. Then he sighed as he realized, with a touch of regret, that Browyn had never told him why he had built a boat on a mountain.
Duvodas stayed on in the cabin. There was nowhere else he wished to be. On the last day of autumn he tried to play the harp again but, as ever, the music was a travesty. Laying the instrument on the floor, he walked out into the meadow beyond the cabin.
And froze.
Twenty Daroth horsemen were riding slowly up the hill. Gazing at them, he knew he could kill them all without effort. The thought was not a good one, and a great sadness fell upon him. I will kill no more, he told himself, and he strode out to meet them.
The leader climbed down from his horse and approached. He was carrying a small, sleeping child wrapped in a blanket. 'You are the harpist Duvodas?' he asked, his voice deep and resonant.
'I am.'
'I am the ambassador to Loretheli. We came upon an old human dying on the road; he told us his name was Ceofrin. He was trying to reach you, to bring you this child, but his heart was not strong.'
'Why should he send a child to me?' asked Duvo.
'He is your son,' said the Daroth.
'My son died,' declared Duvo, feeling the anger rise in him. 'Torn from life by a Daroth spear.'
'Not so, human. As Ceofrin lay dying we touched his mind. We know how Shira died, but when they came to bury her a female saw the child move. Nursed to health and taken to Loretheli, he was returned to his blood kin Ceofrin when the war ended. The old man tried to find you, but no-one knew where you had gone. Then word reached him of a man with the face of blood, living in the mountains.
Ceofrin knew he was dying and wanted the child raised by blood kin, so he tried to reach you. You understand this?'
As Duvo stepped back, his mind reeling, the Daroth spoke again. 'You are the sorcerer who destroyed our Life Chamber.'
He nodded dumbly, unable to think clearly. For a moment there was silence and he looked up into the face of the Daroth, then ran his gaze along the line of riders. No-one spoke. Then the Daroth leader stepped forward. 'Here is your son,' he said, offering the child.
Duvodas reached out and took him. His hair was dark, like Shira's, and he could see her beauty in the lines of his face. The boy yawned and his eyes opened. In that instant Duvo heard Shira's voice echoing in the halls of his mind. 'I will show him to the sunrise and the sunset. He will be handsome, like you, with fair hair and green eyes. Not at first, for all babies are born with blue eyes. But they will turn grey-green as he gets older.'
'Why should he not have beautiful brown eyes, like his mother?' he had asked.
'Perhaps he will,' she had said.
The boy's eyes were brown, and shining with the innocence only the young can ever know.
Duvodas looked up at the Daroth towering above him. 'I thank you,' he said.
'The war between us is ended,' said the Daroth.
'Yes, it is,' agreed Duvodas.
Without another word, the Daroth strode to his horse and mounted. The troop rode away down the hillside.
Duvodas carried the child into the cabin and sat him on the floor. Rolling to his hands and knees, the boy saw the harp and crawled towards it, his chubby hand reaching out and dragging at the strings. A jangle of discordant sounds rang out.
But within the sounds was one clear, pure note.
And, for a moment only, the scent of roses filled the room.
THE END