"Of course not," said that voice again, teasingly familiar. "Anyone can come here, they just see it differently. But Altra thought that after all you've been through, you probably wouldn't want to visit Sunheart for a little."
This time, when he turned around, there was someone there—or rather, four someones, two male and two female. Two of them, the ones standing hand-in-hand, with vague bird-forms swirling about them, he recognized immediately.
"Tre'valen!" he exclaimed "Dawnfire! But—"
"Oh, heavens, you didn't think we'd burned up or some such nonsense, did you?" Dawnfire laughed. "It takes more than a storm of mage-energy to destroy a spirit! We just lost the parts of ourselves that held us in your world, that's all."
"You did?" said someone else, incredulously, "That's all?" Karal found, without any surprise at all, that An'desha had somehow come to stand beside him. "But, why didn't you come back when I called you then?"
"Because—well—we can't." Tre'valen actually looked shamefaced. "I'm afraid that we overstepped the bounds of what we were actually permitted to do to help you. The Star-eyed wasn't precisely put out, but...."
Dawnfire interrupted him. "You'll have to come here to meet us from now on," she said ruefully. "But if you're going to be a shaman, you ought to get all the practice you can in walking the Moonpaths anyway."
"All I can think of is how glad I am that I didn't—" An'desha began, but it was the strange young man that interrupted him this time. He looked very familiar, but Karal could not imagine why. Thin and not particularly muscular, but with a build that suggested agility, he had sandy brown hair that kept flopping into his blue eyes, and a friendly, cheerful manner.
"Nothing you did or didn't do made any difference in what happened to us, An'desha," the young man said. "Part of it was purest chance, and the rest was that we took on more than we had any right to think we could handle. and we managed to carry it off anyway. We dared. Right, Karal?"
At this point, Karal had an idea that he knew who the young man was, and he gave voice to it. "Right—Florian," he replied, and was rewarded by a wink, a flash of a grin, and a nod. "But if this is where all of you came—after—where are Vanyel, Stefen, and Yfandes?"
"Free of the forest for one thing, and high time, too, if you ask me," Florian replied. "And probably if you ask them. I suppose it seemed like a good idea at the time, but I suspect they were stuck there a lot longer than they thought they would be."
Karal hadn't the faintest idea what Florian was talking about, and some of his bewilderment must have shown on his face. Florian chuckled.
"Never mind," he said. "Basically, they've made decisions about their destinations, and they didn't have a lot of time to make sure they got properly placed, so they've already gone on. I can't tell you what they decided, but it's going to be fine. As for me," he continued with a wink, "I've made mine, too, but I wasn't so picky. It should be obvious if you think about it, but don't tell any Heralds, all right?"
Karal nodded solemnly; Florian's decision was obvious, though he doubted that his friend was going to look anything like he did at the moment when he returned to the world.
Then again, maybe he would. Karal branded that face into his memory. If in fifteen or twenty years' time, Karal—or rather, Altra—saw a Herald who looked like this, they would both know who it was.
I'd better remember that he won't remember, though, and not go rushing up to him and greet him as my long-lost friend.
Even though that would be precisely what he was.
"'Florian—" he faltered, and continued. "I've never had a friend like you."
"Well, you'll have one again in time," the irrepressible Florian interrupted. Evidently he was in no mood for sorrowful good-byes or recriminations. He cut short any other attempts at speech by embracing his friends. "Now, you go back to Valdemar and get into as much mischief as possible with Natoli, and I'll go take care of my business, and eventually we'll meet again. It's not 'good-bye,' Karal, it's 'see you later.' All right?"
What else could he do but agree, and return the hearty embrace? With a cheery wave, Florian faded into the mist, and was gone, leaving Karal behind with tears in his eyes and a smile on his lips.
Now he was alone with An'desha and the old woman.
This must be Need, he realized, listening to her give An'desha some tart and intelligent pieces of advice. "And as for you, young man," she said at last, turning her clever gaze on him, "I heartily agree with that young scamp, Florian. You're too sober by half, and just because you can't see things for yourself, that's no reason to go back to that gloomy country of yours and sit in a corner and mope. Go get into mischief with that young lady of yours; I had plenty of apprentices like her in my time, and I suspect she'll keep you hopping and she won't let you feel sorry for yourself."
"Probably not, my lady," he replied politely, thinking that her assessment of Natoli was remarkably accurate for someone who didn't actually know her.
"Now, since you asked earlier, as for me, I'm taking a long-delayed rest. Maybe you'll see me and maybe you won't, but I'll be damned if I ever go sticking myself into a piece of steel again!" She gave both of them a brief hug. "Now, you both stop ruining good pillows with salt water, and go and get some living done."
And with that, she turned and stalked off into the mist, leaving him and An'desha alone. Tre'valen and Dawnfire had already vanished while their attention was on Need.
"Now what?" he asked.
He looked at his friend, who shrugged, but with some of his old spirit back. "I suppose we'd better do as she says," An'desha said. "You know her. If we don't, she's likely to turn around and kick us out." He toed the soft silver sand for a moment, then added, "I'm glad you made me come here."
"I'm glad you let me," Karal replied, and smiled, feeling more peace in his heart than he had ever expected to have again. "Now, let's go home."
* * *
Karal looked back through Altra's eyes, over the tail of his Shin'a'in riding horse, a lovely and graceful palfrey. It felt very strange not to be riding Florian, but he supposed that he would get used to it after a while. Firesong rode behind him, supported by a saddle that the Shin'a'in used for riders who were ill or disabled, watching everything around him with his eyes shining behind the eye-holes of the mask covering his half-healed face. Firesong's mask was a wonder, not only because it was as extravagant and beautiful as one of his elaborate robes, but because he and Lyam had made it of materials they had scavenged from things in the Tower during the fortnight they had waited. With a base of leather and adorned with bits of crystal, wire, and feathers that Aya himself had carefully pulled from his tail and brought to Firesong while he still lay half-healed in his bed, it probably would have fetched a small fortune from a collector of such things. But Firesong was dissatisfied with it, and was already designing new ones.