It can’t take this long to die. Death should be instantaneous. Wasn’t that the way a soldier was supposed to die? He couldn’t have asked for a better way to go, though. Run through with his own life-stealing sword, sending the highmaster off to her doom, somewhere in the Abyss. It was glorious. But it was taking far too long.
“Vanderjack,” said a voice nearby.
He opened his eyes. He was surrounded by his ghosts. For some reason, they seemed brighter, larger, more real. He saw features on their faces that he’d never seen before. The Hunter’s hawklike face, with phoenix feathers arrayed behind his ear. The Cavalier’s mighty barrel chest, that helm with the curving bison horns he’d always kind of ignored. The Philosopher’s thin, ascetic features, quizzical movements, like a praying mantis.
“Vanderjack,” said the voice again. Etharion, the journeyman cook, was kneeling beside him too. “You won.”
“I did?” Vanderjack groaned, wincing at the pain. “The portal to the Abyss is sealed?”
“Yes,” said Etharion. “But I don’t think anybody’s going to remember. It was so chaotic.”
“Typical,” said Vanderjack. “Save the world and nobody’s paying attention.”
“They are,” said Etharion, indicating the ghosts standing or floating around them. “I think they’re waiting for you.”
“The legend,” Vanderjack said.
“Right. If the sword is used to kill somebody who should not die, they join the Sword Chorus. Nine lives.”
Vanderjack groaned, hearing footsteps. He turned his head, trying to fight through the fog of pain and increasingly blurred vision. Somebody was approaching.
“Vanderjack? Vanderjack!”
It was Gredchen. He spoke her name, and she was there, kneeling beside the Cook. Of course, she couldn’t see the ghosts, could she?
“You saved my life,” she said.
“Figured it all out at the end,” Vanderjack said. “You and the painting. I’m sorry it took so long.”
He felt her hand on his head, cradling it. “I wish I could help you. I’m not a wizard. I’m just an ugly copy of a dead girl.”
“Come on.” Vanderjack coughed. The blood was emptying faster. He didn’t have that much longer. “You’re not so ugly. You … you did kind of grow on me.”
“Like a wart?” She smiled through her tears. The pain was setting Vanderjack’s nerves on fire. He’d gone from intense pain to numbness to pain again.
“They’re waiting for me,” he added. “The ghosts. Etharion said it’s my time. That’s it. I’m gone, unless …”
Gredchen held his hand against her cheek. “Unless … what?”
“Unless I have something to keep living for.”
No. Endure the pain. Die tomorrow.
Vanderjack gritted his teeth together and pushed himself up on his elbow first, then farther, feeling the sword slip deeper into his chest. He stifled a cry. The world swam around him. The only thing he could see clearly was Gredchen, up close.
Was she really that ugly? Did it matter? Vanderjack kissed the baron’s aide right where her pretty smile had been only moments before.
He fell back, Gredchen sobbing loudly, and let his last breath escape his ruined lungs.
Lifecleaver shook; it rang like a tuning fork struck against a rock and claimed its ninth and final soul. A half second or a lifetime later, it shattered.
“Nine lives claimed and released,” said the Apothecary.
“All is done,” said the Philosopher.
“The sword’s task is fulfilled,” said the Cavalier.
“The baron’s beautiful daughter is revealed,” said the Balladeer.
“What was unfinished is now ended,” said the Aristocrat.
“The hunt is over,” said the Hunter.
“The magic comes full circle,” said the Conjuror.
“I’m alive!” said the Cook.
“Ackal’s Teeth,” said the Sellsword. “So am I.”
Theodenes was surrounded by Solamnic Knights.
Once again the Knights’ Hall in North Keep, the capital of Nordmaar, flew the banners of Solamnia. Emblems of the Kingfisher, the Crown, the Rose, and the Sword were arrayed above the hall, unseen for more than ten years. The Knights themselves had returned, as control over Nordmaar had reverted to the young King Shredler Kerian, and old alliances were once again honored.
Theodenes had arrived there on the back of Star, who chose to remain outside in the courtyard while the gnome took care of his business inside. Theo passed rows of statues, of stained-glass windows and suits of armor. All of them were in various stages of cleaning, having been left to gather dust for a decade.
He was admitted into the waiting room, but he was the only one there. Minutes later, the doors to the Grand Council Chamber opened, and he walked in. Beyond the doors, a high table dominated the back of the room, and seated at the table were three lord knights, one each of Crown, Sword, and Rose. Their faces were hidden in darkness, and the only light shone right in Theodenes’ face.
“Theodenes,” said one of the Rose Knights. “We have looked over your report.”
“I have to admit,” said the Crown Knight. “It seems a very far-fetched tale.”
“It is all true,” said the gnome. “Why would I embellish it? Do I look like a kender?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?” asked the Sword Knight.
“Every word of it is the truth. I did as you requested and made sure to accompany the sellsword behind enemy lines, kept with him the whole time as much as possible. All that I witnessed, I wrote down.”
The Crown Knight turned to the Rose Knight. “This does agree with the information we were provided by Lord Gilbert Glayward.”
“And Vanderjack never suspected you were working for us the whole time?” asked the Sword Knight.
“I believe he was completely in the dark,” said Theodenes.
“Not even with you showing up in Nordmaar just in time to travel with him?” asked the Crown Knight.
“We … resolved a lot of issues, but no.”
“Magnificent,” said the Rose Knight. “There’s only one part of this that we don’t fully understand.”
“The part near the end,” said the Sword Knight. “About the mercenary’s final fate?”
“The legend that surrounded his sword,” said Theodenes, “explicitly states that once the ninth soul is claimed by the sword, a soul whose time had not yet come and who still had much to live for, the sword will break.”
“But surely Vanderjack didn’t have anything left to live for,” said the Rose Knight. “Unless you count the reward for rescuing the baron’s daughter.”
“Oh,” smiled Theodenes. “Vanderjack had a lot to live for.”
The knights muttered to each other. Finally, the Rose Knight spoke aloud. “Theodenes, we accept your account of the events leading up to the liberation of Nordmaar. However, as we agreed, these details must remain secret.”
“Convenient that everybody in the arena stands can’t remember anything about it,” said the Crown Knight.
“We must praise the gods for their blessings,” said the Sword Knight, placing his palms together.
Theodenes nodded. “Indeed. Well, it’s time I left.”
“Where do you go now?” asked the Rose Knight.
“The Dragon Isles,” said Theodenes. “Star’s going to show me his homeland, and I’ve decided I would rather spend my last years in pleasant company.”
“As you wish,” said the Crown Knight.
Theo bowed, turned, and walked out of the hall.
“Blessings of the gods, indeed,” muttered Theodenes to himself, as he set off to find the dragonne. “All seven of them.”
EPILOGUE
Pentar, Winter, 357 AC
The Journeyman was surrounded by mercenaries.
The newly rebuilt Monkey’s Ear tavern floated above the water, safe from dragon’s fire, and boasting a larger common room. The tables were new, the ale was fresh, and the patrons were eager enough to test it.
The Journeyman set down his own tankard and tossed a coin into the middle of the table. “It’s time I went.”