"Always," she said, leaning up and kissing him on the cheek. "Now go on. Time is wasting."
With a last look at them, he nodded, then walked up the gangplank. Time was indeed wasting.
The battered old ship slipped its hawsers and drifted away from the dock with the receding tide, heading out towards the open sea. The crew quickly and efficiently raised the sails, and the grand old lady swooped into life, cutting the gently rolling waves as it ventured out into the world beyond the safety of everything he had known.
Tarrin stood at the bow, staring out over that vast expanse of water, with Allia under one arm and Keritanima on the other, as they simply enjoyed each other's company. It was a journey of unknowns, and a journey of danger. But before he could face what he had to do, he had to face what he had already done. That reckoning was coming. And soon. He wouldn't feel like he did forever. But with his sisters near him, he felt that he had a chance to come to terms with the horrible things he had done. Things still looked uncertain, even grim, but he couldn't allow his own uncertainty to drag him down.
He had to be strong. The Goddess was depending on him.
The sun peeked over the land behind, lighting the way for the tough old ship as she plied her way into the Sea of Storms, left Suld behind and embarked on another journey.
For the old ship, every journey was an adventure. And this one would prove to be no different.
To: Title EoF
Epilogue
The battlements of Castle Keening were mysteriously quiet, the ever-present wind that gave the high fortress its name in a rare respite. The cause of this calm was unnatural, and the night itself seemed to sense this. It was as if the night, and nature, had recoiled from the grim fortress, pulling away so as not to be corrupted by what was transpiring within.
The symbol inlaid into the floor was decorated with mother-of-pearl and gold, and it represented the three mystical forms of protection for Wizardy. A pentragram rested within a concentric circle, which was itself contained inside a thaumaturgic triangle. The threefold defense was necessary for the conjuring of the most powerful forms of extra-dimensional entities, such as Demons, for the power of only one was pitifully inadequate to contain such mighty entities. Nine Wizards stood within the large chamber, illuminated by a trio of braziers at the points of the triangle, three to a side of the triangle and with hand upraised from their voluminous black robes. They chanted in a discordant, ugly language, but the harmony of their speaking gave the chant an eerie choral quality that reverberated from the walls. Kravon stood at the center of the side considered to be the strongest of the triangle, his arms down, though his voice was raised with the others in their chanting.
Two burly, mailed guards dragged a third man into the chamber, a large, muscular man with dark hair and fair eyes. He has nude, and his body showed the marks of someone who was tortured into compliance. They had to carry the semi-conscious man to the edge of the triangle, where, at a nod from the this, cadaverous Wizard, he was cast into the triform symbol. The man lay there, groaning, though his groans were drowned out by the voices of the Wizards around him.
And then they stopped. Kravon stood alone when the other eight stepped back, and his voice alone suddenly thundered through the chamber. Arcane words of power flowed from his lips smoothly, flawlessly, and the three fires within the braziers suddenly began to flare and wane in concordance with the power of his voice. He pointed at the man laying within the symbol and spoke a single word, and the braziers suddenly flared, sending flames high into the arched chamber, bringing the brilliance of the noontime sun into the dark gallery.
The man on the floor screamed. He writhed, got to his knees, held his head between his hands, and screamed a scream that only the dying could emit. Kravon watched with stoic interest as the man's body began to shudder, and then it suddenly turned gray. The man's spirit was cast from its mortal shell, and the body quickly dessicated, shriveled, flesh putrifying and eyes melting away. The body stopped shuddering and stood, and an ornate, archaic suit of armor simply appeared around the body. Red light appeared within those empty eye sockets, and a shield appeared on the figure's left arm.
"Why have ye summoned me?" Jegojah, Doomwalker, demanded in a dry voice, a voice from the grave. "Our bargain, it was fufilled, yes."
"No," Kravon said calmly. "The Were-cat still lives. You have failed."
"The Were-cat, he is a Weavespinner," the dead figure said in a hissing voice. "This you did not tell Jegojah. Had Jegojah known, A better battleground Jegojah would have chosen. Battling a Weavespinner that close to a Conduit, it is suicide, yes. No fault of Jegojah caused Jegojah to fail, yes. The bargain, it is fulfilled. Now release Jegojah to rest, as was promised!"
"You failed me," Kravon said. "And you forget who holds your soul." The wizard held up a small diamond amulet, an amulet which throbbed with a soft light not unlike the rhythm of a man's beating heart. "You have little choice in the matter. Go out, and find the Were-cat Tarrin. Then kill him."
"No," Jegojah hissed. "A bargain, we had struck one, yes. A bargain fulfilled! A ten year's rest you have promised Jegojah, and a ten year's rest Jegojah will have!"
"That was then. This is now."
The Doomwalker growled in rage, then rushed forward. But he rebounded off the mystical shield created by the symbols separating the Doomwalker from the Wizard.
"I see you need persuasion," he said coldly, and pulled a small silver gong from his robe. He held up a small gold baton, then struck it. The gong gave out a discordant twang, and the very sound of it made Jegojah scream in agony and writhe on the floor. The gong had been made specifically to disrupt the natural harmony of the Doomwalker's captured spirit, and its sound made the throbbing pulses of the amulet's core to fluctuate and dim. The gong quieted back to silence, and the Doomwalker stopped spasming on the floor. It got up instantly and glared at the Wizard, its glowing red eyes promising tortures beyond human imagination should it find a way to breach the prison in which it was contained. "I could continue, and the gong will destroy your soul, Doomwalker," Kravon said in a cold, emotionless voice. "But you can serve me better this way. Find the Were-cat, Jegojah. Find him and destroy him. Bring me the Were-cat's head, and I will release your soul to eternal rest. Fail me, and you will suffer the gong for a thousand years."
"Your word, what good is it to Jegojah?" the Doomwalker hissed. "Once already you have broken it. What trust does Jogojah show an oathbreaker now?"
"You have no choice," Kravon said. "I own you, Doomwalker. Be glad that I am willing to give up your services after you succeed in your mission. If you refuse," he said in a trailing voice, holding up the gong.
"Jegojah will do it," the Doomwalker said in a deadly voice. "But be warned. Should you betray Jegojah again, for you Jegojah will come next, yes. A promise, that is."
"Save your threats. You have a mission to perform. Begone."
And with a wave of his hand, the Doomwalker simply vanished from the triform symbol.
"Is this entirely wise, my Lord?" one of the Wizards asked curiously. "I bow to your superior skill and intellect, but your logic escapes me. If you anger him enough, Jegojah will break free of our control."
"It is simple, adept," he replied. "The Were-cat cannot be stable, not after the way he went insane in Suld. We will attack him, and attack him, and attack him. We will kill everyone close to him, and then we will keep coming after him until he goes mad. We will drive him mad, and when he is mad, he will no longer be a threat. I have already sent men to Dala Yar Arak, and more groups wait at every possible crossroads and port. We will make the Were-cat destroy himself. Jegojah will be a part of that."