by Hugh Cook
And Hearst, with something almost like disappointment, realised that they had triumphed – and that he was still alive.
Now he had to make a life for himself.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
On a cold winter's day in the land of Estar, a man named Morgan Hearst found the drained body of a man named Elkor Alish. In days past, they had been friends; they had shared the same shadow down many roads. Then Elkor Alish had betrayed his friend, had tried to kill him and had cost him his right hand.
There had been harsh words and bad blood between them; they had led armies against each other; their swords had crossed in anger, blade against blade. Yet Morgan Hearst stood by the body of Elkor Alish, and said Words of Guiding for the dead man's soul.
Where does friendship end and love begin? Amongst the Rovac, it was a question never asked; they lived close enough to the cutting edge of death to value any human loyalty as an alliance against the darkness.
'Be at peace,' said Hearst.
Then he took a ring and a red bottle from the dead man's husk, and, helped by his friends Miphon and Blackwood, raised a funeral pyre, and burnt the mortal remnants of Elkor Alish.
Then they resumed their journey, heading north.
Reaching the Hollern River, they found, to their amazement, that Melross Hill was now topped by a chaotic disorder of smashed stone and torn earth, through which, at random intervals, fire billowed up.
'What a mess!' said Miphon.
'Positively stochastic,' said Blackwood, nodding agreement.
'That reminds me,' said Miphon. 'We never did finish the question of free will, did we?'
'Well,' said Hearst, 'Let's go into town and settle it over a drink or three.'
Whatever had smashed Castle Vaunting – and it could only have been a free-ranging mountain – had missed Lorford, where there were now a few dozen hovel-style shacks. The travellers trudged down the Salt Road toward the shacks.
'We'll build a city here,' said Hearst.
'Will we?' said Blackwood.
'Of course,' said Hearst. 'Who's to rule Estar now, but us? Who's to guard the borders against the Swarms, but us? We've got the death-stone, the red bottle, and an army in the bottle. We've got what we need.'
Blackwood was startled by this. They were to be rulers? Princes? Kings? Well…
He had to admit it was possible.
As they closed with the shacks, shouting children roused the people out to meet the strangers. Coming closer, Blackwood saw faces he half-recognised from days past.
Then, suddenly: 'Mystrel!'
A woman ran forward, and Blackwood ran to meet her. A moment later, they were in each other's arms, crying.
'I thought you were dead,' said Blackwood, i couldn't get back to you, I thought you were dead.'
'What?' said Mystrel, laughing, laughing and crying at the same time. 'The men all go away and the women promptly drop dead? Not so, mister, not so.'
And then they said nothing more, for they were too busy holding each other.
Shortly, they were all seated round a table of sorts in a house of sorts drinking a liquor of sorts, allegedly made out of fermented fish – 'Hell's grief!' said Hearst, tasting it – and all talking at once at roughly the speed of thought.
And Mystrel told all about her wild times with the refugees in the Barley Hills, about pirates and bandits, storms and famine, mad dogs and toadstool poisoning, and, finally, the return to Lorford.
'But how did you ever get out of Castle Vaunting in the first place?' said Blackwood. 'How, when the mad-jewel was guarding it?'
'The fodden led us out,' said Mystrel. 'Some of us, at any rate. It got us clear.'
'Oh,' said Blackwood, looking around. 'Where is it?' i strangled it.'
'You what?'
'It had been feeding on something, in the castle. I asked it what. It was stupid enough to tell me.' 'And what had it been feeding on?' 'You don't want to know.' 'Tell me,' said Blackwood. Mystrel told him. He was shocked. He said so.
'I'm shocked,' said Blackwood. Then, Mystrel's horror-story having awakened a certain line of thought: 'But your child? What happened..?'
'Oh!' said Mystrel, smacking her forehead. 'How could I? Of course.' She raised her voice to a shout: 'Nickle!'
Shortly, a young woman entered, bearing a sturdy boy-child of a little more than a year's growth.
'Nickle is my helper,' said Mystrel, explaining. 'And the child… Blackwood, meet your son, Greenwood.'
Hearst rose to his feet, and lifted his cup.
'A toast,' said Hearst, i propose a toast. Ladies. Gentlemen. Girls. Boys. Dogs, rats. And any priests and princes present. A toast, I say. To the future!'
'I'll drink to that!' said Miphon.
As did they all. ('Hell's grief,' said Hearst again, as the liquor clawed at his throat – but that didn't stop him drinking to the next toast which came along.) That night, Blackwood dreamt that he slept in safety in Lorford with his son and his wife at his side; he woke to the light of dawn, and found, to his relief, that the dream was true.
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