by Odom, Mel
“That won’t get rid of him, you know.”
Breathing hard, still bleeding a copious amount from his wounded shoulder, Haarn glanced up at Druz Talimsir.
“I know,” he said, “but there was a certain satisfaction in breaking his head.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “My father and the others will know what to do with Borran Klosk’s remains so that he can never return.”
He opened the magical bag of holding at his waist and shoved the mohrg’s skeleton into it. At least there—if Borran Klosk found a way to return to life in the next few minutes—the mohrg would be stuck in the neverwhere that the bag of holding gave access to.
Druz’s gaze turned tender, and it was surprising to see how she could pull it off wearing a layer of soot and bloodstains.
“I thought you were dead,” she said.
“Almost,” he replied.
A few feet away, Broadfoot woke and gave an angry snuffle. The bear pawed with grave suspicion at the pile of skeletons he was lying on. When none of them moved, he pushed himself to his feet and stood swaying. He bawled, shook his head, and approached Haarn, butting his head into the druid.
Haarn scratched the bear’s head, then he gazed up at Alaghôn. Gray smoke stained the black sky.
“Let’s go,” he said, pushing himself up. “There’s still a battle to be won here.”
EPILOGUE
The sun came up early in the eastern sky, turning it pink and purple. Haarn sat atop one of the buildings that had survived the night’s fires and looked out over the Sea of Fallen Stars.
A growl echoed up the side of the building, but Haarn refused the call. Restless and irritable, Broadfoot padded at the base of the building. The great bear wanted to eat and sleep, but more than anything he wanted to get out of Alaghôn.
The excited yaps and growls of wild dogs and wolves filled the streets. After Borran Klosk’s defeat, the sea zombies had abandoned the battle, withdrawing back to the sea. Whatever magic bound them to the ruins of the Whamite Isles still called them.
Letting out a deep breath to relax tired muscles that hurt all over, Haarn turned his face up to the sun. He took solace in the basking heat, which eased his troubled thoughts.
Ettrian and the Elder Circle had taken the bag of holding containing Borran Klosk’s remains. Shinthala Deepcrest went back to the House of Silvanus in Ilighôn, saying that when she was finished with the mohrg’s body, he would never come back again. Even the priests of Eldath remained quiet about her decision.
Priests sang in the streets below, joined by the townspeople. Their voices lifted with hope buoyed with sorrow. Wagons still gathered the dead. Boats plied the harbor, salvaging what they could of the ships that had gone down.
The experience was different from anything Haarn had ever imagined when he thought about cities and the people who lived in them. He closed his eyes and let the sunrise play on the backs of his eyelids.
Footsteps sounded on the split wooden shingles that covered the rooftop.
Images of Borran Klosk’s skeletons and sea zombies filled Haarn’s head. He fisted his scimitar’s hilt and came to his feet, taking one small step to the side.
Druz Talimsir stopped. She was dressed in the same smoke- and battle-damaged clothing she’d worn the night before, but her hair showed signs of an attempt to put it back into place. Her face was clean, but scratches showed on one cheek. She carried a small, covered basket in one hand.
“I thought you were asleep,” she said.
Haarn put the scimitar away and felt a little foolish. The woman had a way of making him feel that way, and when they’d helped rout the last of the sea zombies and aided in putting out the various fires, that feeling had become even stronger.
“I knew you’d be up here,” Druz said. “This was the only building with a bear under it.”
Broadfoot growled, bemoaning his hunger and boredom.
Haarn nodded, not sure at all what to say.
Druz raised the basket and said, “I brought you something to eat. It’s not much. You have to scramble for food down there.”
Haarn waited.
“I mean, if you’ve already eaten,” Druz said, “I’ll take it away.”
“No,” Haarn said. “I haven’t eaten.”
Druz let out a deep breath. “Good. I’d have hated climbing up here for nothing.”
She crossed the rooftop and sat on his side of it, on the side that slanted out toward the Sea of Fallen Stars. Sitting cross-legged, she whisked the covering off the basket and revealed fresh fruit, salted meat, half a loaf of bread, and wedges of cheese.
Haarn joined her, sitting on the other side of the basket.
Druz chose a dark purple plum and bit into it with her clean white teeth. She wrapped her arms around her knees and looked out at the sea.
“So the world is much bigger than you thought,” she said. “Does it scare you?”
“No.” Haarn chewed on a piece of cheese and swallowed. “It just means the threat of civilization is much larger than I’d thought.”
With the danger of Borran Klosk passed, the divisions between the druids and the citizens of Alaghôn started to become apparent again. Haarn had heard some of the brewing arguments about where the trees would be harvested to replace the burned buildings.
“They will rebuild here, you know,” Druz said.
“I know.”
“So where will you go?”
“Home,” Haarn answered without hesitation. “There is still a lot of work I must do in the lands Silvanus and the Elder Circle have entrusted to me. I will want to check on Stonefur’s cubs and make sure they’re doing all right.”
They ate in silence for a time as ship’s bells rang over the harbor.
“Do you think,” Druz asked in a quiet voice, “you’ll ever come back this way?”
“Perhaps,” Haarn said.
“If you do,” Druz said, “and if I’m available, I’d like to show you more of this city, and perhaps even Suzail. Suzail puts this place to shame.”
She looked at him and fell silent.
Prompted by a desire he didn’t yet fully understand but was willing to explore, Haarn leaned across the food basket and took her face in his hand. He kissed her, just a tender caress of his lips against hers, and he used his power to heal the cuts on her face. When he pulled back from her, some of the pain and fatigue had dropped from her eyes.
“Well,” she said in a husky voice. Her face flushed even beneath the layer of soot. “That was unexpected.”
The feeling that swept through Haarn was unexpected as well. It started in his stomach and went throughout his body.
“Yes,” he agreed, “it was.”
He took a plum from the basket and tossed it over the side, calling out to Broadfoot.
“Should you ever find yourself in the wilderness again,” he said, “I would like to see you.”
She looked at him, hugging her knees. “We’re from two different worlds, Haarn. This could be hard.”
“Nothing worth doing,” Haarn said, “is ever easy.”
She leaned in to kiss him, bearing him down to the sun-warmed wooden shingles, and he didn’t resist.
About the Author
Mel Odom is always trekking around in worlds of wonder when no one’s looking, but he always reports back with the story. Some of the worlds are borrowed, like Wizards of the Coast’s FORGOTTEN REALMS®, but he’s created a few as well. The Lost Library of Cormanthyr was his first FORGOTTEN REALMS book, and he definitely enjoys the ring of steel on steel and the sizzle of a well-cast spell.
He lives in Moore, Oklahoma, with his wife and five children, and welcomes comments and conversation at [email protected]. When not facing down ferocious enemies with blade and spellbook, you can often find him cheering his children on at softball games, basketball games, wrestling matches, and baseball games.
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