Spurred by the queen’s words, the Fae army roused itself. Commanders shouted orders. Elves and fairies scrounged for their swords. Sprites rose drunkenly back into the air. The orcs and wyrms, now vastly outnumbered because of the forced retreat of the Stane, tried to rally as well. Kalessa bellowed orders. Xanda exhorted her troops to pull together. But the orcs were tired and their morale was dropping.
A groan rose from the edge of the crater. It was Ranadar. Talfi spun like a startled cat. Ranadar blinked and touched the arrow in his side, as if he didn’t understand what was happening. Then he pulled the arrow out with a small scream. Blood leaked from the wound. Talfi felt the world sliding out from underneath him. Ranadar wasn’t dead. Only wounded. Talfi’s heart leaped into his throat.
“Ran!” Talfi pulled off his shirt and shoved it against the bloody wound to stanch the flow. “You’re alive! I thought I’d lost you.”
Still dazed, Ranadar reached up to touch Talfi’s face. His fingertips rasped against Talfi’s unshaven cheek. “You …”
The emotions of a thousand Talfis flooded him at the touch, and every flesh golem in the world wept with joy. “I remember, Ran. She couldn’t stop it. I remember!”
And Ranadar was kissing him and the flesh golems shouted their ecstasy across the battlefield.
Pendra broke in. “The queen’s heart was in the tree, but I cannot touch it. Perhaps you can put it back where it belongs.”
Talfi peered over the crater’s edge. He found a simple wooden box the size of a human head just within reach and pulled it to himself. Queen Gwylph paled. “Leave that!” she shouted, running toward them. “Leave it!”
Ranadar, his hands shaking, snatched the box from Talfi and opened it while Pendra smiled above him within her cloak of leaves. Inside the box lay a red, pulsing elven heart. It was only just smaller than a human one. Ranadar plucked it from the box and held it up. Gwylph halted a dozen paces away.
“My son,” she said softly, all love and honey. “You know I would never—”
“Hurt me?” Ranadar clutched the bloody shirt to his side and staggered to his feet. Talfi helped him. On the battlefield, the Fae were destroying the orcs and wyrms and felling the fleeing Stane with arrows while the flesh golems watched. “I know. Even after you shot me, Mother, I still hoped …” He swallowed. “You are not yourself. But you will be.”
“I will not take that back,” Gwylph said. “And you will not force me. You do not have the power. You are weak, and soft, and—”
Ranadar pointed the heart at her and squeezed. Gwylph went to her knees with a cry. “I have more power than you know, Mother.”
Ranadar gestured with the heart again, and Gwylph fell backward. Ranadar stumbled toward her, and Talfi knew what he intended. He looked at Pendra, who continued to hover over the crater. Blood streamed from her wrists, and a tiny part of him wondered desperately where Danr and Aisa had gone to.
“He can restore her heart.” Pendra was fading away. “All he must do is touch it to the original scar.”
“Will she love him again?” Talfi asked.
“Only those who loved before can love again,” Pendra murmured, and vanished.
Ranadar stood over his mother, one hand clutching her heart, the other clutching the bloody shirt pressed to his side. Gwylph was struggling to rise, but Ranadar’s grip on her heart prevented her. The gap in her mail shirt showed the scar on her chest.
“You will be yourself again, Mother.” Ranadar moved the heart toward her chest. “And all this will end.”
Talfi took the bow from his back, the one Sharyl had failed to take from him. He cast about for ammunition, and his eye fell on the bloody arrow the queen had shot at Ranadar. With shaky fingers, he nocked it to the bow and aimed.
But should he? Once Ranadar gave her heart back, the queen might be restored to her old self.
A self that cared about her son, but didn’t want to. Had wanted to be rid of caring so much that she had stolen the Bone Sword and started a war just so she could cut her own heart out. Her original self was just as heartless as her current self. Only those who loved before could love again.
Talfi drew back the bowstring. Gwylph struggled on the ground, and Ranadar pressed the heart toward her breast. Talfi fired.
The arrow missed. It skidded across the ground. Ranadar looked up at Talfi with a startled look on his face. “Talashka! What—?”
Damn it! “Ran, don’t,” Talfi begged, limping toward him. “She’ll only—”
Ranadar set his mouth and pressed the heart toward Gwylph’s chest. There was a rush of air. Three arrows flicked in from nowhere and pierced the queen’s heart.
A tiny moment passed. The queen looked at the pierced heart in horror. Then she looked at Ranadar. She gave a small gasp. Beyond them, three other Talfis lowered their bows.
“Fing!” one of them said.
Ranadar dropped the bloodless heart in shock. It fell, arrows and all, onto his mother’s chest. Gwylph stiffened, arched her back with a scream that rent the air, and then exhaled. Her body stilled, and the queen of the Fae died.
Across the fields and the woods and the riverbank, every flesh golem faltered, stumbled, and collapsed. Talfi felt them all fade from his mind, but their memories, their thoughts remained with him, implanting themselves in him like birds coming home to roost. It was knowing and seeing and remembering. It was memory. It was self. It was him.
“Mother!” Ranadar cried. “Mother!”
Talfi went to him and knelt at his side. Gwylph’s green eyes were wide and sightless. “Ran, come away now. Call it the third favor.”
“You did this,” Ranadar choked. “It was you.”
“Yes,” Talfi replied quietly. “It had to be done. She was heartless, even before she lost her heart.”
Ranadar set his mouth again, and for a sick moment, Talfi was afraid he would turn away. But Ranadar only touched Talfi’s shoulder and nodded. “Third favor was that you did for me what I could not do for myself.”
Cries and screams rose from the field again. The war was still raging. The orcs and wyrms were being beaten back toward the river, and the mountainside was littered with dead Stane.
“The battle!” Talfi said. “We have to stop it! Can you take command? With your mother dead, you’re king!”
Ranadar shook his head. “They will not listen. We can only—”
The water in the river stirred and foamed yet again. From it marched another army, a massive one. Talfi’s mouth fell open. Thousands of soldiers poured dripping from the river. They wore shirts of scales that gleamed like diamonds and carried double-pronged pikes and razor-edged swords. Talfi made out that they were changing shape as they came. They started out in the river with tails that formed into legs as they came into shallower water. Some of the soldiers carried conch shells, which they blew in a booming call that rattled the remaining trees and echoed against the mountainside. Riding high in the middle of them on a giant crab came a woman in armor of her own.
“It’s the merfolk!” Talfi cried.
“I am Imeld of the merfolk!” the queen shouted. “The Kin have come at last to defend their own!”
The merfolk soldiers charged into the battle. The Fae, caught off guard by this, retreated briefly and tried to regather, but it was difficult. The merfolk were fresh troops and relentless in their tactics. The orcs and wyrms used the breathing space to regroup themselves and come in beside the other Kin. Kalessa and Xanda climbed onto the crab’s back, and Imeld welcomed them.
“Four queens,” Talfi said. “We have a war of four queens. Queen of the trolls, queen of the Fae, queen of the orcs, and queen of the merfolk.”
“Even if one is dead,” Ranadar said sadly.
The sound of the conch shells roused Grandfather Wyrm, asleep farther up the riverbank. He woke fully and rumbled up the bank to see what was going on.
“Ah!” His hiss rebounded from one end of the battlefield to the other. “This is much better, yes. Kin united
once again. And they are defending the Stane, yes. It has been a long time since I have enjoyed a good fight.”
He also plunged into the melee, his mountainous body wreaking havoc everywhere he went. Entire regiments of Fae were crushed beneath his coils. Whole troops disappeared down his great gullet. That decided it. The Fae retreated and fled.
Ranadar sank to the ground next to his mother’s body. Talfi crouched next to him. “We’ll get you someone to help with that wound,” he said.
“Just stay,” Ranadar replied. His face was pale. “Please, Talashka. I will be all right for the moment, and could not bear to be alone right now. Besides, someone might think me a wounded enemy to be put down.”
Sudden exhaustion weakened Talfi’s legs. He sat then and put an arm around Ranadar’s shoulder. All around them, the long process of cleaning up the battle began. Soldiers and officers looked for the dead and wounded. The sun was setting now, allowing the Stane to reemerge from the mountain in the fading light to retrieve their own dead and wounded. Trolls and giants roared their pain. Grieving orcs beat their shields over the bodies of fallen comrades. The merfolk, who had taken few casualties, strode swiftly about, helping with injuries and comforting the dying. Flies buzzed and settled on the face of the elf queen. Talfi positioned himself between Ranadar and his mother’s body. It was a very strange sort of place to hold Ranadar’s hand and talk.
“The flesh golems died when your mother did,” Talfi said. “I felt them go. But … they’re still here.” He tapped his head. “I remember now.”
Ranadar looked at him. “How much do you remember?”
“Everything.” Talfi ran his thumb over Ranadar’s smooth forefinger, noting the way the skin fit over the joints and slipped around his flat fingernail. People expected elves to have long, slender hands, but Ranadar’s were more like squares. “I remember how all the other Talfis—and Other Talfi—loved you. They did love you, because they were me. Are me. They’re still here. Even Other Talfi. We’re all one. We just didn’t know it.”
“We are all one,” Ranadar repeated. “Yes. Look at this battlefield, and how many died.” He winced again. “Every time the Nine Races come together, it is for war. We must not do this again, Talashka. It must stop with us. With me.”
“What do you mean?” Talfi asked.
“I need to stay in Alfhame,” Ranadar said. “I must take her crown and change this. We will reach out to Balsia to give it help from the earthquake—labor if Karsten will accept it, treasure if he will not. And we will open talks with the Stane and the orcs. We must unite. And I will need your help.”
“Mine?”
“You are …” Ranadar winced again. “You are human, but you are long-lived, like the Fae. You can help bridge the gap between Kin and Fae as an emissary. I will rule, and you must help as a diplomat between Alfhame and the Kin. It will not be easy, but we have to start.”
At that moment, Kalessa darted over to them. Her eyes were shining. “Glorious battle!” she said. “Already we will live forever! No one will ever forget this!”
“Indeed not,” Ranadar agreed.
“Why did the merfolk come?” Talfi said. “I thought they were angry with Aisa.”
“Imeld was,” Kalessa said. “But she changed her mind after Grandfather Wyrm spoke with her. Or that is what she tells me. It takes strength to admit when you are wrong, and I commended her for that.”
“You will make a fine queen, Kalessa,” Ranadar said. “I want to be the first to congratulate you and your queen mother on your win today, and I hope our people can reconcile and forge an alliance in the future.”
“Why are you talking like a ruler?” Kalessa seemed to truly see him for the first time. “You are injured! I will fetch a healer. The merfolk are very skilled.”
A rumble shuddered the air. Everyone turned their eyes toward the source of the sound. “What now?” Talfi groaned.
Some distance away, Grandfather Wyrm was shuddering. He quivered and shivered and shook. The orcs and wyrms that surrounded him hurried away in consternation as his shape … changed. He shrank and twisted and dwindled away. There was a final whump of inrushing air that blasted Talfi’s hair. In Grandfather Wyrm’s place stood a tall man, naked, with a craggy face and muscles sculpted like a statue’s. His skin had the faintest hint of green to it, and his night black hair hung nearly to his waist.
“The Nine,” Kalessa murmured.
“That’s what Grandfather Wyrm looks like as a human?” Talfi said.
“What were you expecting?” Ranadar said.
“I don’t know. Something more … grandfathery.” Talfi sniffed. “Wow.”
“You,” Kalessa said, “already have a mate. The Nine, Ten, and Eleven! He is coming this way! Where is Aisa? And Danr? I do not see them.”
The abrupt change in subject caught Talfi off guard. He thought back. So much had happened so quickly. The last he or any of the golems had seen, Danr had been standing over a dead lion near the giant tree. Had Aisa changed into a lion? She couldn’t be dead. Not now. Not after all this. He needed a few minutes to recover, a few minutes of normalcy to gather his wits.
“I’m … not sure where they are,” he temporized. “I lost track during the fighting, and then Pendra came and everything happened so fast.”
Grandfather Wyrm strode up, still naked but obviously unbothered by the fact. Talfi found it hard to find a place to look, so he settled on staring at the man’s eyes. They were a deep, compelling green, greener than Ranadar’s. He didn’t look older than thirty-five, and every muscle moved like oiled butter under his skin. Several orcs followed him, both fascinated and uncertain.
“Good evening, yes,” he said in the voice Talfi knew so well. “I recognize you, young Talfi, though I suppose by the time one reaches our age, a few years difference in age makes little matter, yes.”
Talfi remembered that Grandfather Wyrm had been a mortal man on the day of the Sundering, when Talfi had been seventeen. Talfi might look half Grandfather Wyrm’s age, but they were essentially the same age.
“It is good to come out from under the ocean after all this time, yes,” Grandfather Wyrm continued. “And it is good to see the Kin and the other races coming together. Perhaps this will help things along.”
He knelt and removed Talfi’s bloody shirt from Ranadar’s wound. Ranadar gasped. A golden light flared under Grandfather Wyrm’s palm. When he pulled it away, the wound was gone.
“Simple shape magic that has been forgotten,” Grandfather Wyrm said. “Perhaps it is time to remember it, yes.”
“Thank you, Great One,” Ranadar said in obvious relief, and Talfi felt the absence of the pain himself.
“And who is this powerful woman?” Grandfather Wyrm asked, rising to take Kalessa’s hand. “Such power and grace and beauty on the battlefield, I have never seen, yes.”
“Kalessa, daughter of Xanda, heir to the First Nest,” Kalessa said. “And the orc who wonders where her sister and good friend have gone to. We must find them.”
“Aisa’s dead, isn’t she?” Talfi said. The grief he had been holding back hit him then. His mouth filled with sand, and tears pricked the backs of his eyes. “She changed into a lion to save Danr, and she … died. But where did she go? Where did Danr go?”
“Dead?” Kalessa rounded on him. “No! My sister walks with gods! She cannot be dead. She will not be dead! I will not believe it until I have seen her body. And where is Danr? He would never abandon us.”
“That’s true.” Talfi wiped at his eyes. “But where did they go?”
Chapter Twenty-three
The Garden stretched away in all directions but behind, where rose the tall, solid trunk of Ashkame. The rotting smell was gone, replaced by the pleasant smell of herbs and flowers and fresh green leaves. Everywhere Danr looked, the plants were healing. They stood straighter, reached up higher. The rot was gone. Even the tilted ground had straightened, allowing him to stand upright.
But he didn’t want to stand.
Sorrow and pain forced him to the newly solid earth. He knelt next to Aisa’s lioness body, stroking her cold fur and the stiffening muscles beneath. The tree had exploded, filling his eyes with painful white light, and when his vision had cleared, he and Aisa—her body—were here in the Garden. Danr didn’t know or care how it happened, no, he didn’t. All that mattered was that he would never hear Aisa’s voice, never touch her skin, never see her face.
And what about their son? He was dead, too, before he had even lived. Every thought and dream Danr had enjoyed about raising a boy—gone in an instant. The loss was too great. He would never move, never live, never exist again. He buried his face in her unmoving side and wept.
A gentle hand touched his shoulder. He looked up and found himself surrounded by the Gardeners. Nu wore her spring green cloak and carried a bulging bag of seeds. Tan’s cloak was sleek and summer brown, and the sturdy hoe over her shoulder looked sharp and ready. Pendra, however, was sickly and fading. Her sickle was pitted and rusty. Danr could see the plants right through her. Blood trailed from her wrists, watering the ground beneath.
“The Tree has tipped,” said Nu.
“Tilted,” said Tan.
“Turned over,” whispered Pendra, and her voice was nothing but a leaf on the breeze. “It is finished.”
Black anger filled Danr now. “You let Aisa die!” he raged. “She was supposed to save you. She was supposed to keep the Tree from tipping ever again! She was supposed to have our child!” His throat was so heavy he could barely speak. “And now she’s dead.”
“It is how things were,” said Nu.
“How things are,” said Tan.
“How they must be,” finished Pendra. “There is no other way, dear, dear Danr.”
“I don’t understand.” Danr pushed salt water off his face with the back of one hand. “She’s dead, and now you don’t have anyone to replace you. And I don’t have anyone at all.”
“Now, Danr,” said a new voice, “you should know better than that.”
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