« At least it’s over,” the old man said.
The tall one shook his head in reproof. «Should have been over years ago. Didn’t accomplish anything, did it? Years and years gone and nothing’s changed. Except a lot of good men are dead.»
« And women,” the stocky one added.
The tall one grunted. «Treaty with the Free–born gives us just exactly what we had before the war started. The only good thing that’s come of all this is we have a new Prime Minister. Maybe he won’t be as stupid as Sen Dunsidan was.»
He looked at the old man. «Did you hear what happened with that one?»
The old man shook his head.
« I heard it from one of the soldiers on theZolomach. He was there and saw it all. They were flying Dunsidan to Arborlon, maybe to make peace, maybe not. There’s some debate. They had that weapon aboard, the one that shot down the Elven King and his whole fleet. Anyway, some Druids intercepted the ship. One of them had a staff with markings that glowed like fire. Soldier who told me this said Sen Dunsidan couldn’t take his eyes off it. The Druids offered it to him, but when he took it, he changed into some sort of monster. Split right out of his skin, like a snake, then disappeared. No one’s seen him since.»
« Druid magic at work there,” the stocky one declared softly. «More of it later, too, if you ask me. The Zolomach sailed back to Arishaig, was there maybe a day, caught fire, and burned to her keel. Everything destroyed. Took that weapon with her.»
« A fire took the place where they built that weapon and the plans for it, too,” the tall one said. «Nothing left but ash and smoke. You’re right about those Druids. They were involved in it. Happened right after the witch reappeared. They thought she was gone, but she won’t ever be gone, that one. Not her. What is it they called her before she was Ard Rhys? Ilse Witch. She comes back and all this happens? Not by chance, I don’t think.»
« Doesn’t matter what you or I think,” the third man said. «What matters is that the war is over, and we can get on with living our lives. There’s been enough madness. I lost a brother and two cousins out there on the Prekkendorran. Everyone lost someone. For what? Tell me that. For what?»
« For Sen Dunsidan and his kind,” the stocky man declared. «For the politicians and their stupid schemes.» He took a long pull on his ale. «This is good,” he said to the old man, smiling. «Good enough to help me forget the smell of all those dead men. Can I trouble you for another glass?»
When they were gone, the old man went back into the house, pulled aside the rug to the storm cellar, and let the two Elves out. They’d been in hiding down there for several weeks, too damaged at first to do much more than sleep and eat, and then too weak to travel. He’d nursed them as best he could, using the remedies and skills he had acquired from his mother when she was still alive and working the fields with him. The man was the worse of the two, shot through with arrows and cut with blades in a dozen places. But the woman wasn’t much better. He’d helped them because they were hurt and that was the kind of man he was. The war on the Prekkendorran was not his war and not his concern. No Federation war ever had been.
« They’re gone,” he said as the two climbed back into the light.
Pied Sanderling glanced around, and then reached back for Troon’s hand. The day was clouded, but warm and calm, and it felt good to come back into the light. The old man brought them up whenever it was safe to do so, but that hadn’t been often until now. They all knew before the treaty what would happen if they were caught out.
« Did you hear what they said?» the old man asked them.
Pied nodded. He was thinking of those who had gone with him into the Federation camp. He was thinking that their efforts had been worth something after all. The tide of war might have turned on the destruction of theDechtera and her deadly weapon. Twenty–four hours later, Vaden Wick had broken the siege, counterattacked, and driven the Federation off the heights. In the end, the Free–born had prevailed.
Now, it seemed, any danger of fresh weapons of the sort theDechtera had carried was ended, as well. If the Druids had intervened, the chances were good that whatever remained of those weapons had been hunted down and destroyed.
« Sit, and I’ll bring you a glass of ale,” the old man offered.
He had saved their lives. He had cared for and protected them while they recovered. He had asked nothing about them, nothing from them. He had been kind to them in a place and time when some would have wished them dead and worked to make the wish a reality. They were Elves and enemy soldiers. The old man didn’t seem to care.
They took chairs at the table while the old man brought the glasses and set them down. When he left to feed the animals in the barn, Pied looked at Troon. «I guess it’s finally over.»
She nodded. They were mirror images of each other, their faces cut and bruised, their limbs bandaged, and their bodies so sore that every movement hurt. But they were alive, which was more than they could say about any of the others who had gone with them that night. They would have been dead, too, if not for the old man. He had been burning off a field he had partially cleared, the fire still bright even after darkness fell, and they had homed in on that beacon. The old man had seen the flit come down, found them in the wreckage, and taken them in. He had thrown what remained of the flit into the fire, and then lied to the Federation soldiers who came looking the next morning. Neither of them knew why. Maybe he was just like that. Maybe, like the grave diggers, he’d had enough of war.
« We can go home now,” he said to her.
She gave him a bitter smile. «To Arborlon? Where Arling is Queen?»
She was reminding him that he was forbidden to return to Arborlon, that Arling had dismissed him from her service.
They stared at each other wordlessly.
« Let’s not go home,” she said finally. She held his gaze. «Let’s go somewhere else. They think we are dead. Let’s leave it that way. Have you anyone waiting for you?»
He thought about Drum for a moment and shook his head. «No.»
« Nor I.» She took a quick breath and exhaled sharply. «Let’s start over. Let’s make a new home.»
He studied her face, appreciating the straightforward, uncomplicated way it revealed her. With Troon, there was never any question about what she was feeling. Certainly, there wasn’t any question there. She was in love with him. She had told him that night on the flit. She had told him any number of times since. The revelation had surprised him, but pleased him, too. Eventually, while they recovered from their wounds, he realized he was in love with her, too.
She reached out for his hands and took them in her own. «I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But I don’t want to do it in a place that reminds me of the past. I want to do it where we can start over again and leave behind what we’ve known. Do you love me enough to do that?»
He smiled. «You know I do.»
They smiled at each other across the table, sharing feelings that shouldn’t be put into words because words would only get in the way.
They set theBremen down in the gardens that fronted the bridge to the island of the tanequil, anchoring her well back, but safely within walking distance. Stridegate’s ruins were empty and still on an afternoon filled with sunshine and blue sky. They had flown into the Inkrim that morning, sailing out of night’s departing darkness into dawn’s bright promise, the boy and she standing together at the bow and looking down at the world. They had not spoken a word, lost in their separate thoughts. She thought she could probably guess at his but that he could not possibly know hers.