Chapter 35

Akh-tazi, Neron

They buried Eldako, son of Tho-ket, in the rich, dark earth of the jungle, not far from where he'd died. The cha'asii sang over his grave, a rhythmic tune accompanied by a stomping dance, a warrior's chant. They struck arrows against their bowstrings, the soft thrumming sending the merkitsa to his rest.

When the song was done, Hult came forward. His face looked less alive than the stone visages looming out of the trees. In his hands he held a single arrow, cracked in the middle and caked with blood—the same shaft that had slain the Speaker.

"I feared elves, once," Hult said. "My people and his did not know each other, and the elders told terrible tales of those who dwelt in the Dreaming Green. When I went there with my master, I thought it a land of ghosts and demons. I did not expect to leave the place alive. The last thing I expected to find there was a friend.

"Eldako saved my life many times. I cannot count them now, with the grief so near. We were sword-brothers, he and I, both missing our homes but bound to this quest. Now, for him, the tale is done. If there is any justice in this world, if Jijin and the elven gods truly are kind, I will live to bring word of him back to the Tamire and the Green, so his people and mine may both sing of his bravery."

He held up the arrow. His hands trembled.

"Eldako was many things—a warrior, a healer, a prince—but of them all he was proudest of his bow-craft. There was no better archer in all the Tamire—perhaps all of Taladas. This was the last arrow he ever loosed. A killing shot. With it, and with his own life, he slew two of the last three of the Faceless. He did all he could to give us victory… and if we have failed, it is not—" He stopped, his voice cracking. "It… was not his fault."

He raised the arrow to his lips, kissed the fletching, then thrust it down, point-first, into the wild elf's grave.

"Farewell, my brother," he said. "There is good hunting where you are now."

As he moved away from the grave, Shedara came forward to take his place. She wept openly, making no effort to hide her sorrow, her mouth an ugly grimace.

"I bear no gifts," she said. "I make no speeches. I'm not going to stand here, bawling over his grave either. He wouldn't have approved."

Hult chuckled, nodding. Shedara glanced at him, then turned to look back at the grave.

"I loved Eldako. Our love was late in coming… too late. I only knew myself when I thought him lost, on the shores of this land. It was a gift that I could spend time with him after that, even crippled as he was. For those few days I loved him openly, and he loved me. I haven't known that sort of love before. I don't think… I don't think I will again."

She bowed her head, a hand coming up to pinch the bridge of her nose. Her shoulders shook.

"I just wish… I wish we could have done better for you," she said, and drew a shuddering breath. "I wish we'd"

That was all. She stood silent a while longer, covering her eyes, her free hand balled into a fist. Then, shaking her head, she turned and strode away, into the trees. Hult watched her go but didn't follow.

Essana watched too.

She was still alive, in part, because of Eldako's sacrifice, but she felt neither glad nor sorrowful. She felt nothing at all. Everything was dull, numb. So she watched from where she sat, on the bottom of the temple stair, while one by one the cha'asii came forward and thrust their own arrows into the wild elf's grave. And then the funeral was done.

There wasn't to be a second.

They had talked long and hard about what to do about Barreth Forlo. Shedara considered him dead, and though he didn't say it, Essana knew Hult thought so as well. Those two should know. They had seen the dagger pierce him, seen his stillness in the moments before the Hooded One exploded. Essana had not; she'd passed out, her strength finally failing her in those last moments. When she'd woken, it had been over. Maladar was gone, and her husband too.

Shedara had told her what happened: Forlo was dead. The only thing that animated his body was the soul of the Faceless Emperor, who had taken residence in his flesh.

But Essana didn't—wouldn't—believe it. She would allow no funeral for him, not until she felt certain he was gone. The "killing" knife had had no blood on it. There was still a chance, and she wouldn't give that up, no matter what. She'd believed in him, and he'd come for her as she'd hoped. She'd keep believing.

Movement behind her made her stiffen. She turned and looked, still weary but no longer paralyzed now that her captors were all dead, their spells lifted. She didn't need to see, though: it was clear who it was. She knew the sounds of his footfalls.

Azar wouldn't look at her, not in the eye. She didn't blame him. The guilt over what he'd almost done to her—and what he had done to his father—must be overwhelming. And the horror of what Maladar had meant to do to him… .

He came down the steps and sat beside her. He gazed at the grave, his young-old eyes glistening. "Pretty words. Who was he, again?" he asked.

"A friend of your father's," Essana replied. "An elf."

Azar pursed his lips as the last of the cha'asii planted their arrows. "I know he… died trying to save you. From me."

She looked across at him. His face was dark, tormented. Her heart, already broken many times over, gave a little wrench. "From them," she said. "From what they made you do."

He shrugged, turning away.

"I should have died," he said. "It should be me they're burying."

Yes! Essana thought. It should be. But she swallowed those thoughts, born of grief and spite. "It wasn't your fault," she said instead. "If the Master had meant for me to wield the knife, I would have had no more choice than you. And you didn't know better. You never had a chance to."

She held out her hand. It was feeble, bony, and spotted—an old woman's hand. She didn't think she would ever look or feel young again. It hovered over her son's shoulder for a long moment, trembling, then she forced herself to touch him, to try to give him comfort.

He shrank back as if burned, hissing between his teeth. "Please, don't."

She could have pulled away, left him here in his torment, then. A large part of her wanted to. But instead she shifted closer, put her arm around him, drew him closer. He stiffened, as she'd known he would—then, all at once, the fight went out of him and he sagged against her, put his own arms around her, buried his face in her neck.

"I'm sorry," he moaned.

"I know, child," she said and held him close, cradling him. "I know."

Daylight bathed the Emerald Sea. It seemed a less terrifying place now, teeming with life, almost serene. With the Brethren and the yaggol and the black wyrm gone, perhaps it was. The cha'asii, at least, saw what had happened as a victory. But Hult and Shedara were grim and quiet as they looked out from the temple's rooftop. They gazed north, over the rippling, mist-shrouded carpet of trees, toward a distant, purple line of mountains. Birds and flying serpents broke out of the canopy, darted through open air, and dove back again. Somewhere in the distance, a waterfall roared.

Shedara held a slim, jagged chunk of stone: a piece of the Hooded One. She squeezed it until its sharp edges dug into her palms.

"He's out there," she murmured. "Somewhere. I can feel it."

Hult nodded, thoughtful. He wore a new sword on his hip—the same blade Forlo had carried when they attacked the temple. "Wherever he went, we don't have much time," he said. "If he isn't stopped… ."

Essana stepped up behind them. Azar was holding her up, helping her walk. "The Burning Sea," she said. "They're going to where Old Aurim used to be, at the center of the fire. They're going to raise the Chaldar."

Hult blinked at her, startled, and Shedara turned pale. "How do you know?" the elf asked.

"I saw it," Essana replied. "In a vision, when Maladar's mind touched mine. I saw the Chaldar, risen anew. He had taken it over, raised new armies of flame… armies to lay waste to Taladas. He's not going to forge his empire again. He's going to destroy everything and rule over the ashes."

Shedara sighed, a hand going to her forehead. She turned to look at Hult, who looked ill. "Armies of flame… how can we beat that? We don't even have any allies. The minotaurs certainly won't listen, and my people and yours are too few."

"There are other places," Essana said.

"Oh, yes," Shedara shot back. "Thenol, Syldar… or maybe we can gather what's left of the Ice People and the kender. ‘Oh, we know your people are almost all dead, and what's left might not survive, but… would you mind coming with us to the Burning Sea?’ "

Essana shook her head, undeterred. "There are still the Rainwards."

Hult rubbed a bruise on his face. "The Rainwarders don't deal with foreigners," he said. "They will not help us."

"Yes, they will," Essana said.

"What makes you say that?" Shedara asked, her brows knitting.

Essana glanced up at Azar. Then she looked out, across the sun-washed jungle, at the mountains beyond. "Let me tell you how my son got his name."