TenThousandBrokenDreams/Session29

Mother Cypress speaks:

“Welcome, children. You’ve come for a tale, have you not, little ones? So, then, what tale shall I tell you tonight? Would you hear the tale of Nathel the Wolf-Born, and how he rescued the duchess of Featherspike from the ice trolls in Rilga Pass? Would you hear of how, when her people rejected the Wolf-Born, her gratitude soured and curdled, and of the tragedy to come? Or shall I tell you more of the tale of the Solar Exalted, and of the turning of the Age?

“Come closer, my children. Gather round, and spread ears like elephants, and I shall tell you more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and of what befell in the city of Tul Tuin after the departure of Amalion.”

* * * * *

The place: Tepet Aekino’s study, high in the Tower of Winds. The time: night, sixteen hours after the departure of Amalion. The participants: Aekino, Zera Thisse, and Fetek Breath-of-Midnight. The subject: a summit meeting, planned for ten days hence.

“We need mortals as messengers in this business,” said the new master of the Tower. His perfect countenance shone beneath a gold circlet ablaze with garnets. “It’s beneath your dignity for either of you to run errands like common couriers.”

Zera shrugged. The Dynast’s obsession with image did not touch him. “Your servants were once Darien Tal’s. We can’t trust them. And in the city… there are a lot of thieves and the like that we could use, that would be excellent for this. But I wouldn’t trust their loyalties, either.”

“You could go together, at least. You would be safer.”

“Or we could go separately,” the archer replied with a chuckle. “I can go by horse. Fetek, you can be a messenger pigeon.”

The Lunar bridled. “A pigeon?”

“Or a hawk, if you like that better. Anyway. I’ll go to Iron Tower and find Vir. Fetek can go to Idris; it’s farther, and he can travel faster. I’ll leave by morning.”

Aekino nodded. “Also, I would like to summon a demon of the First Circle, one of the less violent ones, to use as a messenger.”

“Why?” asked Fetek.

“They are good for such purposes, and their use does not offend the Celestial Hierarchy.” And I’d like to try out some real sorcery, Aekino thought to himself. “The problem,” he continued, “is that the outcome of these spells is not always certain.”

“So you need backup,” Zera replied.

“Yes.”

“Thorwald would be perfect, but I’m not sure how he’d react.” The archer mulled it over. “I suggest you ask Li.”

The Dynast nodded. “I think that things are coming together.”

“What I wonder is, will Vir be able to see past the Anathema bit, for the good of the region?”

“I believe that, with the aid of his children, he will.”

“Maybe, if we point out to Vir all of the things that the Dynasts do to each other on the Blessed Isle, he will see that we are no worse…”

Thorwald entered. “What is happening?”

“We are discussing plans for the summit,” said the archer. He elaborated on the messages that were to be sent, and by what means they would be transmitted.

“I am not comfortable with this,” said Thorwald. “But the other options are even less comfortable.”

Aekino nodded. “True. By the by,” he added, “we shouldn’t tell either of them that we’ve invited the other.”

Such subtleties puzzled the northman. “Why?”

“They’re more likely to come that way,” said Zera Thisse. He smiled. “Anyway, I’m out of here.” He stood. “I leave tonight. I may have to search for Vir, and I’d rather get an early start.”

“I will go with you,” said Fetek Breath-of-Midnight. “I travel quickly enough that I won’t lose much time in doing so. And if Vir is not at the Iron Tower, then it will take time to find him. Once you do, then I can fly to Idris and deliver the message to Cessair.”

“Good idea,” said Zera approvingly.

Thorwald nodded. “And I have to get a very fast horse.”

Aekino blinked. “What?”

“To go to Idris.”

The Dynast sputtered. “That’s not part of the plan!”

“What plan is this?”

“The plan we’ve just been making!”

A futile argument broke out. Thorwald would not explain why he wished to go to Idris, nor would he be swayed from his will to do so. Finally, he turned and walked out.

Aekino shook his head in bewilderment. “He just had one of his dark moods recently!”

“Maybe they’re coming quicker,” replied Zera.

“Go talk to him.”

* * * * *

Zera caught up halfway down the stairs. “Hey, listen! Why are you doing this? It would make everyone feel better if we had a reason.”

Thorwald marched obstinately onward. “I don’t have a good reason.”

“That’s a shame, because that means I don’t have an argument to counter it.”

“This is just something I have to do.” They descended to the ground floor, passing guards and servants, and made their way out into the night. “Something is happening to me, and I’m not sure what. But I need to deliver this message.”

“Then I guess I can’t stop you.” They clasped hands, there in the courtyard beneath the blackened cherry tree. “Good luck.”

Zera returned to the upper reaches of the tower. He told Aekino that he had a good feeling about this, that his instincts indicated that all would be well. Aekino replied that this was all well and good, but shouldn’t Thorwald have taken the message that he wanted to bear?

The archer snatched up the missive and darted down the stairs once more. But by the time he reached the stables, Thorwald had gone.

* * * * *

“Those poor wretches,” said the Dynast. He looked westward from his balcony; Brinlack glimmered with yellow light beneath the waxing moon. There, he knew, Li had brought those who had crawled like grubs from beneath Amalion’s shadow. He shivered in the cold. “We should give them the final mercy.”

Li shook her head. “I don’t think that will be necessary. Some will take their own lives; for the others, we can take care of them as long as possible. And some may well recover, given time.”

“It is a very virtuous thing you do here,” Aekino stated piously.

“Perhaps.”

“When did this occur to you?”

“When I saw them.” Her dark hair flapped in the wind; a warrior’s banner. “They are just poor wretches, really. I suppose that in their own way, they brought this on themselves.”

“Well, where there is life, there is hope.” Aekino glanced to the north. “Except, perhaps, for Thorwald’s mission. That will end in blood, I’m sure of it.”

“I think Thorwald may surprise you.” A tight, tiny smile lurked in the shadows of Li’s mouth. “He may be a bit more insulting than Fetek, but I doubt he will kill anyone.”

* * * * *

Zera Thisse rode through the night. He reached Iron Tower the next morning. His breath formed white banners on the air; farmers labored to bring in the last harvest before full frost. Before him, encampments of Ledaal and Tul Tuin soldiers lay spread before the town gates; they bustled like overturned anthills, clearly making ready to move.

He took the guise of a guardsman of Brinlack. He presented himself at the gates as a messenger from Tul Tuin, sent to present himself before Ledaal Vir. Soldiers escorted him into the town, which was likewise astir with preparations for war. They passed him up the chain of command, finally bringing him before a tall, thin woman in black: Ledaal Vir’s right hand, the general Shield Willow.

She gestured for him to rise. “What is your name, soldier?”

“My name is Baum,” he lied. “I bring a message for Ledaal Vir.”

“From whom?”

“From those who hold Tul Tuin.”

Her interest sharpened. “And who might they be?”

“I am instructed not to say.”

“And I am instructing you to say.”

Zera smiled inwardly. “I don’t know if you will kill me if I don’t tell you, but I know that they will if I do.”

Shield Willow made a brushing-aside gesture. “They do not need to know.”

“Just between you and me,” he confided, “I think that they are Anathema.”

“And what makes you think that?”

“Their glowing foreheads.”

By her request, he presented her with the sealed missive, which she brought to Vir. Not long after, the Dragon-Blooded prince came himself to speak with the messenger. Vir’s keen senses did not penetrate the illusion. Soon, Zera had another message in hand, to present to his ‘Anathema masters’ at the Tower of Winds. Smiling serenely, he rode back to Tul Tuin.

* * * * *

Another day passed. Fetek flew as an eagle through the cold and stuttering wind. Leafless trees marched past beneath his wings; the hills rolled by like the breakers on a frozen sea. He reached Idris by evening.

He drifted this way and that over military encampments, and then dove past the city walls. He remained in eagle form as he skimmed roofs and glided over streets and alleyways. Without changing shape, he flew past the gate guards into the halls of Cessair’s palace. Servants scattered, leaving the floors in his wake strewn with broken dishes and bedclothes. The lord Erlend, grandson of Cessair’s daughter Idris, ducked to avoid being speared by Fetek’s beak, then chased the Lunar into the empty throne room, where he found the eagle perched upon the arm of the throne.

“Well now,” said the fae-blood. He approached cautiously. “Ah… a messenger.” He plucked the missive from the eagle’s leg, unrolled it, read. He cursed foully.

Erlend brought the missive to Idris. Idris brought it to Cessair. And Cessair had the eagle brought to her. She smiled as she lounged upon a broad couch upholstered in silk, blue with pale medallions. She stroked Fetek’s feathers, not knowing him for what he was. “What a pretty bird,” she said softly.

Fetek felt the urge to nestle against the alluring Fair Folk. He likewise desired to peck out her eyes. He resisted both impulses.

“It seems we’ll be waiting for another messenger,” spoke the Queen. “There’s no purpose in replying until then. Cage the bird.”

They placed him in a bamboo cage in an aviary. Other cages held lesser birds, swallows and nightingales, pigeons and doves. Fetek brooded over the indignity. He waited for Thorwald.

* * * * *

Zera rode through the gates of Tul Tuin in the night. The sun cultists had brought some direction to the city’s guards; they challenged him for but a moment, until he set his brow aflame with his caste mark. The guards made way; some knelt and prayed, while others backed away in fear or awe. He gave them little notice, though their behavior still troubled him.

Hearing a ruckus down a side street, he turned aside from his path to the citadel. He found a mob on the edge of violence. Cultists roared and shouted at one another in the firelight. Some bore the sunburst of the sun cult, while others wore violet masks or the other sigils of the demon cult. No small few wore both.

“Hold!” Zera rode his horse into the midst of the crowd. His anima burst into flame, all gold and midnight blue, washing away the firelight and commanding the attention of all present. “What is happening?”

“We – Aaargh!” As a violet-masked leader turned to the Night Caste, a sun-cultist stabbed him. The man went down, clutching at his side where blood soaked through his robe.

The golden light blazed brighter with Zera’s fury. “This stops now!” he snarled, and the crowd backed away. Dismounting, he instructed the cultists to see to the wounded man’s injury. “Now, all of you, listen,” he snapped. “We will not tolerate this sort of thing any more. Your days of thuggery are over.”

“But, my lord!” said the sun-cultist with the bloody knife. “They’re heretics!”

“Heretics?” Zera eyed the man coldly. “I have an absolutely novel idea. Why don’t you let us worry about that?”

“They’re Violet Masks, lord!” The man pressed forward, astonished at his own impertinence in thus importuning one of his gods. “They will not listen. They are rabble, and they need to be destroyed!”

Zera shook his head in disgust. “For someone who purports to worship us, you sure don’t listen when we talk.” He turned, regarding the cultists that surrounded him, with their crude weapons and their uncertain faces. “You people disgust me. There’s probably an army coming to take what little you have, and you’re stabbing each other in the street.”

He lay down the law. There would be no more fighting. Furthermore, the cultists would be responsible for the actions of the other citizens of the city. The deeds of those others, the thieves and the thugs, the beggars and the whores, would be laid at their door. They would be their neighbors’ keepers, and if further troubles ensued, the blame would fall upon the cultists.

* * * * *

The Dynast chanted in the dim reaches of the cellars of the Tower of Winds. Once, this vaulted chamber had been a wine cellar; but in escaping from the Tower with Cessair’s heart, they had tricked Ledaal Vir into setting the place afire with his anima. Now it stank of smoke and ash; the racks and casks bore the black stains of fire, while shards of pottery and glass lay strewn among the crust of soot and evaporated wine.

Li of Orchid stood nearby. Dull golden light rolled from her unsheathed blades, outlining the darkness rather than illuminating it. She had stood there for hours, and would stand for hours more, until the ritual was complete.

Thuds and groans issued from the deeper doorway that led to the hidden places beneath the Tower. There, in the darkness, demons still lingered; they had come with Darien Tal and the demon cult to drive out Ledaal Vir, and they remained in the tunnels. None had yet cleared them out. And now, somehow scenting Aekino’s rite, they crawled upward, hooting and grunting in the demon tongue, toward the place where the sorcery was being performed.

A rank, animal stench trampled the smell of soot. Red eyes glared. And one by one, three shaggy ape-demons ambled through the deeper doorway, into the cellar.

Li twitched her blades upwards; they blazed brighter, carving the cellar into brilliance and shadow. The apes shrieked. Squinting, they pressed forward. And Tepet Aekino, distracted by the light and the noise, fumbled a syllable.

The lattice of Essence that whirled around him shivered. It cracked. Lances of actinic radiance shot in all directions. The air recoiled. And with a thunderous crash, the spell exploded in a wave of green and violet Essence that slammed the Dynast into the wall, where he slid to the ground in a bloody heap.

The swords named Radiance and Brilliance flashed through the air, scattering the shards of broken sorcery that came near Li of Orchid. She sidled towards the place where Aekino had fallen. And as she moved, the blood-apes approached, their eyes full of hunger.

The fight was bloody and brutal. The apes howled with physical force, their voices powerful enough to shatter stone, but the swordswoman dodged and parried those crushing screams with equal ease, just as she dodged the demons’ vicious claws. Her own swords cut deep gashes wherever they touched, severing one ape’s arm and wounding the others. But when one ape seized Aekino’s ankle and swung him at Li, and another picked up its severed arm and wielded it as a club, Li found that her skills were stretched to their limit. Soon she bled from several superficial wounds. The apes continued to press her; they moved with blinding speed, striking with claws, bottles and shelves, and they used the fallen Dynast as both weapon and shield.

Nonetheless, Li of Orchid prevailed. After all, they were but three lesser demons, and she a Dawn Chosen of the Sun. One demon fell at her feet; the other two turned immaterial and fled, one to stagger and die, the other escaping into the depths of the hidden cellars. And Li of Orchid sank to the floor, exhausted and bleeding from many wounds, where she lay until Zera Thisse found her.

* * * * *

Thorwald arrived in the town of Idris. There, among the crowded streets, he found his way to the low, sprawling palace of Cessair. Guards met him at the gate, led by the massive noble Erlend, who sneered, “Thorwald of Stonehold, I believe? I’d say it was good to see you, only that would be a lie. But you’re expected.”

Cessair lounged upon the throne that once was her daughter’s. The faerie noble Orlàm stood at her side, one thin hand resting upon the back of the throne. Wolf-headed faerie warriors flanked her; courtiers lined the hall, along with a handful of her generals, such as the leering former bandit No-Nose Chou, a gleaming silver nose pinned to his scarred face. Notably, Cessair’s daughter Idris was not present. Beneath the queen’s throne, Fetek watched in the form of a mouse.

The queen and the Zenith greeted one another. As always, Thorwald gritted his teeth against the wave of raw desire that spilled from the Fair Folk queen. “Do you know why I am here, Queen of Idris?” he demanded.

“Tell me,” she smiled.

“I am here to tell you in words, in flesh, not on paper, that the demon is driven away, and that Tul Tuin is free.”

“I thank you for your courtesy.”

“The fact that I am here is some indication of how importance your presence is. I bear no love for your kind. But that is in the past.”

The queen arched a perfect eyebrow. “Is it?”

“Insofar as I have a duty,” he grunted, “it is.”

The lady Idris made her entrance at that point, accompanied by a handful of loyal courtiers. Her pale hair swirled like storm clouds. She curtly made her obeisance. “I heard we had a guest,” she observed then. “I would know why Thorwald of Stonehold returns to us.”

“I am here to deal with you honestly,” he said. “Though my companions would wish for me to hold this back, I tell it to you now. You have an army. There is word that Ledaal Vir has an army. You both want Tul Tuin. We cannot let the two of you war against each other, so you must come to peace. That is why I am here. I am the only one who can bear this message, because I am also Blessed Wind, ruler of Tul Tuin. Do you understand now, Queen of Idris?”

“You claim the city for yourself?” asked Cessair.

“Once I ruled in that place. I have memories of living there. But I tell you this: if you make peace, I will swear an oath to forego all rights to the city, and I will leave. But only if you make peace. You must realize that you can’t fight. Kaihan is to the north, and Longcorner to the south; they will crush whoever wins your battle.” He shrugged. “We will fight whoever disrupts this region, either you or Vir. The way I see it, you must settle your differences. It is well that you know this before you go to the summit. I am willing to negotiate, but I need gestures of good faith.”

“Oh?”

“First, you have something of mine. When Zera Thisse came to you, he wore an iron necklace. Return it to me, and I will appreciate it. I will not wear it in your presence.”

She regarded the Zenith curiously. What a sentimental creature he appeared to be! “We shall see if it can be found.” When he nodded, she continued: “Return to your companions. Tell them that we shall come to their meeting. We shall talk in ten days. Or, if you prefer, we shall send them a message bird, and you may remain here and enjoy our hospitality.”

Once again, Thorwald felt the awesome force of her desirability. He clenched his jaw. “I cannot.”

“May I make a suggestion?” said Idris. She stepped forward, drawing all attention. “Mother, you are an important figure in this kingdom. Would it not be appropriate for us to have someone as worthy, such as Thorwald himself, to remain here to assure your safety?”

“My dear daughter,” replied Cessair condescendingly, “we would not take him hostage.”

“I will stay, under certain conditions,” said Thorwald.

“Conditions, conditions. How tiresome. What do you want?”

“These are my conditions, and not my Circle’s,” he answered. “When peace is made, control of Idris must return to your daughter Idris. If peace is made, you are not to interfere with the city of Brinlack. It has sentimental value to me; it was founded by someone important to me. I wish it to still remind me of her.” He paused. “I offer much. I offer to forego all claims to Tul Tuin, now and forever, and to never return. This should be more than enough, since it will reunite you with your husband.”

A catlike smile crept across the queen’s face. “Your friends wish to negotiate?”

“Yes.”

“Then we will discuss the matter then. I am sure you would not wish to make decisions on behalf of your fellows. Good day, sir.”

He blinked owlishly. “This is a fair offer.”

“I said good day.”

* * * * *

Days passed. Thorwald eventually unearthed his necklace from a midden pit, and returned to Tul Tuin in the company of Fetek. Tepet Aekino and Li of Orchid recovered from their injuries. Fetek explored the cellars beneath the place where Amalion once stood, drawing forth merchant’s wealth and dark wonders that he secreted in the cellars of the Brinlack Manse. Messages passed back and forth between Tul Tuin and Iron Tower, negotiating terms for the summit. The cultists began the arduous process of rebuilding the city. And a glittering golden airship drifted across the sky, watching and waiting.

Finally, after two strained weeks, the embassies from Iron Tower and Idris arrived. Each brought only ten aides with them, in accordance with the terms of the summit. Ledaal Vir brought only his closest advisors, the general Shield Willow and the astrologer Ikari, along with eight Dragon-Blooded officers. Cessair brought her daughter Idris, her consort Orlàm, her children Tanith and Martin, and six Fair Folk warriors. Both, of course, left sizable contingents of soldiers just outside the city walls, in readiness should they be needed.

They met in a chamber within the Tower of Winds. The parties sat at opposite ends of a long mahogany table, regarding one another with wary caution. Between them sat Tepet Aekino as mediator, garbed all in silk and precious stones, armed with no more than a jeweled fan painted with an image of the Imperial Mountain. At his left hand, Fetek Breath-of-Midnight gleamed in moonsilver armor. At his right, Li of Orchid stood like stone, her arms folded, the sword named Burning Tiger looming upon her back. On the far side of the room, Thorwald of Stonehold watched from beneath shaggy brows as he leaned upon his pear-blossom daiklave.

The preliminaries wore on through the morning. Intricate introductions wove through air warmed by a blazing hearth. Servants drifted this way and that, bearing food and drink to the participants. Some time after noon, the last empty words of the welcoming rites were spoken. The meeting began.

“I am very pleased that you have come so far, and that you have deemed it important enough to engage in reasoned discourse.” Jewels glittered upon Aekino’s fingers and in his hair as he stood before the conclave. “Before we go further, I would like to hear what each of you desire from these talks. If I may begin with the lady? Queen Cessair.”

She ignored Aekino. “Hello, Vir.” Her smile gleamed like sunlight on winter ice.

“Cessair.” The prince’s voice remained guarded.

“It is a pleasure to see you again. It has been some time since your last visit.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“You should never be too busy to visit your loving wife,” she replied. “Pent, kept behind bars. But then, you were always busy.”

He frowned. “There will be time for this in a more private venue. I believe our… host… asked you a question.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Aekino offered the queen a self-satisfied smile. “My lady?”

“You ask what I want?” She turned to the prince, whom she regarded through lowered lashes. “I want my city back that you took from me. I want my children back that you took from me. Perhaps other things that we might discuss in private. But that should do for now.”

Vir sighed. “You will forgive my reluctance to even be here,” he replied, directing his comments to Tepet Aekino. “You usurp the city I ruled, then invite me to a summit to negotiate for its return? Your presumption astounds me. But I am weary of bloodshed. I, too, have a vested interest in returning –”

“As consort,” interrupted Cessair.

“And what will keep you from attempting to unseat me, as you did before?”

“As long as you keep to your role as consort, there will be no difficulty.”

Aekino gestured for attention. “With all due respect, I must point out that neither of you is in any position to offer the city to the other. It is in our hands, not yours. And I must take exception to your remarks. It is not we who usurped the city, but other, more unsavory elements. We returned here to restore order, in which respect we have been somewhat successful. But our primary interest is in the stability of this region. You are both powers here. We ask that you use your influence in order to minimize the ill effects of these circumstances.”

“One messenger to the Blessed Isle,” said the Dragon-Blooded prince, “would bring me legions and the Wyld Hunt. Why should I not send that messenger?”

“You are bluffing. You have already brought your legions here, and the Wyld Hunt is surely en route, if they are not yet present and waiting to strike.”

“Then, true or not, you know that I have many troops at my disposal.”

“We would break your power,” rumbled the heretofore-silent Thorwald. “And even if you were successful, you would be replaced by forces from the Blessed Isle.”

“Well, then.” The prince’s mouth was drawn into a thin line. “What do you want here? You come to this region, you release my wife and other annoyances. This place was prosperous before you came.”

“They have what they came for,” observed the faerie queen.

“Oh?” Aekino raised an irritable eyebrow.

“You and your companions have a number of objects of power that were not in your possession before your arrival. They were taken, I presume, from the Tomb of the Anathema and other sites in this region.”

“That is immaterial.” He coughed. “And besides, not the reason why we are here.”

“Why, then?”

“If I may be frank, we were directed here by the Unconquered Sun. This was a place where we might learn the most about ourselves.”

“Gods?” Cessair rolled her eyes. “How tedious.”

“The future is what is most important now. If there is anything we may do to make up whatever rash or ill-considered actions we may have taken, we will do it,” stated the Twilight.

Ledaal Vir leaned forward. “Forgive my temerity,” he said bluntly, “but you slaughtered a hundred of my men at the tomb. The families of those men will never see them again. I have a condition. When we decide who the ruler of Tul Tuin will be, you will leave. I will not call for the legions or the Wyld Hunt. But you will leave, and never come back.”

“I will agree, and I will go further. In order to prove our good will, we will do this: in this region there are other demons that, forgive my temerity as I have forgiven yours, you cannot destroy. We will destroy them, as we have always intended to. In addition, you will make it clear to any who ask that my family is in no way responsible for the actions I have taken.”

“That is clear enough,” Vir replied. “Even you are not even responsible for what you have become.”

“That is… very generous of you.”

The prince nodded. “Now,” he observed, “since you claim that you do not wish to rule Tul Tuin, then it falls to my wife and I to determine the future rule of the city. I request that we may discuss the matter in private.”

“Arrangements have already been made. I offer my services as a mediator – ”

Vir waved him off. “That is unnecessary.” Cessair nodded in agreement.

“I will offer my services,” interjected Thorwald, “in the following way. If either of you harms the other, the survivor will feel my wrath.”

* * * * *

Vir and Cessair conferred alone, behind closed doors, for all that day and night. Their attendants muttered quietly, each camp eyeing the other with varying degrees of distrust and distaste. Many private discussions ensued.

The retired officer Ledaal Goren approached the Circle. He greeted Li and Thorwald with the wary respect due a dangerous opponent; they returned his greetings in kind.

“Please, sit,” said Tepet Aekino.

Goren stood. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you this,” he said, frowning. “But… well, I’ve been a soldier too long, seen too much, to put much stock in the Order. But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe part of it. I may respect you, but that won’t stay my hand if you remain here.” He glanced toward the window, where dark clouds rolled across the afternoon sky. “A Wyld Hunt is coming. A real one. If your intentions are as good as you claim, then… do what you must, and then leave.”

“Thank you for your warning.”

“That is all I have to say.” Goren nodded curtly, turned, and walked out. This is for the best, he told himself. If the Hunt catches them here, there will be too many civilian casualties. Better to fight them in the wild. What else can we hope for?

* * * * *

The summit reconvened the next day. Certitude lay like a blanket over the company, waiting to be drawn aside. The usual social rituals were perfunctorily performed. Then Vir spoke.

“My wife and I have reached an accord,” the prince stated sourly. “We will mutually assume the rulership of Tul Tuin; I shall manage the city under her supervision.” He eyed the Solars and their glittering blades. “Is there anything else that you wish to add?”

Thorwald stepped forward. He had a long list. “In the spot where the demon building stood, there is a hollow. Build a shrine there in honor of the city. A monument.”

Vir nodded, seeing no reason to disagree. “What’s one more shrine?” asked Cessair.

“The city of Brinlack has sentimental value to me. I would prefer that it remain untouched.”

“That makes little difference from the previous state of affairs,” Vir observed.

“Finally, Idris must return to Idris. She will swear fealty to you, but the city must be hers.”

Vir glanced at his estranged wife. “She’s your daughter.”

“I have no further use for that place,” said Cessair. “It is hers.”

Thorwald nodded sharply. “Very well then. I, who was once Blessed Wind, forgo all claim to Tul Tuin, from now until the end of time.”

Vir stood then, resplendent in scarlet silk and green jade. “Agreed. You will be given horses and provisions. Hunt your demons, quickly. Then a legion of my men –”

“Our men,” Cessair interrupted languidly.

“Yes. Our men will follow you to our borders, to ensure your swift departure. You will leave these lands and never return.”

Aekino muttered something about reincarnation and the applicability of such an agreement to his reborn spirit, but ceded the point.

“In addition, I have one non-negotiable condition,” said Vir. “You killed many of my men. In the North, they have a custom called ‘weregild.’ I demand payment for those who died at the tomb.”

“We buried those men,” grumbled Thorwald. “I consigned their souls to the Unconquered Sun. They are at rest. I swear it.”

“That is all well and good, but it does not feed their families.”

“We do not agree with this condition,” snapped Aekino. “And in any case, we have not the wealth to fulfill it.”

Cessair smiled mischievously. “Are those not rubies on your fingers, Tepet Aekino? Is that bracelet not silver, nor that necklace gold? And do I not see the gleam of jade amidst your hair?”

Aekino sputtered furiously. A scarlet flush crept up his neck as he tried to wiggle out of the trap.

“This is not Aekino’s fault.” One of the servants stepped forward, features shifting to reveal the face of Zera Thisse. “He had little to do with what happened at the tomb. I cannot countenance what happened there… I will pay that price.”

“There is another solution,” murmured Aekino. “Darien Tal was a merchant of great wealth. Were the remains of his estate to be seized, they should more than cover the price.”

Vir sighed, his patience frayed. “I don’t care where it comes from. That will be fine. See to your demon hunting business.”

“At this point, I must submit that Ledaal Martin is free to accompany me, if he wishes,” noted Aekino. The young Dragon-Touched glanced at him in surprise; he blushed.

Vir shrugged. “I don’t like it, but he’s a man. He can make his own choices.”

“Very well, then.” Aekino stood and bowed to the dragon-blooded prince and the faerie queen. “We will be about our business. We are very satisfied that we were able to mitigate, in some degree, the damage that was done. Your Highness, Your Majesty, rule well and wisely.”

“This has been quite droll,” mused Cessair. “Zera Thisse, perhaps you might accompany me for an hour or two, while your companions prepare their departure?”

Vir shook his head. “My lady wife. I am sitting right here.”

Zera reddened. His comrades laughed at his discomfort. And then, carefully, they gathered up their few possessions and made their way out of the Tower of Winds. The sun shone down on the tower, a pale blue spike rising from the stone, the city buildings strewn like salt below. The river wound past green hills and swamps and empty fields, flowing to the Yellow River, the Yanaze, and the distant sea.

The Solars had returned. The world waited for them.