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One of the husbands snarled. ‘We’ve been heeding her all the way here, Hanako Cuckolder! Now it is up to her to follow us or not! Into death’s realm I say! Husbands, are you with me?’
The other two Thel Akai both nodded, though fear was writ plain on their faces.
‘Tathenal, are you mad?’ Lasa Rook was near tears, her face reddening. ‘It was just a game!’
‘But this isn’t!’ Tathenal retorted.
Haut saw Hood say something to Gethol, who nodded and walked away, out from the press surrounding Hood and his frozen fire.
And in that moment, he knew the time had indeed arrived. Eyes filling with tears, he looked to Hood. Goodbye, Korya Delathe. Until we meet again, as indeed we shall. Let this moment end. But no ending will find—
* * *
‘Arathan!’
Drawing his cloak tighter against the chill outside Gothos’s tower, he turned to see Korya approaching with a Dog-Runner youth half a step behind her.
The night seemed impossibly dark, but a wind had risen, sweeping in from the sea to the west. The acrid bite of salt flats rode each gust. ‘Ah,’ said Arathan, ‘this must be the one with the blue eyes and freckles on his arms.’
Scowling, Korya said, ‘He is named Ifayle.’
The Dog-Runner bowed, and then smiled. ‘Arathan, son of Draconus, I have heard much of you.’
‘He’s coming with us,’ Korya pronounced.
‘Yet another protector,’ Arathan replied, ‘making my presence even more irrelevant.’ He turned from them both. ‘I am going with Hood. Not even Gothos can stop me.’
‘Arathan—’
Waving dismissively behind him, he set out for the camp, the wind slapping at his back, and now he tasted salty rain on its swirling breath. Looking for the moon, he found it gone from the sky, and only a thin swath of stars was visible, above the east horizon, as clouds massed above him.
A miserable dawn was in the offing, though the paling of the east was still a bell or so away.
Emerging from the ragged edge of the abandoned city, he looked out upon the vast camp, its huddled hide tents and makeshift shelters, its scattering of cookfires dying now in the depths of the night. For once, it seemed the turning weather had driven everyone into their hovels, for he saw no one.
He continued on, seeking the singular, isolated pale star that was Hood’s strange fire. There would be Jaghut gathered round that, no matter how foul the weather. And yet, as he drew nearer, he saw no one but a lone standing figure, his back to Arathan.
Hood?
Hearing his approach, the figure turned.
There were streaks upon Gethol’s seamed, hollowed cheeks. Seeing Arathan, he said, ‘They are gone.’
What? ‘No, they can’t be!’
‘You were never meant for this, Arathan. Gotho
s has relinquished you to my care. I will guard you home,’ he said, and then with a nod behind Arathan, ‘and these two, as well.’
Turning, Arathan saw that Korya and Ifayle had followed. He advanced on her. ‘You knew!’
‘I felt them leave, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Leave? Leave where? They left … everything!’
She shrugged. ‘No point taking it with them, I suppose.’
Now Ifayle was weeping as well, but this did nothing to soften Arathan’s hard anger, his sense of betrayal.
