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Hamanu opened his mouth and closed it again. He was a proud man, but throughout his long life he'd cherished nothing... nothing after Dorean. He hadn't died, so he'd lived from one day to the next until Rajaat had made him a champion. As a champion, he'd won a terrible war and governed a mighty city and become the Dragon of Urik. As a dragon, he'd entombed himself in stone beneath a lava lake, and there recollected his entire life more times than he cared to count. He knew in the depths of his being that he cherished nothing.
Yet the Lion-King, the guardian of Urik, had spoken the truth, and Hamanu couldn't argue with the truth. Once again he studied his own mortal hand.
"How long?" he asked.
"A thousand years in the stone," the guardian replied. "A thousand years to understand yourself."
"A thousand years to scrape off Rajaat's curse," Hamanu countered. "A thousand years to return to the beginning, to Urik. Does my city endure?"
"Your city! Have you learned nothing, Manu? Will you go back into the stone for another thousand years?"
"A thousand years or ten thousand. What difference would it make? Regret won't change my memories; punishment won't, either. What I did cannot be undone. Leave me in the stone beside Windreaver until the sun and the wind scour our cursed bones—but answer my question: Does my city, endure?"
The guardian threw back his lion's head and laughed. "My city, Manu, my city! It was never yours. No man—not even a cursed and immortal champion—can possess a city."
Hamanu was mortal again, with no more power than he'd had long ago when he'd faced Myron Troll-Scorcher on the dusty plain. He faced the guardian as he'd faced the Troll-Scorcher, armed with only his quick intelligence and stubbornness.
"My city, because I gave it its shape. I gave it its strength to stand against what Athas had become, against what Rajaat had done through me and the others. My city, because without me you'd be the guardian spirit of an underground lake. I gave you my shape, my strength. You are me and Urik is my city." The guardian ceased laughing. He bared the Lion-King's fangs. His sulphur eyes seethed, then quieted. "You talk too much, Manu. That mouth of yours will get you killed... eventually. Our city, Manu. Our city endures. Look into the light, and see what Urik has become."
"Pass through, Manu," the guardian commanded. "There is nothing more for you to do in this world. Your destiny was fulfilled: Urik survives. Urik will survive."
He was free. After a thousand years of life and a thousand years in the stone, Hamanu had come to the end of his path. He was free to walk into the light.
There was music: a reed pipe melody. There was a woman to welcome him.
And, further on, they found a waterfall.
