The Realms of the Gods (29 page)

—Stand back,—
warned Diamondflame. He opened his great wings, and took flight.

EPILOGUE

When they glided out of the clouds, Port Legann lay below. On the sea, a few ships still burned. Yamani vessels herded those they had captured into the reopened harbor. All around the city the land was tattered, scorched, and frayed. Everywhere lay the dead. Groups roamed the battlefields, gathering the wounded and the dead, giving the death stroke to dying animals, or scavenging weapons and valuables.

On level ground before the north gate, tables had been placed. On one side, Daine saw enemy leaders—nobles of the Copper Isles, Carthaki renegades—well guarded by royal troops. Opposite them were King Jonathan, reunited and handfast with Queen Thayet, Lord Imrah, the Yamani admiral who had commanded the ten ships that had mopped up the enemy fleet, Onua and her big dog Tahoi, and the mage Harailt. Papers were strewn over the wooden tables, and scribes stood
by, heating wax for the seals that would be fixed to each document.

Close by his monarchs, Sir Raoul was perched on a camp stool. A healer examined deep cuts in his scalp and left arm as the big knight tried not to flinch. In the distance, Daine saw her Rider friend Evin and Sarge helping to lift the wounded into wagons that would carry them into the city.

Diamondflame landed on a clear space in the battlefield, Wingstar behind him. Freed of her grandfather's hold, Kitten trotted around to his side, whistling and clucking. Daine looked where her dragonet pointed, and saw a tall, thin, reptilian creature race toward them from the north gate, his tail draped like a train over one long arm. Hard on his heels galloped her small, shaggy gray pony. A broken rope that trailed behind Cloud showed how she had managed to get out of the stables, where she'd stayed since Daine first came to Legann.

Tkaa halted and nodded to the dragons as Daine put her bow and quiver on a nearby tree stump. That done, she threw her arms around Cloud's neck. In mind speech she told the mare everything that had happened, while Cloud lipped her sleeve.

I'm glad you came back, the mare said when she was done. I don't have the patience to train a new rider anymore.

Daine laughed, and straightened. “You
never
had patience with any rider,
including
me!”

Tahoi beat Onua in the run to greet them. Rearing on his hind legs, the dog planted his paws on Daine's shoulders and proceeded to wash her face.

“No—no, Tahoi, that's sweet, but really, I'm practically almost clean!” Holding his paws, Daine backed the dog up until he said that he would be good and not wash her. She released him. He lunged, ran his tongue from her chin to her forehead, then sat, tail pounding the dry earth.

“Very funny,” muttered Daine, and wiped her face.

Onua gave her a quick, tight hug. “Ozorne?” she asked, examining the girl for any sign of injury.

“Dead,” replied Daine, flushing at the memory. “Just as dead as I could make him without dragging him before the Black God myself. Numair?”

“No one knows,” was the quiet reply. “The magic-sign of his duel with Hadensra vanished a while back, but no one's had a chance to go that way to check on him. What in the name of the Goddess happened? There was a—a sound, and the next instant, at least half of the immortals disappeared from the battlefield. Just—vanished!”

“It's a long story,” Daine told her friend. “Ask Big Blue to tell it to you.” She pointed to Diamondflame, then grabbed her skirt with one hand and mounted Cloud. “I'm going after Numair.”

—Big Blue?—
echoed Kitten's grandfather.
—Hm. An interesting nickname.—

Onua grabbed Cloud's mane, and was almost bitten for her pains. “Daine, there may be enemy soldiers out that way, still. Wait for a cleanup squad—”

Without needing a word from Daine, Cloud walked over to the tree stump. Daine grabbed her father's bow and quiver, and smiled at the K'mir. “It isn't me who has to be wary of them,” she said gently. “They'd best be afraid of
me.”
She nudged Cloud, who set off at a trot.

She was glad that her mare knew where she wanted to go. Exhaustion, banished temporarily while she wore Gainel's coat, was gnawing at her. She prayed that her words to Onua weren't vainglory, and that she'd be able to use her bow if necessary. It would be too embarrassing to have survived all this, only to be cut down by a straggler determined to make one last kill before he surrendered or escaped.

Watching where she placed her hooves, Cloud picked her way through bodies and equipment for war.
The giant wooden barriers made to deter jumping horses had been pulled aside, opening gaps in their line. Pony and rider passed the wooden towers, now black and crumbling after their encounter with dragonfire, and rode through a break in the low earthen wall.

The ground sloped, leading to the camp beside the river. Here the destruction was complete. Tents and goods had been destroyed, burned, or stolen. The bodies of those who had defended, not run, lay everywhere.

The red-and-black globe of magics had not come from the camp, but from upriver. Daine gripped trembling hands in Cloud's mane and prayed as they turned right, following the water east.

Deep gashes were torn from the earth. The shallow river was half blocked by stones and what looked like a yard-long bank of earth-colored glass. Already the water was carving a new path around the obstruction. Steam drifted in the hollows under the trees.

“Whoever you are, if you're here to kill me, you'll need to do it while I remain prone,” a familiar voice said nearby. “Have the decency to be quick about it, so I can get back to my rest.”

Daine tumbled off Cloud's back, trying to see where he was. “What I've got in mind isn't near so quick as killing!”

There was a long silence; her heart twisted within her chest. Then she heard a cracked whisper:
“Daine?”
Under the long, drooping branches of a nearby willow, a dark figure lurched to its feet.

She ran to Numair, slamming into him with enough force to drive him back against the willow's trunk. “That
hurt,
” he gasped. Before she could apologize, he was kissing her nose, her cheeks, her forehead, her lips. She kissed him back. They came up for air, then kissed again, their hands checking each other's bodies, for serious injury as well as simply for the joy of touch.

They came up for air several more times before they
had calmed down enough to let each other go—although Numair kept his grip on Daine's hands. “Will you marry me?”

She grinned up at him. “Maybe someday,” she replied, eyes dancing. “But only if you're very, very good.”

“What if I'm very, very bad?” he whispered, the heat in his voice making her shiver agreeably. He gathered her into his arms and eased his mouth over hers, caressing her lips with his, teasing, until all she could do was hang in his grip.

“Still maybe someday,” she replied finally, when she could do more than simply gasp. “But you're welcome to try and convince me to make it sooner.”

This is as lovely as colts frisking in the sun, Cloud remarked from outside the screen of willow branches, but you're going to have company. Kitten is bringing Tkaa and Onua here.

Daine giggled and told Numair what the pony had said.

“Then by all means, let us totter down to meet them,” said the man with a sigh. “I will resume persuading you in regard to matrimony at another time, when we've rested, and eaten, and had baths.”

Daine slung his arm around her shoulders. She was tired, but she could feel him trembling as well. From the grayness of his skin, his battle had cost him a great deal. “So that Inar Hadensra was a hard fight?”

Numair dug his free hand into his shirt pocket and produced a ruby globe: the dead mage's eye. “The hardest. I believe I'll retire and return to juggling for a living.” He tossed the ruby into the river. “I could support us with juggling, if you were to marry me.”

“We'll see,” she said.

“I take it Uusoae was acting through Ozorne?” Numair asked quietly.

Daine nodded. “I'll tell you all of it later. It will take a bit of telling.”

There were Stormwings overhead. They descended from behind the cover of the clouds in a spiraling pattern, feathers blazing where they reflected the sun. By the time Tkaa, Kitten, Onua, and Tahoi met Daine and Numair and brought them to the north gate of Port Legann, the Stormwings were at work on the bodies of the fallen. Watching them from a distance, Daine realized that it might be just as well if she told only a few, trusted friends that she had spoken for the Stormwings' right to stay in the mortal realms. Somehow, she had the idea that not everyone would understand.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

When I complete a series, I like to thank all those who assisted me in some fashion. With
The Immortals,
I had a great deal of help from general reference and wildlife sources. While I have thanked some persons or groups in the book for which I most needed their help, I would like to thank them again, so they know the debt I owe them, but also so that anyone who also has an interest in these areas can find them. My heartfelt thanks to:

Subscribers to
two
computer networks, including but not limited to CompuServe's Pacific Forum, Members of the Australia Section, particularly Douglas Dow, who gave me invaluable tips on duckmole (platypus) lore; Barbara Delaplace, CompuServe's Science Fiction Literature forum, who has given me sound advice on professional matters.

America Online: the KMart Shoppers, particularly
MaxEntropy for her extra assistance with duckmole information; Steven and Lisa Dawson for the loan of their imperious orange-marmalade cat; Virginia Caputo, who helped me to find a different name for platypi and named Broad Foot; also, KO Gen and the KO staff, Guides and kids of America Online's Kids Only, where I have found such friendship, warmth, community, advice, enthusiasm, and input as I never would have expected to come from a computer. {{{{{Gen & Co.}}}}}

Richard McCaffery Robinson, for his valued critical comments, his eleventh-hour naval and plot pointers, and his way of cheering up woebegone persons under deadline: Our friendship alone is worth every penny I pay to CompuServe!

Ellen Harris, who would be very happy to do a Daine doll.

Cat Yampell, for her enthusiasm, moral support, and her own wonderfully wacky writing—I hope she gets the recognition that she deserves.

Ms. Vivian Ellner and the kids of U.N.I.S., who have invited me to read for their book fair three years in a row.

Tas Schlabach, who helped set Daine's feet on the path of the horse-hearted.

My foreign editors, agents, and publishers, who have kept me afloat: in the United Kingdom, Jacqueline Korn and the staff of David Higham Associates, and Julia Moffatt and David Fickling at Scholastic Children's Books (and David Wyatt, who does most cool covers!); in Europe, Ruth Weibel and Liepman AG, which has been tireless on my behalf, and Barbara Küper, my editor at Arena Verlag, her staff, and Arena's dedicated translators.

Robert E. J. Cripps, Celtic Wolf Medieval and Renaissance Style Crossbows, for making me look at crossbows in an entirely new light.

The wildlife researchers and experts whose work I
relied on for insights, ideas, and research, and whose efforts to preserve wildlife deserve aid and applause across the world: L. David Mech, researcher and writer on wolves; Farley Mowat, the author of
Never Cry Wolf
; Marty Stouffer and his
Wild America
television series; The Nature Conservancy; the National Wildlife Federation; NYSZ The Wildlife Conservation Society; Sir David Attenborough, whose many programs and books on nature changed the way I looked at it; and the International Wolf Center of Ely, Minnesota, which tries to make it possible for future generations to hear pack-song.

Friends whose contributions are intangible but vital all the same, including Amelia and Molly Bonnett, who I got to meet at last; Nikki Johnson, who went from fan to friend; Kelly Riggio, whom I think of far more than my rare letters would lead her to believe; Iris Mori, because
Benkyo ni narimashita
(It's been educational, literally!); Heather Mars, who's earned a much deserved degree after wading through quanta, vectors, and m-m-m-math; Stacy Norris, who is never afraid to speak her mind; and my inspirational helper, Andy Foley, who has made me laugh (on purpose) at times when I could use a laugh.