THIRTY
FOR THE SECOND time in as many moons, a shroud of death hung over Faerwyn-Joss. Once again, a rigan and pentarch had fallen. Yet this time there was no ceremony, no lengthy turns of bereavement for all to witness and serve as an aid in the assuagement of grief. Ashara, now riganna and pentarcha—the first of her kind—would not permit it.
They delivered the body of Shaan Sid unto the winds, as they had his father before him. The flames burned through the night and were glowing ash with the coming dawn.
Ashara then set herself within a self-imposed cloister lasting two turns. Not even Ryder could break through the barrier of Adepts guarding her sanctuary. When she emerged to face all those friends and family who had remained, they saw a grimness of purpose that made them wary. They were not sure whether to laud her return or be fearful.
They relaxed and sighed as they saw her wan smile of greeting. As she sat with them, she clasped the hand of Ryder Talisman for all to see, as though she would draw from his strength. She then gathered them all within her gaze.
“Please, tell me what has happened in my absence.”
“Little or nothing,” the Pat’Riark replied bitterly. “Though I have denounced him, they have laid no charges against Zel. The primus has not summoned the council. Even the Sword Brotherhood is silent, as though the Adepts are bereft of their voices.”
“It is a hard thing to prove…” Roland began, but the Pat’Riark cut him off.
“Proof be damned! A blind man could see what took place upon the sands of the Korda! Could you not feel the wrongness?”
Shaka sat beside his brother, and next to him was Thorgrim. All lowered their eyes, unable or unwilling to argue further.
“It is difficult for a father to denounce his son,” Niobe stated soberly, “even when there is more than sufficient cause.”
Fortunatus cast her a sharp glance, as though he had heard a hidden meaning behind the statement.
“There is only one other who might speak out,” Mendiko observed. “Ulric…”
“That time has passed!” Fortunatus grated. “Let him remember his silence as he battles the specter of death on his heels.”
“Do not blame Ulric,” Ryder admonished. “Blame the Code you created and lived by. You believed it infallible, an entity of the purest fiber, untouchable and unchallengeable. Yet how could it ever be so when men themselves are not? Zel is the living proof of your mistake. Ulric remains a man of honor—even though a silent one.”
Each of them regarded him with newfound respect, and there was a subtle shifting of the mantle of leadership. The Pat’Riark’s face was grim as he sat brooding, mired in the turmoil of his thoughts. And foremost among them would be guilt that he had not been in time to stop the tragedy.
“What will you do now?” Reed Brynn-Jago asked Ashara.
She was slow to answer. “I am still bound by my vow…”
“You would bind yourself to the slayer of your brother?” Mendiko asked in disbelief.
“No,” Ryder answered grimly. “There is only one answer. Only one solution.”
Ashara laid her hand over his and shook her head. “Not only one. These last turns in seclusion have given me another and better answer.”
They watched her as she stood, drawing Ryder up with her. “Forgive me, my friends. I will walk with the man I have chosen.”
They drew apart, leaving the others muttering in their wake. She led him outside the castle and down to the seashore. They followed the rock-strewn curve of the land without speaking, intent only on their passage. An hour and more they traveled, coming finally to Brynn-Jurish, the gate of heaven. There she paused at last. Around them was a feeling of lonely emptiness. A light breath of smoke still lingered on the wind.
“Here I bid goodbye to my father and brother. This is a fit place for what I must do. A part of them is still here, for I can feel the touch of their spirits.”
He felt the tightening of her hand in his. Even more, he felt her sorrow. There was an ache in him: the impotence of not knowing how to help.
“Why did you bring me here?” he asked. When she did not reply at once, he turned her to face him. “What other way can there be apart from confronting him with a challenge, even though it means going against the Code?”
She regarded him levelly. The breeze had loosened her hair, and it billowed around her face and shoulders. She shrugged off her cloak, letting it fall to the sand. She wore nothing save a simple shift of light cotton, now molded to the fullness of her body. Each curve showed in detail, and the tips of her unbound breasts strained the fabric.
“By the old law I must go to him unsoiled—a virgin still. Yet I swore no oath to this. Take me now, Ryder Talisman. Make me yours alone.”
He could not move…could not even breathe. In that moment of hesitation, he saw the first shadow of doubt rise in her eyes. He reached out, dragging her to him, crushing her with the strength of his need. His voice was a low and husky groan in her ear.
“I love you more than life itself.”
They fell upon the sand. The silken feel of her, the taste and smell of her brought forth a wildness in him that was almost savage. He thrust into her, feeling the delicious warmth, watching her eyes grow round and huge with the shock of it, hearing her loud cry of astonishment at first. Then more cries that quickly changed to joy as he moved within her, calling forth a wild abandonment equaling his. She raced with him, pushing and pulling him to the height. They both came crashing down; only to begin again, and again, until the long shadows came at last to halt them.
But they did not return just then. They lit a fire and snuggled within its warmth, holding each other with a tenderness that was the softer hue of passion. And they listened to the wind and the soft crashing of the waves, secure beneath their cloaks.
At last, they were completely and utterly one.