Epilogue

Thraxis built the kurgan himself, allowing no other to help him. Magic caused the earth to gape open in a chamber, where the sleeper was laid to rest in a cart lined with felt. Timbers from the fallen tower made a roof for the smooth-sided hole, and stones from the same source covered it over in a high mound. Finally, he laid the earth from the chamber over the stones and caused grass to grow from it, so that the kurgan became a beautiful green hill spangled with wildflowers. When he was done at last, he went and lay facedown on the tomb for a while, as if communicating silently with the sleeper below. The clans that had gathered in awe at his work gradually dispersed, going back to their camps, muttering and shaking their heads. Their world was in upheaval, and most of them probably hoped that this was the last display of magic they ever saw. They were kingless now, and many of the clans held deep grudges against one another, depending on whose side they had taken at the last. It would be a very long time before they trusted one another again.

Eventually, Thraxis rose up from the ground and walked down the hill. The wind blew back his traveling robe, spreading it behind him like raven wings. His demeanor was solemn, but his yellow eyes were at peace.

"Do you think that will hold him?” Arrow asked doubtfully when he drew abreast of her. He slipped one arm around her shoulders and kissed her. “It should. Almost all of Balthazar's power came from the doyan'si. With both stones destroyed, he wouldn't be able to overcome the protections around the kurgan even if he was conscious. So for now he will sleep, until the light of the sun once again touches his face. As I've put all sorts of defenses around the chamber to keep grave-robbers and the like out, that shouldn't happen until after the kurgan itself has worn away with time."

"By the time he wakes, all the world might have changed,” Arrow pointed out. “I think I would rather die than be left alone in a time when everyone I ever knew has been dead for centuries." Thraxis sighed and gently tightened his grip around her shoulders. “I know. But it was the only thing I could think to do. I couldn't kill him, and I didn't feel comfortable leaving him free to do mischief. Although his native power was small for an Athraskani, it would be more than enough to awe most humans, and I didn't want to show mercy only to discover five years later that he had made himself a petty dictator somewhere. Leaving him to slumber in the kurgan, untouched by time or the elements, seemed the best solution."

"I'm not objecting.” She glanced up at him. “Everyone was very impressed by your display of magic." His mouth twisted wryly. “Then they are easily impressed."

But they aren't, she thought. Studying his ascetic features, she felt touched again by wonder. During all the time she had known him, he had been denied access to his magic, and she had grown used to thinking of him as someone much like her in many ways—more power than most people, but nothing compared to that wielded by Balthazar or even Viabold. But now—now she understood what they meant when they called him the greatest of the Athraskani.

When she had mounted the spectral stag, her body had been dead, heart and lung pierced by Blood's sword. Her spirit had left it behind, and the stag had started off on the long journey to the afterlife, where she would have been brought before the Lady of Beasts at last.

But then, suddenly, there had been someone before them. She had caught a brief glimpse of a blazing figure robed in light, with eyes like twin suns. He had held up his hand in command, and the stag had stopped, snorting and tossing its head.

Then there had been hands on her, dragging her from the stag's back. She had fallen, nerveless, and felt herself lifted up and carried rapidly away, back towards the world of the living that she had left behind. For a moment, there had been blinding pain, and she thought that she had screamed. After that, she remembered nothing before waking to find herself lying naked in a bed, covered by warm blankets, another body wrapped securely around her own. Surprised beyond words, she had sat up and found herself in the yurt she had shared with Thraxis. From the hue of the light leaking in through the smoke hole, she guessed that the sun had just left the sky.

A hand closed on her shoulder, and she found herself staring into Thraxis’ familiar face. His eyes locked with hers, and there was desperation in their depths. With a cry, she flung her arms around him, felt him crush her hard against his own body.

"Arrow, oh Arrow,” he whispered, saying her name over and over again. Sobbing, she clung to him. “You're alive. You're alive, oh Lady, I thought you were dead!"

"I know. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to trick you, but all my strength was gone. My body was in terrible shape, and it was all I could do to keep myself from dying on the spot, even with the curse removed. After I had recovered a little, I managed to get back to Bird Bones’ camp, but I had to rest and heal before I could even dream of facing Balthazar. The whole time, I was so desperately afraid of what they might be doing to you. I came as quickly as I could."

"I know, I know.” She wiped tears away from her eyes. “All that matters is that I'm alive and you're alive."

He hesitated a moment, looking at her uncertainly. “I'm not just alive,” he said finally. “Arrow, I'm going to live."

She stared at him, absorbing the words. Reaching up, she ran one hand lightly across the stubble of growing hair that now covered his scalp. It was black as the raven's wings. Because words failed her, she put her arms around him again and drew his body urgently against hers. He had given her the closeness she needed, and that perhaps he needed as well. Later, after they had both calmed a little, he made love to her again, this time not as a human man but as an Athraskani at the height of his power.

It still amazed her that he wanted that intimacy from her. He was a man who could bring a woman back from the dead, a man who thought that building a kurgan with nothing but magic was no feat at all. A man who, finding the dying Nightwing on the ruins of the battlefield, had healed the horse so that no one would ever know its legs had been broken in a score of places. It seemed impossible that he could want someone like her.

Now she slipped her arm around his waist. She could still feel his ribs clearly through the cloth, but already he had lost some of the skeletal gauntness that had marked him before. “What will you do now that you have your life back?” she asked hesitantly.

His yellow eyes traveled to the distant horizon. “I—have something I would like to do. Somewhere I would like to go."

"Not back to the Sanctum, surely?"

A wry smile touched his lips. “Heaven forbid. Viabold has sent them a message, saying only that the doyan'si were destroyed and Balthazar rendered harmless. He ‘forgot’ to mention that the curse was broken and that I'm still alive. It may be some time yet before anyone realizes that I haven't conveniently expired."

"Then where?"

"A place far to the south, farther even than the Sanctum Majoris. I—I would like your company on the journey, if you want to go. But if you don't wish to travel anymore, you don't have to. I'll return to you once I've completed my task."

She considered his offer for a moment. The Skald were fragmented and would probably remain that way for some seasons to come. The fractures within her own clan ran deep, although Bird Bones Broken was now the acknowledged chief of both factions. If she remained, she would always feel like an outsider, truly accepted by neither side. Perhaps, if she left, time would have a chance to heal over the wounds, so that some day she could return and be a full member of her clan once more, although never again would she be its Champion.

And besides, she thought, looking into her lover's eyes, there would be other compensations to traveling.

"I'll go,” she agreed.

"Oh, good.” He gave her a quick squeeze, and then continued away from the kurgan. “So how does one go about getting married around here?"

"Well, first you have to face all of my male relatives in single combat. And most of our men are circumcised at age fifteen, when they officially become adults, but a special ritual can be held for you since you missed out on that."

Thraxis paled sharply. “Perhaps we should wait until we reach the Empire,” he said faintly. Arrow laughed at his discomfiture. “I'm just teasing. It mostly just involves a lot of feasting, during which we stand up and declare that we've decided to get married."

"You're an evil woman."

"Would you want me any other way?"

"Not at all, my love. Not at all."

* * * *

The early sun streamed across the wide river near the Sanctum Minoris in Gypta, burnishing the water to gold. Ibises and herons stalked among the reeds, and crocodiles lazed in the shallows, waiting for the unwary. To either side stretched the rich, black earth that the Athraskani used for their fields. The crops were ready for harvest, waving slightly in the dry wind that came off the desert, which hemmed in the fertile land like an unending wall.

It was an alien land, but a beautiful one, Arrow thought. She rode on Nightwing, beside Viabold and a few paces behind Thraxis. It was also a harsh place, which perhaps explained why so many came here from the Empire to forget their troubles. In the rigors of day-to-day life, one would have little time to dwell on a painful past.

Thraxis, however, appeared to be oblivious to the landscape. He rode on Stalker as always, his body tense and leaning slightly forward, scanning the workers in the fields. In the three months since they had left the steppe, he had filled out somewhat, putting lean muscle on over bone. Even so, his physique still reminded her sharply of the herons that hunted the riverbanks, all long limbs and beaky nose. A gold ring encircled one of the fingers on his left hand, a marriage custom of his own people that she had consented to as well. Their rings were nearly twins, except that hers was set with an onyx stone that proclaimed the rank of her husband. As she had no rank among the Athraskani, his ring was set with a single, clear gem. He started to reach for his hood, then changed his mind and ran his hand uncertainly over the stubble on his head. Arrow had awakened one morning to find him sitting in front of a mirror, contentedly shaving off the hair that had started to grow back once the curse was broken. “What on earth are you doing?” she had asked in surprise.

"It's a reminder,” he said, frowning slightly as he tried to get the back without cutting himself. “What happened to me wasn't a pleasant experience, Arrow. But it changed me profoundly and for the better. I don't want to ever forget the lessons I learned on our journey. I could use magic to keep it from growing back, but I thought the physical act would serve better, to remind me each morning of what it is that I've learned."

She yawned and shook her head. “And what have you learned?"

"To be a better person, I hope. What do you think?"

"I think you're insane to shave your head. But if it makes you happy, I'll agree to it." Now, back among the Athraskani, where one's rank was denoted by an elaborate arrangement of braids, he was probably wondering what sort of impression his radical choice would make on the people they had come to see. But it was too late to change his mind now.

A man and a woman stood on the edge of one of the fields, talking together about some aspect of the harvest to come. They were both dressed in the simple, white robes that most of the Athraskani here wore, with red sashes around their waists to indicate their level of power. The man was very tall, his thick, black hair streaked with silver. The desert wind had deepened the lines around his eyes and prominent nose, but Arrow thought that they looked more like the sort of lines brought on by laughter than by sorrow. The woman at his side was very pale, her silver eyes so light that they were almost white. When she was young, they must have been yellow as clear wine.

Hearing the approach of the horses, they stopped their conversation and stared at the newcomers. Thraxis dismounted, started towards them, then stopped. “Mother? Father?” he said uncertainly. “It's me. Thraxis."

Arrow and Viabold hung back while Jumica and Cyaraxes embraced the son they hadn't seen in twenty years. After the initial hugs and tears, Jumica reached up to touch the stubble on Thraxis’ head. Although Arrow couldn't catch what was said, she did hear the tone of surprise.

"Just wait until he tells them they have a barbarian for a daughter-in-law,” Viabold said. Arrow grinned and leaned back in the saddle, watching the sun finish its climb out of the river and into the sky. It was going to be a beautiful day.

* * * *

Arrow sat on Nightwing in the road outside the Athraskani Sanctum. The cliff dwelling, with its intricately carved statues and tumbling green vines, was like nothing she had ever imagined before. What sort of people would she find inside such a place? According to Balthazar, they would be uniformly cruel and callous. But seeing the artwork with which they decorated their home, she couldn't help but wonder if perhaps one or two of them might be different. Straightening her shoulders, she rode up to the gate and faced the robed sentries they had posted there. “I am the Arrow that Flies the Farthest,” she said, “and I have come to ask your help." About The Author

When Elaine Corvidae was eight years old, she came home from school one day and declared that she was going to be a writer. Elaine is not certain what prompted that declaration, but unlike so many other decisions in life, it stuck from that day on.

Elaine has worked as an office assistant, archaeologist, and raptor rehabilitator. She is currently earning her Masters degree in Biology at the University of North Carolina-Charlotte. She lives near Charlotte, NC, with her husband and their three cats, who are just like children, except they never ask to borrow the car.

Elaine is a vegan (strict vegetarian) and interested in animal rights. She enjoys backpacking, wasting time on the computer, good beer, and loud music.

Her first published novel, Winter's Orphans, was the recipient of the 2001 Dream Realm Award and the 2002 Eppie Award.

To learn more about Elaine Corvidae visit her official website at www.onecrow.net. Visit www.mundania.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.