34
Destiny

They await us, Orlac said suddenly.

How do you know?

I have my ways.

Tell me.

No. He stared again through the eyes of Pelyss towards Lauryn, watching her grieve.

Bad news, then. She has heard of her mother’s courage. He saw that on one side of her stood the King, shocked and pale. If he listened carefully he could even hear the Tallinese sovereign’s outrage at the news just received. Through the golden pup he noted another familiar person who stood on Lauryn’s left. Saxon. The Kloek. The Sixth.

Pelyss sniffed amongst a circle of people and a wolf. Is the animal Cloot or Solyana he wondered? That was the final pair of Paladin he had not accounted for. He had checked off eight of the ten and for some inexplicable reason had felt his heart swell at the sight of them. Old Nanak, the Keeper, had once whispered that there was a fine line between love and hate. Orlac, in his rage, had never understood such a sentiment but increasingly he did now. He knew Lauryn hated him but perhaps she could not help but love him ever so slightly. And whilst he hated the Paladin—they had imprisoned him for centuries—he also loved them in a strange way.

He admired them for their courage and tenacity and respected them for going to their own deaths so resolutely. They had known only pain and despair at the end of the magics he wielded and still they were prepared to face him again. He felt a certain elation at their dedication to their cause and to those they protected. And so yes, he believed he loved them for that commitment. He wondered sadly what it would be like to be loved in return by anyone. He would never know, he decided.

Orlac noticed that Pelyss was scared of the wolf. He pondered this as he spied again the majestic falcon which was always close by. He dragged his mind back, searching for any clues as to why the pup would be scared. It was obvious this was no ordinary wolf. He knew if he considered it for long enough, it would come to him.

What are we waiting for? hissed his uncle.

Quiet! he roared. Let me think!

And he was right. It did come to him. Solyana, the Third. She had been a magical beast who had taken many forms over the centuries. He recalled a silver horse and later a silver-flecked bear. And now a wolf. The young dog would not like another beast as magically endowed as Solyana. Their senses would be familiar to each other. That would explain the puppy’s obvious reluctance to go near her.

So Cloot was the falcon. When and why that had happened, he could only wonder, remembering the not-so-comely features of the man of Rork’yel.

His thoughts ranged further. The Ten. They were no match for him before and they would be no match for him now. So why did they think they could overpower him? He remembered Rubyn’s words. He searched through the eyes of the animal and saw the young man. He sat nearby to the soldier he had once known as Cyruson and yet Rubyn seemed to sit apart from everyone. Remote, silent. The Three. We will destroy you, he had declared. How?

And now his attention came to rest finally on Torkyn Gynt. His brother. The man who had been sent to kill him. He had a kind face…a sad face. They both knew what it was to lose the woman they loved. His brother was his opposite in colouring. Where he was golden-haired and violet-eyed, his sibling was dark with an arresting pair of blue eyes. He too felt sad. In another lifetime, a different context, they might have been close brothers, good friends. A strong fraternal love might have existed. Instead they were pitted against one another. One must destroy the other in order to survive. He hoped his father would pay that visit and watch what he had contrived.

Next to his brother sat a younger version of Gynt. It was uncanny. Ah, Orlac thought, staring intently through the vision of Pelyss, this is the third child; Lauryn’s other brother.

All accounted for. All waiting. He hadn’t realised he had spoken the thought in his head.

What? Why are you staring out so intently? What do you see? Dorgryl exclaimed, his exasperation beating him.

Hush now, uncle, we are close.

Their initial shock had been replaced by tears. And when the weeping was done, the Friends of the Heartwood sat in an awkward pause. Solyana’s usual suggestion to eat had failed to entice anyone towards the food laid out. Now they murmured quietly amongst themselves, wondering what might happen. At the back of each of their minds was the question of what would trigger the commencement of the final battle—for surely this was what they were facing? Orlac was coming—when and how no one knew—but they all understood this was it. This final confrontation within the Heartwood had been centuries in the making, during which time spirits had been broken and lives had been lost and won again. Orlac would die or they would. There was no turning back now; no escape.

Gradually their attention fell back upon Tor. The One. He alone would guide them now.

Tor looked up from his quiet thoughts. He had been experiencing the sensation for some time now that eyes were upon him; probing, searching. When he saw all of them staring in his direction he put it down to that and yet a vague sense of being ‘touched’ by someone else was still there—he could not shake the notion.

Can you feel it? he asked Cloot.

The eyes? Yes. Strange. What is it?

I don’t know but listen to me now, no heroics.

What do you mean?

You know exactly what I’m saying. I want you to live, Cloot.

Not at your expense, my son. You forget. I am Paladin…and more, I am bonded to you alone. I would die before I would see you harmed.

Cloot, please I—

Hush, Tor. There is no more to be discussed. The moment has arrived. We face our destiny now. I have mine and you have yours. Let’s walk towards it bravely. Life or death change not how I have loved you over these years or love you now. I feel your grief. I also feel your anger. Don’t let’s allow her death to be in vain. Don’t let’s allow our deaths—if that’s what is asked—to be in vain either. I am not afraid.

Tears welled in Tor’s eyes. Cloot’s nobility was always so potent and inspiring. I am not afraid either.

Then guide those now who would follow you blindly and faithfully no matter what stood before them. Don’t waste their precious blood in indecision. Be true to yourself. The answers lie within you. Remember, Tor, you are the One.

Tor looked around. ‘Does anyone have anything to share? Now perhaps will be our last chance.’

Faces still pinched from the shock of Alyssa’s death stared back at him. Tor felt their emptiness keenly. Everyone, including himself, had worked towards this time and yet now that they were here, none of them knew what was expected of them; how to wield their magic effectively. They were looking to him to show them and he felt helpless.

All the Paladin were as still as statues—the only erratic movement being from the dog, Pelyss, who scampered around their feet— all, that is, except Solyana. Tor had not noticed until now that the wolf had been restless for several minutes. She had begun to sniff the air and pad silently around the outside of the circle in which Pelyss played, the circle the Paladin and the Trinity formed. A low rumble had begun to issue from her throat—so soft at first as to be hardly noticeable—but it built gradually in intensity until they were all looking towards the wolf. Her lips had begun to pull back to reveal long, menacing teeth.

This further disturbed everyone and the two soldiers amongst them instinctively reached for their swords. Somehow Cyrus knew it was useless but he liked the comforting feel of the blade in his hand. He noticed the King had even brought along a bow from amongst the weapons he had stocked on The Raven. Cyrus could see the beautifully fletched arrows in a quiver nearby. He loved to shoot with a bow. In his days as Prime, no one bar the King even came close to matching his skills. He could shoot down birds on the wing with such mastery that Lorys had good-naturedly proclaimed him a freak and refused to shoot against him. He wondered now, vaguely, amongst this fresh fear at Solyana’s behaviour, whether Gyl was adept with the bow too. He promised himself that if they lived past this day, he would make a point of finding out.

Solyana was no longer just making noise. Her strange yellow eyes seemed to be riveted on the golden puppy playing happily amongst their feet.

‘What is it?’ Tor asked her. ‘Is he coming?’

No, she growled—it was a chilling voice none of them had heard from her before. He’s already here, and she sprang towards Pelyss, her large and powerful jaw clamping around the puppy’s neck. Pelyss screamed in terror.

Orlac rocked backwards as his spell on Pelyss was broken.

It is time, he said quietly before taking one last long breath of the fragrance of the Ciprean royal gardens and casting out powerfully.

Dorgryl, caught unawares, felt the air around them sizzle. He knew he had but seconds now and with every last ounce of strength he could muster, forced the red mist to flow angrily through his host. Orlac, who was guiding them in a massively potent transporting magic, was momentarily weakened by his efforts. More importantly, he was diverted as he focused all of his energies on moving his body through the magical planes which would take him from Cipres to the Heartwood in moments.

He could not fight off the monstrous effort of Dorgryl and achieve the transportation.

He had to choose.

Panic gripped the Heartwood’s own as Lauryn began to scream, terrified for her dog. However, the huge wolf released the pup almost as soon as she had struck because she felt the spirit of the god who used his eyes and ears disappear.

He’s left the dog, Solyana said quietly across the Link.

Everyone began speaking at once. They were stunned by this news.

‘Silence!’ Cyrus ordered, the first to recover from the shock of Solyana’s revelation. ‘Form a circle and turn outwards.’

‘Be vigilant,’ Saxon said, his nervousness making him speak his thoughts aloud.

Silence gripped them as they waited. The old fear at facing Orlac came home to roost amongst the Paladin. It was a familiar feeling.

The falcon felt it too. Be strong now, Cloot whispered to his companions. Our task is done now, Paladin. It is up to Tor and the Trinity—we must help them achieve what they were sent here to do. Hold the Link open, no matter what. And then on a private Link to Tor he added: This is your time, my son.

Tor had no time to respond. He felt it first. Orlac comes, he said, looking at each one slowly in what felt like a farewell. Brave Paladin, thank you, he called gently. He glanced to each of the children he loved. Trinity…you must do whatever it is you were meant to do. I know not what that is. But you will when the moment arrives. Trust yourselves. Avenge your mother.

Tor felt the reassuring thump of Cloot landing on his shoulder. He sensed Gidyon, Lauryn and Rubyn moving towards each other. Meanwhile the nine other members of the Paladin gathered, fanning out instinctively in the shape of an arrow behind him. Gyl melted back into the bushes, directly behind Lauryn, his sword and his bow at the ready. He would save her; fight for her—die for her if it was asked.

Trees began to shudder about them and the soft sunlight which had filtered through seemed to dull, plunging them into a false darkness. Below them the land rumbled as if it might crack open. They held hands and opened their minds to each other.

The Light guide us, Cyrus said.

The air ahead began to spin, whipping up dust from the earth and leaves which had fallen from the trees in their mighty distress. It began to shimmer, ghostly pale at first but gathering in a golden intensity until they could make out the shape of a man. He was tall and broad…and possessed by madness.

His eyes glowed red.

It was Lauryn who screamed. Dorgryl!

The noise about him died down. The earth stopped its rumbling but the trees of the Heartwood still groaned softly. They did not like the beast amongst them.

‘Greetings One and all,’ Dorgryl said, smiling broadly with Orlac’s mouth.

Tor seized control. ‘I will not speak with you,’ he said and watched the smile die on Orlac’s face.

‘Not speak with me?’ the thing raged in its deep and ugly voice. ‘Do you know who I am?’

‘You are Dorgryl. Sad possessor of tragically fallen gods. You have no place amongst the Host and you have no place here. Begone beast!’ Tor spoke angrily.

Enraging him is a clever tactic, Cloot offered sagely into Tor’s mind only.

‘I would speak only with Orlac,’ Tor persisted.

‘You will speak with me, fool, before I destroy you and all your pathetic protectors. Ah, Lauryn, my dear, have the bruises healed? I did not mean to push against you quite so hard when we lay together.’

Lauryn felt her bile rise but her brothers squeezed her hands so tight she could not move. No one had considered Gyl, who, hearing Lauryn so taunted, broke cover from the bushes, brandishing his sword. The bow and single arrow he had nocked dropped as he ran towards the god. They landed at the feet of Cyrus.

Orlac’s hand twitched and the King of Tallinor was flung clear across their heads with such force there was little chance he could have survived the impact against one of the great oaks if that same tree had not deftly leaned down its branches to capture him in the air. The branches quickly lifted the limp body into their highest reaches and away from trouble. He was useless against Orlac. He was a liability amongst the Friends.

As Lauryn wept it was Rubyn’s calm voice which helped her. The trees will protect him. Fear not for him…only for us.

It bewildered those around him to hear Tor sneer. It struck them as pointless to stoke the fury of this already-enraged god. Yet he persisted and they trusted.

‘Is that it, Dorgryl? Is that the best you can achieve with all that power at your fingertips…and the King a mortal at that?’

‘Time for you to die, Gynt,’ Dorgryl announced.

‘I’m ready. We all are, coward,’ Tor shouted back. ‘But let me look on my brother. Let me see with my own eyes this wretch you inhabit.’

They all felt Orlac’s true presence pushing angrily against Dorgryl’s.

‘Clever you are, Gynt, playing us against one another,’ the elder god said.

Tor ignored Dorgryl. ‘Do you hear me, Orlac? Cast this demon out and face me—or is it that you fear me so much you hide?’

They watched the red mist of the eyes dull slightly and something else momentarily shone through.

‘I see you cringe behind your uncle. So, all those centuries of struggle for this? You’ll allow him the pleasure of defeating us? We go to our deaths knowing you are, and probably always were, a coward.’

Cloot no longer thought this wise. Tor—

Hush. Look.

The golden man’s body began to shake. The face contorted horribly as an internal struggle began to take place. The Paladin and Trinity watched in a horrified fascination as two gods warred within one body for supremacy. A terrible guttural sound came from Orlac’s mouth but they suspected the noise was Dorgryl’s as he wrestled desperately to hang onto his possession.

Across the Link Tor heard the Paladin’s frightened questions.

Trust me. Lys once told me it was Dorgryl’s arrogance that won him his place in the Bleak. Arrogance will be his undoing again she has counselled.

No one understood but their faith in Torkyn Gynt held strong.

What do you propose to do? Cloot asked privately.

Invite him out.

Where to?

Into me.

Have you gone mad as well?

It’s the only way.

Why?

I’m strong enough to overcome him.

He heard Cloot click angrily in his head whilst they watched the monstrous battle taking place before their eyes. Orlac’s body was sheened with the sweat of his exertions to oust his uncle. For the moment it looked as though he might be gaining the ascendancy, as the eyes now showed a definite violet hue.

What makes you so sure? the falcon demanded.

Because I’m smarter than my brother and…

And what, Tor? Cloot was shouting into his head now.

I have nothing more to lose.

Other than your children?

Other than my children, he echoed, before adding sadly, and my friends. He reached up and briefly patted his falcon. You have to trust me. He looked again to his brother as the trees around them creaked and groaned with sickening force.

‘Welcome to the Heartwood, Orlac,’ Tor called and the golden god stared back, blazing fury through violet eyes. He was breathing deeply.

‘I will show you no more mercy than Dorgryl,’ Orlac’s real voice said.

‘I’m not interested in your mercy.’

The god nodded. ‘Perhaps you are interested to learn that your Alyssa died bravely. She lured Xantia and Dorgryl away from your daughter for long enough to permit Lauryn’s escape.’

Orlac watched Tor flinch at his wife’s name. He knew he had hurt him.

Tor clamped his jaw hard. He would not allow his resolve to be undone so easily. He took a deep breath and pressed on. ‘Dorgryl, I know you can hear me. I know what you want. All I want is to destroy my brother. I will give you my body, if you will help me.’

A Link opened in his mind and an ugly voice spoke. Why?

You have knowledge. You have power. Combine them with mine— we can defeat him. And then my body is yours to command.

I ask again, why?

Because I have already lost what I love.

Ah, Alyssa. She was very brave to her end, you know.

It took all his will to respond without showing despair. So I hear. Tor fought the urge to ask more. He bit back on the rush of questions and forced his manner to be calm. He watched Orlac raise his arms high and Tor immediately created a mighty shield about them so he could buy some time to ward off whatever was about to be hurled.

He tried one last time. Come to me, Dorgryl. He stepped forward. I open myself to you. I am a god. I am what you want, surely? I can give you what you crave and in my body you can be all-powerful.

The trees began to murmur their own despair and the Flames of the Firmament appeared, the normally sweet chimes discordant and angry. They rushed about Tor begging him not to do this. The Paladin intensified their Link, bonding themselves powerfully to one another. They had no idea what might happen but they did know they would need their combined strength to fight it. Pelyss began to bark and the three children called anxiously to their father.

Amongst this cacophony of sound, the people fell silent, transfixed as they watched a bloody red mist lift itself out of Orlac’s body, and sway above him.

Are you ready? Cloot asked Cyrus privately. His voice had an urgency.

Cyrus bent and picked up the bow at his feet, resetting the arrow in position. I can’t do this.

You will! the falcon commanded. You may be the First. But I am First Paladin to the One. You will do exactly as I say.

Cloot’s voice was hard and angry. Cyrus did not like the plan one bit. But he nodded, frightened by what he had been told to do.

Orlac staggered, breathing deeply. The sense of freedom from the thing inside was intoxicating.

The burning of the stone in his pocket pulled Gidyon out of shock.

Rubyn! Lauryn! The stones. They’re calling to us. Where are your stones?

They looked at him, stupefied, not having been sure whether they should tear their eyes from the red mist. Gidyon looked so intense they finally obeyed, digging deep into their pockets and lifting out their stones to match his. The trio of dull-coloured stones was blazing iridescent rainbow colours with such a fierce intensity, they were blinded.

The Stones of Ordolt were finally reunited but this time they were in the hands of gods. In these children ran the blood of the King of the Host and the ancient blood of the Custodian. They alone had the power to command the Stones.

The red mist which was Dorgryl faltered, hanging in the air as he too felt this immense new power present itself amongst them, but it was Orlac who was transfixed by the blazing orbs.

What now? Lauryn asked as the Colours blazed so strongly about the trio it almost hummed.

We must wield its power, Gidyon said. But I don’t know what it is.

Think! Lauryn yelled.

Their father spoke. They were his flowers. You alone can command them.

They looked towards Orlac. He was reaching his hand towards the Stones. ‘They are mine!’

The flowers! They belong to the Glade. The Stones can summon the Glade! Rubyn suddenly yelled.

Join minds, Gidyon said and the Link immediately changed into something more intimate. It was as though he was Rubyn and he was Lauryn. His brother and sister felt likewise.

It frightened the Paladin to suddenly hear a strange and ancient language issuing from the three children. They began to murmur words of magic not uttered in countless centuries.

It was a language not of this world. It was the ancient language of the gods.

A vast power of a magnitude none present had ever felt before began to gather about them. The Flames of the Firmament intensified in brightness; no longer hundreds of them but now thousands, chiming in harmony but ferociously, now in a deafening chorus as the power continued to pull and centralise to a mighty shimmering by the great oak behind the three children.

But Cloot had eyes only for the red mist as Tor once again offered Dorgryl his body. The falcon took his chance while the mist hesitated as Ordolt, the Glade, suddenly winked into existence.

Leaping strongly into the air the majestic bird beat its wings angrily, covering the distance between itself and the mist in a blink and gathering up Dorgryl. Cloot lifted, higher and higher in what looked like an impossible ascent, his captive screaming into his mind and fighting violently. But Cloot’s talons held on. He could hear the cries of his friends below and the soft encouragement of the trees.

He passed the gentle face of Darmud Coril who smiled his serene smile and whispered, Fly bravely, precious Cloot.

He went higher still, the thing writhing but still he dragged it with him. He could do this. Finally they were far enough away.

Now you must enter me, beast, he told it.

Cloot knew it had no other option. It could not survive outside a body for longer than moments. It had to use his body. As Cloot had anticipated the mist shimmered with rage as he felt the vile chill of it enter his bird’s body.

Some had fallen to their knees. Tor gaped, distracted by the scene before him. Ordolt was here, summoned by the Trinity and their power over the Stones and their ability to speak Ordolt’s ancient language. He glanced towards the children, blazing amongst the fantastical colours radiating from the orbs which held the Glade here in its return to claim back the three dried and hardened magical flowers which belonged to it.

Staring back out at him from the impossibly beautiful scene which Ordolt was wearing this day, stood two familiar figures amongst many others. He remembered them from his vision in the dreams which Lys had showed him.

They were Darganoth and Evagora. Orlac’s parents. His parents.

Orlac too was mesmerised. He was back on his feet, his attention riveted on the tall dark man in the Glade who looked like his brother and the beautiful golden-haired woman at his side. The royal pair looked up towards Cloot who had now stooped into one of his dives.

It was only then that Tor realised Cloot had left his shoulder and understood what had happened. Darganoth was looking towards Cyrus now and nodding. Tor saw that Cyrus held a bow. He knew Cyrus was a deadly shot with an arrow.

And suddenly it all came together.

‘No!’ he yelled. Cloot, no! he screamed across their Link.

Farewell, Tor, Cloot whispered. I have loved you in my lives; I will love you in my death. Heartwood, I humbly ask that you accept me for the last time.

Cloot began his steep dive, Dorgryl screaming angrily in his mind.

Cyrus let loose the arrow. It impaled the falcon through its breast, killing the man that was once Cloot of the Rork’yel. The First Paladin to the One died and the god, Dorgryl, trapped in a dead, falling body howled his despair as the trees of the Heartwood reached hungrily now to grab their own.

The falcon’s corpse was still too high in the air for Dorgryl to escape to a new host. Between their hard fingers of wood, they crushed the fragile bones and feathers of the majestic Cloot until he was pulp. Finally the tallest of all the trees took the bird’s remains and absorbed Cloot into itself, returning him to the sanctuary of the Heartwood and Dorgryl to a dark and desolate prison.

No one in the Heartwood that terrible day would ever forget the bleak expression on Torkyn Gynt’s face when the Light died within and he knew his falcon, his bonded one…his beloved Cloot, was gone. He was bereft. Alyssa and Cloot. There was a hole too big now in his heart and the only thing he could fill it with at this moment was rage. He turned back towards Orlac and allowed all of his Colours to loose themselves. He was no longer thinking rationally.

Each of the Paladin and his children felt the bristling of another mighty power as the Colours of Torkyn Gynt combined into a pure white rage of throbbing magic.

Darganoth nodded and whispered out of the Glade into Tor’s mind. Use your anger, son. Destroy him. We will help you.

The Paladin closed ranks behind Tor into a single line whilst Gidyon, Lauryn and Rubyn instinctively understood their part in this. They opened themselves up to the Host.

Orlac roared. ‘Destroy me, then. Try. I will best all of you in your attempt and leave this place a smoking ruin. Let loose your power, Father, Mother, murdering brother!’

And Darganoth did. Using the Stones of Ordolt to channel not only his power but all the power of the gathered Host in the Glade, he cast with a frightening bolt of Quelling magic. As it touched the Stones the rainbow colours intensified and the Trinity allowed its linked powers to be tapped. Now it passed through the Stones becoming a silvery light as it touched the Paladin.

And as it passed through each of them harmlessly, they contributed their own powers, doubling and quadrupling its ferocity until it passed through Tor. Now it became a fierce, radiant white as all the Colours combined to produce the most pure of the gods’ magics.

It was travelling so fast now and so savagely it created a hum.

It shot from Tor’s fingertips, luminous white and angry, to hit Orlac in the chest. He tried to stand strong against it but this was like no other power he had experienced. Even the original Quelling had not felt like this. He staggered and bent beneath its brutality, trying to fight back but beaten down by wave after wave until his own powers were numbed.

Lauryn wept to see him pushed so violently and without even knowing she was going to do it, she linked to her father.

Does it have to be like this?

She heard her father groan; knew how much he detested killing with his power.

Orlac began to writhe on the ground, his death moments away.

Lauryn persisted. Orlac did not kill my mother or Cloot. He did not rape me. He is your brother. Can we not save his soul?

Something in her words touched the right chord. Tor faltered and the white light died. Orlac lay motionless and spent.

‘Torkyn!’ Darganoth called from the Glade. ‘Finish it!’

‘No!’ Tor hurled back. ‘Enough death. Enough killing!’

He walked to where his brother lay. The Paladin renewed their ancient skills, creating a field of imprisonment. Now, neither brother could depart without the sanction of the Paladin—or their own death.

Orlac. Tor could see he still breathed and whilst he still took breath there was a chance.

Come to gloat? Orlac whispered.

Tor shook his head. Will you trust me?

What for?

To save you.

Through his pain, the god actually laughed grimly. You, save me?

Tor said nothing. Everyone watching held their breath.

Orlac coughed weakly. What do you have in mind?

That you go back…back to where you came from. Back to Ordolt.

There was a long pause before Orlac gave a weak reply. Will it accept me?

It might. If we give it back its flowers which are what it seeks. Will you let me try?

Why would you do this after all the pain?

To end the pain.

Tor crouched down and placed his hands beneath his brother. May I?

Orlac nodded and grimaced as Tor lifted him into his arms. He was weaker than he had realised.

Brother, Orlac called softly.

Yes?

I may not make it to the Glade.

Please try.

Tallinor is claiming me, I fear. How ironic, Orlac said, a soft smile playing on his lips as his face began to slacken.

Orlac! Take my strength. Tor pushed, opening himself up, watching the horror move across the faces of the Paladin at this dangerous new suggestion. It was all Orlac needed to destroy Tor.

Do you trust…? Orlac was so weak he could not even finish what he wanted to say.

Tor looked down into the blurring eyes of Orlac and nodded. Take what you need. We are brothers.

And Orlac took, drawing on Tor’s strength.

The Paladin parted, dropping their imprisoning power at Cyrus’s command and watched Tor walk slowly with his load towards a shocked Host.

He stopped in front of Ordolt, from where Darganoth watched him. Tor could see how he himself might look when he became older. It was an odd thought. He had no plan to live beyond this day without Alyssa or Cloot.

‘Take him back,’ he said.

Darganoth shook his head sadly. ‘I’m not sure we can, son.’

Arriving behind the King of the Host was another familiar face. Lys. She smiled and Tor saw Alyssa echoed so strongly it made his heart begin its bleed. So be it. He welcomed death.

She bowed before Darganoth. ‘My King. Tor is right. Offer back the flowers to Ordolt. It is temperamental. We may just catch it in a forgiving mood, sire…please.’

They waited.

‘Very well,’ the King finally replied. ‘We can try. Ask my grandchildren to make their offer to the Glade.’

Rubyn looked at his brother and sister. ‘I’ll do it.’ He took their stones, still blazing, still holding Ordolt amongst the oaks. He walked to where he could see a soft tear in the shimmering, presuming it was the rent made by the scavengers who once stole an infant god.

He bowed solemnly to this magical place. ‘Ordolt. Forgive us for holding onto three items which are precious and belong to you. They were taken in innocence by an infant. May we return them?’

The gorgeous scene shimmered brightly suddenly and although no one knew what it meant, Rubyn took a breath and hoped it was the answer they wanted. He reached in through the hole, feeling the instant warmth of the place beyond it. Reverently placing the three stones on the spongy, verdant grass of Ordolt he gently withdrew his hand and bowed again. They watched as the stones were absorbed into the ground and before their eyes three exquisitely beautiful flowers grew from where they had disappeared. Ordolt flashed this time, returning just as rapidly to its normal soft light.

It was Tor’s turn to make a plea. ‘Ordolt, may we return another who was stolen from you a long time ago? He is the innocent. He belongs amongst your forests and your beautiful gardens. He has known much sorrow. You would bring him great joy in granting us this. He is yours,’ Tor beseeched.

Ordolt did not respond this time. Tor looked at his mother. He felt nothing for her but he wished he had known her. Her smile for him was radiant.

‘I shall chance it,’ he said, stepping forward. ‘I hope this does not create catastrophes for Tallinor.’

His mother shook her head gently. ‘No, son. Because it is a returning, it is safe.’

He nodded, looking down at Orlac now. ‘Fare well, brother,’ he said, softly.

Orlac was spent, hanging onto life now courtesy of Tor. ‘I’m sorry about Cloot. I liked him too.’ They shared a sad smile. The Light guide you, Tor, he said privately. Tell Lauryn…no. Tell her nothing. Ask her to take care of Pelyss.

Tor looked towards his parents. ‘I give you Orlac, Prince of Gods.’

His mother began to weep through her smile. ‘His name is not Orlac, my child. That was the Tallinese name given to him by Merkhud. His name is Aeryn, Prince of Gods.’

Tor bent to kiss Aeryn on the forehead and as he handed his brother through Ordolt’s shimmering presence, passing through its strange magics, he saw himself hand a sleeping infant into the arms of its mother.

It shocked everyone, including the Host. For Lys it was the sign she needed; had prayed for. Through her own grief she saw that perhaps, somehow, this all could be righted for two people.

‘Tor, wait!’ she called. ‘Come through too. Ordolt will accept you.’

Tor was stunned. He paused, considering her suggestion.

She persisted. ‘You have nothing left to do for Tallinor. Everything that is you is here.’ Lys could hear the plea in her voice.

He glanced around the familiar faces of the Paladin. Saxon nodded. He understood, more than anyone, Tor’s sense of desolation. He too had lost Alyssa, and a close friend in Cloot.

Go, boy, Cyrus said into his head. Don’t hesitate.

Tor looked towards his children. Lauryn was nodding through her tears. Find happiness there. Start again.

He pulled his three children towards him. Will you permit this?

They all three nodded. You’ve given enough, Gidyon said, his eyes wet.

It was Rubyn who gave him the response he needed. It was a placation but it was what Tor needed to hear. You may find her, Father.

I don’t suppose you three would consider it? Tor asked.

They shook their heads and he understood. They had reasons to stay in Tallinor.

Tor knew he must not linger. Lys was urging him to step through. Any further delay and the fractious Ordolt might reject him. He did not want to prolong an emotional farewell so he kissed his three children before grinning his unsaid thanks towards his friends in the Paladin.

‘The Light guide you,’ he said and stepped through the shimmering presence, taking both his father’s hands and appearing on the other side as a newborn, returned to exactly how he had been before he was given over to save Tallinor.

The Host wept to have their princes returned.

And the Heartwood rejoiced.