Black Dawn - Chapter 30: Peace

The survivors of the Battle of Black Dawn celebrate before saying goodbye.

Armageddon TM and its characters and story are copyright Terry Tibke. All rights reserved.

Music & SFX

[Drifting Minds] by Alexander Nakarada, [The Story] by Alexander Nakarada, [Foam Rubber] by Alexander Nakarada,  [Not Much to Say] by David Fesliyan, [New Dawn] by Bensound, [Non Seeing Eye] by Alexander Nakarada,  [Beautiful Village] by David Fesliyan, [Novus Initium] by Alexander Nakarada, [In The Clouds] by David Fesliyan, [Happy Place] by Alexander Nakarada, [Various Others] via Storyblocks Audio

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Jake Utter [Voice Actor] - Voices Turim Gliderlance

Andrew Embers [Voice Actor] - Voices Sand Rocketblade

Demetrius Hazel [Voice Actor] - Voices Lasertooth, Bartlett, and Darf Bloodshedder

Kobe Markworth [Voice Actor] - Voices Grandmaster Strongthorn, Thunderclap, Breed, and Gulanis

Sean Valley [Voice Actor] - Voices Strevan Pickaxe and Dithkanir

Hayley Craig [Voice Actress] - Voices Jaffrine Maplebow

Morgana LeFaye [Voice Actress]- Voices Tartara Silverwing, Extras

Tallent [Voice Actor] - Voices General Panthis Obsidianfist 

JJtheJetvox [Voice Actor] - Voices Meineken Shadowstar and Aruthil

Brittanie Arwen [Voice Actor] - Voices Sinfa Songbird

Ben Habel [Voice Actor] – Voices Lakalith Paledust, Admiral Peelwarden

Maia Harlap [Voice Actor] – Voices Lala Truffleroot, Kithria Wraithchasm, and Ryuki Purplefist

Aaron Anderson [Voice Actor] – Voices Aldor Steelaxe and Dark Elves

Chris Bellinger [Voice Actor] – Voices Gundak, Percin and Dwarf extras

Alexander Doddy [Voice Actor] – Voices Rail Markrune, Van Leadsword

Callum Garner [Voice Actor] – Voices Gewurmarch Rottbone

Dio Kerr [Voice Actor] – Voices Dustorn and Hiryoto Dragonfright

Jerron Bacat [Voice Actor] – Voices Art

Transcript

Chapter 30—Peace

“Alright, that’s good news, Lala. We’ll see you soon.” Sinfa waved goodbye as she slowly closed the door.

She returned to the simple desk by the window draped in a light, golden brown gown. A soft, thick red cloak wrapped her shoulders, keeping her warm. Several weeks had passed. It was now late autumn and nearly winter.

On the back of her chair, Tartara still lay on her belly, her cheeks in her palms. “Why are you so fidgety, Sinfa?” Tartara looked back over her shoulder at her.

Sinfa finished tying the second of her two, neat pigtails behind her head and stepped to the glass window. The sky was pale and cloud-covered. The sun didn’t shine, nor had it, save once, since its rise the morning when the Dragon Army had been driven off. Since then, the weather had gone from chilled to freezing. There were probably snows coming.

“He should be up and about today. They said they’d be coming,” Sinfa blinked and said softly.

Across the way was the long row of dragon stables, stretching south along the length of the east wall of Grendelock Keep. In fact, the stable where they’d defended Darf and Jaffrine sat just across that road. It rose tall and strong alongside several other stables, undamaged. But further to her left, off northward, lay several blackened ruins of once proud structures that hadn’t escaped the wrath of the Chromabacks.

Though the Battle of Black Dawn had ended—they’d all begun calling it that—significant time had been spent removing bodies from the keep, and burying the fallen from the battlefield of the plains.

The memory stirred Sinfa’s sorrow. “So much life lost.”

“Aye,” agreed Tartara, who’d fashioned something of her own shawl out of a light blue handkerchief. “But you’re dwelling. Come on, this should be a happy day.” She smiled and nodded, forcing Sinfa to do the same.

After the slain were cleared and the honored either burned or buried, a memorial had been erected at the northern end of Grendelock Keep. Beneath it were laid many of the fallen knights and dragons. The monument was called the Spire of Remembrance, and those slain during the battle were given a grand funeral as part of the dedication ceremony. That had helped to ease the knights’ hearts.

Sinfa traced a faint line in the frost of the window. It was a cog and a tube. She erased it, not sure what it was for.

She adjusted her focus. Three horse-pulled carts went along the path, the beasts’ breath a visible mist that puffed from their nostrils and lifted slowly into nothingness. They were heading back to their fields by the gate. That too had seen significant repairs.

In a moment, the carts were gone, but when she looked back to the stone-covered path in front of her guesthouse, she saw a small group of familiar faces.

The half-ogre walked tenderly and held his side. He used a thick branch as a cane to help him along, but was led by Jaffrine, Strevan, and Rail. Behind them were Jaffrine’s new and ever-present escorts, a blonde-haired girl and a larger man, both armored, but bearing the symbol of Lumina on their tunics and cloaks.

Sinfa rushed to the door and threw up a wave. “Darf!” she said happily. “It’s good to see up and moving around all right.”

The half-ogre cracked a smile on his stiff lips. But he kept his eyes low, staring at the ground as he made his way slowly up her walkway.

Jaffrine looked at her with her own smile. “Sinfa, you look lovely.” She herself had taken on a finer cloak, and her robes looked warmer and thicker as well.

“Greetings,” said Strevan, coming along beside her.

When he’d come to her threshold, Darf finally spoke. “Hey, Red,” his voice grumbled. “You…eh, you look well.”

“Thank you. Please, come in for a bit,” said Sinfa. “There’s not much room to sit, but let’s let Darf rest a moment.”

Rail’s face was as stern as Sinfa had ever seen it. “I’m not staying for the feast,” said Rail, remaining just outside. “The rest of us will be off within the hour.”

Tartara lifted herself to a sitting position. Sinfa caught the look between her and Rail.

“I mean it, right after the feast, and I’m being generous and probably stupid letting you stay,” Rail said, clearly addressing Jaffrine, Strevan, and Tartara.

Jaffrine glared at her paladin guards. “They’ve not given me much choice anyway. I promise. We’ll be off right after.”

Then Rail turned his eye on Sinfa. “I trust you’ll make a safe delivery, Ms. Songbird? Bear south along the coast for as much of the journey as you’re able. Lieutenant Rocketblade and I avoided any of the mess near Karagard Keep that way.”

Sinfa found her fingers on one of her pigtails and immediately missed her cap. “But I haven’t seen a thistle lion yet.”

“What?” Rail said, confused.

“You’ve my word we’ll get back safe,” said Sinfa with a half-smile. There was no reason to discuss Cithilnor now.

“I’ll leave two forest griffons to accompany you?” Rail said, glancing at Jaffrine.

“That’s not necessary, no,” replied the druid.

He’d said it with a crooked smile. But then Rail’s voice went grim, his eyes dark, as he stepped towards the door and opened it. “Just remember, these two griffons are free to leave for you because our own rangers were killed here.”

He pushed past the two paladins who watched from the doorway, without more than a sneer and was gone.

Jaffrine sighed, looking down for a moment as Tartara came and hugged her neck.

“So, how are your wounds?” Sinfa said, turning to Darf who’d settled down on a small couch far too small for him. She glanced over towards the Paladins of Lumina at the door, then at Jaffrine. “I was worried the clerics wouldn’t make it there in time. They’ve given you proper repairs—or, I mean, healing then?”

“So it seems,” grunted Darf. “If Jaffrine hadn’t looked after me though, I don’t know if they’d have needed to. I would be dead. Oh, and I guess I owe you thanks. If you and the others hadn’t guarded the stable we were in, that would’ve… made me dead too.”

“It was nothing,” said Sinfa. “You would’ve done the same.” She wondered for a brief moment whether that was true, then resigned herself to the happier of the two thoughts.

“Has anyone seen Turim?” grunted Darf. “Or Aldor?”

Sinfa looked to Jaffrine and Strevan. “Aldor’s been to see you several times while you were being tended to. He’s been a bit of a mess, actually.”

“I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you’re up,” said Jaffrine with a consoling nod.

* * *

In all her time at Grendelock Keep, Lala had spent most of it in the kitchen at the back of one of the mess halls. Today, she was there again, standing over a cook pot of seasoned potatoes. She’d been taken in quite well by most of the keep’s cooks. She was skilled at soups and her Chestnut and Daikon Broth was going to be the base of a handful of foods to be served at the feast. It brought her comfort to be with the halflings cooks too. And in a way, it reminded her of her village, before it was destroyed by the dragonites.

“How’s that soup going down, Mr. Steelaxe?” She wiped her hands on her apron and climbed to the top of a stool in front of the opening looking out to the mess hall. She stood up and saw several of the Knights of the Hawk eating what she’d made them. She smiled. Even after all the death she’d seen, this still brought her some joy.

Aldor rested his head in one hand while the other spooned a mouthful of soup. It dribbled down his red beard. “Aye,” he groaned. “I have to thank ‘ye. It’s a right good solvent for Jor Barathian ale. It’s always been my favorite. Not so sure anymore.”

Lala shook her head. “Darf should be up and about soon. You get yourself together and go see him just as soon as you finish that up.”

Aldor gave a start, then nodded quickly. “I will, I will.” Lala wondered if he’d forgotten.

“Well Ms. Truffleroot, what’ll you do now that things have settled?” asked one of the other halflings behind her. “Meaning after the feast of course.”

His name was Boddith Bluefoot, a captain of a unit of halfling archers. He’d come by often to visit many of the halfling cooks, and they’d talked regularly for the past few weeks. She’d learned about all the other halflings in the keep, and of the general business going on beyond the kitchen, from him.

“I’m not sure yet,” she said. “In fact, I was just thinking about that. I’ve still got to find some sort of solution to my dilemma.”

“You could always join the kitchen staff here. Or maybe even stay with one of the clerics at the chapel. We don’t have any summoners here. I'm sure you could teach the other clerics much. You might learn something yourself.” His one, patched eye, looked at her brightly.

He’d lost it during the battle, but it didn’t seem to have dampened his spirits.

Satisfied with the happily-eating knights, Lala climbed down off the stool. “I’m not sure if I want to leave the plains just yet. I’ve always lived among their gentle hills—maybe I always will.”

“Well, my friend, just know we’ll always welcome you within our walls.”

“You’re too kind,” said Lala sheepishly, and she meant it. But she didn’t know what else to say about that yet.

Aldor mumbled something as he slid off his chair, letting his spoon clatter into his bowl loudly. “I’m going to see if I can find Darf. He should be with the others by now.”

Lala watched Aldor start to leave, still a little wobbly. “I’m off too.” She quickly gathered a box of goods and stepped out right behind Aldor, smiling and nodding goodbye to Boddith as she left.

A scurry of folk prepared for the celebration. She saw the fine dining halls across the path, with great works of stone for pillars, set with winged devices and hawk symbols of all kinds. The hall’s steps were well-hewn too, fitted tightly together, and they went up seventeen strides to the double doors leading inside. And there weren’t just one of these halls. There were three. There’d been lots of Knights of the Hawk before the battle. Now, sadly, the Battle of Black Dawn had reduced their numbers by so many, that one hall was enough to fit them all.

Lala pushed aside that dark thought. She rubbed her hands together, trying to keep them warm for a few moments longer. The sky was pale with chill air and the ground was hard, even in places it wasn’t supposed to be—made frozen by winter’s onset. She shivered.

 “Alright Mr. Steelaxe,” she said, ready to head separate ways for now. “I’ve a good many things to tend to. Our other guest should be arriving soon. But say hello to Darf for me. And um… I’m glad your friend is okay.”

Aldor wrapped his cloak about his shoulders. “Aye, you and me both.”

* * *

Turim strode alongside the inner west wall, heading south. The winter air bit at his face. It smelled like cold, frozen ground and fading foliage, just like back on the farm.

He passed the noisy drill yards, where several companies practiced their swordsmanship, not envious of their hands on cold steel.

It was strange. He hadn’t even thought of touching a blade since his resurrection. Perhaps he wouldn’t need to again in his lifetime—so long as he bore the Aureate. As he had many times since that day, he considered how unusual it was he could wield the mace with such skill. He’d been well practiced with a sword. But somehow, the mace had seemed to fit perfectly into his technique.

Off to the right stood one of the small chapels. There weren’t a great number of clergy there—not as many as at some of the cathedrals in Daltaria at least. But though he respected them, he was not happy about how they’d put Jaffrine under guard until she left.

As he walked past the last chapel, he saw several of the clerics out front, watching the doors for those who would come out of the cold to take part in services. He rarely came to the chapels. His time was filled with the duties of a Wing Commander. He was interested, however, in their small force of paladins—guardians and keepers that the church kept. Lumina had told him he was to be one of them. “I don’t know exactly what to do about that, and certainly don’t have time to seek the answer to that riddle,” he thought. “Not yet, at least.” And because of the watch they’d put on Jaffrine for suspicions of magic, he was definitely not in the mood yet.

With a broad wave, he greeted the clerics, who bowed in return. Word had already begun to spread of Turim’s miraculous recovery from death. And while even among them there were skeptics, many believed he’d been given a gift from The God. Turim didn’t take the time to go in. Instead, in his own thought, he asked for peace from The God, though he knew it wouldn’t be long if it lasted.

Company Commander Wrengaze had instructed him to meet with his Wing before the evening’s events to ensure the riders had been properly rearmed and armored, and that their riding shields were all in working order. Of course, he’d already done a quick job of it a few days after the end of the battle. But his inspection hadn’t been official.

He entered the armories, swinging open the heavy wooden doors.

Inside, Sand, Artho, Kairn, Breed, and Bartlet awaited his arrival, scattered across the room, each busy at their own task, taking little heed of the opening door yet.

“I appreciate your prompt arrival,” called Turim as he entered, “especially with the approaching feast.”

The others quickly lined up at Sand’s bark. “Not a problem, sir. We’re ready for inspection.”

“You’ve prepared already?” asked Turim.

“Indeed, sir,” said Kairn unexpectedly.

Turim squinted at them. “Why?”

“We want to make this fast, Commander. It’s cold, and these armories are colder yet.” Sand was furiously rubbing his hands together, but held a grin on his face.

“We’d also like to get ready for the feast,” added Bartlett.

Turim nodded and moved to stand in front of each of them. “Breed? All healed up? Sleekscale is good?”

“My ribs are doing fine,” Breed rubbed his chest plate as though he could feel through it. “And Sleekscale’s… scales should heal up in a few weeks. If he quits pecking at them.”

Turim took a step to his right in front of Bartlett, “Morning’s riding shield have that dent pounded out?”

“Yes, sir,” grunted Bartlett with a salute. “She made Durok’s smithy do it the next day.”

Turim chuckled. “You two get out of here.” He stepped further to come before Kairn as Breed and Bartlett strode off. “Sir Hollowstale. We’ve barely had a moment since you joined the Wing.”

“That’s right sir,” said Kairn. “It’s my honor to be a part of it though, Commander.”

“It’s rough your first real engagement with us was so—” Turim wasn’t sure what to say. “Well, we made it through. By the way, where are you from, Kairn?”

“I'm from the area about Lake Tor, though my family comes from Tusokan.”

“I thought that might be the case. I hope they fare well,” said Turim with concern.

“They’re alright,” said Kairn. “When the messages were sent across the countryside, word reached them and they left for Lake Tor. That’s what their last letter said anyway.”

“Good, good,” said Turim, patting Kairn’s pauldron. “Your weapon looks clean. I saw Eastwind a few days ago and he looked fine. So, off with you then. See you at the feast.”

“Yes, sir,” Kairn slapped off another salute and hustled out.

Artho was last, and Turim felt he needed to give him a little privacy to talk. “Artho, how are you?”

“Fine, Commander,” he replied, his scabbard in hand, half exposed blade shining.

Turim made hard eye contact. “I’m very sorry about Warran. I hope you and Kairn are working out your synergy.”

Artho had something of a scowl still, but cracked the corner of his mouth slightly. “Warran and I were solid Wingmates.. and friends. It’s going to take a bit.”

“If you ever need anything,” said Turim. “If you need to talk. I’m open ears.”

“I don’t do that, sir,” replied Artho. “You know me. Just give me time.”

“Very good then. I know I don’t need to make these small acts of weapon and armor management with you. You have my sign-off. You’re dismissed.”

Artho strode away, sliding his blade into his scabbard. He paused at the door. “Commander… I don’t know how you did it, but I’m glad you came back. Some people have all the luck, huh?” Then he went out into the cold.

Turim caught eyes with Sand within the confines of the armory, alone again. Sand looked back. They hadn’t had time to talk for days.

“The men are anxious for the feast. How about you?” asked Sand.

Turim nodded slowly and reached down to pick up a check sheet. “I’m hungry, sure. It will be good to see everyone again. I’m not looking forward to questions though.”

Sand waited for him to finish scratching a last mark with the quill. “You went down and popped back up like a gopher. It’s nothing to scoff at.”

Turim looked at Sand with a serious gaze. “That was hardly something I had control over. And I don’t think I should be awarded for doing something that so many did that night with greater finality.”

Sand shook his head. “What was it like to die?” he said hesitantly.

Turim took a slow step toward a rack of lances and selected a new, strong-shafted one. He remembered it now only vaguely. “That’s what I mean, they keep asking. I’m not sure what they want me to say most of the time.” He paused then looked at Sand again. “It was warm, but I couldn’t feel. And it was bright, but I couldn’t really see with my eyes. I remember Lumina though. She was the most beautiful being I’ve ever seen.

“I don’t think I’ll ever see a woman that beautiful again. I’m… tainted by the experience. Or maybe purified, I don’t know what to call it.”

Sand’s mouth bent. “That’s sad! But that’s all that happened? Seems to me it was just a dream you had of a lady. That doesn’t make you special!” Then he laughed wryly.

Turim couldn’t do anything more than smile at the jest. “It did happen, Sand. No matter how hard it is to believe, it did happen.”

“With all that I’ve seen in our time as Knights of the Hawk,” sighed Sand gently. “I believe you. It’s certainly one of the most amazing tales I’ve heard though. But why did Lumina send you back?”

Turim turned around, facing Sand now. He’d completed looking over all of their arms. “I only know I was meant to stop Gewurmarch Rottbone. Maybe my life will end now that’s done, I don’t know. I can’t remember much of what I was told, like a fading dream.”

Sand shot back at him with an unusual possessiveness. “Don’t say that. Your life isn’t ending. That messed with me, and I’m not doing it again.” He quickly changed the subject. “What do you think the Dragon Army will do next?”

Turim brushed past Sand and began to make for the threshold. Sand fell in beside him, and the pair stepped outside the armory, shutting the heavy wooden doors behind them.

“I’m not sure yet,” said Turim as he watched Sand close and lock them. Then Sand turned and gave him the key. “They aren't prepared for another attack. That’s good for us. Because, if you haven’t noticed, we can't stand alone against them at this point anyway. We’ve lost way too many knights and dragons to ever again do what we did this time.”

 * * *

The stars shone in the deep blue of evening as the festival began. Torchlight brightened each road to the dining halls. Everything within the walls of Grendelock Keep and beyond was a bustle of hurrying bodies wrapped in warm winter clothing.

Inside the hall, the tables were set. Fine, silver dining wares sparkled in the candlelight of each table. Candelabras lit the great hall, hung from the high ceilings, bright like rays of an angel.

Turim stood near the head of his table, his thoughts mostly on things far off and remote.

“Can you relax?” said Sand, already sitting a few seats down.

A draft leapt up as the great doors opened as Strevan and Jaffrine came hustling through.

“For the love of The God it’s a frost wolf’s teet out there!” shouted Tartara as she whizzed past them, flitting her wings rapidly to warm up.

“Tartara! Keep your voice low,” hushed Jaffrine, who seemed a little uncomfortable in the finer setting.

But the hall had grown noisy, as knights and squires, smiths, librarians, and clerics of all sizes and shapes poured through doors on either side of the room.

Turim moved to greet the rangers as they entered. “Welcome! I’m glad you’re still here.” He glanced beyond them to the pair of Paladins of Lumina escorting her.

“You would’ve known that if you’d come to see us this week,” said Tartara, her face clearly grumpy over it. But it quickly softened, and she buzzed in for a hug.

“My deepest apologies,” said Turim. It was partially in jest, but he was sincere. “I’ve been so busy getting as much as I can reordered after the battle, I didn’t even know where all of your guesthouses were.”

“We forgive you,” said Strevan with a crisp nod. Jaffrine tilted her head in understanding.

“Rail’s off,” said Jaffrine, “But we’ve been given until tomorrow morning at least.”

Turim looked over her shoulder again. He spoke in lower tones. “I’m so sorry about your little tagalongs. I tried, but there’s nothing I could do.”

Jaffrine gave Turim a sad look. “I didn’t cast a single spell, but they were far too suspicious of my herblore. Herblore, Turim!” She skillfully kept her tone quiet, but he perceived her whispering shout.

Turim set his jaw. “They don’t understand it. In time, if knowledge of your talents were shared, perhaps.” He looked into the pools of her eyes. “I truly am sorry.”

Jaffrine straightened and gave a final nod. “I know.” Then she put on a smile and gazed at the table. “I’m very glad we were able to convince Rail of our desire to hold company with you a last time. I’m sorry he needed any convincing. He’s not of the mind you are when it comes to dealings with the Dragon Army.”

“I didn’t need to speak with him to know that much,” said Turim, turning so they could make their way to the table. “I could tell as soon as we set down in the field.”

“You must understand his feelings, though,” said Jaffrine, unexpectedly supporting their leader. “He wishes only for our safety. So, his heart is in a good place, though his thoughts too, can be narrow—more like a mother grizziak protecting her young.”

Turim nodded. “Wise words as usual. But I want the same myself, really. I’ve just been trying to see a greater purpose in our stand against the Dragon Army. However, tonight we eat. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Come, food will be served soon. And Sand urges me to talk of brighter things over the evening’s meal.”

Sand looked up at them as they came to their seats. “Yeah. Dismal, right?” A cloak of blue adorned his shoulders, pinned with the golden hawk. He smiled pleasantly, greeting people.

Turim patted Strevan on the shoulder heartily as he approached. Strevan smiled, and Turim could see he was licking his lips and looking around for the food already. “I’m glad to be here, Turim,” he said with a wide smile, moving to his chair.

Turim let out a chuckle. “I’m sure you are, my friend. And I’m happy you all came.”

To Sand’s left sat the rest of the Wingmates, and further, beside Bartlet sat Aldor and Darf. Aldor now wore only a fine tunic of deep green. It was nice, he’d finally set aside both his steel cap and mail hauberk. He’d also combed his beard. Beside him, Darf dressed in clean garments of jade green and black. The two of them had been in deep talks about their return already.

“Miss Truffleroot, Miss Songbird,” said Sand, standing as the two ladies came walking up to the table.

Sinfa smiled, almost as if she was uncomfortable to be in such a setting, but Darf stood quickly, pulling out her seat for her. Everyone else at the table stared. Apparently, Darf had manners somewhere in all that bulk.

Lala looked around, almost fidgeting, then sat down beside Sinfa. The halfling dressed in rustic, orange robes draped down to her furry feet, dangling a good deal above the ground in the high seat she’d been seated in.

Boddith Bluefoot came up to the table moments after. Turim had met him before, but something was different about him now. “Oh, his poor eye,” thought Turim.

Boddith smiled at Lala and indicated one of the empty chairs. “Are these seats taken?”

Lala’s eyebrows rose. “Sorry, having another halfling at the table would be nice. But they’re saved.”

“No worries, Miss Truffleroot.” Boddith bowed and turned.

Turim watched Boddith walk to a table nearby. He found a seat there, not far away from Grandmaster Strongthorn’s.

Just as Turim was about to slide into his chair, he returned his curious attention to Lala. “Wait, who are these chairs for then?”

Lala and Sinfa caught each other’s eye and smiled for a moment, but they didn’t offer him an answer. They were the last seats and made up the remainder of the table. He tilted his brows down in frustration at them. “Why so secretive?”

But it was only a few moments before his thoughts were answered. Two black-hooded figures, one tall and one short, stepped through the door. Over their shoulders, they wore black ponchos.

Lala smiled a knowing smile at Sinfa, as Turim quickly walked to the end of the table again. He paused there a moment as the two approached.

“Master Shadowstar!” exclaimed Turim. Realizing he was standing dumbstruck, he suddenly bowed.

“Awkward,” said Meineken, smiling as he removed his hood. Then he too bowed in return. “You’ve met Master Purplefist, briefly.”

“Yes, of course. It’s good to see you both well!” said Turim.

“Good evening, Commander Gliderlance,” said Ryuki. “Master Shadowstar has spoken much of you and your deeds. I believe we all owe you a lifedebt.”

“All that you owe me at this moment is a fine dinner,” replied Turim, delighted that Meineken was there. “Come, sit, all of you!”

Turim walked his kithkin friend to his seat, along with Master Purplefist. “Good to see you, but who sent word for you? Once we received news of your victory in Tusokan, I assumed you’d be far too busy to travel again so soon.”

Meineken nodded silently and smiled. “We were visited by a messenger hawk in the middle of the night. You have Lala and Sinfa to thank for inviting us.”

Turim turned quickly. “Thank you. That was a kind and welcome thing you’ve done.”

Lala smiled and looked to Sinfa.

“It seemed the right thing to do,” Sinfa said with a wink.

Turim sat and watched the hall slowly fill with thousands. Each dressed in their finest clothes, happy and warm despite the cold.

During this, he leaned towards Meineken. “I’ll get scolded if I linger too long on talks of war, but truly, how is the Black Talon Clan? How did the city fare in the battle? And… I also heard you’re the only two Masters who remain. I’m sorry to hear it.”

Meineken exchanged looks with Master Purplefist. “Ryuki and I are doing our best to reorder, but for now our numbers can’t really be called a clan anymore.”

“In time, we may grow again,” added Ryuki, her hands folded delicately on the table in front of her. “But yes, our priorities are with Tusokan itself now.”

“Magistrate Grimswallow was assassinated the night of the attack as well. He leaves no heir—primarily because he was a pig of a man.”

“Master Shadowstar!” scolded Ryuki with a smile.

“What?” Meineken went on. “So we work to elect a new leader as we try to make repairs and return missing belongings. The looting by the dark elves was, and has been, rampant.”

Ryuki chimed in again. “It has been a struggle. Tusokan received a great deal of damage as the Black Divison’s ogres and wolfriders fled back through Tusokan. But they’ve now head east, what’s left of them.”

“They had no choice,” Meineken jumped in. “Every last one of their ships had been sunk when they returned.”

“What?” said Turim curiously. “How did that happen?”

“It seems our friends, the sea elves of Undergleam, just beyond the Bay of Ixidor—they helped us. They’ve also begun aiding us in the work to recover as well. If it wasn’t for them, what remained of the Black Divison’s fleet there might have been able to recover,” Meineken said with a tilt of his head.

Turim looked down the table to see most of his companions listening in. Especially, Aldor, he noted.

“We’re all back together,” said Sinfa with a nostalgic smile. “I’m glad you’re alive, Master Shadowstar.”

Presently the food arrived. It smelled strong and made mouths water with anticipation. There was dark plum duck, sweet carrots and napa stew, and potatoes topped with great mounds of hand-churned butter. There were ears of golden corn, the best of such in all of Cornerius; and savory skinned turkey, dripping with gravy; sweet rolls with poppy seeds; delicious jellies of all kinds; crisp daikon; and savory dumplings. There were also beers and ales of various sorts, much of it brewed by men, but the best of it brewed by the skilled dwarven brewmasters of Jor Barath.

As the night drew on, more and more dishes were brought to the tables.

The hall grew louder, filled with jovial conversation of all kinds. Some spoke of their families; some, of their farms; some, of their friends; and some, of their travels. But there were few who wanted to speak of the great war they’d all taken part in. Not that night. Not just yet.

When each guest ate their fill, and the plates and dining wares had been whisked swiftly away by a great many feet of halflings, sprites, and men, the Grandmaster went to the front of the hall.

Grandmaster Daynard Strongthorn stood on a stage before the crowd—his face proud, yet stern. “I wish to bid you all a good eve. For tonight is a celebration of things long awaited!”

Thousands of cheers filled the hall. The clamor was like waves on the shore, receding then pounding again. It took several minutes before the guests grew quiet once more.

Grandmaster Strongthorn continued. “We’ve fought together, and won together. And I will bet, that each of you feels the one at your side is as a brother or sister now. For the greatest friendships and alliances are formed in the wake of tragedies and triumphs.”

As his speech went on, he thanked each of Turim’s companions individually. He also gave great honor to the Black Talon ninja clan for their halting of the Black Division’s navy.

Folk stood, raising their arms in triumph, waving their fists in the air. Those who sat around Turim’s table urged the companions up also. There were cheers and shouts of joy, and then there was the clunking of wooden mugs, as they toasted Turim’s allies for the aid they’d given.

Many other squads and individuals were honored that eve. Among them was Boddith Bluefoot, who’d been the first to fire his arrow at the enemy. His deeds caused many halflings to hold him in high esteem after that. He’d lost his eye in the battle, and their knights always honored those wounded. Company Commander Van Leadsword was toasted as well for defending the Tusokans; as was Company Commander Wrengaze—for her entire Company had done great deeds, including Turim’s Wing.

Finally, the long night ended.

After that, Turim’s companions stayed in the guesthouses for several days more. But at length, they prepared to return to their homes.

* * *

When Turim approached, the airship sat in the takeoff field again, and Strevan climbed up the rope ladder, handing a bundle to Jaffrine as Tartara followed. He’d been up before dawn, but not much before Sinfa, who’d been scrutinizing every last aspect of the Cloudracer—not that she hadn’t been over every inch of it to check for damage in the weeks since the battle.

Aldor and Darf followed along on either side of Turim. “So you’re going to do what? Stride up in front of the king of Dunarg and say ‘My Lord, I’m taking your knights for a bit, if you don’t mind. Don’t worry, I’ll return them later, but for now, know they fight a just fight?’”

Aldor and Darf chuckled as they came beneath the shadow of the Cloudracer. “Something like that. I’ve some thoughts. But for years I have done nothing to hinder the Dragon Army’s progress. Even now, I’ve let them enter my own lands in Pebak ‘Din.” His voice kept growing stronger. “When I return to Pebak ‘Din, I’m going to muster the Knights of the Hammer. The Dragon Army has driven them from their keep. You can be sure they’ll take great pleasure and pride in helping me vanquish the rest of the Black Division. But I’m not stopping there. There will be many dwarves who might be mustered now in Pebak ‘Din. Soon, news will spread of your slaying of Gewurmarch Rottbone. Then they’ll see it. They’ll see again the possibility of victory—a possibility they haven’t had eyes and hearts to see for years.”

Turim halted, looking back to see Meineken, Ryuki, and Lala approaching to see them all off as well. Then he turned back to Aldor and Darf. “You two be careful.” He shook Aldor’s hand.

“And you, Darf Bloodshedder, son of Gondarf Bloodshedder, feller of giants,” Turim pat the half-ogre on the arm, which was far firmer than he’d expected. “Those injured in battle are deserving of great honor—especially those injured by dragons. Not many live through that attack. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel otherwise.”

Darf had no words for a long while. But his heavy lips soon cracked into a smile, and he looked to Turim kindly. “Thanks, half-breed. This means a lot to me.” Then he gave Turim a thump on the shoulder that nearly knocked him to the frozen ground.

“You . . . deserve it,” said Turim, rubbing his arm.

Lala moved up to Aldor and Darf, embracing them both with a hug. “Take care.”

Aldor smiled and rubbed the back of his head. “I apologize for the remark I made about the hole.” He said softer than usual. “But truth be told, my apology is now partly in fear of you, my halfling friend.”

Lala chuckled and gave a slight curtsey. “Apology accepted. You take care, Mister Steelaxe.”

Darf patted Lala on the head, trying to be as gentle as his thick-knuckled hands could be. “Goodbye, little halfling. And—may your vegetables be bountiful.” He scratched his purple hair. “Ehm… forgive my ridiculous words if they’re shameful. I don’t really know what to say to your folk in times like these.” His head bowed slightly.

Lala smiled and patted the half-ogre’s hand. “That’ll do just fine, Mister Bloodshedder. Travel safe.”

Meineken and Master Purplefist bowed to the pair, keeping more to themselves. Awkwardly, Aldor and Darf did their best to return it, and for a moment, Turim thought the two might fall over.

Darf seemed to give a sigh of relief as he stepped then behind Aldor and they moved toward the rangers as they came down the rope ladder, followed by Sinfa.

Turim sensed that the rangers were a bit on edge. He looked again to the pair of paladins, who’d given the courtesy to have drawn off and sat on a bench quite a distance away.

Tartara came up to him first, wrapping her little arms around his neck. “Will we see you again?”

“We certainly cannot return here,” said Jaffrine as she approached. “Our parting this time may perhaps be a permanent one.” Turim sensed the pain in her. “But I do hope we might see you again one day—I simply cannot be sure our paths will cross. You’ve done much for this world, Turim. Each has their own path, theirs to walk no matter if you can accompany them or not.”

Turim pondered that. “Your words are wise, milady. I’ll miss you and your counsel greatly. I know what you and the rangers may face now. You take care of the Rangers of Ys.”

After, Turim and Strevan gave each other a solid handshake, “Call on me if you’re ever in need. I’ll come as fast as I can.”

 “Goodbye, friend,” said Strevan in his simple manner.

Tartara flew back from hugging Lala and Meineken. Moving past Turim slowly, she whispered. “Don’t worry, Turim. We’ll be okay. And Jaffrine doesn’t blame you. We just need to get back quick, is all.”

Sinfa came up to Turim next then, exchanging hugs as well. “What else is there to say? You’ve been pretty tight-lipped about your… death? But as awful and horrific this all was, I’m glad you’re alive. Glad Darf lived. Glad we’re all alive!”

Turim smiled, then his thoughts went back to the fall of Gewurmarch Rottbone. “Sinfa. Please be careful when you return.”

“Aw, you know I will,” she said, throwing a soft jesting punch at his arm.

“No, I mean with the Cloudracer too,” he went on. “Just, be careful where you go. And thank you, for everything. We really would have never made it without you and the Cloudracer.”

“I told you that when we met,” she said with a smirk. “Really, we’ll be fine on Ys. You don’t have to worry. The Knights of the Badger are there, and we’ll be on the lookout for any more dark knights.”

“Make sure you take time to eat, drink and be merry, too, as they say,” said Lala coming up to her. “It really is quite important.”

Sinfa chuckled as she turned and prodded the rangers, Darf and Aldor, up the ladder, and climbed after them. “There’s always more to you than you let on, Miss Truffleroot. That it is!”

Meineken and Ryuki came up next to Turim and Lala.They bowed a last time to those departing. “Goodbye,” said Meineken.

Aboard the ship, Sinfa called her last goodbye just before the propellers reached full speed. Then her voice was drowned out by the steady chug and whir of the rotors.

Turim and the others waved as The Cloudracer lifted into the air, and watched for a long while as the airship sailed toward the golden horizon.

“Master Shadowstar,” said Ryuki.

Meineken turned to Turim. “We’ve horses waiting at the south gate.”

Together, the four of them walked that way, down the dirt paths away from the dragon stables.

“Turim, I cannot remember what it was like not to know you now,” said Meineken as they walked quietly together. “You’ve saved us all, my friend.”

Turim’s eyebrows lowered and he shook his head. “No, Master Shadowstar,” he laid his hand on the kithkin’s shoulder. “What you’ve done for our country is as honorable as anything I can ever hope to achieve. Your defense of your city was the defense of my own keep, of Daltaria—of our country. I give you the greatest thanks that can be offered. Always know we’ll be here for Tusokan.”

“And I for you,” returned Meineken.

Ryuki and Meineken mounted and readied themselves to ride out.

“Farewell,” said Turim.

“And have a great winter! I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon!” called Lala as they rode off. “You’re only a hare’s hop away!”

* * *

Two mornings later, no one saw Turim off. He’d bid both Grandmaster Strongthorn and his Wing—put under Sand’s charge—goodbye the night before.

He checked his saddlebags, slung his leather pack on his back, and tightened his deep blue cloak around his shoulders. Beside him, as he climbed atop his great steed, sat Lala on a pony of her own. She smiled as brightly as the sunlight peeking over the eastern edge of the world.

Turim looked across the inner walls of the keep one last time, gazing over to the dragon stables on his left, then down the length of the avenue leading out of the gates. So much had happened there within the past—several weeks? It had nearly been a month. But those events had changed him forever. They’d changed everyone.

“Shall we be off then, Mister Gliderlance? We don’t wish to be late, do we sir?” Lala smiled as she spoke, her cheeks pink with chill.

“No ma'am,” replied Turim, urging his steed forward. “I sent my mother a letter more than a week ago now, but don’t worry, she’ll be expecting we take our time on the road as we come. It won’t be long before we get you set up with a bit of farm you can call your own.”

“I can’t wait!” she said. “I think I’ve at least made peace with my own family’s passing. I’ll always miss them, but I’m ready for a new life, I think. There’s a lot I’d like to see beyond the river. I’ve never gone that far west before.”

Turim kicked his horse’s sides and the pair rode over the frozen earth. It crunched beneath their beasts’ hooves and reminded him of snow, even though they hadn’t had any yet. He felt pity for Lala’s loss again, but that only reminded him that the family he had left was precious.

“I look forward to seeing her,” he told Lala, as he waved to the guards who stood above them in the gatehouse. “It’s been more than a year since I’ve been home, during the last Festival of the Snows, in fact.”

Lala was quiet a moment, then her voice came out cheery and sweet. “I myself, look forward mostly to the Festival. In my own village, we used to have all different kinds of food! Everyone would bring their family’s most sought-after dish, and then we’d share it so none would miss a single, tasty treat there! Do you do the same during your Festival of Snows?”

Turim looked on her fondly. She was so good at reminding him of what they’d fought for. “Well, there will be a great deal of food, yes. And there’s also singing and storytelling, and we give gifts to each other—though that was first a practice among my father’s family, not so much my mother’s. The giving of gifts by elves is a thing more rare and special than what the festival represents.”

“Oh. Well, that does sound nice. But why don’t elves give gifts very often? We don’t give them during the Festival of Snows, but then, we do for many other occasions.”

Turim watched the shadow of the great southern wall of Grendelock Keep fall over them and pass. “Perhaps because they give wondrous gifts when the time to give them comes. And mind you, it only comes in the direst of times, when a gift is truly needed.”

“Oh,” said Lala, and then she was quiet for a time.

Slowly they descended along the well-worn road leading from the gates, down from the Golden Ridge. The way was filled with large stones that seemed to smile at their passing, but they soon came to flatter land. They turned westward, making their way to the West Road through the Lockwood Forest. There, the trees still were green and bright, unsullied by the onset of winter. An occasional leaf fell, however, reminding Turim that nothing could last forever.

Leagues passed beneath their horse’s hooves. To the south, they heard the roar of the Misty Falls on the River Itinerus as it flowed southward toward Tusokan. They kept at a moderate pace, stopping for meals, or looking at an especially magnificent tree or forest creature.

In two days, during the late afternoon, after leaving the Lockwood Forest and riding across the Plains of Westersirk, they arrived on the outskirts of Turim’s old home.

They stood on a stubbed ridge of bald hills and looked out.

“This is it, milady. Does it suit you?” Turim asked.

Lala had a broad smile drawn on her face. “It’s better than I’d even expected. I hope I’ll be close.”

Turim gently kicked his horse forward and rode down a smooth, grass-covered slope. “Indeed. I believe the spot for you will be just over that bank in the distance. There, the soil is deep and dark, and there’s a hill just right for a home you might like. You’ll have your own place again—a happy place.”

Then Lala replied simply, “I like happy places.”