The Grand Crusade (77 page)

Magarric smiled briefly. “Resolute, have you seen images from the time before the homelands were created?”

He shook his head. “I was barely aware there was a time before. I do know stories of heroes like Raisasel. They would have been from that time.”

“They would indeed. Do you know what his name means?”

Resolute thought for a moment.“ ‘Eyes of ebony’ I believe.”

Vorquellyn’s founder nodded. “Exactly. You see, in the days before the homelands, all of our eyes were as yours are, one color. What elves now decry as the eyes of children were once the eyes of ancients. You have ancient eyes, Resolute. The ritual of the binding has become an acceptance of adult roles. In the time before the homelands, it was experience that made us adults. You have passed into adulthood and need no binding.”

Resolute frowned. “But that is hardly a reason for Vorquellyn to reject me.”

“It rejected you because your destiny is one that reaches beyond Vorquellyn. You became an adult fighting to redeem Vorquellyn. That is your nature, and your task in life is to fulfill that nature.”

“I don’t understand.”

Magarric reached out and flipped Resolute’s cloak back from his right hip. “You wear the Syverce of Sylquellyn.”

“Yes.”

“You have redeemed one homeland.” Magarric smiled. “It is time for you reestablish another. Your task is to go into the world, create acorüesci, and bring a homeland to life.”

“What? That’s not possible.” Resolute slipped the clasp of his cloak and let it slide from him. “I have no magick that heals or creates.”

“I know, Resolute. All your spells destroy. Reverse them.” Magarric held a hand up. “Do not tell me it is not possible, for I know it is. You can’t do it alone. Choose your help and your place well. It is your destiny, and the final victory over the witch from the north.”

OKRANNEL

To my beloved sons,

It may strike you as odd that I would be writing to you barely an hour after your birth, but I cannot bear to be apart from you and your mother, I love you all so well. Here I sit, then, in the same room in Svarskya as you and your mother slumber. I pray the scratch of quill on paper will not awaken you.

Kirill, you are firstborn and are named for your mother’s father. As you will hear down through the years, he was a brave man, and wise. He was a hero who saved my life more than once. He did the same for your mother, sacrificing himself for us both. There is no greater sign of love for someone than to put their lives before your own. It is a lesson few learn and even fewer embrace. Only the great can do that.

Dunardel, you bear an elven name, also that of a hero. He saved my life more times than I can count. You will have the opportunity to meet him, for he lives in Sylquellyn, the elven homeland he founded on the site of the city ofSvoin. In six months he has managed to reverse the poisoning done by the Aurolani. The Gyrkyme have joined with him to create this homeland and, with his consort, Trawyn, they are creating a paradise in the south of our nation.

You will, the both of you, hear many tales of the times before your birth. It was a grand age of heroes and villains, wizards, dragons, monsters, and hideous weapons. With luck and wisdom, the world’s leaders like your mother will ensure that such an age does not return. In time—a time that knows only peace—it might be that the horrors are forgotten and the scars are healed. I pray you never have to know the crucible of war that shaped the world you will inherit.

I do not think you will. Aside from your mother and other leaders who value peace, there is another who will guarantee it. By the time you are the age we found him, he will probably be little more than a rumor—a report from trappers venturing far north. You will hear tales of a massive stone man who wanders Aurolan, rooting out the remnants of Chytrine’s evil; alone, ever alert, ever vigilant, that her evil does not return.

The DragonCrown War, which birthed your world, was terrible. Many people died—your grandfather one among many heroes—to bring peace. I will tell you many tales of those days, though perhaps not all of them. The grandest, however, will be the story of the Norrington. The Norrington you will know will seem a myth. He was flesh and blood, but became more, and hedoesyet wander the north. Someday we will go north; we will disturb his solitude so you may meet him.

Peace does not come without sacrifice. The Norrington is that sacrifice.

People may forget the price at which their freedom was won, but we will not. He is our reminder, so I shall take you to him, and you will take your sons, and they will take theirs, forever and ever, so war never has to come again to the land.

Your loving father, Tarrant Hawkins.

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