The Keep of Fire (70 page)

The flood of memories nearly drowned her. There would be no denying them now that she had finally let herself remember—no ignoring her own wounds. But they could wait a little while more. She turned her back on the shadow.

The blot passed behind her—although it was not
gone, it would never really be gone now—and she passed into light. Again she saw Beltan’s thread: the barest wisp of gossamer. She caught it in one hand, then found Travis’s thread with the other. Then she brought them both close to her, and with a smile—

It’s so simple, Doctor
.

—she bound both strands to her own.

Grace’s, Travis’s, and Beltan’s eyes all flew open at once.

A gasping breath rushed into Beltan’s lungs, and he started to sit up. Travis caught his shoulders, supporting him, as Grace pressed him back down.

“Am I … alive?” the knight said in a hoarse voice.

Grace smiled and nodded as her tears fell upon his chest. “You stupid dope. You said you were going to take better care of yourself. You said you were sorry.”

Despite the pain in his green eyes, Beltan grinned. “Just because I’m sorry doesn’t mean I won’t do it again.”

Melia drew close, her amber eyes shining. “Is he healed?”

Grace sighed, then looked up at the lady and shook her head. “I’ve bought us some time, Melia. That’s all. We’ve got to get him somewhere I can operate.”

But where in a medieval castle could she do that?

“Travis.…”

Beltan’s eyes were hazed again as he spoke. Travis eased him back down on the bench and leaned over.

“What is it, Beltan?”

The knight’s voice was fainter now. “I don’t think I’ve got much longer. So I just wanted to tell you something. I just wanted to tell you that I’m not sorry after all.”

Travis shook his head. “I don’t understand, Beltan. Not sorry for what?”

“For this.”

The knight lifted his head and touched his bloodstained lips to Travis’s own. Then Beltan fell back to the bench, and his eyes fluttered shut. Travis looked up, his gray eyes wide, his lips flecked with red.

Melia clasped a hand to her throat. “Is he …?”

“No,” Grace said. “He’s not dead. But he will be soon if I don’t do something. Only I don’t have the tools here.” She shook her head. “I need medicine now, not magic.”

Travis gazed down at the unconscious knight. “I understand, Grace. Why he was so upset when I told him to get away from me after we fought Eriaun that first time. I was so hot—it was dangerous for him to touch me. And the roaring. I couldn’t hear what he was saying.…”

Grace remembered the conversation between Beltan and Melia she had once overheard. “He loves you, Travis. That was what he was trying to tell you. He loves you more than his own life.”

Travis looked up at Melia, and the lady nodded.

“Do you love him as well, dear?” she said softly.
“Can
you love him?”

Travis gazed again at the fallen knight. “I don’t know. Yes, I think. Maybe—I’m not sure. But I’ve got to find out. You’ve got to save him, Grace.”

She sighed. “If I could get him back to Denver Memorial, I could do it.”

Melia glided closer. “Remember, dear. There is a way.”

Both Grace and Travis stared at the regal woman, then they locked eyes.

Scant minutes later they were ready. Grace stood with Travis beside Beltan. They had wrapped the knight in Falken’s cloak, and Travis wore Beltan’s clothes, which Aryn had found at the entrance to the baths.

“You remember what to do?” Falken said, his faded blue eyes solemn.

Grace glanced at Travis, and he nodded.

“We’ll both picture the hospital,” she said.

Melia clasped her hands together. “Do be careful, dears.”

Grace gripped the silver half-coin—the one Brother Cy had given her what seemed an age ago. Travis held the other half of the coin. Grace hoped the coin would indeed take them to Denver Memorial. She wasn’t sure they would have much time once they got to Earth, that her magic would sustain Beltan for long. As they readied themselves for the journey, Travis had told her that runes did work on Earth, but they were not as strong as on Eldh. Would it be the same for the Weirding?

“May Sia watch over you,” Lirith said.

The witch stood beside Aryn, holding the young woman’s left hand in her own.

“We’ll miss you,” the baroness said, her blue eyes bright with sorrow.

Durge stood to one side. He had been silent as they readied themselves, and now Grace saw why. A tear rolled down one of his weathered cheeks.

She reached a hand toward him. “Oh, Durge.…”

“Come back to us, my lady,” he said, a trembling note in his somber voice. “Whenever you may.”

“We’ve got to go, Grace.”

She met Travis’s eyes. “Let’s do it.”

“You know,” he said softly, “the dragon was wrong. Spardis was the Keep of Fire after all. But we didn’t die here.”

Grace sensed the shadow that lurked just behind her, never to be shut away again, and she laid a hand atop Travis’s own, feeling his new, pink skin.

“No, the dragon was right,” she murmured. “We did.”

Travis said nothing. Instead he faced her, Beltan on the bench between them. Each rested one hand on the
knight’s chest, then with the others brought the two halves of the coin together.

“Let’s go home, Grace.”

And all shadows were banished as the world filled with silver light.

M
ARK
A
NTHONY
learned to love both books and mountains during childhood summers spent in a Colorado ghost town. Later he was trained as a paleoanthropologist but along the way grew interested in a different sort of human evolution—the symbolic progress reflected in myth and the literature of the fantastic. He undertook this project to explore the idea that reason and wonder need not exist in conflict. Mark Anthony lives and writes in Colorado, where he is currently at work on the next book of
The Last Rune
. Fans of
The Last Rune
can visit the website at
http://www.thelastrune.com
.

Don’t miss

BOOK FIVE of
The Last Rune

THE GATES OF
WINTER

by

MARK ANTHONY

Coming in spring 2003 from Bantam Spectra