The Starfollowers of Coramonde (52 page)

They passed
where the gateway arch had been, and stopped at the spot where the Fane had
dominated Shardishku-Salamá. The place was flat, with no block, no timber, not
so much as a potsherd to show a city had stood there. It was now a table of
scorched earth. The American felt his side, where the wound had disappeared;
something told him Dirge, too, had ceased to exist. Springbuck looked straight
up, but there was no sign of the Trailingsword. He was unsurprised. Gil took
the Ace of Swords and let it fall to the cauterized earth.

They made the
long hike to their horses, mounted, rode away and never glanced back. Pale dawn
had begun.

The armies
had encamped around the base of the hill. Warriors of both sexes had begun
ascending the hill, to bear witness of the Lifetree.

The
deCourteneys and the others came down. Andre, guessing Gil’s thought, indicated
the Tree and said, “By evening it will achieve full growth. It’s uppermost
branches will be in the clouds, its roots deep in the earth.”

Springbuck
was speaking to Ferrian. “Friend Rider, your timing is harrowing-fine.”

The
Horseblooded grinned, adjusting the bandages on his head. “Victory is its own
excuse, as we say on the High Ranges. I came to the Isle of Keys just after the
Mariner fleet set out. Andre, you rule the winds all too well!” He struck his
thigh with his left hand. “For fact, I did, in haste, neglect to say something
to Gil.” He looked to the American. “The ship I took was under two who said
they knew you, said you needn’t seek for them yet at, um, ‘Fiddler’s Green,’
but might find them at the Golden Fluke.”

Gil laughed,
then noticed Swan watching him. He sobered. “How would you like to see the
Outer
Hub?”

Her face was
fond, but unhappy. “Region Blue has been without a High Constable long enough,”
she declined. Catching Gabrielle’s eye, she added, “And Glyffa, far too long
without a Trustee.”

The sorceress
returned the appraisal. “Region Blue will have a new High Constable, in sooth.”
Swan was startled; Gabrielle finished, “I cannot squander my best administrator
on one area.” She saw Gil’s frown, and laughed. “No hangdog faces! You may
visit, but there is the Reconciliation to consider.” To Springbuck she moved
her glance, pretending still she spoke to the American. “We have much to do,
you see, though there will be leisure too.”

The
Ku-Mor-Mai
held her eyes. “One mustn’t neglect affairs of state.”

Reacher
surprised them all, saying, “I, for one, do not answer that plea of politics.”

Katya
puzzled, “What now, brother?”

“You are
clever, sister, and willful. And as formidable as you have to be.” He eased his
injured leg. “Therefore, you have a season in which to do as you like, be it
going with Edward again or returning with me to Freegate. But when that is done
and this leg is sound, I would like you to take the throne, if you will. I am
for the High Ranges.”

Van Duyn made
a sour face. “The whole Crescent Lands are upside down; don’t plan a vacation
yet.” He took the Snow Leopardess’ hand.

“But much of
our plight came of Salamá,” Andre reminded, “and will lack a driving force now,
though there remains the demon Amon.”

“And the
Southwastelanders?” Springbuck prodded.

“Their center
is failed. They are a factional people; our strong armies, going north without
doing harm, might go unmolested.”

Gil seated
himself on a rock, where Swan had set herself with a waterskin. He took a pull
on it, the brackish water tasting sweet to him.

“There is
work for you too, brother,” Gabrielle was telling Andre, “in Veganá. They need
all help rebuilding there. What better place to go awhile, until the Reconciliation,
when Glyffa’s call is upon you once more?”

“I’d hoped
for Andre’s assistance myself,” Springbuck interjected. “There are the Druids.”
The wizard looked torn.

Van Duyn sat
down next to Gil. The younger man passed him the waterskin. “What are you going
to do, Ed?”

“Finish what
I started in the Highlands Province; I hate to quit anything like that. But
there’s this business of Katya taking the throne. If you want to go home,
you’ll probably have to come looking for me in Freegate.”

Swan stared
at Gil as Van Duyn wandered off. Her face was soft and warm. To one side,
Springbuck was gesticulating with Gabrielle, Andre and Katya, saying, “We are
the most coherent force in the Crescent Lands. Disorders, rebellion,
lawlessness there may be, but these we can overcome. In time, we might forge
another Unity. What worthier labor is there?”

Swan asked
Gil, “You have a plan too, Seeker?”

He rubbed the
dark powderburn tattoo on his stubbled cheek. “Yeah; I’m gonna grow a beard.”
She didn’t even smile. “All right, no, I have none, Swan.” He hung his head for
a moment, then looked up. “But we have a long ride back, to talk about it.”

She flashed
her grin. “A sensible beginning.”

Down where
the war-drays of Matloo were laagered, the Yalloroon had gathered, joining hands,
to dance and sing in jubilation. They’d seen Salamá burn, and were free. Gil
was watching them when Springbuck came over. The
Ku-Mor-Mai,
too,
inquired, “What will you do now?”

He shrugged.
He hadn’t forgotten that the Berserkergang hadn’t come to him when he’d fought
Bey. Had the Lifetree’s waters healed that too, the arsenal of the Rage?

Andre
deCourteney had run down to take part in the Yalloroon’s dance, dragging with
him Gabrielle, who protested only halfheartedly. The little Yalloroon giggled at
them with delight; the wizard played the buffon, flapping his arms, twirling on
his toes. The sorceress curtseyed, and moved light-footedly.

Ferrian
joined their circle, moving slowly with a modest skip, and Dunstan, who was
roaring his amusement. Gil glanced to where the Lifetree climbed, almost
visibly, in the sun. He stood, took Swan’s hand, led the High Constable to her
feet. “I’m going dancing. You?”