Warautumn (56 page)

“Not unless they want to, and we’ll have to make certain they do. And we’ll … we’ll have to stress that living there is not only an adventure but a privilege and a responsibility. Did I tell you that Mother may want to come?”

Rann raised a brow.

Avall smirked. “Actually, I think it’s because we plan to take Averryn, and she doesn’t want to be parted from him.”

“At least she can get all the solitude she wants,” Merryn snorted. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you. And, to be honest, there’s very little remaining here for her.”

Avall shifted in his seat. “There’s another one who might want to go, though I’m not certain we dare take him.”

“And who might that be?” Rann drawled after another lengthy draught.

“Ahfinn. And before you both come down on me, let me remind you that the man is an excellent administrator. More to the point, he knows more about the gems than anyone else who isn’t one of us, so I’d be happier if he was where we could watch him.”

“What about his trial?” Merryn demanded.

“We could give him a choice of death or exile—but that exile wouldn’t be alone, and would have a very specific destination.”

“Like a certain lake?”

“I’d
rather
have him where we can watch him,” Avall repeated.

“I’d
rather have him dead,” Merryn snapped.

“At some point one needs to replace justice with mercy,” Avall replied. “Besides, he may choose death anyway.”

Rann stared at his goblet, which seemed to be absorbing the dying light. “The question is: Do we dare trust him around the regalia? Might we not be raising up another Zeff?”

“We won’t
have
the regalia—nor the gems, except one to use for jumping.”

Merryn froze in place and looked at him sharply. “You’ve decided, then?”

Avall nodded. “Vorinn and I talked about it all night before I jumped back here, and believe it or not, he agrees with me. We have to take all the gems and everything that bears one, regardless of who made it and when, away from Eron. Away from temptation, I should say. He thinks the threat of them will be enough to forestall further rebellion.”

“So we’re hiding them again?”

“You are—if you’re willing. And a generation from now, they’ll be legends—to most of the world.”

“So shall we be,” Rann sighed. “I wonder what that will be like?”

“Whatever it is,” Avall replied with conviction, rising to face the glorious sky to the west, “it’s bound to be exciting.”

Phil Albert
Sharon Albert
Anne Lesley Groell
Linda Jean Jeffery
Tom Jeffery
Betty Marchinton
Buck Marchinton
Larry Marchinton
Deena McKinney
Howard Morhaim
Lindsay Sagnette
Juliet Ulman

and especially John Butler and T. J. Cochran,
who just ambled in and made themselves at home

Tom Deitz grew up in Young Harris, Georgia, a tiny college town in the north Georgia mountains that—by heritage or landscape—have inspired the setting for the majority of his novels. He holds BA and MA degrees in English from the University of Georgia, where he also worked as a library assistant in the Hargrett Rare Books and Manuscript Library until quitting in 1988 to become a full-time writer. His interest in medieval literature, castles, and Celtic art led him to co-found the Athens, Georgia, chapter of the Society for Creative Anachronism, of which he is still a member. A fair-to-middlin’ artist, Tom is also a frustrated architect and an automobile enthusiast (he has two non-running ’62 Lincolns, every
Road & Track
since 1959 but two, and over 900 unbuilt model cars). He also hunts every now and then, dabbles in theater at the local junior college, and plays
toli
(a Southeastern Indian game related to lacrosse) when his pain threshold is especially high.

After twenty-five years in Athens, he has recently moved back to his hometown, the wisdom of which move remains to be seen.
Warautumn
is his nineteenth novel.