Wardragon (34 page)

Epilogue

O
ne year after the Battle of D’loom, Zimak persuaded his friend, the Archmage Jelindel dek Mediesar, to take a trip with him. Accompanied by Daretor, they headed north towards the Algon Mountains, and Argentia.

After a few days travel they stopped at a briny lake, and here Jelindel and Daretor met Ethella, and saw that a great love had grown between her and Zimak, who had been spending more and more time there in recent months.

At Zimak’s pleading, Jelindel sought long and hard to find a way to free Ethella, but in the end was defeated by the ancient and powerful curse.

‘Is there nothing you can do?’ Zimak asked mournfully. He clutched Ethella’s hand tightly, but it was she who comforted him. Used to her imprisonment, she had not expected there was much chance she could be freed.

Jelindel looked gravely at the two of them. Daretor, nearby, watched silently. ‘There is one way,’ said Jelindel, reluctantly.

‘Yes?’ said Zimak eagerly. ‘Whatever it is, we should try it!’

Ethella cautioned him. ‘Hear Jelindel out,’ she said. She had seen the look on Jelindel’s face.

Zimak folded his arms. ‘I don’t care, let’s do it!’

‘Ethella’s right,’ said Jelindel. ‘Hear me out. The cure might be more bitter than the plight.’

‘I hardly think –’ Zimak began, but Daretor placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘Zimak,’ he said, not unkindly, ‘shut up, will you?’

Zimak shut up.

‘I think the curse can be broken, but a sacrifice must be made.’

Ethella sighed. ‘Alas, I feared as much. The old witch was too clever for us.’

‘What kind of sacrifice?’ asked Zimak.

‘You must bind yourself to Ethella, in body and soul. And what is done in this way cannot be undone.’

‘You mean we must marry?’

‘That. And much more.’

‘How much more?’ asked Ethella worriedly.

Jelindel sighed. ‘You cannot leave the lake. You cannot enter our world. So Zimak must enter yours. Forever.’

Zimak stared, and gulped. Ethella shook her head. ‘No. No, I won’t allow it. I am used to my prison. I will not have another condemned to share it with me.’ Her eyes glistened. ‘I will bear it alone. It is
my
curse, after all.’

There was a long silence. At last Zimak said, ‘I have made a decision. I will join Ethella in the lake.’

‘Zimak, no!’

Zimak smiled. ‘It will not be so bad. My friends will visit us. Maybe we can even build a pavilion here on the shore. And I am very fond of fish. That is what you eat, isn’t it?’ He looked scared, but determined.

Now Ethella’s eyes brimmed with tears.

And Jelindel burst out laughing. They both looked at her, and Daretor frowned.

‘Who said anything about staying in the lake?’ she said.

‘You said she can’t enter our world,’ Zimak said.

‘She can’t. But she can return to her own world – and her own time.’ Jelindel paused a moment, then said softly: ‘But only if you go with her. The spell can only be broken backwards, and only if one who truly loves her makes a supreme sacrifice.’

Zimak licked dry lips. ‘You mean go back five thousand years? Back to the time of Kamiz and Inanna and the dragons and … and –’

‘Yes. That’s what I mean.’

‘And we can never return here – I mean, now?’

‘Never.’

‘But – what if it doesn’t work?’ said Ethella. ‘What if we are separated? I would rather stay here in the lake than risk that.’

‘You will not be separated. You will remain together your whole lives, and you will both live into old age. You will also have many children and though there will be trying times ahead, you will be happy.’

‘Truly?’ asked Zimak. ‘You’re not just making this up?’

‘I will take the truthsense if you like.’ And she meant it.

Ethella stood up. ‘We need to talk,’ she said. She led Zimak away down the shore and for a few hours they sat in the moonlight and talked and laughed and cried. Jelindel and Daretor wrapped themselves in furs and watched the ripples on the lake.

‘I like it here,’ Jelindel said.

‘I also,’ said Daretor. ‘I’ve written some ballads.’

Jelindel cocked her head. ‘Really? You must have been sneaking off for quiet times while my back was turned. Bards have a good attitude. Your “honour for its own sake” attitude is your worst feature.’

‘Honour can do more damage than evil when taken too far. You can never take things too seriously when you have to sing about them. Would you like a song?’

‘Actually, I could think of nothing better. Who would imagine? Daretor the romantic.’

Mindful not to disturb Jelindel’s resting place against his shoulder, Daretor reached over and pulled his lyaral from its rollpack. ‘What about the ballad of how the Preceptor courts Fa’red’s wife?’

‘Hmm. I don’t think Fa’red ever had a wife.’

‘He does in my ballad.’

Finally, just before dawn, Zimak and Ethella returned. Zimak looked happier than Jelindel could ever remember seeing him. ‘I’m going,’ he said.

Jelindel nodded, blinking back tears. Daretor, as chief administrator of D’loom, married them there by the lake in the silvery moonlight, and when the couple had kissed and sworn their vows, Jelindel wove her magic.

As the sun peeked over the far horizon, Zimak hugged Jelindel and said he would never forget her. Then he hugged Daretor, who kept blinking and pretending he had something in both eyes.

Then, amidst tears and laughter and more goodbyes, Jelindel spoke the words of command, and a great light suddenly appeared above the centre of the lake, and the waters parted, forming a passageway.

Zimak took a deep breath, clasped his wife’s hand, and with a lingering look over his shoulder at his two friends, walked down the passageway and into the light.

And was gone.

On the lonely ride back to D’loom, Daretor and Jelindel said little at first, both missing Zimak in their own way. But the following afternoon Daretor broached something that had been on his mind since the night at the lake.

‘You made it all up, didn’t you?’ he said.

‘Made what up?’

‘All that stuff about them making it back in one piece, and always being together, and having children, and dying of old age … You just made it up to make them feel better, didn’t you?’ He grinned tightly. ‘I’m not sure that was fair.’

Jelindel burst out laughing. ‘Zimak was right, you know. You really are a stick-in-the-mud. And just so you know, I didn’t make it up.’

‘But how could you possibly know? It was five thousand years ago!’

She reined in her horse and he did the same. ‘I know because I know.’

‘Oh, well, that explains everything.’

She was still smiling. ‘I know because I really do know what happens to them when they get back to that time. And you do too, except you don’t realise it.’

Daretor stared at her.

Jelindel said, ‘Have you ever thought about Zimak’s name?’

He frowned.

‘And Ethella’s? Because her name isn’t Ethella by the way, or not all of it, which happens to be Ethella T’kar
Inanna
. And Zimak spelt backwards is –’

‘Kamiz!’ A light went on in Daretor’s brain and he gaped at Jelindel, who nodded. He said, ‘
Zimak
becomes the most famous hero in the history of Q’zar?’

‘With his beautiful bride at his side, yes.’ She reached over and squeezed Daretor’s hand. ‘And not
the
most famous hero, not in my opinion at least!’

It is known that Daretor and Jelindel lived many years. The dates of their deaths, however, are not recorded. The tragic and untimely deaths of heroes in battle blaze like ruddy funeral pyres in the annals of history, but heroes who live long and happily, then die old and contented, somehow lack what it takes to inspire bards.

There is no more of The Jelindel Chronicles. Although much of what has been written has been refuted by scholars and historians, Jelindel’s deeds were real, and they changed worlds.