Ari Marmell - The Warlord_s legacy

"We will," Jassion promised.

"Even the parts you don't think I want to hear," she insisted.

"Yes." Irrial, this time, her tone no less sincere.

"Thank you." Mellorin rained dust as she rose, but made no move to brush herself clean.

"For what it's worth," Mavere began, her voice weak from her injuries, "I'm sorry. If we'd known Khanda would try this, we'd never have called him." Her gaze flickered from one to the next, imploring. "But something had to be done, don't you see? For the good of Imphallion, we-"

She grunted once, less in pain than surprise, and slid, with a final rattling sigh, to the floor. Her expression blank, Mellorin shook the Guildmistress's blood from Sunder's edge.

Irrial grimaced, Jassion nodded. Neither spoke.

"We should go," the warlord's daughter told them.

Her uncle nodded again. "There's much to be done. We have to try to explain what's happened, and to mount a defense-a true defense-against Cephira."

Irrial quirked her lip. "That might've been easier if we had-"

"No." Jassion shook his head. "She'd never have admitted to any of it. It would've been our word against hers. As it is, we've precious little proof, but…" He shrugged.

"But we have to try." Irrial took one step, a second, and staggered. "I don't think I can ride. I certainly can't climb out of here. Go."

"My lady, we-"

"Take Mellorin back to Mecepheum. You can send someone back for me with a coach. And rope. Lots of rope."

The baron nodded reluctantly and began examining the broken ceiling overhead.

"Jassion? Send a squad of soldiers, too, would you? Just in case."

"Of course."

IT TOOK SOME DOING, especially since they refused to touch the stones that had become a makeshift cairn for Corvis and Khanda both, but eventually they stacked together sufficient rock and timber for Jassion to leap up and clasp the edge of the floor above. After a moment of scrabbling, while the others held their breath and prayed the stone would hold, he vanished over the rim. He reappeared a moment later, one arm reaching downward. It probably wasn't necessary-Mellorin could likely have made the jump herself-but he offered, and she accepted. A bit more scrabbling, Jassion called out once more to ensure Irrial would be all right for the duration, and then they were gone.

For several minutes the baroness waited, until all sounds had ceased above and she was certain the others were on their way. Then, leaning against the wall for support, she inched her way toward the unsteady heap of rock.

And again, for long minutes, made no move at all.

Who had he been, there, at the last? Who had slain Khanda, had risen in the face of a mortal wound and lashed out to save, if not the entire world, then his beloved daughter? Corvis Rebaine, the Terror of the East? Or Cerris of Rahariem, whom Irrial herself had once thought to love, and who-though that love was past-might have been a friend and companion worth having?

Irrial didn't know. But as sure as she was that nobody could have survived either that dreadful wound or the weight of the crushing stones-let alone both together-she knew that she must do all she could to be absolutely certain. No matter how futile the effort.

How many times, after all, had Corvis Rebaine already performed the impossible?

She could accomplish little enough by herself, perhaps, but at least she could make a start until the soldiers arrived to aid her. Grunting with exertion, the baroness of Rahariem leaned down and heaved aside the first of many stones.

MELLORIN STOOD CALF-DEEP in snow, one hand resting on Sunder's hilt, and struggled to peer through the whirling blizzard at the path before her.

She had indeed learned much about Corvis Rebaine, and as she'd been warned, there was much of it she wished she hadn't. Still she'd sought more-and more she had discovered. From Tyannon and Jassion, from Irrial and even from Davro; from scholars and sages, historians and even oracles. She devoured it all, until there was no more to be learned.

And she'd learned what she must do with that knowledge. She wondered if, in the many months that had come and gone, her mother had begun to forgive her-or if she ever would.

But it didn't matter. Mellorin knew her father, now. She knew why he'd left, and if she couldn't yet forgive him for that, she could at least understand. She knew what he'd hoped to accomplish and the world he'd hoped to build… And she knew where he'd gone wrong.

She had no children waiting for her. She could avoid his mistakes. She could do it right. But she, like her father before her, needed the power to make it work.

Her guide, scion of a local Terrirpa tribe, reemerged from the wall of snow and beckoned with a fur-clad hand. "We should hurry, good mistress, lest the blizzard grow any worse."

An absent nod was her only response as she gazed upward, as though through sheer force of will she could see into the uppermost reaches of Mount Molleya, or the hidden cave at their peak where her prize awaited, entombed within the ice.

I'll build the world you wanted for us, Father. I'll make you proud.

Plans for the future and memories of the past twining around each other behind her eyes, Mellorin waved her guide forward and began to climb.