Roxanne sent us on our way with money, horses, promises, and every gift we would accept. She kissed an astonished Paulo on the forehead with an offer of her friendship if ever he required it, and then she clasped Gerick’s hands, studying him as if to press his image into her memory. “You’re going back, aren’t you?”

Gerick nodded, flicking his eyes our way. “I’ll see them to our friend’s house in Valleor first.”

Roxanne nodded, as if she expected nothing else. “You’ll miss my help.”

Gerick laughed a bit. “Indeed I will.”

Roxanne didn’t laugh, but squeezed his hands until her knuckles went white. “You’ll find many people willing to help you. But sometimes you need to ask. Don’t forget that.” Then she released him and shoved him toward his horse. As Gerick mounted up, she strode back under the torchlit gate tower, and the portcullis clanged shut behind her.

Mere days after reestablishing the reign so tenaciously and skillfully perserved by his queen, King Evard promulgated two decrees that would have been unheard of a few years earlier. Sorcery, in and of itself, was no longer a crime, for sorcerers had worked closely with the king to end the strange disturbances of the previous year. The second decree, that women could own property and inherit the titles of their fathers, needed no explanation.

Of less interest to the people of Leire, but of some significance to Karon and me, was an envelope that followed us to Verdillon, where Karon and I planned to stay with Tennice awhile. In it were the deeds to Windham and the Gault titles that had been vacant for sixteen years. Though sorely tempted by the opportunity to care for Martin’s home, we were inclined to refuse anything from Evard’s hand. What decided the question was the simple note that accompanied the documents. It said only, From a grateful father and mother. In that spirit we accepted.

Gerick remained with us only long enough to make sure we understood how his life was changed, so we shouldn’t worry about him too much when he and Paulo headed off to northern Valleor, where rumor had it that a tribe of barbarians had invaded the Four Realms. If the portal still existed, he told us, he would take the Singlars back to the Bounded and stay as long as they seemed to need him. He promised to send word as soon as he knew anything to tell.

Long anxious weeks passed until a weary rider showed up at the door with a crumpled paper, saying it had been left at a tavern in northern Valleor with the promise of a gold coin for the man who would deliver it to us. I paid the man and tore open the letter.

Dearest Mother and Father,

This is the first moment I’ve had to write. I found the Singlars in good health, thanks to the preparation Paulo gave them before we left the Bounded. The Vallorean villagers had not welcomed them, but had not harmed them, either, as there were so many, and some of them so fierce in appearance. We’ve left a tale for many an inn’s common room, I think. But now I’ve taken them home, and they’ve set to work rebuilding their fastnesses and starting up their markets and trades again. Few of our fastnesses survived, including very little of my own residence, so things are very hard right now. We have to work long hours just to get everyone fed. But no firestorms assault them and no terrified Valloreans growl at them or chase them away, so no one complains about the price. We don’t know as yet whether the wild folk we left here survived. We have reinstated our watch until we are sure there is no need for it.

The biggest news of this week is that one of the Singlar girls is with child - a first. Paulo may have to find a midwife on his next journey to Valleor, I suppose, and persuade her to come back with him. This is a great mystery to the Singlars, and I’m not exactly experienced with it either. They think I know everything!

The Source has maintained throughout all. I understand now that she knows no more than I, but she helps me think clearly, and question myself, so that I believe I come up with decent judgments and reasonable rules.

Paulo will be going back and forth a good deal, I think. He says he needs a touch of sun and a taste of jack fairly often or he’ll get testy. Though we use the portal to Valleor frequently, the portal to Avonar has completely vanished; I suppose because I am no long the son of D’Arnath’s Heir. Paulo thinks it’s too bad, but I can’t say I’m sorry. I’ve no wish to set foot in Gondai ever again.

When we get a little more settled, I hope you will come visit here. I know you each could give me lots of good advice. I’m not fool enough to think I know all I need to be a good ruler, but I can’t quit and apprentice for ten years to learn it. They have no one else. Luckily, they have no expectations, so we suit very well. This is where I belong.

Know that you are both in my thoughts every day. It makes no difference what worlds we walk, I feel your presence and your faith in me, and it gives me strength to do whatever needs to be done. It will take me a while to come to terms with what I am and what I have been. To know how close I was to going back leaves me wary.

But no oculus hangs in the cave of the Source any longer. A wall of solid rock stands where it was. And from a crevice in the rock has sprouted a tree, little more than a stick as yet, too small to reveal its variety. I like to think it is a sign of the life you’ve given me. I promise I’ll do my best to nurture it.

Your loving son,

Gerick

Karon has begun to write a history of his people in our world, a project he has dreamed about since he first went to the University. And he has begun to heal again, quietly until we are sure of Evard’s new law. We live in the Windham gatehouse, as the main house is too ruined to rebuild. I am working to restore Martin’s gardens.

Gerick’s infrequent letters tell of Singlars and sunrocks and towers that grow, and of the small victories and immense frustrations of responsibility, but very little of himself. Nothing of the scars that I fear go far deeper than those on his hands. Wary. I, too, feel wary. Karon told me of Ziddari’s final curse: You are our instrument…

Are the Lords truly dead? Gerick and Karon believe it. Ven’Dar, too. On a visit this month, the Prince reported how the society grown up about constant war in Gondai has begun to crumble, just as the towers of Zhev’Na collapsed to rubble at the moment of Karon’s and Gerick’s victory. But though I rejoice each morning when I wake with Karon beside me, I cling to him fiercely each night when the inevitable darkness comes.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Though Carol Berg calls Colorado her home, her roots are in Texas, in a family of teachers, musicians, and railroad men. She has a degree in mathematics from Rice University and one in computer science from the University of Colorado, but managed to squeeze in minors in English and art history along the way. She has combined a career as a software engineer with her writing, while also raising three sons. She lives with her husband at the foot of the Colorado mountains.