Thalia sat on a low flat rock surrounded by brown and purple heather. The wind was blowing in her face, bringing rain. She could see the high peak, the mountain he had told her was called Calen Mon. Eagles’ Seat. Eagles flew around it, or what she guessed were eagles. They looked like the dragon dancing on the wind. She almost imagined she could hear them calling. What a beautiful thing it would be, to see them close up. Turning with the air, the long soft beating of their wings. He’d climbed right to the top, he’d told her. There were old carvings up at its summit, and little grey stone cairns. You could see all the way to Seneth and Malth Elelane, when the sky was clear. The ground shook again and she started, turned back to look at the flames rising behind her. He’d keep her safe. He’d promised he’d keep her safe. The honey and cream horse cropped at the grass a little way away, unconcerned. The sound of its pink mouth tearing up the grass stems was pleasant. Her cloak was thick and warm.
The ground rocked again, a great crash and a roaring, a vast wild shriek of gulls. A gust of hot wind blew around her. Why does he want to destroy it? she wondered. Because of the boy. Because he’d been hurt there. No, she thought then. Because he’d been happy there. She wondered how long she had been sitting looking away at the peak of the mountain. A long time, she thought. A long time.
What do I know of life? she thought. All I know is death and a dark room that stinks of blood. I vowed to live once. Am I not living? Look! The grass is alive. The sky is alive. Eagles are flying. I have seen a dragon. I have seen the sun rise in the desert. I have seen the sea.
It was getting colder. The sky had cleared in the far west, bringing long golden beams of light. She pulled her cloak more tightly around her. It must be over soon, she thought. But it was good, to sit there with her face to the wind looking at the mountain and the eagles and the sky.
A silence was coming into the air, the screams dying away. A tired weary peace. Thalia stood up slowly, her body stiff. Stretched. She walked over to the horse, still quietly cropping the grass, its head bent. Smelled warm. It pricked up its ears as she approached and she was briefly frightened, but it shook its head and snorted and sniffed at her hand in the hope she might have something for it.
‘Nice horse,’ she said, remembering how Marith had spoken to the mage’s horse in the desert. ‘Nice horse. Good horse.’ She took the reins carefully, tried to remember how to mount it. She couldn’t remember so had to lead it instead, going slowly back towards the fortress over the crest of the hill. The fires still burned, a great plume of smoke blowing on the wind.
They had to cross a stream, clear water running over stones, cutting deep in the turf. It ran very fast and bright, down from the high moor. It sang as it came down. The horse stopped and drank. Thalia drank also, bending her head and cupping her hand. Drops dancing through her fingers. The water was clean and cold, tasting of leaves and stones and earth and rain.
A noise caught her, a snort like the horse’s snort. A rider? Marith? She raised her head.
A deer. A white deer, like the one they had seen in the woods. A stag, crowned with great antlers that stretched up like branches. Like the canopy of a tree, all its leaves dancing. It stared at Thalia with great sad dark eyes. Snorted again, its nostrils flaring. Pawed the earth. Thalia stared back and their eyes held together, woman and animal, and it looked so very sad. Its nostrils flared and trembled, so delicate. It bent and drank, the water dripping from its muzzle, its antlers shivering slightly with the movement of its head. Then it snorted again, rushed away over the moors towards the mountain of Calen Mon. Thalia stared after it.
Run after it. Run off into the wilds. Running water and trees and earth and the sea and the sky. Leave.
She took up the horse’s reins and began to walk on. It trotted behind her patiently, its harness jingling.
After an hour’s walking, she came to Malth Salene. The place where Malth Salene had been. She stopped. An emptiness on the sky in front of her. A gash in the world. A scar. Like her scars. Like Marith’s hand. Ragged and ruined beyond all healing.
But he’s so beautiful, she thought.
A man came up the slope of the moor towards her. He was dressed in battered armour, blood on his face.
‘My Lady.’ He bowed low to her. How many did you kill? she thought.
‘My Lady, My Lord King is looking for you. Awaiting you. If you will follow?’
I should be glad, she thought. We are King and Queen. Crowned in silver. Throned in gold. And they hurt him first. They hurt me. They were cruel. They have brought this upon themselves. Crowned him. Called him Amrath and King. So they deserve it. They could have left us as we were, in the desert outside Sorlost. They did this, not him.
She walked slowly following the soldier across the burned grass, looking and trying not to look at the ruins. Impossible to tell what was flesh and what was stone. All bound together, formless filth and rubble. Like Ausa’s bones had been, ragged and snapped. Crows and seabirds crouched everywhere, glaring at her as she walked. As she passed they flew up, calling out their lonely pained cries. The most beautiful sound in the world, Marith had told her. Fierce bright burning joy, like the fire in the dragon’s eyes as it lighted on the ground. The terrible, beautiful pain of being alive.
Marith came out to meet her, standing at the edge of the ruin. It made her think of the mer woman’s house, looking bleakly out to the sea, bound around with charms against death.
‘Thalia!’ Marith’s face leapt when he saw her. His eyes were so wide and laughing. ‘Oh, Thalia! Do you see? Do you see? What I’ve done! And this is nothing to what I’ll do!’ He clasped her hands. ‘I love you so much! I swore I’d be avenged on them for harming you! I swore I’d make them all kneel at your feet! King and Queen!’
The soldier with her bowed down to him. ‘King Marith! King Marith! Ansikanderakesis Amrakane! Amrath returned to us! Amrath come again!’
Marith beamed at her. Radiant with happiness. ‘You see?’ he said again. ‘You see? Isn’t it wonderful? What I’ve done? What I’ll do?’
‘I see,’ she said. She smiled back at him.
The men danced in the ruins. Beat their swords on their shields. ‘King Marith! King Marith! Victory to the King!’ They sang the songs they had sung at his crowning. Stamped their feet, leapt the fires, leapt and danced over the bodies of the dead. Stamped out the war dance, treading patterns of glory. Singing the paean, the praise song. The bronze rang out in triumph. Swords and shields crashing. Armour crashing as they danced. The clear blue sky shone above them. The golden light of the evening sun.
Marith smiled at them in wonder. His face looked as he had looked in the desert. Amazed and frightened. Alive with hope.