It was difficult to agree on the place of the funeral. Her family wanted Kyeta to be buried in the Sjaell necropolis, next to her home, where her old parents could come every day to stand above their daughter's grave. Where she was born and grew up, where she would be back home.

The state, the king, the people of Solummger wanted the heroine to rest in the capital where a monument would be raised for her memorial. The talks kept going on while her body was being transported across the sea in an iron coffin embellished with blue flowers. The first sailors who came up with this idea wanted to commemorate the colour of her eyes so they ordered hundreds of centuries, irises and pansies and forget-me-nots. Now the flowers withered and the coffin stayed in a morgue of a small port city in the west.

Finally, the minister of culture came up with a compromise by recalling a very old tradition that hasn't been practised for centuries. The warrior's chest was cut open, her body was transported to Sjaell and her heart was put in a box and travelled to Rekeeren, the capital. The split funeral was to take place simultaneously on the agreed day.

Rekeeren city centre and the Oval Place was crammed with the mourners, king Tharhes himself took his turn in holding the urn on the long march from the First Temple to the new monument. More blue flowers were thrown on the street before the cortege making the way looking like a river cut off the sky. The slow steps of the crowd were echoing: tam, tam, tam-tam, tam, tam-tam, tam-tam, tam-tam. When the king stepped on the podium and placed the urn inside the hollow column the whole Rekeeren went silent. There was nothing to say. Kyeta Asdraghom was gone.

Sjaell has never seen so many people from all other regions coming in one day. The vast cemetery was full, it seemed like very person living in the area came to give condolences to heartbroken mother, the father who has already cried all his tears, the brothers who just a few weeks ago walked in the glory of their sister and suddenly all joy was over, cut by a merciless messenger. The hero was no more. The daughter, sister, lover and friend was dead.

Here too the paths were covered by sapphire flowers. When the body was led in the earth and covered by the wet soil the wreaths of all shades of blue created a mountain of farewells.

And nobody knew, neither here nor in Rekeeren, that Kyeta's favourite flower was the yellow daffodil.

None of the army members deployed in the continent could attend the funeral unless they could proove they were close family. It meant both Verlar and Ottaine did not get a chance to bid farewell. Verlar mourned for his friend, for the fellow student he had a crush on, for the amazing warrior who inspired thousands of soldiers and he was proud to have known.

News about her death reached him when he returned from his last cruise from Solummger. He was always checking the list of the dead to make sure there were no names he knew. That time he didn’t even have to check. Kyeta's name was all over the place. At first, he thought she did something extraordinary again, won the war on her own or captured the Skey-Er king. When he realised why her name is spoken everywhere he didn't say anything, didn't shed a tear. He took the written order and his belongings and travelled straight to Fuerumig for the last week of paperwork.

He went for a walk by the lake outside the city and saw a familiar silhouette on one of the benches.

His face healed, if there were any signs of the previous burns they were hidden underneath a short beard, but it was his eyes that changed. He sat down next to Magalla without a word and looked at the water.

'How are you?' she asked after a long silence.

'Have you heard about the Firewheel Field battle?' he asked back with a hollow voice.

'Yes, of course. We won...' she said and instantly she thought how stupid it is to say such a thing, now.

'And... did you see the list?' he said dryly, staring at the water.

'We all heard it. Everybody was talking. Everybody was shocked,' she confirmed. Then she turned to him, put her hand on his arm and said:

'I know, Verlar. I know. I know.'

She embraced him and they were sitting there in mutual comfort until a few heavy salt drops dried out.

An hour later they were strolling the banks having decided to put the past behind.

'I'm being sent north, to the town called Gaal, by the Nogo Forest,' he said leaning on fencing overlooking an artificial waterfall. 'There is a well-developed zoology department, the only place where Landhapis trains krools. The country is preparing to send more dragons to the war, Solummger is sailing ours too, I am to prepare the base and check on the training system.'

'No more sailing for you?'

'No, I've just come back from the last one. I need to spend more time with administrative work here, wait for the last letters from the field army and then I'm travelling north.'

Magalla kept looking at the lake's waters, unchanging and uneventful.

'I should go on. I have lost count of the days and weeks I've been in this city. It provided me with decent money, some new views and philosophies I found here, in people and in customs. The library... does not have anything more to offer, nothing to search any more. I am more and more stuck in here... maybe it's time for me to go back. I admit I envy you your dragons and that you will see Nogo, one of the biggest mysteries...'

'Magalla!' Verlar suddenly turned to her. 'Come to Gaal! There is one of the oldest libraries with rare books on dragons and the history of Nogo. I was told so by one of my Ladhapis mates, he spent a year in that town working in the archives before joining the army, he knows Gaal very well. This could be the perfect place for you: a small, boring town with a big library. What do you say? I am travelling using civilian transport, on my own, it would not be a problem for me to bring a company. I'm not much for a talking person so you would have peace and quiet during the journey, no pressure for small talk. Plus, it would be safer for you to travel with a soldier holding an iron pass. If you don't like that idea - it would be safer for me to travel with a badass self-made essudus. What do you say?'

'You know what?' she said after a moment, 'this is a perfect plan.'

'Great! I'm taking a riverboat to the shore and from there a ship to Deyocma. I'm going a week from today, from that port by the Grand Canal. You know which one? At nine in the morning. Buy a ticket and meet me there half an hour earlier...'

Ottaine travelled again. Scaughom, the Solummgerian commander to whom she was asked to report in the absence of colonel lieutenant Varsheghom, finally sent her further towards the northern border, where another Skey-Er attack was suspected. Everybody already knew Lileghom was a friend of Kyeta Asdraghom and everywhere she went she met a mixture of hunger for real stories about the Snake and silent sympathy. Because Ottaine looked rather sick most of the time and her eyes were constantly red, she was being avoided by most and she was grateful for that. Yes, she cried over her best friend but it wasn't her loss that made Ottaine sick with pain. Eluik was gone the next day after the battle to the eastern front and Ottaine told no one about the truth of the Firewheel Field. She couldn't sleep, couldn't eat but that felt good. A little pain was a small price for her heinous deed. She hasn't prayed for years, now she prayed all the time to the gods, if they existed, to the heavens and stars to turn back time. If only there was another world, another reality, a different universe where she answered 'yes' to the Sister of Mercy call... if only there was another Ottaine who made a different choice...

Kyeta was the one who would always cheer her up. She was one friend who didn't care about all the flaws in the people she liked. Kyeta was there to listen and to find a bright side in every problem and sorrow. She died alone. She died abandoned. Every night Ottaine dreamed that this didn't happen: the battle did not take place or the Snake was saved at the last minute by another warrior. Most of the time Ottaine dreamed she stayed with her while the silver blade pierced Kyeta's heart. Maybe she would not recognise her friend behind blood and mud - it would not matter. Kyeta would recognise Ottaine who would hold her hand and stay till the end.

Every morning Ottaine was waking up to the reality where it did not happen.

Skey-Er did not stop. The last battle was devastating for them, like for the rest in this conflict, but somehow the wounded and weakened army found the will to strike again and again. The armies engaged two more times with a tie result. Ottaine fought in both skirmishes, shielding and shooting, more and more surprised how the Skey-Er commanders motivated the soldiers to fight. Unlike ordinary soldiers, she was able to stay focused both on the momentous clash and observe the armies. Skey-Er seemed to rely on dragging the opponent on the uneasy paths and wet grounds, forcing them to camp where the food for horses was scarce and wild animals were mainly small rabbits and other rodents which were bad news for big krools. The time and harsh terrain worked on everybody equally. Finally, Skey-Er withdrew towards their land to take a rest. Again the allies regrouped and decided to follow the enemy. Ottaine, who was present during most of the meetings with Solummger high-rank officers, found out that her countrymen suspected Landhapis of knowing where exactly Skeyr-Er was going. She heard people saying: 'They had started building a military base about twenty miles east of Gaal, just yards from the fence and the forest!'.

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Again Ottaine was marching with soldiers, helping with heavy equipment with all her additional essudus strength, volunteering as a pathfinder and an envoy from one end of the column to the other. This time not many soldiers complained about having another essudus among them. They would happily submit to the Demand knowing they will rest for the next hour and will not have to carry a heavy backpack and weapons.

On the first stop, just when Ottaine finished queuing for a midday ration, a well-known face appeared in front of her. Ottaine shuddered in the reminiscence of their last meeting, just after she left her maimed friend to die.

'I'm so sorry, Ota darling. I can't stop thinking, maybe I did pass her that day...' he said straight off the bridge.

'No, Eluik, you did not pass her. I did. Yes. Just before I met you,' she said with heaviness and a taste of salt in her throat. 'I saw her, I didn't recognise her. She... a Sister of Mercy was already with her.'

'Misericorde...' he whispered knowing everything it meant: hours of suffering and no hope for survival.

'How have you been?' she asked, trying to think of something else. Eluik could not hold back a wide smile and pride in his eyes.

'I've just returned from a short time off at home. It's a girl! I am a dad! She's so beautiful, you have never seen a more beautiful baby in the world!'

Of course, Ottaine knew the baby was wrinkled and undistinguished from other babies. She didn't say it aloud.

'What's her name?' she asked instead. Eluik froze for a moment.

'My wife chose the name a long time before the baby was born. She said if it's a girl it will be this name and no other. It's actually the most popular girl name in Solummger these days.'

'Alright, so what's the name?' Ottaine smiled seeing his friend so changed.

'Her name is Kyeta. Like... you know who.'

'Kyeta... baby Kyeta. The most popular girl name you say? This is so... beautiful.' Ottaine said, feeling tears rounding up in the corners of her eyes.

'I was never up for an over-popular name myself' Eluik noted, 'but this one I didn't argue with. My wife travelled to the capital for the funeral. She says it was a profoundly shaking and at the same time uniting event. I wanted my daughter to know who she took her name after and carry it with pride.'

They raised cups of a weak ale in silence and drank the alcohol in one go, the traditional military way to toast the dead.

'Anyway, Ottaine, I was looking for you to give you this,' he took out an envelope with official stamps. 'It's an order for you. Tomorrow you are to speed up and join colonel lieutenant Varsheghom, she's the essudus you were to meet after the Firewheel. She is commanding the battalion that left at the earliest towards the northern border. She asked for another Special and you've been assigned. I briefly served under her at the beginning of this mess, she's tough but... good.'

Ottaine took the letter and scanned its content. A Special Forces officer called Yrzlaruki Varsheghom was in charge of regiments made mostly of young Landhapis soldiers. She needed an assistant to keep the group in order, the Landhapis folk showed very convenient respect for Solummger essudi - hence she asked for another of her kind. Ottaine finished reading and sighed:

'I can't take a horse. They're needed for the convalescents. Looks like I'll be marching fast.'

'Don't forget to Demand before you leave. If you want... I could ask one of my fellows.'

'Thank you, I'd appreciate that. Yrzlaruki Varsheghom,' she said the name slowly. 'This looks and sounds as if someone was experimenting with consonants.'

'Thank goodness 'r's can be silent' Eluik commented on the Solummgerian phonetics.

When the camp was still asleep Ottaine took her belongings, paid a short visit to Eluik's tent and five minutes later she set off. It felt good to get tired with a march, not fight. To clear your mind and repeat in your head again and again, one more time and another one more time, what you did, or rather didn't do.

After she finished compulsory torments, she listened to the morning birds. Oh gods, what soothing sound they made! Kyeta was not suffering anymore. She was enjoying eternity with other broad-shouldered warriors and drinking lagers to the living.

When Ottaine arrived at the camp stretched on sandy, dry soil with just a few sad bushes here and there she asked a sentinel about the headquarters. It was midday, the sun was stubbornly shining above the southern island dweller's head and not a single, lost little cloud wanted to cover the brightness. The camp seemed sleepy and bored, but Ottaine did not believe the first impression, not a bit. They all have been at least once in a fight. In the middle of the camp, she noticed a small infirmary where usually the wounded but (hopefully) soon-to-be-ready-to-fight soldiers were resting. The tired looks and a small village visible on the horizon were telling Ottaine that the army was staying here out of fatigue and it wouldn't be long before the camp packs up and leaves. The small village and the little green could not feed the horses for more than a couple of days. There were no krools with this part of the troops, she noticed with relief. Good, if the dragons were here the poor villagers would give up at least all their chickens and a cow.

The sentinel pointed her to the commander's tent, on the northeast side of the area. Ottaine walked towards it and when she was about ten yards away a person of stunning appearance stepped outside, wearing the Special Forces light uniform. Ottaine was struck by what she saw, such charisma and authority, not to mention handsomeness.

She was a woman about forty years old, short curly hair was already turning grey on her temples. She was just a little bit taller than Ottaine, slim but athletic and energetic in her moves. She had very dark skin, the darkest shade Ota has ever seen, completely black. Her eyes seemed light in the contrast although they were of a mahogany shade. They were of the same common shape as Verlar's but surprisingly big for the monolid. She had a rather small mouth with an upper lip narrower than the lower one, a small nose, high and bow-shaped forehead.

The commander saw her and smiled recognising an essudus. She greeted Ottaine in a proper military fashion with saluting and all. Clearly, this show was for the young soldiers around. Varsheghom invited her colleague inside her quarters where she was greeted in a more essudus way - with a hug and a cup of wine cut with water. Her voice was low and melodic; she watched Ottaine with a keen interest and seemed to like very much what she was seeing. Ottaine was pretty sure she was the woman whose voice she heard ten months ago in the Domicile, when she overheard Special Forces plans before going to the war, one that impressed her so much.

'I'm so glad there was a spare essudus for me', the woman said cheerfully. 'There is not much to do at the moment, just keeping up the discipline, marching north and waiting for orders from the top. The folks here... they're mostly inexperienced Landhapis volunteers. They come from remote regions in the planes. Villagers, simple boys and some girls. Good and completely raw, what they need is a tough hand and guidance. Your essudus powers will do to keep them obedient. I can't do it myself, I have other things to do. If you feel bad about messing with their minds - remember this is war. There's no time for explanations and extra training before we are sent to fight again. Fortunately, two of their regiments met with our Fourth,' she stopped and lowered her head, put her cup up towards the sky and drunk. I met this Kyeta Asdraghom just before the Firewheel Field, she served under my command. Remarkable. She did turn some of those lads and lasses into proper warriors, now I have fewer losers to look after and they help motivate the others... Anyway, your name is Ottaine? You can call me Yrzlaruki, or Yr for short, and in front of the soldiers, I'm lieutenant Varsheghom. Which Academy did you graduate from?'

'The Southern' Ottaine replied.

The commander looked at her pensively.

'How old are you?'

'I'm twenty-seven.'

'And from the Southern? You could have studied with her. Could you?', Yrzlaruki asked eagerly.

'I did.' Ottaine looked at her with a smile on her face and sadness in her eyes. 'We were in the same year and she was my best friend from the first days,' she said, raising her cup and drinking, two tears rolled down her cheeks.

'Your friend! I'm so sorry for your loss. To lose a friend is a terrible sorrow. And you couldn't attend the funeral... I'm truly sorry, Ottaine. But remember, even now she remains our heroine, her spirit will fight with us in every battle to come. She will never be forgotten.'

'Never,' was the only thing Ottaine managed to articulate. They finished the wine and Yrzlaruki sent Ottaine to unpack her things in the neighbouring tent. The young officer looked once more at her new commander. She was surprised by the impression the woman made on her. Perfect lines of her face, long and shapely thighs and the skin: the colour of coal or raven feathers. The whole picture would not be this perfect if it wasn't for this shade. The dark brown eyes would shine less if surrounded by a lighter face.

Ottaine remembered the people of Sjaell. There is, no doubt, something mesmerising about the paleness of elves, the transparency of their features on which every change is displayed, every smallest wrinkle around the eye is obvious the moment it appears, every vein could be noticed. The beauty of the average person's brown is unquestionable. This is the colour of earth, of sunlight and shadow at the same time. And here was she, one of the very rare kind with her skin as dark as the black diamond, as untransparent as the fairest elf is its opposite. In the shadows and after dark, where the white elves excite with his or her openness the black skin of this kind excites with the mystery that leaves you forever ignorant of the human inside unless you are allowed to come close enough to read straight from the soul.

Everything about Yrzlaruki was perfect, from her neck and round breast to hips and legs. And in her face something was entrancing that was keeping the viewer's eyes locked forever. This was, without doubt, the most beautiful face Ottaine had ever seen.