21

Up north, on Alandriel’s rugged seashore, a unicorn sparkled like sunlit mist. The sort of white that contained every possible color, that noble creature had shaken off magical fetters and kicked down its stall.

Now, it crossed a shattered hunting lodge, fences and battlefield, ending all strife with its presence. Monsters, Drow, glassy construct, elves, ships and gods; they all ceased fighting at once.

The unicorn first made its way to a hulking and wounded female manticore. Her shaggy brown hide bristled with arrows and spears. One batwing was mangled and trailing, but she’d given as good as she got, for her humanoid face and long fangs dripped with fresh blood.

“Peace, Reka,” murmured the unicorn, touching the manticore’s forehead with its spiraling crystalline horn. “You are freed, now.”

The manticore healed instantly, wings flexing, scorpion-tail lashing, spikes rattling. In a fluting voice, she asked,

“Free to go? Return to my den? ‘Someday’ has finally come?”

“It has,” said the unicorn. Lifting its head, nostrils flaring, it snuffed at the future, rather than sea wind, spilled entrails and smoke. “This is Someday, and we are free to depart in peace, nevermore to be captive or hunted. Return to your mountains, Teller-of-tales.”

The manticore smiled, showing three rows of very sharp teeth.

“If ever we meet again, Prong-horse, I will finish the story of Battlesome Cubs for you.”

Then, with a wild, trilling cry that was part human shriek, that mountain of muscle and death sprang from the ground, shedding arrows, spearheads and nets like dried leaves. The unicorn watched as she caught an oceanside thermal and then banked away eastward, glowing bright as a coin in a brief patch of sun.

The unicorn’s eyes were not merely black, but deep, starry voids. A creature of magic, long ago trapped and enslaved by the wizard Sherazedan, its ages-long bondage had finally ended. “Someday” had come.

Switching its glimmering tail, shaking equine flesh like a horse, the unicorn next touched that beautiful horn to the churned, bloody clifftop. A wave of healing and peace spread away from the unicorn’s touch, flashing outward from horn-point to monsters and elves, then past them to the giant, the Seahorse and Flying Cloud. All were healed and drained of desire for battle.

The dead were still dead… though Arvendahl’s head and his body continued to twitch. Trouble… for somebody else. The unicorn would not approach its vile former captor. Instead, rearing and bugling wildly, it vanished away between eye-blink and gasp.

In the wake of its magic, elvish warriors cast down their weapons, standing aside to let trolls, beasts, giants and ogres go shambling off. In ages to come, they would recognize one another. Sensing the unicorn’s lingering peace, they would nod and pass onward, never fighting each other again.

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A short distance away, Valerian went from fingernails-raggedly-gripping-his-life to perfectly well. He sprang to his feet at once, first embracing Vikran, then running pell-mell at Filimar.

One might be excused for thinking that another battle had erupted, with all of the shoving, punching and name-calling that followed. Not a fight, though. Just two heart-friends full of ‘I would have died for you, Brother’ giddiness.

Then Val had to greet his father and uncle, while Fil went cautiously up to that wild, transformed hawk-girl. On the sleeping stone pillar, Faleena managed a mass levitation spell, bringing Lerendar, Zara, herself and the baby up to its skull-shaped summit. (Long ages later, when elf children pointed up at the stone pillar and said, “Doesn’t that look like a giant person crouching in water?” the parents would nod and then pull them away, chiding, “Yes, and shhhh! Not so loud!”)

Seahorse made landfall with the juddery grinding of wooden hull against wave-battered pebbles. Came to a halt of its own accord, allowing Andorin, Bronn, Elmaris and all of the others to rush for their dear ones.

Beatriz sat up, blinking and gasping, probing her freshly healed side in blank, open wonder. Gazed up at Tormun and three young Arvendahl warriors, then was absolutely blind-sided by Zara, who squirmed out of Lerendar’s grip to fall on her, shrieking,

“Mama! Mama, we’re here!”

A storm of kisses and frantic hugs later, Bea was scooped up into Lerendar’s arms; held almost too tightly for breath, Scamp safe between them.

As for Tormun and Faleena, they too had sensed Anneka’s presence. A parent’s heart never forgets, and all of that sorrow and hope came rushing back, now. After a brief and passionate greeting, the two broke apart, looked at each other, then tightly clasped hands.

Tormun shifted his gaze to Lerendar. Inclined his head slightly, saying,

“Our daughter is here, someplace, Northerner, and we…”

Lerendar smiled.

“With you, Brother,” he said. “Tell me what I must do.”

In the meantime, a snowy owl drifted out of the sky in perfect silence, landing on Valerian’s shoulder. Its warm, sleek feathers brushed his pointed left ear (to which it delivered a swift, painful nip).

“Ouch!” he objected, not batting at Cinda because her talons dug straight through his chainmail and tunic, touching the flesh underneath. Good way to lose an arm, shaking that female off. “Glad to see you, too!”

Then Alfea fluttered down to the clifftop on shimmering butterfly wings, and Val forgot everything else. He… suddenly could no longer hold back ferocious emotion. Started to shake, as all of the worry and anguish and love that he’d sorted away came crashing down like an avalanche. Could not even say his wife’s name. Just lunged forward to seize and yank her into a rough, fierce embrace.

The owl shot away, its claws drawing blood that Val didn’t notice. Maybe he cried… but if so, it was buried in Alfea’s shining lavender hair. And all the world, the fey wild and moons did not contain enough “I love you” for Val and Alfea. A long moment passed as two people tried very hard to be one. Then both of them lifted their heads, breaking a tangled and complex tear-smeary kiss to gasp,

“The baby!”

Alyanara, meanwhile, had dropped down out of the sky to the spot where Galadin was pacing and muttering, still walking off Firelord. Her husband sparked at the edges a bit, sometimes very much more than an elf. As usual in those situations, Ally approached very carefully. Talked lightly of upcoming feasts and activities, mentioning Elisindara’s on-again pregnancy.

“It shall be a girl this time, I fancy,” she remarked, reaching for Galadin’s flaming right hand. “She’s already had two very troublesome boys, after all. How we would manage a third wayward grandson, I’ve no idea.”

After a moment, Galadin’s hand tightened on hers. Keldaran and Reston came forward… then Meliara, her daughter (Ally’s, conceived as herself, with Galadin).

The god’s fearsome light left Galadin’s eyes, leaving them once again silvery-blue and confused. He never had full recollection of what he’d done as the sword arm of Firelord. Now, gazing at Ally, he asked,

“All is well?”

Alyanara looked around at the hovering pirate ship, slumbering giant, departing monsters, children and grandchildren. Then,

“Yes, my lord,” she replied with a smile. “All is well.”