A Distant Tomorrow

Chapter 1

A MAN HAD RUN from the hall crying the terrible news. Lara walked on. The children! She had to get to her children. Dillon, at four, was old enough to know what had happened to his father. The Fiacre would keep his memories of his sire alive. But her year-old daughter, Anoush, would not even remember Vartan. What in the name of the Celestial Actuary had possessed Adon to commit this terrible act? She struggled to remember everything that had happened just a short while ago.

Liam, Vartan’s cousin and best friend, ran up to her. “What has happened?” he asked her, his gaze going to Andraste’s bloody blade.

“Adon killed Vartan,” Lara managed to answer him. “He walked up to him, smiling, his wretched wife at his side. And then without warning or provocation he plunged a dagger into Vartan’s heart. I suspect the tip was poisoned, for Vartan died instantly. When Adon declared himself Lord of the Fiacre, I slew them both where they stood. I must get to the children, Liam! Dillon must not learn of his father’s murder from anyone but me. And you—you must now take the lordship of the Fiacre.”

“That is the Fiacre elders’ decision,” Liam answered her. His father had been given the lordship when Vartan’s father had died many years back. When his father had gone to the Celestial Actuary to settle his debts the elders had offered the lordship to him, but he had refused it in favor of his cousin, Vartan. Liam had not wanted the responsibility of the clan, but he knew now there was no choice.

“You are the logical choice,” Lara said, and then she hurried on. Her children would be with Liam’s wife, Noss. Dillon was best friends with their son, Tearlach. Entering her friend’s house she called to her. “Noss! Where are you?”

Noss, heavy with her second child, appeared. She smiled. “Have you come for Dillon? Sit with me a while, and have some frine. The boys are having such a good time.” Then her eyes grew wide at the sight of Andraste. “What has happened?” She had not seen the sword bloodied since the great Winter War, when she and Lara had fought with their men to take back the lands of the Piaras and the Tormod clans that had been illegally confiscated by the Hetarians. Noss saw how pale Lara was, and she now led her to a seat. “Tell me.”

“Adon murdered Vartan,” Lara said, and then explained to Noss exactly what had happened.

Noss’s hand flew to her mouth to still her cry of horror. How could this have happened? And to Lara? Lara had always been so fortunate, and so filled with magic. Murder did not happen to people like that. “You do not weep,” Noss finally said.

“Ethne weeps for me,” Lara said, raising the crystal up to show Noss. The crystal was dripping tears. “I have no time to weep. I had only a brief time in which to slay Adon and his foolish wife before he would have attacked me and my children. And soon I must leave the Fiacre,” Lara said softly.

“It is time?” Noss whispered.

Lara nodded. “It is time. I am glad I followed my mother’s advice and gave Vartan children. But now I must tell Dillon that his father is dead, and his mother is leaving. Will you and Liam raise my little ones, Noss? This new journey I am about to undertake is not yours. You have found a home, a husband and a good life among the Fiacre. This is your destiny. Mine still awaits me, though I know not what it will be.”

“Of course we will take Dillon and Anoush, but do you not want Bera to have them?” Noss ventured. “She is their grandmother.”

“And they must never forget that,” Lara replied. “But Bera will have to take her other grandson as Elin’s family is dead, and I will not have Vartan’s children raised with his murderer’s son. Cam may be only two and a half, but he is already a sly and spoiled little boy. Bera will have her hands full with him. Dillon caught him pinching Anoush at the Gathering last autumn. My daughter was black-and-blue all over her tiny arms from that little monster.”

“Anoush was just a little baby last autumn,” Noss said indignantly.

“Yes, and when Dillon saw what Cam was doing he ran to his father. But Elin would not allow Cam to be punished. She said Cam was innocent, and that it was Dillon who had hurt his sister out of jealously. That her son was just looking at the baby.”

“Dillon adores Anoush, and has since her birth,” Noss cried.

Lara nodded. “Yes, I know. But Cam has no one but Bera, and her heart is too good. She saw Adon as a fool, but little else. It was a mistake.” She sipped at the frine in the cup Noss had given her. “Will you fetch my son now? I must tell him the news.”

Noss nodded, but then she said, “The elders will choose Liam to take the lordship, won’t they?”

“Yes, they will,” Lara answered. “He is the right choice.”

Noss sighed. “He never wanted it, you know.”

“I know,” Lara agreed, “but now he must accept the responsibility as his father accepted it when Vartan’s father died years ago. Liam is a strong man, and his marriage to you has settled him. He is ready. And so are you, dearest Noss.”

Noss arose. “I will fetch Dillon,” she said, and hurried off.

Lara sat silently. Instinctively she reached for the crystal about her neck. It had been a long time since she had sought Ethne’s advice. What am I to do? she asked silently. The crystal was still wet with Ethne’s tears.

You know what you must do, Ethne answered her softly. You have already begun to prepare yourself, and the Fiacre, for your departure.

I could have lived the rest of my life in contentment here, Lara told her guardian crystal.

It is not your destiny. The queen told you that you would have but a few years. Five of them have now passed. You are strong. You are ready. And it is time. The flame in the crystal flickered. I have wept your tears, Lara, that you not be weakened. But you must weep for Vartan, too. He has brought out the best in your human nature, my child.

“Mama.” Dillon stood by her side. He was his father’s image in miniature. “Noss said you would speak with me?”

Lara felt the first tears for Vartan begin to slip down her cheeks.

“Mama! What is the matter?” the little boy asked.

And she told him as her tears poured forth, clasping him to her breasts as he grew pale with the realization of what she was saying. Her hand absently stroked the dark hair on his small head. And they wept together, mother and son.

Finally Dillon’s sobs slowed, and looking into his mother’s beautiful face he said, “I will kill Adon! I will avenge my father, Mama!”

“Adon is already dead, and his wicked wife as well,” Lara told her son. “See!” She drew her sword forth, and showed him. “This is their blood that Andraste wears.”

“What will happen now, Mama?” Dillon asked her.

“The elders will chose a new lord, Dillon, for that is our way. I believe they will choose your father’s cousin, Liam,” Lara told her son.

“You are going away,” Dillon said quietly.

At first Lara was startled by the adult tone in her child’s voice, but Dillon had been intuitive since his birth. “Yes, soon,” she replied. She would not lie to him.

“This house is not fit for the Lord of the Fiacre,” he remarked. “Liam and Noss must have the hall, Mama. This place will suit grandmother and me. Anoush is too small to have a voice in this decision.” He sounded so like his father that Lara almost began to weep again.

“Yes, this will be a good home for your grandmother,” Lara agreed. “But you and Anoush will not live with her. You will remain in the hall with Liam, Noss, and Tearlach, my son. Your cousin, Cam, has also been orphaned by this tragedy. His mother had no family left. Bera will want to raise him, but I will not have you or Anoush living in the same house as the son of Adon and Elin. You will accept Liam as your lord. He will stand in your father’s stead. And Noss will care for you as I would. She owes me a great debt, though I would not remind her of it. I do not have to for she knows it in her heart. And you, my son, and your sister will treat her with the same respect that you would show me. You will honor her and you will obey her commands.”

“I will, Mama, and I will see that Anoush does, too,” he promised. Then the small boy in Dillon said, “You are not going right away, Mama, are you?” His anxious face looked up at her.

She smoothed his soft hair beneath her hand. “No, not right away,” she promised. “Now go and find Tearlach, my son, and ask Noss to join me.”

The little boy ran off to do her bidding. Lara reached for her goblet of frine, but Noss was quickly there, and stayed her hand.

“We need wine,” the younger woman said, uncorking a decanter, and pouring a fresh goblet of the strong red brew. “Here, I will join you.” She filled a second goblet. “Dillon seems all right.”

“We cried together,” Lara replied. “He knows I’m leaving.”

“You told him?” Noss was surprised.

“No,” Lara answered with a small smile. “He just knew. Don’t discourage his instincts while he is with you, Noss. I know such things tend to unsettle your nerves, but you must let whatever powers Dillon has grow and thrive.”

“I will,” Noss promised nervously.

Liam entered the house, and came to join the two women. “I could not remain in the hall,” he said. “Bera’s keening would awaken a statue. The word is spreading. I’ve dispatched messengers to all the Fiacre villages. The elders will gather in three days’ time to choose the new Lord of the Fiacre.”

“It must be sooner,” Lara said. “The clan lords will know as soon as our own people. A new head of the Outlands High Council must be chosen as well.”

“I’ll take the lordship of this clan, though reluctantly,” Liam responded, “but I am not the man to lead the Outlands. That you cannot ask of me.”

“Vartan was the one man the others trusted, and admired,” Lara spoke thoughtfully. “He was strong, and he had my counsel. Roan of the Aghy is ambitious and will seek the post, but he is too hot tempered. The best man would be Rendor of the Felan. He has a cool head, and I can advise him without his wife, Rahil, becoming jealous.”

“You will go to the Felan then?” Liam asked her.

“Only on my way to the Coastal Kingdom in Hetar,” Lara replied. “I sense that is where I am meant to be at this time.”

He nodded. Then he asked, “Did you know what would happen to Vartan?”

“No!” Lara paled, surprised and shocked by Liam’s query. “Why would you ask me such a thing? I would have given my life for Vartan as he would have for me.”

“Did you love him?” Liam pursued.

“I should not have given him children otherwise, Liam. Faerie women, even half-faerie women, only bear offspring for the men they love,” Lara said quietly. “When the war ended my mother advised me to stop trying so hard to live up to my faerie nature, and follow my heart. She said I had time. Yes, I loved Vartan. Not as much as he loved me, I know. But I did love him.”

“Forgive me, Lara,” Liam said, and bowed his head in apology to her.

“I had forgotten what it is like to be mistrusted by humans,” Lara responded. “I have been so happy here among the Fiacre. I have even felt as if I were fully human, and one of you. Until now. Now I am forced to remember who I am, and that I have a destiny to fulfill. Noss has agreed to take my children, and I hope you will concur. She can tell you why.”

“I will take Dillon and Anoush gladly,” Liam said. He was ashamed of his question, and knew that Vartan would have been angry with him for asking it. “They shall be as my own, Lara. I swear it.”

“But they must not be allowed to forget Vartan,” Lara said. “Anoush will remember neither her sire or me, I know. She will think of you and Noss as her mother and father. If she is safe and happy then I am content. Dillon, however, will remember us. My son has magic in him, Liam. It must not be discouraged.”

“I understand,” Liam answered her.

“We will speak on this again before I leave,” Lara told him. “Now I had best return to the hall and give what comfort I can to Bera. Will you keep the children a while longer?”

He nodded, watching as she turned away from him and left his house. His wife now came from the shadows where she had been standing and slipped her small hand into his big one. “Well, lass,” Liam said with a small attempt at humor, “did you ever think you would one day be the Lady of the Fiacre?” He put his other arm about her.

Noss sighed. “Seven years ago I was sold into slavery by my parents. No, Liam, I never considered I should attain such a place in this world of ours. But then I could never have imagined the adventures that I shared with Lara, or a love such as the one I share with you, my husband.” Her free hand went to her distended belly where the child within moved strongly. “You are certain the elders will select you?” Noss asked him.

“Aye, they will,” he told her. “Now I wonder if I had accepted the lordship when they first offered it to me if Vartan would still be alive.” Liam sighed.

“He had his fate to live out,” Noss counseled. “You have yours.”

“You are becoming wise with age, wife,” he teased her gently.

“Well,” Noss said pertly in reply, “I am almost twenty.” Then she grew serious. “Poor Lara, to lose her husband so cruelly. To leave her children behind. I do not envy her, despite her beauty and her faerie magic.”

“I do not envy her because she must calm Bera,” Liam said with a grimace. “The woman was in a terrible state when I finally left the hall. I think she has gone mad.”

“Lara will calm her,” Noss said with assurance.

But entering the hall and seeing the state her mother-in-law was in, Lara wondered if anyone could ease Bera’s sorrow. The older woman paced up and down the hall muttering, her long gray hair swinging with each step she took. But her eyes were blank, without emotion of any sort. The three bodies were still upon the floor where they had met their end. Lara signaled to a male servant. “Fetch some others, and remove the dead,” she ordered. “And clean Andraste before returning her to her place of honor.” She handed her weapon to the serving man.

“No!” Bera screeched, and ran to Lara. “You cannot take them from me. The bitch, yes! But not my boys. Not my boys!”

“Go,” Lara said sternly. Then she took Bera by the hand, and sat her down by the hearth. “Listen to me, Bera. You cannot dishonor Vartan by leaving his body on the stone floor. His departure ceremony must be celebrated. He was the Lord of the Fiacre as was his father before him. The elders will demand Vartan be honored properly. As for Adon and Elin, they will be put into the earth unsung.”

“From the moment he sprang forth from my womb Adon competed with Vartan,” Bera said. Her eyes were now filled with her pain. “But Vartan never complained. He treated his younger brother with kindness. It is not our way to murder our own, Lara. How could he have done it? How? It was his mate—that wretched, wretched girl! I never wanted him to wed her. She was greedy and wicked, Lara. And now because of her actions her son is orphaned. What will become of little Cam, Lara? What will happen to the child?”

“You will raise him, of course,” Lara comforted the woman.

Bera’s sorrowful face looked into Lara’s. “Yes,” she said. “I will take him.”

Lara considered telling her all that had transpired in the short time following Vartan’s brutal murder, but she decided Bera was not yet ready to hear it. “You must rest now,” she told her mother-in-law, helping her to her feet. “I will do what must be done.” She signaled to a female servant. “Take the lady Bera to her chamber and give her a small goblet of wine.” She reached into the pocket of her robes and drew out a small gilded pill. “Put this in the wine. It will aid her sleep.”

“Yes, lady,” the serving woman said, and led the grieving Bera from the hall.

Lara now turned to the servants who had entered the hall. “Six of you take the bodies of Adon and his foul wife out onto the plain,” she instructed them. “Bury them deep in a single grave, and do not mark it. Have it done before the sun sets on this day. The rest of you are to build the lord’s funeral pyre. His departure ceremony will take place in two days time at the hour of the sunset. Have his body brought to the bathhouse that I may begin the preparations.”

She watched the servants lift the body of their lord. Vartan had built the bathhouse for her when they had returned from the Winter War. The Fiacre were used to bathing in small round tubs. But Lara wanted a bath such as she had enjoyed in her time with the Shadow Princes, a large bath in which she might submerse her entire body. A bath she might share with her husband. So Vartan had surprised her with the small bathhouse after telling her he was building a new cattle shed. He had imported the marble tub from the Coastal Kingdom, along with several carved stone benches. A small sob escaped her. Had she loved him? Oh, yes! With every bit of her human heart. Now she could feel that part of her hardening again as her faerie nature took over. To be strong, to follow her destiny, she knew she had to be faerie.

Hearing a familiar clap of thunder—considerably softened, she noted—Lara looked up to see her mother, Ilona, the queen of the Forest Faeries. Ilona held out her arms to her daughter, and rising from her seat by the fire Lara rushed into them. “What has happened?” Ilona said to her daughter, and Lara told her. “Then it is time,” the queen replied.

“I know,” Lara responded. “I have already begun making arrangements for Dillon and Anoush.”

“I will take them!” Ilona said imperiously.

“Nay, I want Liam and Noss to raise them. They are Fiacre, Mother. One day Dillon might be chosen lord of his people, like his father and grandfather before him.”

“Or Liam and Noss’s lad might be chosen,” Ilona said softly.

“If that is the will of the Fiacre then so be it,” Lara answered her mother. “But you must visit them. Promise me! Dillon has been exhibiting certain instincts that must not be stifled. Anoush is too young for me to know. Tell me, how are Thanos and Cirilo?” she asked after her mother’s consort, and her half brother.

“Thanos is Thanos,” Ilona said dryly. “As for Cirilo I must admit he is everything I could want in a son, Lara. He will be a fine king one day. For now he is a typical faerie lad, getting into all kinds of mischief. He particularly enjoys teasing the Forest Lords. They have lost some of their territory on the border with the Midlands. Gaius Prospero is buying up the smaller farms and blending them into great ones. It allows him to control the price of the crops he grows. The rumor is growing again that he would be emperor of Hetar.”

“I am going to the coast,” Lara told her mother. “I feel it is where I should be now. But it has been so long since the voice within spoke to me that I am not certain I am hearing it correctly. Could I be wrong, Mother? Should I remain with the Fiacre and my children? I am suddenly unsure.”

“I am not surprised,” Ilona remarked. “It has been but hours since your husband was murdered before your eyes, since you slew his murderers. You are suffering shock, but your first thoughts are always the best ones, Lara. It is time for you to leave the Fiacre. If the voice says the coast, then that is where you must go. Do not be afraid, my daughter.”

“When you said I had time,” Lara began, “I never thought it would end this way. I expected that when the knowledge came to me, Vartan would fuss at me and try to prevent my going, no matter he said he wouldn’t. I did not expect him to die. Am I responsible for that, Mother?”

“Nay,” Ilona replied. “Vartan’s fate was his fate. His jealous younger brother was destined to slay him, for that was Adon’s fate. That you gave your heart to Vartan for a brief time, that you gave him children, had nothing to do with his end, Lara. You may believe that I speak the truth to you.

“Now I must go. Your faerie family will be here for Vartan’s departure ceremony. What did you do with Adon and his wife?”

“The ultimate shame for Outlanders. I had them buried in a secret and unmarked place,” Lara explained. “They will have no funeral pyre, or family and friends to sing their souls to the Celestial Actuary’s kingdom. They will lie beneath the earth until the flesh rots from them, is eaten by maggots and beetles, and finally their bones dissolve into the earth itself. Their souls will wander in the Limbo forever. Even Bera dare not mourn them publically. I am just sorry they have left a child.”

Ilona put a hand on her daughter’s hand. “For whatever reason, it is the will of the Celestial Actuary that they did.” She arose. “Goodbye, my daughter.” Then she was gone in her puff of purple mist, leaving a scent of flowers behind her.

Looking to where her husband’s body had lain Lara saw it was gone. She arose slowly and went to the little bathhouse where their servants had set Vartan upon a long stone bench. But for the stain of blood upon his tunic he looked as if he were sleeping. Lara bent and kissed the cold lips. “Oh, my dear love,” she whispered to him. “I am so sorry. So very sorry.” And the tears came again. When they finally stopped Lara sat down next to her dead mate, and began to assemble her thoughts.

Liam had sent word to all the Fiacre villages, but what of the other clan leaders? She would send for them by faeriepost, and transport them to the departure ceremony herself, for she knew they would want to honor Vartan. Several serving women crept into the bathhouse and looked to her for guidance. Lara rose, and working with them they stripped Vartan’s body of his bloody garments, and washed it tenderly. When the task was almost done Lara fetched the garments in which her husband would be displayed on his funeral bier. At the end of the departure ceremony the bier would be taken outside to the funeral pyre, where Lara and Dillon would light the fire that would burn Vartan’s body to ashes as all sang his soul to the kingdom of the Celestial Actuary. For an Outlander to be buried in the earth was anathema.

On his lower body they fitted him with a pair of brown leather trousers Vartan kept for special occasions. They drew his finest boots, highly polished, onto his feet. A soft linen shirt came next, and over it the tunic of his office as head of the Outlands High Council. Lara had embroidered it herself, having brought the fine material and silk threads back from their first visit to the Coastal Kingdom. The tunic was deep green in color, and the long sleeves of the garment were folded back to make a cuff that displayed the deep blue lining. She had embroidered the cuffs with silver and gold stars. On the chest of the tunic Lara had embroidered a large gold circular wheel divided by spokes. Within each segment were symbols representing the eight Outlands clans. Cattle for the Fiacre. Horses for the Aghy. Grain and flowers for the Blathma. Grain and vegetables for the Gitta. The Piaras had gold and silver rocks. The Tormod showed multicolored gemstones. The Felan displayed sheep, and the Devyn a harp for they were the poet’s clan. In the center of the wheel was a single blue star. Vartan had loved the tunic of office Lara had made for him.

“What shall we do with his hair, lady?” one of the women ventured.

“It will be tied back as he always wore it,” Lara answered her.

“Shall we fold his arms over his chest, lady?” another asked.

“No, leave them by his side,” Lara said. “He would want his tunic of office well displayed, and so do I. I want no one to forget what we have accomplished these past years in our efforts to keep Hetar in its place.”

When Vartan’s body was finally dressed, and ready to be displayed, Lara called for the Fiacre men to come and return the lord to his hall. The body was transported by means of a stretcher decked in white silk and decorated with summer flowers. The men from Vartan’s home village of Camdene took turns bearing their lord. In the hall the bier awaited. A ring of candelabra flanked it at either end. The stretcher was set in its place, and then Lara commanded them quietly to leave her. She brushed back into place a small lock of her husband’s hair that had come loose from its binding. She critically eyed the disposition of his tunic, smoothing a barely discernable wrinkle from his chest.

It was all so terribly unreal. Just a short time ago Vartan had been a vibrant, living being. Now he lay cold and silent, his big body seeming to stiffen before her eyes. His spirit had flown from him—surely it no longer inhabited his great frame.

How could this have happened? Why had she not seen Adon’s perfidy before he had the time to strike? She silently cursed her husband’s brother and Elin. Had they had any thought for what they were doing? Did they really believe that the Fiacre would accept a fratricidal murderer as their lord? That Lara would not avenge her husband to protect her children? Did they not think of their own son, Cam? She sighed. Obviously they had not.

There was still much to do. Outside the summer’s long twilight was deepening. The men sent to bury Adon and Elin returned, reporting they had done her bidding. She thanked them, and then went to the chamber she had once shared with Vartan. Taking her writing box up she wrote messages to the six other clan lords. Then she summoned six faeriepost messengers, told them where she wanted them to go, and that they were to wait for a reply. Each message said the same thing. It told of Vartan’s death, and asked that they prepare to be transported by means of her magic on the day of the departure ceremony. A new head of the Outlands High Council must be chosen before Vartan’s departure pyre was gone to ashes. The messengers flew off, and Lara, putting her writing box away, went to the kitchens.

She found the cook and the kitchen staff in various stages of weeping. Drawing a deep breath she said in a firm voice, “You must begin preparations for my husband’s departure ceremony. As many of the Fiacre as can come will be here in another day. The lords of the other clan families will be here. Would you have it said that the hospitality of the Lord of the Fiacre is poor? You cannot stand about in mourning. You have work to do!” And then turning on her heel she left them.

“She has a cold faerie heart,” one of the kitchen maids said.

“Perhaps,” the cook replied, “but it is a broken heart, I fear. Let none doubt that the Lady Lara loved our Lord Vartan with all her being.”

Lara returned to the hall to find the bier now surrounded by flowers. She smiled, and with a small incantation, made certain that the flowers would remain bright and fresh until Vartan was brought to his pyre. Gazing down at him she was again astounded at how cold and lifeless the shell that had once housed his spirit was. It had been a great spirit, which was perhaps why having gone, Vartan’s body looked so empty.

“He is not there.” Lara heard Bera’s voice in her ear.

“No, he is not,” she answered. “You should be sleeping.”

“I didn’t take the pill,” Bera said.

“She was supposed to mix it in your wine,” Lara replied with a small smile.

“Where is Adon?”

“Out on the plain with his wife,” Lara said quietly.

Bera’s eyes filled with tears, which she attempted to swallow back.

“It had to be done,” Lara told her.

“I know,” Bera agreed, “but he was my son, too.”

“He killed Vartan,” Lara responded.

“And you killed him,” Bera remarked softly.

“Aye, and I have not a moment’s regret that I did,” Lara answered her mother-in-law. “I just wish I had seen into his black heart before he murdered Vartan. Perhaps none of this would have come to pass, Bera.”

“What will happen now?”

“Liam will be chosen by the elders to be the new lord. He will come into this house, the only one in Camdene fit for a Lord of the Fiacre. You will have his house in which to raise Adon’s son, Cam.”

“What of Dillon and Anoush?” Bera asked.

“I will not have them living in the same house as Adon’s spawn. Liam and Noss have agreed to take them,” Lara told the older woman. “I cannot remain here now. I feel the pull of my destiny once again.”

“Would this have happened if Vartan had not married you?” Bera wondered aloud, and then hastily said, “I am sorry.”

“My mother says his fate was his fate,” Lara answered. “I expect that is true.”

Bera nodded. “Do your children know what has happened?”

“I have told Dillon. Anoush is too small to understand,” Lara responded.

“I think I will return to my chamber and take that pill now,” Bera said. “I am suddenly very tired, Lara. You should get some sleep, too. The next few days will be very busy, my daughter.”

“I know,” Lara agreed. “I will rest soon.” She walked the older woman to the staircase that led to her chamber. Then she returned to the hall and stood by Vartan’s bier. “I did not know it would end this way, Vartan,” she said softly. “I swear I did not know.”

THE ELDERS of the Fiacre arrived to hold their meeting and choose a new leader of the clan. Their first instinct was to delegate Lara, but she refused, explaining to them why she could not accept the honor, and asking if they wanted her counsel. They did, and she named Liam before departing to let them debate the matter. Finding her own bed she did not even bother to undress, and falling into it slept until the next morning.

The day dawned bright and warm. Lara arose and washed her face and hands. Smoothing the wrinkles from her gown, she went out into the hall, which was already filling with clansmen and women. Vartan’s cousin, Sholeh, headwoman of the village of Rivalen, had arrived. As she stood taller than many men, Lara saw her immediately. The two women hugged wordlessly.

“Where is Bera?” Sholeh asked.

“It was too much for her,” Lara answered.

“You have done it all yourself?”

“He was my husband, Sholeh,” Lara said.

“You have done well, and Vartan would be proud,” Sholeh replied. “Where is that snake, Adon?”

“I slew him and his wife while Vartan was yet warm,” Lara replied.

Sholeh nodded. “It was well done, Lara. And they are buried?”

“Out on the plain in an unmarked place,” Lara said.

“I curse them both!” Sholeh said fiercely. “You will lead the Fiacre yourself now. It is your right, and you were half my cousin’s wisdom, I know.”

“Thank you,” Lara said, “but no. Liam shall be the new Lord of the Fiacre. You cannot be dissatisfied with him. The elders in their usual way wanted to meet in three days and debate the succession, but I saw they met last night instead. Liam was the natural choice. I will not remain with the Fiacre much longer. I am being called from the Outlands.”

“I will be sorry to see you go,” Sholeh told her companion. “But Liam is not the man to lead the High Council, I fear. Who will you put your influence behind? Roan of the Aghy? He would take it in a minute, you know.”

Lara shook her head. “Roan is too hot tempered. Rendor of the Felan would be my choice. He is a wise and thoughtful man. The responsibility will cause him to rise to the challenge of being head of the High Council. He will not fail the Outlands.”

“Roan will not be pleased,” Sholeh noted.

“We need a military leader as well,” Lara said with a smile.

“Damn!” Sholeh exclaimed. “We are losing a valuable advisor in you, Lara.”

“I will not leave the Fiacre forever,” she said. “My children will remain here with Noss and Liam. Bera must raise Cam. I won’t have my children in the same house as the son of their father’s murderer.”

“You’re right,” Sholeh agreed. “Now, if I can help you in any way—”

“You are family. I welcome your aid,” Lara responded.

The Fiacre clan came and went from the hall, paying their respects to their fallen lord. No one would be sent away. Every structure in the village was filled with the mourners, and many bedded down in the fields surrounding Camdene. One by one, Lara brought the other clan lords to her hall to pay their respects to Vartan. They would be guests within her home until the departure ceremony was concluded.

Roan of the Aghy at once noted the need for a meeting of the clan leaders. To his surprise and pleasure, Lara agreed with him.

“You cannot leave this matter for another day,” she told them. “Tonight when all have gone to their beds we will meet. Liam will stand in my husband’s place, but I will be at his side as I was at Vartan’s.”

The clan lords nodded.

“Word of this will spread quickly to Hetar. Before Vartan’s pyre is ashes you must send word to Hetar’s High Council that you have a new leader,” Lara continued.

Heads nodded in agreement with her. The day passed. The house of the slain leader fed all in Camdene. It was their responsibility to do so although the cook fretted that they were going to run out of supplies before it was all over. Lara assured him that if it became necessary she would call upon her magic to keep their larders full. Finally, the dark came. Fires burned on the plains surrounding Camdene indicating the campsites of many mourners. It was time.

“My lords,” she said to the clan heads who were sitting by the hall fire, “I believe the time is now come to open the discussions. No one can replace my husband’s leadership, but you must choose a new head of the High Council now, and send word of your choice to the City. You cannot allow Hetar’s government to believe the Outlands are in disarray, or weakened by Vartan’s murder.”

“I would put forth Roan of the Aghy,” Floren of the Blathma quickly said.

“Perhaps we should first ask the lady Lara if she has a preference,” Accius, the clan leader of the Devyn said. He was certain that she did have a choice, and he was curious to know who it was.

“I thank the great bard lord of the Devyn for his courtesy in soliciting my opinion,” Lara began, and several of the men smiled for they knew her well enough by now to recognize that she was about to surprise them with her own ideas. “Given what has transpired over the last five years it is obvious to me, nay, necessary, that we need both a head of our council, and a war leader as well. I have heard disturbing rumors of late that Gaius Prospero will soon crown himself emperor of Hetar. This man is no friend of the Outlands. Roan of the Aghy is a great warrior, equal to my own husband,” she flattered the horse lord. “It must be he you choose for your military leader. For head of the High Council, however, I will put my faith in Rendor of the Felan. He is not easily brought to anger. He is thoughtful, and his advisement wise. He is more than equal to the challenge of dealing with Hetar,” she concluded, her gaze sweeping them all.

“But he is not the warrior Roan is,” Floren said.

“Nay, he is not,” Lara agreed quietly. “And if there is war again, Roan will lead the Outlands, with your approval. But you need a man with a knack for diplomacy in treating with Hetar. Rendor made friends with the Coastal Kings years ago, and that friendship has never wavered. Indeed, it has grown stronger with the passing of time.” She arose from her place among them. “Let me go and fetch you refreshments while you discuss this among yourselves,” Lara told them. She glided across the room to prepare a tray of wine.

“You are silent, Rendor,” Imre of the Tormod said.

“I am astounded,” Rendor answered him.

“She said nothing of this to you beforehand?” Torin of the Gitta asked.

Rendor shook his head. “Nothing. I am as surprised as you are.”

“What think you, Roan?” Accius of the Devyn queried the horse lord.

“I think I have been neatly and nicely outmaneuvered,” Roan chuckled. “I do not like to admit it, but Lara is right. I am the man to lead you in war, but I am not the man to lead you in or to peace. Rendor of the Felan is that man.”

“My cousin would find it amusing that it takes two of you to replace him,” Liam told them with an engaging grin.

His companions laughed heartily, nodding in agreement.

“Can we agree upon this solution then,” Accius asked them. “Rendor for peace, and Roan for war?”

“I will call the roll,” Lara said returning with a tray of nine goblets. Passing them about she took the last cup, and began. “Rendor for peace. Roan for war. Petruso of the Piaras—aye or nay?”

Petruso, who was a mute, nodded vigorously his aye.

Lara called the others in sequence. “Imre of the Tormod?”

“Aye!”

“Floren of the Blathma?”

“Aye!”

“Torin of the Gitta?”

“Aye!”

“Liam of the Fiacre?”

“Aye!”

“Accius of the Devyn?”

“Aye!”

“Roan of the Aghy?”

“Aye!”

“Rendor of the Felan?”

“Aye!”

“Then it is settled,” Lara said.

“Not quite,” Rendor told them. “You have not given us your vote, Lara.”

“I am not a member of the council,” Lara replied.

“Nay, you are not,” he agreed, “but you are the founder of this council, and in a matter as important as this one I believe you should have the right to vote.”

The other lords murmured in agreement with Rendor.

Quick tears sprang up behind her eyelids to sting her eyes. Lara nodded her acknowledgment of the honor they were giving her. “In the matter of Roan and Rendor, the founder of the council votes aye,” she said. Then she raised her goblet. “To the Outlands,” she toasted, and they raised their goblets to join her, their voices strongly echoing hers.

“To the Outlands!”

The meeting broke up, the lords going to their sleeping places, but Rendor remained behind to speak with Lara.

“You might have told me,” he said dryly.

“If I had you would have refused me,” Lara answered him. “Your genuine surprise at my choice proved to the others there was no collusion between us. Given what has happened, Rendor, my friend, there was no time for the clan lords to debate and argue over this matter. We needed to settle the succession quickly. I have soothed Roan’s ego, and believe me that none of the others wanted the position themselves.”

“Sometimes you frighten me, Lara. You know each of us far too well, I think.”

“I will be leaving the Outlands soon,” she told him quietly. “I am called once again by my destiny.”

“But we need you!” he exclaimed.

Lara shook her head. “You flatter me, Rendor, but I will not leave you defenseless, I promise. Whatever mischief Gaius Prospero is brewing up I will counter.”

“How?” he wanted to know. “If you are not here how can you help us?”

“I am only going to King Archeron. Gaius Prospero is not as powerful as he believes. In the City and the Midlands, aye! But the Shadow Princes scorn him, and the Coastal Kings will not cooperate with him because it would not be in their interests to do so. As for the Forest Lords, they have their own difficulties. They may agree to support the Master of the Merchants, but their support will amount to little or nothing. Your friends and mine will protect the Outlands from any trouble.”

“Will you remain with Archeron?”

“I don’t know, but I do not think so,” Lara answered.

“Where will you go?”

“I cannot say. All I can tell you is that for now I must go to the coast,” Lara said. “But I will not go until autumn. I still have things to do to help ease the transition between Vartan’s rule and yours, and between Vartan and Liam.”

“Your children?” he asked.

“Are Fiacre, and will remain here,” she told him.

He nodded. Then he said, “Rahil will be overwhelmed by this.”

“I will speak with her when I visit you,” Lara assured him.

“Lara, I am so sorry,” Rendor told her.

“I am sorry, too,” she replied, putting her hand on his. “I never imagined an ending like this. Oh, I knew one day I would be called again, but I thought when that time came and I prepared to go, Vartan would grumble and complain, but in the end he would keep his promise to me for he was not a man to break his promises. My mother says it was his fate to die at Adon’s hand. I do not understand such a fate, Rendor.”

“Nor do I, Lara,” Rendor said.

“I suppose that lack of understanding is my human side,” Lara told him with a small smile. “But my heart has become cold and faerie again. If it had not, I should not be able to do what I must.”

“I will lead the Outlands to the best of my abilities,” Rendor promised her.

“I have great faith in you,” she replied. “So did Vartan.”

The lord of the Felan began to weep softly. “I cannot believe my friend is gone,” he said. “Just weeks ago we met on the plains and spoke of the autumn’s Gathering. He wanted me to bring my finest wool cloth for you to choose from so he might have a new cloak made for you for winter.”

“He was thoughtful that way,” Lara replied. She had to get away from Rendor. If she did not, she knew she would collapse in a fit of weeping. “It is late,” she said. “I must find my bed, Rendor. Tomorrow will be a busy day for me, and Bera is quite helpless now.” She patted the hand in hers, and pulled free. “Good night, my friend.” Then she hurried from the hall to her own chamber.

Safely locked within the room she had shared with Vartan, Lara did give way to a small spell of weeping, but only to release the tensions that had been building up within her ever since Vartan’s death two days ago. Two days! The time had gone so quickly. She bathed her face and hands, and kicking off her slippers, lay down. She had done what she needed to do with regards to the Outlands. Rendor did not have her husband’s stature, but he would be respected by Hetar in time. She had been surprised to find an ally in Accius of the Devyn. She suspected her job to turn the clan lords from Roan’s candidacy would have been more difficult without him. She must remember to thank him.

Now all that remained was to plan more carefully for the children. She would leave them at summer’s end, before the Gathering. It would give her time to prepare Dillon, and guide Liam as Vartan would have had him guided. And Noss must understand that from time to time Ilona would visit her grandchildren. She must not be fearful of the queen of the Forest Faeries. Lara smiled to herself at the thought of trying to forge a friendship between her mother and Noss. Her eyes began to grow heavy. Tomorrow would be a long, important day. And at its end she and Dillon would light Vartan’s funeral pyre at the very moment of the sunset, thereby ensuring her husband’s journey from the light into the light. She felt the tears beginning to come again.

“Vartan,” she whispered to the night. “Why did it have to end this way?” But there was no answer. Lara wondered if there would ever be. She sighed, resigned. She should know better than anyone, she thought, that the lines between the worlds were firm once a soul had crossed into the next life. Vartan might look down on them from the realm of the Celestial Actuary, but Lara would never again hear his voice.