Honor-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book III ]

Epilogue

"He would have loved this place," said Uachi.

A hand fell to rest on his shoulder. He looked up at Matei, who was gazing down at the dark mound of fresh-turned earth before them. Uachi wiped his brow with the back of his hand and drew a slow breath. As he let it out, he realized he felt lighter, as if one dark chapter in his life had closed and another had opened.

What that new chapter would hold for him, he had no way to know. But the familiar weight of Matei's hand on his shoulder told him without words that he would not be alone through the writing of it.

"Thank you for coming with me, Matei," he said.

"I never knew him," Matei replied, "but I will honor him in my memory as a brother as long as I live."

There was a silence for a while. Matei's hand slid away from Uachi's shoulder, but the emperor did not depart. He stood silently at Uachi's side, his presence a promise of friendship, a reminder that although Uachi had lost his parents and his brother, he was not without family.

At length, Uachi drew his dagger. It was the blade he had stolen from his master, the blade he might have used to end his own life but had instead carried with him for years. It was a half-cursed, half-blessed token, a reminder of his past and a ward against the future. He had used it to defend himself and others, had used it to complete hundreds of mundane tasks...but the very last thing he had done with this dagger had been to end the life of the man who had killed Uaran.

Uachi knelt in the damp grass next to his brother's grave. Here in Hanpe, grave-markers were simple, usually discs of wood with the names of the departed burnt in with a careful hand. Over the years, they would wear down, the oldest of them dissolving back into the soil. There was a beautiful simplicity to it, with no overt references to the religion of the realm, just a humble acknowledgment that the body beneath the soil would return to nourish the grasses, the trees.

Uachi drove the point of his dagger into the earth just before Uaran's wooden marker. The well-worn hilt and burnished pommel gleamed in the last of the golden afternoon sun.

Rising to his feet, he said, "I hope he can be at peace now." He turned to look at Matei.

Matei returned his look, solemn. "I hope the same for you." He had lost his mother to a violent death; although Esaria had lived a life of luxury and Uaran had lived as a slave, the two of them had been betrayed by people they should have trusted, and they had both met bitter ends they had not deserved. In that moment, Uachi and Matei shared a silent understanding, a mutual wish that the souls of their loved ones might be at peace.

"Well," Uachi said, turning away from Uaran's grave, "it's off to the Holy City soon, isn't it?"

"It is." Matei fell into step beside Uachi, and the two men began to walk back toward the longhouse, where the citizens of Hanpe would be gathering for the evening meal.

"Luckily, I haven't much to pack."

"Uachi." Matei slowed, turning to look at him. "Before we go in."

"What is it?" Uachi stopped.

"I want you to stay here."

Uachi frowned at Matei. After all the two of them had been through together, he didn't believe him at first. When it struck him that Matei might truly be asking him to stay behind, he was confused at first—and then the realization settled over his shoulders, and he shrank from it, an unexpected pain.

He had not thought through the consequences of his actions in killing the archmage. Revenge—justice—had been his only aim, and he had not spared a thought for what might come after. He had not cared. That much had been apparent to Diarmán, who had called his shortsightedness betrayal. And, as Uachi had sat in a prison cell near the soldiers' barracks on the outskirts of Karelin, it had come home to him.