Thalonn Tayn

50 - Thalo Goes Home

From Pearmol, Thalo rode northwards for two days. Though he tried to sleep on the night he left, and again on the second night, the darkness would not avail him, and twice he lay restless beneath the stars. Then, as noon approached on the second day, Thalo crossed Fegennas at one of the lower fords and thereby came into Eylavol, that land where he was not only a wanderer, but an outlaw. He took a moment to sit beside the river and look back over the southern bank.

'All sorrows come from the south,' he said, 'and all woes from the north.'

Then he climbed atop Ondayo and rode onward.

In the evening, he came at last to a valley he knew very well indeed. That was Klagenn. He slid out of his saddle and walked Ondayo through the trees, following the river until they came to the clearing above the waterfall. Two stones yet lay atop two graves, that of his birth parents, and that of Asfoa.

'You are still here,' he said. 'But then, where else would you be?'

'Who are you talking to?' said a voice behind him. It belonged to a young girl he did not recognise, half-hidden in the nearby shrubbery.

'No one.'

'You look ill. Are you ill?'

Thalo did not answer her, for another girl appeared from the bushes. She was a few years older, barely a young woman.

When she saw Thalo, she seized the younger girl's arm and pulled her back.

'Who are you?' she said.

Thalo took a moment, and then said, 'I have no name. Know me only as a wanderer, a luckless man cursed to walk the wilds, deprived of my people and all worldly pleasures.'

'What a bore!' said the younger girl, and she scampered away.

'How rude of her!' said the older girl. 'I would apologise on her behalf, but I would need your name.'

Thalo said nothing.

'Everyone has a name. For one, I am Brala. My little sister is called Klata, but you ought to forget about her because she is a git.' Brala and Klata have already been introduced—they were the orphaned daughters of Gaymono and Broyndea. Brala continued, 'Are you lost? You can come back home with me. We should be able to put you up for a while if you want. You look like you could do with a bench and a bowl.'

'No,' said Thalo. 'Go home.'

Brala asked again, just to be sure, and Thalo replied just the same.

'Suit yourself,' said Brala, and she left him there.

Once she had gone, Thalo knelt before Asfoa's burial stone, unsheathed his sword, seldom-stayed Sleme, and laid it flat atop her grave.

'I did it,' he said. 'You told me, mother, to seek my fame, my glory, and I did. I did it for you.' He kissed the stone. 'But it was not without cost. What is left for me? Nothing. It is fitting that your grave should likewise be mine.'

Then he picked up the sword, and only a moment later, it fell back to the ground, Thalo beside it. But he was not dead—not yet. No, as he lifted the blade, as he prepared to face his final, greatest foe, the prior days' weariness set upon him all at once, and he fell asleep before he could strike.

And as he slept, he was visited once more by an unhappy dream. There he was at the foxes' dinner table, set beautifully in Bleygo's barrow, the glittering platter empty, but the foxes were not in their seats. Instead, they all cowered in the shadows.

'Such cowards!' said Awldano. He was there. 'I am much the braver, and very good-looking.'

Then Dragon-Bleygo came roaring into the barrow, and the foxes all yelped.