tall and slender, with long, smooth faces, their dark eyes shining beneath slanting eyebrows. Black, silky hair hung down their backs, the deep sleeves of their robes swept the ground. Staring at them in wonder, hardly able to accept the evidence of his own eyes, Lief remembered the Guardian’s words.
The first of my subjects, the largest number, came to me in a great wind, the pride that had caused their fall still fresh within them …
And then he knew. These were the lost people of Tora.
The companions walked through the crowd, and everywhere hands were held out to them. But now the hands were open, filled with life and thanks.
The people of Tora had wandered in the Valley of the Lost for as long as Lief had been alive, yet they had not grown old, or changed. Old, middle-aged, and young, they remained just as they had been that day when they broke their vow. Lief, Barda, and Jasmine moved among them, hearing over and over the story of their fall.
The magic of the tunnel had protected Tora from evil for so long that the Torans had come to think they had grown perfect, as their city was perfect, and that any decision they made would be the right one. When the message from Endon came, they considered it as they considered everything: without passion, withouthate, without anger. But also without warmth, without love, without pity.
“The decision did not seem a betrayal of trust,” murmured a young man who held the hand of a small child. “It seemed sensible, and just. For to us, the king was a stranger. Even the Torans who went to Del with Adin, and those who went afterwards, had long ago become part of the Del palace life. They had ceased to be a bridge between our cities.”
“But in our pride we forgot the magic on which our power was based,” sighed an old woman, tall and straight in her scarlet robe. “The ancient vow, with the curse it embraced, was still as strong as it ever was. We did not count on that, for we looked forward, but never backward in those days. We have learned better since.”
The companions walked back through the trees to the palace clearing, the crowd following silently. As they approached the clearing Lief was haunted by the feeling that he was dreaming. At any moment he might wake. At any moment he might see the palace, gleaming like a jewel, and the Guardian, red eyes staring, beckoning through swirling mist.
But the palace had gone, as if it had never been. In its place was a small wooden hut. Flowers and wild grass grew around it, and standing at its door was a bearded man wearing a coarse gown, tied at the waist with a knotted cord. His sad eyes met Lief’s. They were very familiar.
Perched on his arm was a black bird. Sitting on his hand was a small, grey bundle of fur.
Before Lief could say a word, Jasmine was running forward with a cry of joy. Then Kree was flying towards her, and Filli was leaping, chattering, to meet her. They had come down from the cliff edge the moment the mist had lifted. They had waited with their new friend patiently. But now that they saw Jasmine, they would not wait a moment longer.
Together once again, the companions moved to the stranger’s side.
“You are the hermit — the hermit in the pictures on the rug,” Lief said.
The man nodded.
“And you are the Guardian.”
The man put his hand to his chest, close to his heart, as if feeling a tender place. “No longer. Thanks to you,” he said quietly.
“But — you are not Endon, are you?” Lief already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it aloud.
The man smiled. “No, I am not. My name is Fardeep. Once I was a rich man, it is true. A respected man, and very well content. But I was no king. Just the keeper of an inn in a place called Rithmere, far from here. Bandits invaded the town. My family was killed, and my inn was taken from me. The Shadow Lord, it seems, had a use for it.”
The companions exchanged glances. “Could you be speaking of the Champion Inn?” Barda
The first of my subjects, the largest number, came to me in a great wind, the pride that had caused their fall still fresh within them …
And then he knew. These were the lost people of Tora.
The companions walked through the crowd, and everywhere hands were held out to them. But now the hands were open, filled with life and thanks.
The people of Tora had wandered in the Valley of the Lost for as long as Lief had been alive, yet they had not grown old, or changed. Old, middle-aged, and young, they remained just as they had been that day when they broke their vow. Lief, Barda, and Jasmine moved among them, hearing over and over the story of their fall.
The magic of the tunnel had protected Tora from evil for so long that the Torans had come to think they had grown perfect, as their city was perfect, and that any decision they made would be the right one. When the message from Endon came, they considered it as they considered everything: without passion, withouthate, without anger. But also without warmth, without love, without pity.
“The decision did not seem a betrayal of trust,” murmured a young man who held the hand of a small child. “It seemed sensible, and just. For to us, the king was a stranger. Even the Torans who went to Del with Adin, and those who went afterwards, had long ago become part of the Del palace life. They had ceased to be a bridge between our cities.”
“But in our pride we forgot the magic on which our power was based,” sighed an old woman, tall and straight in her scarlet robe. “The ancient vow, with the curse it embraced, was still as strong as it ever was. We did not count on that, for we looked forward, but never backward in those days. We have learned better since.”
The companions walked back through the trees to the palace clearing, the crowd following silently. As they approached the clearing Lief was haunted by the feeling that he was dreaming. At any moment he might wake. At any moment he might see the palace, gleaming like a jewel, and the Guardian, red eyes staring, beckoning through swirling mist.
But the palace had gone, as if it had never been. In its place was a small wooden hut. Flowers and wild grass grew around it, and standing at its door was a bearded man wearing a coarse gown, tied at the waist with a knotted cord. His sad eyes met Lief’s. They were very familiar.
Perched on his arm was a black bird. Sitting on his hand was a small, grey bundle of fur.
Before Lief could say a word, Jasmine was running forward with a cry of joy. Then Kree was flying towards her, and Filli was leaping, chattering, to meet her. They had come down from the cliff edge the moment the mist had lifted. They had waited with their new friend patiently. But now that they saw Jasmine, they would not wait a moment longer.
Together once again, the companions moved to the stranger’s side.
“You are the hermit — the hermit in the pictures on the rug,” Lief said.
The man nodded.
“And you are the Guardian.”
The man put his hand to his chest, close to his heart, as if feeling a tender place. “No longer. Thanks to you,” he said quietly.
“But — you are not Endon, are you?” Lief already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it aloud.
The man smiled. “No, I am not. My name is Fardeep. Once I was a rich man, it is true. A respected man, and very well content. But I was no king. Just the keeper of an inn in a place called Rithmere, far from here. Bandits invaded the town. My family was killed, and my inn was taken from me. The Shadow Lord, it seems, had a use for it.”
The companions exchanged glances. “Could you be speaking of the Champion Inn?” Barda
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