Athson took her hand and caressed it. "Tell him you're an Ax-Maid of Chokkra with the death-grip." He ran a finger along her braid and the trinkets woven there. "Show him these. You have an honor guard of dwarves and an offer of alliance from the new ruler of that kingdom. You bring him influence and trade. Show him you're not the youthful, angry person who left in the night. Show him your strength."
Limbreth nodded. "Yes, there's that." And it was all true, she wasn't the same girl who ran from her father's house. She took a deep breath. She was far stronger than she'd assumed she was those long months ago.
Athson kissed her hand. "Let the songs of your deeds be sung by the dwarves. Show him you are the Silver Lady. Be those things."
She gazed at Athson through a sudden swell of tears. "What should I be? What should I do?" Emptiness formed in her like a sob lodged in her breast at sudden grief and loneliness for her companions both dead and alive. They were leaving and she was going her own way home.
He smiled and brushed tears from her cheek with his hand. "Be yourself. Do what you must."
"Do what he wants?" Her lips trembled. Mixed feelings about Athson, his failure to save her, fluttered within her like butterflies. But she did want him despite the doubts. "What do I tell him?" She wrapped her arms around Athson's neck. "I don't know what I want."
"But it's not simply what he wants."
"True."
"It's a long trip. Tell him what you want when you get there."
"And if I still don't know what I want?" Tell her father what about a husband?
Athson rested his forehead against hers. "Tell him someone will come in due time to ask for your hand. Maybe from east over the mountains. From Hart. Perhaps by then you'll know what you want."
Limbreth sucked at her teeth. "Yeah, maybe I'll have put the Funnel behind me by then." She did want Athson, and she drew him into a tight embrace. But his admission that he'd failed her, chosen revenge when she needed him, haunted her still. Yet she'd also ridden back for him and the others. She kissed Athson through her uncertain tears and the clouds of doubt parted for a moment.
She drew back from the kiss, their foreheads still touching. "I'll tell him all of that. I'll be who I've become, and he'll have to accept it. I'll tell him I'm waiting for a certain someone to come and show me who he truly is. I'm willing to wait for that." Of that, Limbreth was certain. "Now you go and follow Eloch's bidding where you must, and come to me when it's time."
Athson breathed in her ear. "When it's time, then."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Athson released Limbreth as regret pecked in his heart. She had to leave, to return to her home and answer the summons, Dareth's treason notwithstanding. But he had another calling leading him. That way drew him east. He crossed the corral hand in hand with Limbreth and stood beside his horse. The early morning breeze lifted the scent of spring from the forest. Others stood ready, some old companions for farewells, and some new companions for travel. So few remained from that first farewell to Sarneth, who stood in the mingled group.
Words caught in Athson’s throat, a hitch of emotion over the missing faces. Ralda, come to work out his grief for his brother, now gone without seeing the plains of his home again. Tordug lay entombed on elven land, his honor regained in his death and that of his foe. Hastra lay near the giant, now free of the burden of her labors for Eloch, the promise of prophecy completed. Gweld no longer his disguised friend, the bane of them all, but Athson most of all. Just three of them remained: Makwi to rule Chokkra; Limbreth, who would return to her father; and Athson.
The way lay before Athson with new companions, his path to restore the order of Withlings with Howart and Zelma. The future of Hart still balanced on his Withling insight. Magdronu may be weakened, but he still controlled Rok and Hart and many worshipers. Athson’s broken family curse left him free, and others whom he didn't know needed his leadership to be set free as well.
His mother sat astride a horse already. In the growing light, her impatience for the road ahead lay across her face in the growing light of the dawn. "Ready now?"
Athson nodded. He glanced over his shoulder at Limbreth, who stood back a few paces. His road lay in Eloch's care, but he'd go to her in the end. His heart thrummed with that soaring thought. He swallowed. "Yes."
Sarneth offered his hand with a smile. "I can't say you haven't been interesting among us, Athson. Some say you drew Magdronu's ire upon us, but he coveted the forest for many years, with or without you and the bow."
Athson took his former commander's hand. "Thank you for everything you've ever done. I wish—" His voice, suddenly laden with husky emotion, faltered a moment. "I wish you and all who still live my best. I wish Heth and Cireena still lived. They cared for me so long when I had nothing else."
Sarneth saluted, and Athson answered. "I'm sorry we harbored traitors during that time who killed them and others so needlessly in their lust for power."
Makwi stepped forward and offered his hand, his face as solemn as Athson had ever seen it. "Withling, I guess this is goodbye for now. I've doubted you often but you and the bow have offered Chokkra a new start we never expected."
Athson took the dwarf's hand and shook it. "I'm sorry for the doubt and trouble along the way. It took me a long time to see through it all clearly."
Makwi flashed a rare grin. "They hail me as king because that fog lifted. I've sent a call to our scattered people to come and re-build Chokkra."
"Blessings upon you and your people, Makwi." Athson smiled. "The bow got you your home back as well as a bridge with some verses to be sung soon." Sarneth had named the bridge, "Makwi's Bridge" for his stand against the trolls. "May the tale of your scars and your honor be sung at the hearth for many years."
"You've learned something useful along the way, I see." Makwi winked at Limbreth as he spoke to Athson. "But you are kind in blessing, Athson."
Athson nodded and stepped close to the others. Howart and Zelma stood by their horses. "Ready?"
Howart offered a lopsided grin. "Been ready for a long time to set things right. We'll start with the order and Hart at the same time."
Zelma let out a cackle. "Sister would set out for just one, no matter the sacrifice."
Paugren's horse danced as he held Athson's charred banner aloft in his hands, scarred while trying to save Cass. He glanced at Athson, an unreadable expression on his burned face. "I'll pay for our deeds after we set things as right as possible in the order, Hart, and Rok. The other Beleesh sisters will come around, maybe."
Athson looked to his mother, who arched a single eyebrow. She'd expressed her misgivings already regarding the former wizard. Her mistrust wouldn't likely diminish, certainly not while he remained unpunished. But Athson couldn't refuse Paugren the chance to undo his wrongs before he suffered any punishment.
He scratched the back of his neck. It wouldn't be easy on the road with his mother, Howart, and Zelma doubtful of Paugren. He sighed. He didn't much trust him either, but Eloch had led him to let the scarred former wizard ride with him. Athson shook his head and mounted his horse. None of it was a small task, with or without the recalcitrant Withling among them. But he'd chosen it.
With final farewells, they trotted from the yard. Spark slipped ahead along the still-dark street. Athson turned in his saddle, and there stood Limbreth beside Makwi in the gate. She raised a hand to him, and he saluted them both as a dwarf.
They soon crossed "Makwi's Bridge" and turned east upon the road. The scars of the trolls, their carcasses burned weeks ago, but their damage on this side of the river, as well as the battle fought, lingering yet in the refuse to be burned. The elves would hunt trolls in the forest for months to come and defend the roads from raids by their dwindling numbers for years to come.
Then, Athson rode ahead, his destiny much more than the strung Bow of Hart slung across his shoulders. With the other Withlings, his mother, Spark, and his sword, he'd do his best to restore the Order of Withlings and return to Limbreth. He
would show her who he was not by his deeds but by his heart for Eloch and her. He smiled.
His mother leaned close. "What's on your mind?"
Athson took a deep breath, his heart lighter than at any time he could remember in his life. "Destiny is now, and it's a good day to ride through it."
THE END
Dear Reader, I hope you enjoyed The White Arrow, Book Three of The Bow of Hart Saga. The end of the series came all too soon but I have many other books in the works. Many readers have written me asking, “Will there be another book to the series?” Well, be sure to stay tuned, because, while I’m working on several other books, I might just come back to Denaria in the future. As I've written The Bow of Hart Saga, I've gotten many wonderful reviews and ratings from fans thanking me for the book. Some had opinions about all the events in the book and asked what would happen next. As an author, I love feedback. Undoubtedly, you’re the reason I've been able to finish the series. So, tell me what you liked, what you loved, even what you hated. I’d love to hear from you. You can write me at [email protected] and visit me on the web at www.phsolomon.com. Finally, I need to ask a favor. If you’re so inclined, I’d love it if you would post a review of The White Arrow. Loved it, hated it— I’d just like to hear your feedback. Reviews can be tough to come by these days, and you, the reader, have the power to make or break a book. If you have the time, here’s a link to the book page. Thank you so much for reading The White Arrow and for spending time with me.
In gratitude,
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About the Author
P. H. Solomon lives in the greater Birmingham, AL area where he strongly dislikes yard work and sanding the deck rail. However, he performs these duties to maintain a nice home for his loved ones as well as the family’s German Shepherds. In his spare time, P. H. rides herd as a Computer Whisperer on large computers called servers (harmonica not required). Additionally, he enjoys reading, running, most sports and fantasy football. Having a degree in Anthropology, he also has a wide array of more “serious” interests in addition to working regularly to hone his writing. His first novel, The Bow of Destiny was named 2016 Book of the Year by Fantasia Reviews and is the first book of The Bow of Hart Saga. The sequel novel, An Arrow Against the Wind, was released in April of 2017. The third book of the series, The White Arrow, is due to be released during the Fall of 2017. P. H. Solomon also authored the award winning short story, The Black Bag, which won best published short story at SCWC 2012. P. H. is also a member of Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA).
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