by Jack Conner
“Come,” he said.
He rejoined his troops and led them against the surviving Borchstogs. The fighting was close and bloody, but he and his men drove them from the city and sent them fleeing into the hills.
For days Giorn pursued the Borchstogs, driving them back and back and back. He left in his wake tens of thousands of dead demons and their allies, the trolls and corrupted giants and the vampires and others. The bodies of glarums and their Borchstog riders littered the ground, and he laughed when he saw vultures eating their guts.
Finally he drove the Borchstogs over the Pit of Eresine and beyond, drove them through the ruins of Feslan and at last out of Fiarth altogether. Only then did he rest. But in his mind and heart, he was uneasy.
Epilogue
For months Giorn helped the people of Felgrad rebuild, never returning once to Thiersgald. He helped the Feslans reoccupy Hielsly, helped priestesses reestablish the temple there. It would never hold the Moonstone again, true, but they could still be a force of good in the world, and they still had Ystrissa as a leader. She had survived the war, though not without some scars to show for it.
After that, he went north, helping farmers rebuild their homes, their barns, working alongside them in the blazing heat and the freezing gusts. And always he held Niara and Raugst and the old days close to his heart.
Sometimes he wondered, on the long, lonely nights, if the two had been reacquainted beyond the veil of death. Then he would sigh and shake his head. It was unlikely. He was not even sure Raugst’s spirit would be shown the Lights of Sifril. Giorn was not an overly religious man, and sometimes he doubted the existence of an afterlife, but if there truly were a Paradise, as the priestesses of Illiana maintained, could one such as Raugst find sanctuary there?
To Giorn’s surprise, he hoped so.
He made a vow to himself that when he returned home he would gather up Raugst’s remains, and Niara’s, wherever they were buried, and he would have them entombed together in a great mausoleum whose beauty would be admired for ages, and the story of the two doomed lovers would never be forgotten.
So the days passed, one after another, rolling into a seamless dream of working, rebuilding, and trying to drive certain thoughts away.
Only after much time did he return to Thiersgald. Much had been restored, and the outer city was not as badly razed as he’d feared, though the scars of Vrulug’s invasion would be slow to fade, if they ever completely did. But somehow it did not feel like home, and he was restless and troubled.
Duke Yfrin visited him often, and one day found them staring out over the city from the second-highest tower in the castle. The highest, Giorn’s old residence, he had abandoned. After the horrors witnessed there, he planned to demolish it and to throw the stones into the Pit of Eresine. There they would keep company the stones that had composed the Temple of Illiana, which he had seen dismantled—but not before removing Vrulug’s remains, burning them and locking the ashes away in the recast statue of the Skinless Man taken from ancient Grasvic.
Giorn had taken up residence in the second-highest tower, his father’s old tower, and it was from the terrace there that he and Duke Yfrin shared wine and watched the sun set in a golden haze over the spires and domes of Thiersgald.
“You don’t have to stay here, you know,” Dalic told him. The duke brought the goblet of wine to his lips and took a sip, but his eyes never left Giorn’s. “I’ve seen how restless you are, how unhappy. This city holds bad memories for you, anyone can see that. But . . . you are the King, my friend. The royal family has disclaimed all rights to the throne as long as you possess the Crown. They have even offered you their Palace. They have lands they can return to. You can leave this city, rule the kingdom from its capitol as a good king should.”
Giorn looked at him, then let his eyes stray over the city. At length he sighed and shook his head. “No, my friend. That is not my place. Now that I’ve returned, I intend to restore the crown to its rightful owners.”
Dalic chuckled ruefully. “But you are king, and still young. You could have a splendid life, if you would let yourself. You are a hero, lad. A hero.”
Giorn smiled mirthlessly. He rose to his feet and stared out over the grand courtyard before the castle. There, in the square below, workers were fashioning a great statue. Maybe, Giorn thought, maybe when that statue was finished he would feel at ease.
Gesturing to it, to the proud, broad-shouldered figure, whose bearded face was even now being carved, he said, “No, my friend. I am not the hero of this tale. It was Raugst. Curse it, it was Raugst, the demon, the monster—wife-slayer, brother-slayer, traitor, stealer of women, slayer of my family—it is Raugst, curse him, who is the hero of this tale.”
Making a fist with his good hand, he drained his goblet with his right.
And the sun burned redly in the west.
THE END
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
Thank you for reading The War of the Moonstone. I hope you enjoyed it. Either way, please leave a review wherever you purchased it. Help me get the word out! I would also love to hear your feedback at [email protected] or you can find me on facebook at https://www.facebook.com/jack.conner.98 .
You might enjoy some of my other novels, such as The Song of Doom, a two-part epic fantasy that is a semi-sequel to The War of the Moonstone, only with different characters. The first volume can be found HERE. You might also check out Empire of the Worm, a short fantasy novel that might be described as “Cthulhu comes to Rome”. Other novels soon to come. Stay tuned!
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25“Oathbreaker
Epilogue