by Barb Hendee
His words confused Magiere, and she looked over to see Caleb and Darien, the guard, lifting a fisherman with a bleeding thigh onto a door they were using as a stretcher.
“I’ll send them for Leesil next,” Karlin said. “We don’t want to jar his ribs again.”
The portly baker walked away with purpose, calling out instructions along his way. Magiere smelled smoke from the embers mixed with salt from the ocean. She looked down at Leesil.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, getting up.
Leaving her partner’s side, she walked to the crumbled remains of The Sea Lion. She stepped into its black and slightly smoldering cinders, her boots growing warm but not hot. Pulling her falchion, she used it to dig about in the debris until it clanked against something in the ashes. She cleared some of the ash, uncovered Rashed’s longsword, and used her own blade to lift it out into plain sight.
She flipped Rashed’s sword out onto the bare ground and stepped out after it, again finding herself unable to feel triumphant. The ash of Rashed and Teesha’s bones had mingled with that of her home.
A gust of cool air blew in from the sea. As it filled her lungs with its freshness, she watched it swirl and carry off traces of ash in its passing. This place, this town, was home now, and perhaps that much, at least, felt certain. And Leesil was alive to share it. In a few days, mortals would clear all this away and rebuild over Rashed and Teesha’s graves.
She glanced back at the half-elf, his head rolled to one side to watch her intently.
“Keep the sword,” he said. “Hang it over the new hearth.”
“As a trophy?” she asked.
“As redemption. We did do something good here—something real. You know that, don’t you?”
When had Leesil grown wise?
“I won’t be able to offer much help with the rebuilding. I barely faked my way through running a tavern,” she said. “What am I going to do for the next moon?”
His narrow eyebrows arched. “Why, play nursemaid to me, of course. Not a bad job.”
“Oh, shut up.”
She turned away as if continuing to sift through the ashes, hiding the near smile she tried to suppress. No, it would not be a bad job at all.
Epilogue
Late the following night on the north edge of Miiska, at the entrance to Belaski’s long coastal road, Welstiel Massing sat on his bay gelding in the darkness. The horse trembled and shied away at his touch, but it would obey. He turned for one final look at the sleepy town. Everything he needed was packed into his saddlebags.
He felt no regret at leaving, for he had no attachments to sever here. His work was done. In this place, Magiere had come as far as he could compel her along the path he had set. Setting events in motion had been easy enough, once her banker in Bela informed him that Magiere was looking to buy a tavern. There had been time enough to meet the owner of The Sea Lion, Dunction, remove him, and quietly assist her behind the scenes with the actual purchase. The banker was glad for his commission and the ease of the transaction.
Pitting Rashed and Magiere against each other had been equally simple. Dhampir and vampire—from all he had learned over the years, their natural state was to be at each other’s throats. All he needed to do was raise her awareness of her true nature, carefully, just a bit at a time.
Miiska was now cleansed, and Magiere’s self-awareness awakened. This place served no more useful purpose. The next stage in her development now had to be planned, and she still had far to go before she would be of real use to him.
“Until we meet again, Magiere,” he whispered.
He reined his horse around and began his journey up the dark road.