EPILOGUE
The Knights’ Chamber hung silent even though crowded by the entire questing party and the rescued knights. Paladin crouched before Fenworth’s tree and spoke quietly to Toopka. The little girl had wedged herself in the old wizard’s branches.
Bardon put his arms around Kale as she started to go forward. “Let Paladin handle this.”
“Come, Toopka.” Paladin held his arms out to receive her.
She shook her head. “No, he’s sleeping. He always becomes a tree when he sleeps.”
Paladin nodded, his eyes filled with compassion. “This time he is not asleep, but gone.”
“No, no, no!”
Paladin reached in to touch her hand. He rubbed gently. “Come to my arms, child.”
To Bardon’s surprise, the doneel girl let go of her hold of a branch and slipped into Paladin’s embrace.
She collapsed against his shoulder, and he stood, patting her back. “I know for a fact that Wizard Fenworth told you he was going to die.”
She nodded, keeping her face buried.
“He is not lost to us, Toopka, but waits for us to join him in another place. Isn’t that what he told you?”
She nodded again and lifted her tear-stained face. “He said he was going to go take a walk with Wulder and ask Him some things he never got figured out.”
Paladin smiled. “And by now our friend Fenworth has his answers. It’s all right to miss him, but do not despair. The Tomes make it clear that this is only a temporary world we live in.” He hugged her. “The Tomes also give us instructions as to what to do in such a time as this.”
“What?”
“Talk to the living. There are stories in this room that are just waiting to be told. Are you curious about Granny Kye’s sons?”
Bardon caught his breath, and Kale squeezed his arm.
“He didn’t desert you,” she whispered.
He shook his head but couldn’t answer past the lump in his throat. He had avoided Granny Kye’s eldest son in the chaos after the battle. It hadn’t been difficult. Paladin had issued orders, and Bardon sprang to obey. When they reached this room, he’d chosen to stand on the opposite side beside Kale, where she stood with her parents.
Paladin carried Toopka over to Sir Joffa, who stood next to his brother. Bardon’s father had a hand resting on his mother’s shoulder. “Tell us, sir,” commanded Paladin, “about how you were separated from your son.”
Bardon didn’t want to hear this story in a crowded room. This tale was personal and shouldn’t be aired in front of strangers. He stared at the man who was his father and waited. He wondered about Sir Joffa’s age. Not very old, he guessed, since his skin, hair, and eyes had darkened only to a ruddy tan. The knight’s eyes glanced Bardon’s way for only a second, swept around the room, and then came back to rest on his son.
“I heard my brother was in trouble and decided to give aid.” Sir Joffa’s voice boomed across the large hall. “I set out with my fair lady and our son toward Wittoom, but we were ambushed in the Kattaboom Mountains by Risto’s men. My wife was killed. The rest of the cutthroats were slain by my men and me.”
By this time, Bardon had lost all trepidation over the witnesses hearing his story. He felt as if his father spoke to him and none other.
“I made arrangements for Liza’s burial,” Sir Joffa continued, “and spirited my son away to The Hall. I knew Grand Ebeck would take care of him for the few months I would be gone to rescue my brother, without giving away his parentage and exposing him to Risto or Stox.”
He looked steadily at his grown son. Bardon returned the regard without flinching. “It is hard for me to imagine that this fine young man is the sleeping six-year-old I handed into Ebeck’s arms.”
Paladin turned to face Bardon. “You were old enough to remember all this, Squire, but sometimes Wulder blots out horrific memories in order to give peace to a fragile child.”
Bardon felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked down into Kale’s expectant face.
“Go shake his hand. Do something!” she muttered urgently.
Bardon felt released from a very long, troubling dream. He crossed the wide space and stuck out his hand to his father. Sir Joffa took it and after one firm shake, pulled his grown boy into his arms.
This can’t be real. Oh, thank You, Wulder. It is real. Tears coursed down his cheeks, and he felt only joy, no shame. He heard the crowd around them cheering and applauding, but he paid them no mind.
“Now,” said Paladin, “it looks like we have a happy ending, but I’m afraid there is too much still going on for us to rest.” His eyes roamed the room, connecting with each of the warriors. “I have need of you all. It is true that Crim Cropper and Burner Stox are amassing a hideous army in hopes of taking over Pretender’s powerful position. And although they’re not attacking the citizens of Amara, their skirmishes leave our people, who are innocently caught in the fray, as casualties. Whichever side wins, the next strategic move will be to enslave Amara. It is good that these knights are now awake. We must be ever watchful and not be caught sleeping when our chance comes to stand for Wulder and righteousness.”
“Hear! Hear!” shouted those in the room.
“I bless you, one and all, for your presence has returned my strength.”
“What are we going to do with the tree?” asked Toopka.
“Ah yes, little one, ever practical.” He kissed her cheek. “We must take care of the immediate as we prepare for the future. I am giving this castle property to Sir Kemry and Lyll Allerion. We have flushed out the evil, but if you leave a place empty, the depraved will return. Lyll and Kemry will move the tree to a sunny spot and allow it to be just what it is, a lovely tree.”
“And Kale?”
“She is now Wizard of The Bogs.”
“Can she do that?”
Paladin winked over Toopka’s shoulder at Bardon. “Yes, with help, she can.”