The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [252]
Vani touched his cheek. “Your face, it's so pale. What is it, Travis?”
The wizened Maugrim woman pulled at his sleeve. You will see, the coin translated her grunting speech. Come, now.
They continued on, and after a few more steps they reached the top of the ridge. Travis blinked the grit from his eyes, then stared in disbelief.
Thirty paces away, on the flat top of the ridge, stood three figures. Travis knew two of them well: Falken and Melia. The third was a tall man, powerfully built, though his white hair and time-etched face spoke of age. The man wore a black robe embroidered with scarlet runes. His fingers twitched around the blade of the sword that pierced his chest. Falken's sword. The bard gripped the hilt in his silver hand.
The white-haired man opened his mouth as if to speak, but all that came out was a gush of blood. Tears traced lines through the layer of ash on Falken's cheeks.
“For Malachor,” he said and jerked the sword out of the other's chest.
The white-haired man fell to the ground. His robe fluttered. He was dead.
Falken bowed his head. Melia moved to him and laid a hand on his arm. “It is over at last, dearest one.”
Travis's paralysis broke. He shouted—a wordless sound of joy—and ran over the broken ground toward Melia and Falken. The bard and the lady looked up, astonishment shining in their eyes. Then Melia was running as well, and Travis caught her in his arms, lifting the small woman off the ground.
“Am I dreaming?” Melia murmured.
Travis held her tight. “I'd think we both were, only I'd choose a happier place for my dream than this.”
“It is happy with you here, sweet one.”
All the same, she was weeping, and it did not seem all her tears were ones of joy. Travis set her down. Falken was there now, and Beltan and Vani. It seemed so strange, to be embracing one another in such a lifeless place. All the same, it filled Travis with warmth.
The Maugrim man and woman nodded to Melia and Falken, and the bard and lady bowed in return. Curiosity glinted in Falken's eyes, but Melia smiled.
“It is long since I have had the pleasure of meeting the Gul-Hin-Gul,” she said. “I am honored.”
Falken shot her a sharp look. “You mean you've met the True People before?”
“Once. It was over a thousand years ago, just after we banished Mohg from the world, just before they vanished into the mists of the deepest forests and wildest mountains.”
“You mean all this time you knew the Maugrim still existed?” Falken said, his expression stunned.
Melia gave the bard a fond smile. “I know lots of things, dear one.”
The Maugrim man spoke to Melia in his strange language. The honor is ours, ancient ones. We saw you come through the pass into the land of He-Who-Wields-The-Ice. We would have greeted you then, but we knew the one we waited for was coming.
Melia turned her golden eyes on Travis. “And now he is here, in this place.”
“So this truly is the end, then,” Falken said. He gazed at the bloody sword that lay on the ground.
“Kelephon,” Beltan said, glancing at the dead body of the man. “You've killed him, Falken.”
So that was who the white-haired man was. Travis pressed his hand to his chest, remembering the pain he had felt a few moments ago. Kelephon had been the last of the Runelords. Now there was only Travis. Or was that true? Was there not one other who could yet break runes?
With his boot, Falken nudged Kelephon's arm, and the runelord's dead fingers fell open, revealing a Stone. It was smooth and spherical, its surface a mottled snow blue. Travis heard a hum, like the sound of metal against dry ice.
“Gelthisar,” he said, standing next to the bard.
Falken nodded. “Kelephon tried to use the Stone of Ice against us, but I don't think he had time to fully master its power. It had been long centuries since he last held it, and its touch seemed to freeze him. For a moment he couldn't move, and it was enough for me to put my sword in him.”
Travis shook his head. “Why did he have the Stone? And how did you find him here?”
“It was Shemal,” Melia said,