the blood and breath of each is poisonous to the other, and the bodies of your two races are dying of it. When this war was first mooted, I was one of those who spoke against it: the humans are too strong, I said. And I have been amazed that it is not so. I have been amazed, till this last half hour.’
“ The roc gasped, and the death rattle was in its breast. ‘This ladon, this single, wretched creature, has ruined all that; for the partnership is broken too soon. Such a thing will not come again for generations—generations upon generations—and I—I—I will not be here to see it.’ And the roc drew in one last, terrible, rasping breath, and died.
“Ascur, not knowing what else to do, went to his son, and attempted to lift him, but his own wounds prevented him; and he said, ‘We must get away from here; there is nothing you can do for Erex.’ Tilbad rose to his feet, but his gaze was turned inward, and it was as though he did not see that his own father stood before him sore injured. He said, ‘I will die of this wound, Father,’ though there was no mark on him.
“And so it was, for Tilbad died twenty-three months later, having lived long enough to be a part of the driving of the remaining rocs and their allies out of his father’s kingdom, for as if upon the death of Erex, the human army rallied; it grew stronger and fiercer than anyone who had stood with Ascur that day and watched Tilbad kill a roc would have believed possible. Tilbad saw peace re-established, and the farmers growing a new year’s crops untroubled in their old fields, and the stock fattening, and children playing in the meadows.
“It was said of Tilbad that from the moment of Erex’s death he never smiled, nor spoke any word that was not absolutely necessary; and that he fought tirelessly, and took risks no sane man would take—and lived; which is as some men do, from a grief too great for them to bear. And when Tilbad had seen that his father’s land—his own land—our sweet green land—was safe again, he disappeared. But when the news had come to the king that Tilbad could not be found, the king blanched, saying nothing, but rose from his chair and went at once to Erex’s grave. Few pegasi are buried within the palace Wall, but Tilbad had begged this favour of both his father and Erex’s, and so she had been buried in a little private glade some distance from the palace, in a place no one would notice or go, unless they wished to visit her grave. And there Tilbad’s breathless body was found, curled up on its side, head resting near the head of the grave. And there was no mark on him.”
Sylvi was paralysed. She could feel her mouth fallen a little open, feel her body bent a little forward and resting its weight on her two clenched hands on the chair-arms, her elbows bent up and behind her like rudimentary wings. In her mind a tiny voice said, And what wound was it Tilbad died of? The loss of his friend or the lie the roc told? Rocs speak the truth when they are dying, her conscience answered miserably; it is in the histories. They speak the truth when they are dying, and they live almost forever—if that roc hadn’t been killed, it might be one of those facing us now; those we face might remember it, and remember its death. But the tiny wild voice replied, Who says they tell the truth? And what truth do they not tell?
Ebon still stood like a stone pegasus.
The bearer moved very slightly again, causing the faintest hush sound of his robe against the sigil-stamped fabric, or of the fabric against whatever it protected.
The smell of blood and death was overwhelming.
Since she had never heard such a thing before, Sylvi did not at first recognise the sound of her father shouting for silence over the tumult in the Little Hall. That there was tumult around her did not register with her at all, the tumult in her mind and heart was so much greater—the tumult inside her, and Ebon’s silence. Why was he not saying what she wished to say—that Fthoom was a liar, that this story was a fabrication created of Fthoom’s overwhelming greed for power, a power potentially threatened by her