so Jaelle led them forth when the rites were done. Into the rain she went, clad in white among all the black, and they bore Ailell shoulder-high behind her to the crypt wherein the Kings of Brennin were laid to rest.
East of the palace it lay, north of the Temple. Before the body went Jaelle with the key to the gates in her hands. Behind the bier, fair and solitary, walked Diarmuid, the King’s Heir, and after him came all the lesser nobility of Brennin. Among them there walked, though with aid, a Prince of the lios alfar, and there were come as well two men of the Dalrei, from the Plain; and with these walked two men from another world, one very tall and dark, another fair, and between them was a woman with white hair. The common folk lined the path, six deep in the rain, and they bowed their heads to see Ailell go by.
Then they came to the great gates of the burying place, and Jaelle saw that they were open already and that a man clad in black stood waiting there for them, and she saw who it was.
“Come,” said Aileron, “let us lay my father by my mother, whom he loved.”
And while she was trying to mask her shock, another voice spoke. “Welcome home, exile,” Diarmuid said, his tone mild, unsurprised, and he moved lightly past her to kiss Aileron on the cheek. “Shall we lead him back to her?”
It was greatly wrong, for she had right of precedence here, but in spite of herself the High Priestess felt a strange emotion to see the two of them, the dark son and the bright, pass through the gates of the dead, side by side, while all the people of Brennin murmured behind them in the falling rain.
On a spur of hill high above that place, three men watched. One would be First Mage of Brennin before the sun had set, one had been made King of the Dwarves by a sunrise long ago, and the third had caused the rain and been sent back by the God.
“We are gathered,” Gorlaes began, standing beside the throne but two careful steps below it, “in a time of sorrow and need.”
They were in the Great Hall, Tomaz Lal’s masterpiece, and there were gathered that afternoon all the mighty of Brennin, save one. The two Dalrei, and Dave as well, so fortuitously arrived, had been greeted with honor and shown to their chambers, and even Brendel of Daniloth was absent from this assemblage, for what Brennin had now to do was matter for Brennin alone.
“In any normal time our loss would demand space for mourning. But this is no such time. It is needful for us now,” the Chancellor continued, seeing that Jaelle had not contested his right to speak first, “to take swift counsel amongst one another and go forth from this hall united, with a new King to lead us into—”
“Hold, Gorlaes. We will wait for Silvercloak.” It was Teyrnon, the mage, and he had risen to stand, with Barak, his source, and Matt Sören. Trouble already, and they had not even begun.
“Surely,” Jaelle murmured, “it is rather his duty to be here when others are. We have waited long enough.”
“We will wait longer,” the Dwarf growled. “As we waited for you, yesterday.” There was something in his tone that made Gorlaes glad it was Jaelle who’d raised objection, and not himself.
“Where is he?” Niavin of Seresh asked.
“He is coming. He had to go slowly.”
“Why?” It was Diarmuid. He had stopped his feline pacing at the edges of the hall and come forward.
“Wait,” was all the Dwarf replied.
Gorlaes was about to remonstrate, but someone else came in first.
“No,” said Aileron. “For all the love I bear him, I will not wait on this. There is, in truth, little to discuss.”
Kim Ford, in that room as the newest, the only, Seer of Brennin, watched him stride to stand by Gorlaes.
And a step above him, directly before the throne. He will always be like this, she thought. There is only the force of him.
And with force, cold, unyielding force, Aileron looked over them all and spoke again. “In time of council Loren’s wisdom will be sorely needed, but this is not a time of council, whatever you may have thought.”
Diarmuid was no longer pacing. He had moved, at Aileron’s first words, to stand directly in front of his brother, an unruffled contrast to Aileron’s coiled intensity.