“Why? Is it because there is another?” Her pulse beat faster, remembering what he had told her before, the words she had been certain were lies. It would be easier to accept death if they were not. “Is it true? That Elterrion’s line continues elsewhere?”

“No, Lady.” The Shaper gave a bitter laugh. “Oh yes, that part was true. There are others. There will be others. Other heroes, other heroines. Other prophecies to fulfill, other adversaries to despise. There will be stories told and forgotten, and reinvented anew until one day, perhaps, the oldest are remembered, and the beginning may end, and the ending begin. Ah, Uru-Alat!” He sighed. “Until the sorrow-bells fall silent forever, there will be others.”

“I do not understand,” she said, confused.

“What if I asked you to stay?” His mood shifted, and the red light of malice glinted in his eyes. “You might temper this madness that comes too soon upon me, this anger. There would be no need for war were you to choose it willingly. You have seen, Daughter of Erilonde; there is beauty in this place. There would be more, did you choose to dwell here.” He extended a hand to her. “What would you say if I asked it?”

What if they were not lies?

Moonlight cast the shadow of his mighty hand stark on the dead and dying grass. Cerelinde thought of the years of uneasy truce her acquiescence might bring, and measured it against the hope, the eternal hope, of the Rivenlost. Of Urulat, of all the world; but most of all, of her people. It was the ancient dream, the hope bred into their ageless flesh ever since the world was Sundered, of the Souma restored, the land made whole. It was nearer now than ever it had been, and she was willing to die to make it so. She could not allow herself to believe otherwise.

“I would say no,” she said softly.

“So.” He let his reaching hand fall back to his side. “It is no less than I expected, Lady. No less, and no more.”

“Why did you refuse?” The words sprang impulsively from her lips, and Cerelinde wished them unsaid the moment she uttered them. But having been uttered, they could not be taken back. She forged onward. “This … rift, the Shapers’War. Haomane First-Born asked you three times to withdraw your Gift from Arahila’s Children. Why did you refuse?”