Ehren couldn’t hear what Calderon said next. Months of horror and despair had all come down to this moment. He found himself sitting on the stone floor of the balcony, sobbing and laughing at the same time. He had never believed, never really believed, that the vord could be defeated. Not after so many retreats, so many deadly surprises.

But here, in the Calderon Valley, they had finally done it. They had endured the heaviest blows the enemy could deliver and survived. The Realm had survived. The Realm would survive.

It would survive thanks to the sacrifice of Cereus, and to the rather unassuming backcountry Citizen who now knelt beside him, putting a brawny arm around Ehren’s shoulders. “Easy there, son. Easy. Come with me. I could use a drink. I’ve given orders to the Legions to keep rotating fresh troops in. Now all we have to do is wait this out.”

Ehren nodded several times. “A drink,” he said, his voice thick. “I don’t drink very well.” Then he added, “But if you can’t drink to this, what can you drink to? Let’s go.”

EPILOGUE

History will eventually claim that the appearance of the vord was a water-shed moment, that it was the best thing that ever happened to Alera. The vord forced us to exceed our limits, to grow after centuries of stagnation—and to look beyond ourselves. It is certain that because of the vord, we have gained a host of new enemies, in the Canim sense of the word. May we keep them and meet many more.

But history is a cold and distant observer. Those of us who must face today have goals far more finite: We must mend our wounds, mourn our dead—and survive the winter. Crows take what the historians think.

History will attend to itself.

—GAIUS TAVARUS MAGNUS, 1 AV.

* * *

* * *

“It’s too tight,” Tavi complained, tugging at the neck of the tunic. “And it’s ridiculously overdone. Honestly, people are starving, and they’re trying to deck me out in gems and cloth of gold?”

“No one is starving,” Max said. “They just wish they were.” He wore his new suit of armor, marked with the black crow of the First Aleran Legion upon a field of red and blue, and his dress uniform beneath it, including a captain’s cloak of red velvet. “Bloody clever way to get rid of the croach if you ask me. Let people eat it up, especially as we’re short on food and all.”

“A bit too clever. I’m sick of the stuff.”

Max snorted, slapped Tavi’s hands out of the way, and started fastening the collar. “Stop eating it, then.”

“I can’t tell half the people in the Realm they’ve got to eat bug wax until next spring and not eat it myself, Max.”