“I shouldn’t have let you go without me,” she told him, bending close. “I should have been with you.”

He sighed. “Think how much worse … I would feel … if you had done that.”

“I love you so much. I can’t lose you.”

“The choice … isn’t yours … or mine.”

“Stay with me. Try to stay.”

The faintest hint of a smile twisted his burned lips. “I’m right … here.”

Then he exhaled slowly and was gone.

“Brave Bombax,” she whispered, and released his hand.

31

THEY FLEW WEND-A-WAY ALL NIGHT NORTH INTO TROLL country to the village Garroneck, Krolling, and their companions called home, and left the injured Trolls to be cared for by family and friends before turning west. After that, they flew to Arborlon. The airship’s passengers caught snatches of sleep when they could, talked with one another now and then, and spent long periods of time looking out over the countryside as Wend-A-Way crossed the Streleheim Plains to the Valley of Rhenn and on into the Elven home city.

Leaving Woostra and the Trolls aboard Wend-A-Way at their own request—but only after arranging for food and water and fresh bedding to be supplied to them—Aphenglow, Arlingfant, and Cymrian wrapped Bombax in a sheet and carried his body from the airfield into the Ashenell through the fading afternoon light until they had reached a plot of ground close by that was designated for the Elessedils. Together they dug his grave, lowered him into it, and stood looking down at him in silence until Aphen began speaking. She spoke of his character and determination and of his contributions to the Druid order. She didn’t speak about them as a couple. She would have said something of that, of what he had meant to her personally, of what they had meant to each other—Bombax and she, lovers and life partners—but she could not manage to do so. It was too personal and hurt too much, and speaking of it would have been more than she could bear. She had been saying the words to herself ever since he had died. Better that she leave it there, she decided. What he had meant to her belonged to her, cradled in her memories, safely tucked away. One day she might speak of it to someone else, but this was not that day.

They walked back together afterward to the gates of the burial grounds and stood looking out at the city. No one said anything. It had already been decided that on the morrow Aphenglow and the Trolls would fly into the Westland wilderness in search of the Ard Rhys and the rest of the Druids. Woostra would wait in Arborlon for their return. Arlingfant, in spite of her objections, would remain behind as well, resuming her duties as one of the Chosen.