Islana's Story
Dysis had been staring out the window blankly... Snow was falling, which he'd never seen before. At first, he'd been thinking as he watched, wondering what Jall had meant by a city destroyed, wondering where Cleran was, hoping he was all right, fearing for the future... There was so much for him to ponder that rather than thinking about it, his brain had just sort of turned off. Now he was almost in a trance, thinking nothing, watching the snow fall against the glass window pain.
The door opened behind him, and he spun around, breaking free of the haze that covered his mind. Jall stood there, looking somber. He stood straight, almost at attention, and clearly no longer at ease as he had been while they were talking before... Before whatever it was that had happened, happened.
There was a long silence. Finally, Jall spoke. "The city of Sallera was attacked by Warriors and slavers this morning. It was burnt to a state of ruins; over three quarters of the citizens were killed or taken as slaves. Five Knights and twenty Royal Guardsmen were killed."
"Sundancer..." Dysis whispered. "I'm sorry."
"Who ordered this attack?" was Jall's only response.
"I don't know."
"Guess."
Dysis shook his head.
"Why not?"
"I don't know who is in power now that I'm missing. And even if I did, you saw how I had Islana hunted down; I can only assume you would do the same. I would never put any of my people at risk."
"You damn hypocrite," Jall spat, clenching a fist. "You'd've seen Islana tortured to death and try and protect one of your own from the same fate?"
"I would sooner die than see one of my men treated as I treated Islana—would you do any differently?"
"Clearly. You are hardly being tortured, Dysis Serathi, and I can trace all of the evil your men have done back to you."
"Do whatever you want with me. I would never betray any of my people—even if I knew who gave the orders."
Jall nodded. "Admirable. Stupid, but admirable."
Dysis shrugged.
There was another silence, then, "I told you that you'd never fear for your life while it rests in my hands, and I don't go back on my word. But there are a lot of people here who would don't share my philosophy and who, right now, would like to see you very, very dead. For your own safety, you are going to come with me as I take charge of the aftermath."
"And if I happen to be horrified by what I see, well, that's got nothing to do with it."
"We'll be off as soon as the snow slows down."
[OPENING CREDITS]
Episode 11: The Real Islana
The smoke had finally stopped seething off the city's ruins, but the stench of it still stained the area. It was hard to breath, piled on top of the smoke was the scent of death and blood and pain. Dysis reeled from the stench, and willed himself not to be sick., but it was hard. He was already nauseated from the trip through the underground tunnel, and he'd barely recovered from that when they stepped into the city.
It took effort to keep his breakfast down, but he managed.
Jall walked briskly and Dysis struggled to keep up, though the shackles on his ankles made it hard to walk, let alone run. He clamored after Jall, who headed for the edge of the city and finally stopped outside of the remains of a building, mostly in tact, and pushed his way through the whole where the wooden door used to be. Dysis followed, then saw that the scorched inside had been converted to a makeshift infirmary, where injured people were being treated by a handful of taxed looking Healers. The patients were in varying states of injury, some merely coughing from smoke intake, others suffering from massive burns, and others who'd been hurt by the Warriors.
Dysis pulled the hood of the fur coat he'd been provided with up over his head, hoping that by hiding his orange hair, he'd be relatively inconspicuous. However, the clanking of chains around his wrists drew looks form some of the closer patients.
One of them screamed. He couldn't understand what she was yelling, but gathered from the looks of sheer terror that she had seen his hair color and guessed he was a Warrior or a slaver. Two Healers rushed over to her and began to try and calm her, after a moment, one spoke briefly with Jall. They seemed to be arguing, but it was hard to tell, as Dysis couldn't understand a word.
Finally, Jall motioned Dysis over to the woman and the Healers. She was now sitting on a cot, wrapped in a blanket, trembling. Half of her face was wrapped in bandages, her hair was uneven and had clearly been burnt almost entirely away. She pulled the blanket farther up around her as he approached, as if trying to use it to keep herself protected.
Dysis shot a look at Jall, who spoke quietly, "Her name is Elenna. She was burnt quite badly, as you can see. But, she says, worse than that... Her daughter was taken by slavers, pulled from her crib. She tried to follow the men who took her, but they were far too large for her to fight, they knocked her backwards into the flame."
"I'm sorry," Dysis answered. And he really, genuinely was sorry, except for one thing: "but at least her daughter is alive."
Jall gave him a hard look, then said something to the woman. Her eyes opened wide in shock for a moment, then narrowed, then she began to scream again. Jall translated: "You monster—how could you think I'd rather see her a slave than dead? I'd have killed her myself rather than let them take her. She's worse than dead if she's a slave. They'll take her soul instead of her life."
"As long as she lives, she has hope," Dysis answered, shaken but trying to remain unfazed.
The woman began shrieking again, but Jall put a hand on her shoulder and instead of translating, murmured something to her quietly in her own language. Her yelling subsided but she was still muttering prayers under her breath. The problem was that now everyone was staring at Dysis, recognizing him as an outsider, one of Them, a villain. He looked from face to face, seeing fear, pain, anger and trauma as clear as day.
He looked at Jall who stood calmly, impassively, his hand still on the woman's shoulder. "This was not my fault," he said finally.
Jall said nothing.
"You can try and stare me down, Knight, but this was not my doing." He said something else to the woman, who nodded, then spoke to the infirmary in general. Dysis wished he knew what the Knight was saying, but was just as relieved when Jall ushered him back out of the building. They resumed walking through the ash-coated remains of streets. Jall continued, "I never said it was. I merely want to put things right."
"Put things right how? People are dead—dying—and there's no way to turn back the clock. You know that as well as I do."
"But there's no reason it has to happen again. Surely you know that."
"Of course I do. I didn't order this. I would never have ordered this, it was monstrous, it was inhumane, and it's no Goddamn different than what the Knights do to cities on my island."
"The Knights are fighting for freedom—"
"And in the process they kill innocent people. Lots of innocents. The torch cities, they loot and raid—just six years ago, there was a massacre—"
"Don't talk about the Massacre," Jall snarled.
"It was no different."
"The Massacre was a mistake. It wasn't planned, and the Voice was left without options. It was either send in more Knights or—or—you don't know the full story, there was more going on, there were circumstances."
Dysis smirked. "Circumstances?"
"I can't talk about it. The Massacre was a mistake and for the Voice's sake, I can't discuss it with you."
"If you can't trust me, how are we supposed to talk?"
Jall spun around to face him and grabbed the collar of his coat. "Listen carefully, Dysis Serathi," he spat, shoving downwards until Dysis was kneeling in the ashes. He raised a hand as if to strike Dysis, clenched a fist, and forced himself to stop. "You are being well treated—supremely well treated—and you have not been threatened. But whether you ordered it or not, your men just destroyed a city of innocent people, and now some of my men, good men, are dead. I am not in the mood to defend the Voice's actions against some smug, over-privileged child, and when I tell you I can't discuss something, you will not question it!"
Dysis winced, for the first time since Jall had promised him his life, truly afraid of what the elderly Knight might do. Jall glared at him, muttered, "Stand up," and started walking away. He wasn't surprised that Dysis had brought up the Massacre, arguably the Knights' lowest moment since the Voice had come to power, but his loyalty to the Voice was rivaled only by his loyalty to Erra, and he couldn't stand to see Dysis question the Voice's decision.
Dysis stood, brushed himself off, and set off after Jall. He said nothing, and Jall said nothing.
"You found a sore spot," Jall eventually commented, after forcing himself to calm down.
"I gathered."
"We aren't angels. We were trying for one thing and we messed up, and people died in the process. The point is, or at least it should be, that those situations should never happen. They shouldn't have happened to begin with, and they should never happen again."
"I agree," Dysis said pleasantly. "But Jall—I'm truly sorry—that choice is out of my hands."
The door slammed open. Cleran glanced over his shoulder as far as he could while tied to the chair, which was facing directly away from said door. He knew the person entering wasn't Islana. "Where the hell were you?"
"'Afternoon, Jereh."
She stalked forward, placed a hand on Cleran's chair and pulled backwards. His balance was thrown off and if she hadn't been holding the chair, he'd have crashed backwards. "Where the hell were you and what in Kaleal's name happened?"
"She didn't. Do. Anything," Cleran sighed. "I had the choice, I had to kill her or let her win, and not even you could possibly have wanted her dead."
"Then why the hell didn't she tell me you tried to escape?" Jereh demanded, cuffing Cleran with her free hand.
"Why would I know? I let Islana win to save her life, and probably my own and Dysis' by extension. She dragged me back here and tied me back here and then stalked off. I thought she had told you."
"She didn't."
"That's not my fault!"
Jereh hit Cleran again and slammed the chair back into position. His chin snapped forward and he bit his tongue, but at least that prevented him from swearing and getting hit again. She reached down and began yanking on the ties around his wrists and pulling them tighter. His hands would probably be asleep in under fifteen minutes. "What did you tell her when she questioned you—she did question you?"
"Yeah—yeah, I told her she'd tied them too loose, she only had the one had to use and all."
"Good. You want to try this again?"
"Honestly? Not really."
She cuffed the back of his head.
"Sundancer, I wish you'd stop that already. You're in charge, I'm tied to a fucking chair, you don't have to prove your point."
She backhanded him across the face and he spat blood out after. "Bitch," he muttered in his own language, then shot her his most charming—and annoying—smile. "Or not."
"I'll ask once more: do you want to try this again?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want her to kill me, if it's just the same to you."
"I'm her Healer, I promise she's not up to killing you."
"Fine, I don't want her to beat the shit out of me. Sundancer, you're her Healer, you know what she's been through better than anyone—except me, because I watched it. I don't want to make it worse."
"You won't be hurting her."
"No."
"Did I give you a choice?"
"Well, you asked, and I answered you. No."
"No choice."
"No as in no. If Erra Kelanister wants the damn necklace, he can get it himself. Leave me alone."
He could hear before he could see that she was drawing a knife, and then she reached out, grabbed his hair, yanked his head back and shoved the knife under his chin. "I told you once to learn to hold your tongue, bastard." She nicked his neck and let a few drops of blood roll down it to stain the collar of the shirt they'd given him. "You want to argue with me?"
She moved the knife, but before he could answer placed a single finger on the cut. It glowed blue for just a second, and he felt a moment of searing pain, and then it cleared and the cut had been Healed.
He swallowed. "With all due respect," he said carefully, "this is something you can't make me do. I know you aren't supposed to kill me; you're keeping me hostage to keep Dysis in line. Sooner or later, he will demand to see me, and if I'm dead... Well... You'll have to explain it. And if your mysterious Voice asks me about it, I certainly wouldn't lie. I won't do this."
She narrowed her eyes and gave him a long, hard look, then smiled slightly. "Very well," she said quietly, her voice venomous. "But I promise you'll regret it."
She sheathed the knife, turned, and strode out. Cleran let out a deep breath and slumped in his chair, as much as the ropes that bound him allowed. He had been the one that insisted Islana retie him, after all, he was supposed to be a prisoner, and he'd figured that Jereh would come looking for him eventually, most likely when Islana wasn't there. There was no way they could let Jereh find out about the two of them, not only would she never understand, but she'd probably use it to destroy Islana's reputation as a Knight.
Cleran sighed. And would that be bad for me? he asked himself. If Islana wasn't a Knight, this would be so much easier. But then, I'd never have met her if she wasn't... Sundancer knows I wouldn't want that.
[EYECATCH]
Cleran let himself doze off until Islana returned to the room. She brought him a plate for lunch and untied him, then sat on the bed. "Nice bruises," she commented.
He grimaced. "Jereh was afraid that maybe you were being too nice to me."
"You want an ice pack or something?"
"Nah. It's nothing, really. I've had worse."
"Oh?"
"Not all of my brother Warriors were that fond of me. I can take a few punches without a problem."
"Are the Warriors that bad to you?"
"No, it's just... Knights never fight amongst themselves?"
"We don't usually come to blows."
"Must be nice. I seem to sort of attract it... I don't fight back so much; a bastard is going to get into a lot more trouble for hitting a Lord than the other way around."
"Even if he hit you first?"
"Why would that make a difference?" Cleran asked wryly, then went back to eating. "So... You grew up with your grandfather?" He really wanted to get to know Islana; he had the feeling that no one really knew her.
"Yeah."
"How was that?"
"All right... I guess. We fought a lot."
"Why?"
"I don't really know... I guess he never really got over my father's death, I know I look like my father did... I think it probably upset him..."
"Did you mean what you said the night you escaped? He wouldn't have missed you?"
She looked sad for a moment, then the look was gone, replaced by careful forced neutrality. "The old man would probably spit on my grave."
"I'm sorry," Cleran offered. "I mean... I do kind of know what it's like to not have family."
"You have Dysis."
He smiled at her. "And you have me," he said. "I won't ever leave you alone again. I promised you that."
He finished his meal in relative silence, happy at the smile she'd given him when he promised to stay with her. He was still confused, though... Why would she smile? Why would she like him? She said she needed him, but why him, of all people?
And why, he couldn't help asking himself, do I like her so much? I couldn't have found someone worse to fall for if I tried, but I won't regret it. I won't go back on my promise to her.
He finished eating, pushed the questions out of his mind, and moved to sit next to her on her bed. She smiled and relaxed under his arms, a feeling that was already growing to be a familiar comfort. She curled up a little, and he smiled and kissed the top of her head. Like this, when they were alone together, she looked so much more vulnerable... Not the Knight who'd tried to kill him at all; this Islana was fragile and scared.
She seemed almost childlike, as if the tragedy from her youth... Her parents' deaths, the fight with her grandfather... It was as if part of her had stopped growing, and she'd hidden her childhood away behind a mask of ice. She hated and she could kill without looking back... But beneath that was what he saw now, a girl who had gone for too long with no one to trust.
He wondered where this insight came from. For all he and Islana were growing comfortable with each other, he still knew very little about her. She spoke of her family even less than he did, and far more hesitantly. She never mentioned where she had been from the time her parents died until she became a Knight, or when or how she became one. He had guessed on his own that she'd run away from home after a particularly bad fight with her grandfather, but she never spoke of what they fought about.
Her motives for becoming a Knight had been clear since she'd been questioned as a prisoner, but Cleran found himself wondering if there was more to it than a need for revenge. He knew her grandfather was a Knight, and if he'd put the names together correctly, he was the elderly Knight Cleran had met, but that image didn't match up with the stubborn, belligerent man she described. There was something decidedly odd about Islana and her grandfather, which he couldn't quite put his finger on.
The more he thought about Islana, the more confused he became. Cleran had been in love once before, he thought, but it hadn't felt anything like this. Maybe that was for the best, since he could never betray everyone he cared for any more than loving a Knight would... But being love with Eliz hadn't felt good. He'd thought it had, but looking back, she made him miserable. Not only that, but she reveled in it. He'd never stood up to her or dared tell her no to anything, he was so afraid that he'd lose her—after all, why would a beautiful young court flower love a bastard Warrior like him?—and she took advantage of that. She was mean, she was manipulative, she was awful, but he'd loved her more than life itself.
At least, he thought he had.
Being with Islana was nothing like that, though. She was probably the least subtle person he'd ever met. If she got angry, he would know, and he knew that they would fight. They had to, eventually, their ideologies were so different. But he wasn't afraid of losing her, really, because being with her felt good, and he knew it made her feel good, too. But it was deeper than that. He knew she was stubborn, but if they fought, he didn't think they'd end up hating each other the way she hated her grandfather. He knew he could never hate her.
So where does that leave me? What is this? It feels like people what people have said love is, but it doesn't feel like the love I've felt before. But then... I don't ever want to feel like I did last time I was in love. It's so odd, but Islana feels so much safer than Eliz did. It's dangerous and exciting, when I think about what would happen if we got caught, but when I'm holding her like this, I feel... I feel grounded. I feel needed, I feel... I feel loved.
He really couldn't deny it any longer, no matter how hard he tried. Sundancer help me. I think I'm falling in love with her.
Now back in the Knights' stronghold on Cresula. Jall and Dysis were sitting in the room Dysis had been assigned to, in unhappy quiet. The fire crackled in the fireplace, though the room was still chilly; Dysis was nearly shivering, though Jall barely noticed. He'd been living in the cold for a long time, though he still sometimes longed for the heat of the nation where he grew up. It was, he would claim when asked, the only thing he liked about Arpiar.
"Explain, please."
"There's nothing to explain. The ability to end the war is out of my hands."
"So then who holds it?"
"I don't know."
Jall resisted the urge to glare. Dysis was angry at him for their tiff in the city, and Jall no longer wanted to humor him. He had never liked the Priest, and now was incredibly frustrated with him as well.
"Explain."
"The Book of Prophesy references the war directly and says that it will be the Third Prophet who brings an end to the it."
"What's the text?"
Dysis quoted: "'And the Rift will reign over all lives until the appearance of the Sun's True Son, who shall be the Third Prophet. He will be known by his Halo and Wings of Flame, and it will be through his Blood that the Rift shall be ended.'"
Jall sat silently for a moment. "And you really believe that?"
"Are you trying to be insulting?" Dysis snapped. "Have I questioned your faith?"
"You denied me my faith for the first fifteen years of my life." Jall made a dismissive hand gesture. "Or at least, you've made no move to prevent that from happening to others, as of course I know that you personally had nothing to do with it."
"I believe in what is written in the Book of Prophesy, and as much as I'd like to help you, there is nothing I can do."
"Have you tried?"
Dysis crossed his arms. "I can't help you. And frankly, you're—you—you're lucky you're dealing with me. Rallan may have been bloodthirsty, but he would never have even considered anything you've said. He'd have yelled back at that woman in the infirmary, and he'd—"
"He was a real son of a bitch, Dysis. And you aren't, and you really want to hate me, to hate the Knights, but you can't bring yourself to support slavery. You're hiding behind that prophesy."
"I'm not hiding behind anything. If I had been given the power to help you, I would, but I wasn't. If you find me the Third Prophet, I'd be more than willing to... come to an agreement with you. But until then..." he shrugged. "Either way, there would still be the Council to deal with."
"The Council is four High Lords?" Jall asked. Dysis nodded. "And I suppose they'd be opposed to an agreement."
"Of course. You want to destroy their whole way of life, not to mention the foundation of their beliefs. And without them—"
"You can do whatever you want, despite them," Jall interrupted. "I know the way politics work on your Island. They might not like it, but the Council doesn't have the influence it wishes it did."
"If only that was true," Dysis sighed. "Even if they don't have the political power to stop me, they do have the economic power. Lord and Lady Alayrin..." He stopped, remembering that Lord Alayrin had died, effectively leaving his wife in control of all of his assets. "There are members of the Council I can not dare cross. But it's a moot point anyway. Until the Third Prophet appears..."
Jall sighed. "We'll speak of this again," he promised.
"My mind won't have changed."
"We'll see about that."
Jall left the room and left Dysis to his thoughts. Every time the Priest thought he had Jall figured out, something happened to shake his view—or at least prove that there was more to the Goddess' Blade than he had thought. Jall wasn't driven by revenge, he'd learned, but because he desperately wanted too see his cause completed. He was trying to play on Dysis' sympathies, which was difficult, but was not threatening him, which would have been easy.
Dysis shivered, partially from the cold and partially from the memory the burnt city. It had been just like the aftermath of raids at home. Are we so alike, then? he thought at the Knight. I've seen similar sights... Nothing quite as raw, though, but I suppose that things were always sterilized for me. But the death remains the same; dealing with the aftermath must be the same for Jall as it is for me.
I wonder if he really thinks I'm "hiding behind that prophesy." ... I wonder, though. I wonder if I am.
Jall sat at his desk, head in hands. He rarely used his desk or office; his job had little to do with administration. He had some of the Knights in training help him with things like keeping records and files, as even after all these years, he didn't feel all that comfortable reading and writing. He'd learned how, but it had been a difficult process.
He wasn't feeling himself at the moment. The business with Dysis and Sallera weighed heavily on his mind, but there was more to it than that. He'd received word that Islana and Erra were still at each other's throats, and he'd genuinely believed that the two of them would make up this time. He knew that all of Erra's threats had nothing to do with public morale, as he'd put it, and everything to do with wanting her rescued. And surely, after having stared death in the face, Islana would see that there were things more important than their argument.
"They won't make up unless pushed to it, you know," someone said quietly. Jall's head snapped up and he gaped, seeing the angelic form of Ilyan standing in front of him. Jall's eyes widened, and Ilyan gave him a respectful salute. He didn't look entirely comfortable, either.
Finally, Jall returned the salute and Ilyan dropped his own. They stood awkwardly. Ilyan looked exactly as he had before he'd died, though his hair and eyes were silver now, and painful memories of finding Ilyan's dismembered body shot through Jall's mind. "Ilyan," he said, finally coming out of the shock. He and Ilyan had been close, almost as close as Jall had been to Ilyan's father.
"Hello, Jall," Ilyan said.
"The wings suit you," Jall said. "You're the angel of..?"
"Sacrifice."
Jall nodded, a lump forming in his throat. Ilyan had been so much a second son to him, and he had never really stopped blaming himself. Ilyan had Alira had been visiting his own son, Keres, and daughter-in-law in Kal'Harath when it was torched. They had been waiting for Jall to get off duty and join them, but before he'd had the chance...
"Jall, please," Ilyan said, the emotion raw in his voice. "You shouldn't... Don't... It wasn't your fault. You must know that."
"If I hadn't invited you..." Jall started.
"I knew I was going to die from the day Gali was born. I knew it for a fact, because I'd chosen it. I wouldn't have—I mean—if I'd known that Alira and Keres would have been involved, I might not have, but... I decided it for myself."
"How... Why?"
Ilyan shrugged a little. "Dad was always worried that something would happen to me if I became a Knight, but he had reason. I'd seen the Angel of Death when Kaleal called me, and he said that I had a choice—I could go on and do great things as King but lose everyone I loved, or I could give up my own life and save my daughter's... I didn't know everyone else would be involved. But from the moment I first laid eyes on Gali, I knew... I made my choice, there was no way I would ever let harm come to her. My life was unimportant in comparison."
"Do you know about... Everything that's happened recently?"
He nodded. "That was me in the tunnels. Gali—Islana was on her deathbed, and Dysis was about to play executioner... She called out to me, she had my necklace on... What was I supposed to do? I couldn't not help her."
"That explains the condition the three were in, then," Jall agreed. No one had yet figured out why Islana and her two prisoners seemed to have been recently Healed. Jereh had said point blank that if Islana hadn't been, she'd have died; something was holding her stable, and Jereh wouldn't have been able to help her otherwise.
Ilyan nodded. "So I got to come back and play guardian angel for her, and now she is going to go on and do whatever it was that I might have."
Jall smiled. "Do I detect a note of fatherly pride, Ilyan?"
"Hell yes. She's amazing. You must have noticed that."
"Of course. She's a damn fine Knight—like you were. Maybe even as good as your father at his peak."
"I always wished I could have seen him..." Ilyan sighed. "But speaking of the stubborn old man, he and Islana do need to be pushed to make up."
"At this point, I'm afraid it's impossible. She was so close to being gone forever—we were afraid she would be killed on Arpiar—and he still won't let anything go."
"Of course he won't—not on his own. He's a Kelanister, and we're nothing if not stubborn to the point of idiocy."
"The Voice tried to intervene, he's tried so many times... She's not responsive, either."
"She's a Kelanister, too," Ilyan pointed out. "What did you expect?"
"But if they won't listen to the Voice—"
"They'll listen to you."
"Why me and not him?" Jall demanded.
"Dad won't listen to the Voice because he's still angry at the Goddess and taking it out on the Voice. And Gali won't come around until he does."
"I don't know," Jall sighed. "Those two... They're ridiculous, sometimes. I love them both, but I just don't know if Erra would listen to me..."
"Make him listen. Please, Jall, it's... It's important. If she hadn't been cut off from the family, she could have called me so much sooner... I might have been able to them from capturing her in the first place. But she didn't know she had the power of the family behind her until she was so near death she forgot she'd been disowned. This feud of theirs almost got her killed, and although I love my father, no one is going to hurt my Galiera so long as I'm here."
Jall nodded. "It's almost disconcerting to hear her called that after so long..." He sighed. "Islana... My Islana... Is she... She's with the Goddess?" he was practically pleading with the angel to put his mind at ease. When his granddaughter, the real Islana, had died he'd been mad with grief; if Erra and the Voice hadn't pulled him back from the brink, he didn't want to think about what he'd have done... He'd been the one who found their bodies, all of them, in Keres' household. Alira and Jina, Keres' wife, had obviously been raped before they'd been killed; Ilyan and Keres had tried to fight back and their murders were equally brutal. Islana's throat had been slit and she'd been left for her grandfather to find. The Warriors had made a mistake, of course; they had assumed Islana was Galiera and that they'd killed the last Heir to the Kelanister family.
To keep her safe, Gali had been given Jall's granddaughter's name and been raised jointly by him and Erra. She knew who her real grandfather was, but as far as the world was concerned, she was Keres' daughter. When Jall's job as the Blade kept him busy, she'd been sent to live at Court with her real grandfather, and the two of them had fought so much...
"Of course." Ilyan smiled, pulling Jall back to the here and now. "Your family and mine are all together, waiting. You'll be reunited with them when your work here is done. I promise you that."
Jall smiled. "Then I'll worry about the reunions in this world. Do you really think they'll listen?"
"You're the only one they'll listen to," Ilyan agreed. "Please, it's more important than I can explain."
Jall nodded.
"I have some other information for you—things She wants you to know," Ilyan continued. "For one, the Voice is going to have to get involved with this. He'll be needed—not yet, you'll know when. As for Cleran..." He trailed off. He had to give Jall some sort of warning as to what was coming, but couldn't tell him what he knew full well was going on. "Cleran's a special case," he decided. "When he causes problems—and he will, he won't be able to help himself—just keep that in mind."
"Dare I ask...?"
"No," Ilyan said. "But you'll know soon enough."
"All right."
Ilyan stood nervously, quietly. Finally he sighed, "It really wasn't your fault, Jall, it was me or Galiera, and I'd never let anything hurt her."
"I know," Jall sighed. "It's just... Nothing. I know."
"All right. I'm going to leave, then, and check up on everyone else... Listen, if you need me, just call for me, ok? Either She'll hear or I'll hear, and I'll help with whatever I can."
"Thank you," Jall sighed, then, "Ilyan, you were a damn good Knight. You know you'd have been the next Blade if you survived, don't you?"
"Of course." His silver eyes twinkled. "To annoy my father, if nothing else. Don't worry about it. Your successor isn't ready yet, but it won't be too long before you can finally relax. I promise."
"I can't wait," Jall commented. "I just—it's too much. Some days, it's just too much. I'm too old for this."
"Soon," Ilyan said, raising his hand to salute again. "I promise you. Soon."
As Jall returned the salute, Ilyan began to shimmer. He faded from sight slowly, leaving Jall to his suddenly much calmer thoughts.
[CLOSING CREDITS]