Reaching the temple, he had to summon all of his strength to even push the doors apart. He entered to soothing music. Row upon row of marble benches confronted him. A man sat with head bowed. A young woman’s lips moved in prayer.
Evrin Evenstar was nowhere to be seen.
Killian sat down heavily and put his head in his hands.
Epilogue
PRINCE Ilathor Shanti rose as Jehral entered the huge tent. The man’s body was covered in dust, his face weather-beaten and eyes tired. "Come, come," Ilathor said. "I am anxious to hear your news."
Jehral nodded his thanks as the Prince gestured to a space on the floor. He sank down gratefully. Ilathor offered him a goblet of water, and the desert warrior drank in huge gulps.
"Well?" Prince Ilathor uncharacteristically hurried the man along. Jehral’s eyes opened in surprise.
"We lost her some time before the Wondhip Pass. We tried to cross, but discovered it had been blocked. We do not understand how. Blocks of stone had been moved to form an impassable wall. Symbols covered them..."
"She was the builder of this wall?" Ilathor shook his head in appreciation. "She was truly a mighty enchantress."
Jehral paused. "My Prince, I do not believe she was the builder."
"Why? What is it you are not telling me?"
"The Petryans were gathering in force below the pass. They have been neatly kept from Alturan lands. One of our men infiltrated their camp. There was word that a great battle was about to be fought at the Sutanesta Bridge. The Petryans were angry because they would miss the battle."
"Jehral, what about her? What about the High Enchantress? Tell me what happened to Evora!"
Jehral flinched at the Prince’s anger. "I do not know how to say this, My Prince. The Petryans, they were full of this story. They said that… They said that they possessed the body of High Enchantress Evora Guinestor. She was killed, in the desert. The body had been hung from the walls of Tlaxor."
Ilathor froze. He stared at nothing, and the colour drained from his face. "Did you see?" he asked, his voice little more than a whisper.
"We journeyed to Tlaxor. We saw the body. It was pointed out to us."
"It was her?"
"It… It was in a terrible state. It was too hard to tell." The Prince suddenly stood. "I am sorry, My Prince," Jehral said. "I cared for her too."
Prince Ilathor Shanti walked out of the tent. The guards saluted when he exited, but he was oblivious. He fixed his eyes onto the distant horizon, picturing pale blonde hair and a pair of shimmering green eyes.
He remembered the tales she had told him. The fabled cities of wealth and corruption. Seranthia, the capital of the world.
His eyes fell. He looked down from his perch and into the valley below. A strong wind billowed up.
Prince Ilathor Shanti gazed out at the sea of black tents. They filled the entire valley, endless numbers of fearless desert warriors. The tribes had gathered at his call.
Soon, they would ride.
Acknowledgements
Writing a novel of this scope isn’t easy, and to my mind the conception and completion of this book would never have been possible without two fortunate influences.
There are those who inspire us to do great things — heroes, you might call them. Like you, I’m a reader, and my heroes are the writers of my childhood, whose imaginations conjured up incredible characters, rich worlds, and scenes of fantastic adventure. For this reason I wish to dedicate this book to those whose writing inspired me to become a writer myself.
There are also those who inspire us in other ways. They are the family, friends, and colleagues who provide unflagging support when following an uncertain dream. I’d like to thank Andy McB for being a great source of motivation when the novel was still in draft form, and my editor, Lyn Worthen, for her excellent guidance and assistance. Finally, I would like to thank my wife, Alicia. Only the most special of people will leave behind everything she knows and follow a dream to write novels on the other side of the world.