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It s a dream.
But it was not. He knelt down on the grass and, reaching out, he touched the
horse, which rocked slowly back and forth.
He heard a soft laughter, rich and warm with love.
Papa.
He stood up, expectant. A shadow moved behind high bushes that were heavy
with orange-and-yellow blossoms.
For an instant he felt as if all the years had been stripped away.
I can see. I can see with both eyes!
He moved as if in a dream, running on short legs, laughing, his voice high and
filled with shrieks of delight.
Again there was the laugh.
Come, Galin. Mama s waiting.
The shadow stepped out from behind the grove of trees. He was tall,
red-haired, beard and mustache cropped short, a circlet of turquoise stones
resting upon his brow, his long flowing robes of a simple cut,
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embroidered with edging of richest blue.
Papa!
He moved around the edge of a fountain, which danced and splashed. A gentle
breeze took the water, spraying him with a fine mist, and he laughed at the
coolness of it, the rainbow of light.
He reached up to his face to wipe the spray from his eyes.
His hand touched the patch over his left eye.
Stunned, he pulled his hand away and at that instant all faded. The garden
melting, shifting, falling away.
For the briefest of instants he thought that he did indeed see his father,
standing before him with his sad, gentle eyes, reaching out. The image
drifted as if falling away into a long dark tunnel and he wanted to reach out
to it.
Papa?
The image held for a moment, the sad eyes gazing at him, a hand outstretched,
beckoning, and he started to step forward toward it.
No! He s dead. Murdered.
The image faded and Garth turned away, tears coursing down his face. He
looked up again.
He was standing on a darkened field that stretched away into an eternity. No
sun lit the sky, the world illuminated as if by an unseen and unholy light.
Dark green clouds, moving impossibly fast, roiled overhead, racing by. The
wind was damp, cold, and filled with a pungent acrid smoke that held with it
the stench of corruption. Before him was a darkness that was shadowy, not
fully formed, wavery, as if nothing more than mist. The form moved, its black
robes fluttering in the breeze, and for a brief instant he caught a glimpse of
a skull-like visage. He felt his blood go cold.
The shadowy form drew closer.
I wanted to make it easy for you, a voice whispered. You would have died
believing that it was your father you embraced.
And so this is the reward for winning, Garth said quietly.
You knew that from the beginning, didn t you?
Garth nodded.
The Walker chuckled softly.
You interest me, Garth, or is it Galin?
Garth. The other died long ago.
It was too bad. I remember you well. You were eager, smart, able to use
mana almost from the day you were born. You came of good blood.
My father and you were once friends. He saved your life once.
The shadow nodded.
Back when all was young, Kuthuman whispered. And that is why I wanted to
give you the gift of a gentle death, at least a small token back to a
friendship from another age.
Kuthuman sighed, and in his voice was an infinite weariness.
But unfortunately you were too strong you saw through the mirage.
Garth said nothing, still so shocked by the power of the mirage that he found
it difficult to control the tears. Nor would he admit that for a moment he
had been taken in entirely.
You kill all who win the Festival, don t you.
Are you hoping for an exemption?
No. I know better than that. Besides, there is too much between us.
The shadow sighed and to Garth s surprise actually sat down.
Let us not finish this yet. Sit down, you must be weary.
Garth hesitated.
No tricks this time. Now that you know, I owe you that as well, as the son
of a friend. Besides, it would be a passing pleasure to talk as I once did,
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without pretenses, without groveling fear. When the end comes for you I will
grant you release as a man, standing with weapon in hand as is your right.
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