EPILOGUE
It was a great day for a picnic. The children were running and shouting and taking delight; the birds were whistling and singing. The dragons, kept away by Helbah's magic and the presence here of Horace and his family, were roaring lustily in the distance. Kelvin's young grandson hugged his dragon cousin while Ember, a worried mother, looked on as if wondering if she could trust them.
"This is one heaven of a place!" St. Helens enthused, his arms tight around Nellie's now incredibly bulging waist. They had gotten married, finally, and now progeny was to follow; thus was always the way.
"I think it's too good for dragons alone," the still-blushing Mrs. said. Then, probably thinking she saw a stab of disappointment in Ember's atypically gentle dragon eyes, "I mean it's better than anything elsewhere. The mountains, the water, the air—the flowers! It's the perfect place to share."
"Agreed," St. Helens said. "The only reason I'm not making a fortune selling this place to sunnymooners is that I don't own it and I wouldn't want it crowded."
Kelvin knew what he meant. He and Heln, Glint and Merlain, Glow and Charles, Ember and Horace, and now decrepit old father-in-law and his shockingly young bride had shared exquisite moments here.
There was something in the air—something Helbah had said she had reduced in intensity but not entirely nullified.
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"Dear," his beloved said, taking his hand, "do you think that our grandchildren and our great-grandchildren will someday come here? It could become a family tradition—a sort of reward and remembrance for what you've accomplished. Kathy Jon may be next. She's so pretty and mature for her age that I expect—"
"Kathy's just a child!" he said defensively. "She doesn't even like boys! She told me herself that—"
"How old was Jon when she and Lester wed?"
"Too young," he grumbled. "And so were we."
"Really?" Her eyes widened intriguingly, forcing him to remember.
"No," he admitted. "No, we weren't. We were just young. But you know what I mean—Kathy's a tomboy."
"As was your sister."
"Yes. Very much like her, in fact."
"Only the two of you were adventuring."
"Yes, it seemed as if we had no choice."
"Let me see it again, husband."
"Right here? Right in front of everybody?"
"Yes."
"It's so embarrassing. Doesn't seem proper, even."
"Please."
"Oh, very well."
He reached in his left rear pocket and brought out the small box he had been awarded ceremoniously amid cheering hordes both present and watching via crystal. He flipped its top, revealing the Alliance's specially struck medal with its single word: Hero.
Heln touched the coin-shaped medal almost reverently. Her eyes grew misty looking at it. "Do you remember, dearest, how it started? You and your young sister adventuring? It was like something from a storybook."
"We used to talk about Mouvar. The legend, myth, story character. We pretended that he was real and that we were fulfilling some great, planned destiny." And he would never tell the truth about that: that even when it became real, it remained pretense, on another level. Mouvar's game. Mouvar and Devale were real; their worlds, the worlds Kelvin and others had visited, the Flaw, all reality as they knew it and perceived it to be, existed as but a greatly expanded chessboard. He, his companions and friends, witches and warlocks, dragons and chimaera were but playing pieces or accessories in a game he never would comprehend.
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"But dearest," Heln said earnestly, "it was real—your adventures. You defeated the royal Rud army and freed Rud from a tyrannous woman. You defeated her a second time when she reappeared with a helper from another frame and more magic. You defeated the witch who held me captive in Aratex. You defeated Zady twice. Because of what you did we're united, all of us. All seven kingdoms, including the orcs' and Rotternik."
"I don't deny it," he said, forcing back the madness. "But you know I'm not certain how I accomplished any of it. It's selective amnesia, I guess. I remember doing it, I know it happened, but I don't know how I managed it."
"Tell me again, lover. Tell me how you broke free of your bonds and saved your sister from Zatanas and Queeto."
"I don't know how it happened. I don't know. It was as though I had magic."
"Are you certain that you didn't?"
"No. And when I pointed at Melbah and she somehow flamed herself—I don't know, it was as though I returned her evil to her. The same thing happened later with Zoanna, and—"
"But do we have to understand? You did it. It was through you that it happened."
"I'll never understand, never. I believe I used my father's laser weapon and jetpak at one time, but I can't honestly remember using either. It was as if I flew when I needed to fly and reversed magic when I needed it reversed. Zoanna, and later Zady, obligingly made ashes of themselves."
"You did it. You did it, hero."
"Yes, I have to accept that, but the circumstances, the handling of what happened—I simply don't remember. It was as though there was a goodness and a badness, and as though the goodness had to be reached and the badness put down. Does that make sense to you, Heln?" He hoped it did, because maybe then he could begin to truly forget.
"Yes," she said. "It happens. It's necessary."
"Yes," he echoed her, perplexed as always. Mouvar had played a game, but there was much that couldn't be explained by that. Such as Kelvin's father's appearance in this realm. Perhaps things were not quite as Mouvar believed. It would be nice if that were so.
He watched his grandsons circling, the two-legged one holding the four-legged one's copper tail. There was so much joy in the world that was possible, with or without magic. So much goodness when badness was kept vanquished or at bay.
It was, most obviously, a wonderful time for young and old and those in between. A near-perfect time had dawned for those present and the many not present.
It was a great fine time for the Alliance.
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Copyright © 1992 by Piers Anthony Jacob and Robert E. Margroff Cover art by Darrell K. Sweet
ISBN: 0-812-51982-5
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