Chapter 16 - Epilogue

“Setter Hearn, this is as far as I go.”

Sunset. Ostok Horksog and Hearn of Aster stood a little beyond the tall stone wall of Aster-Szem, barely fifty arms past the opening of the southern Gul-Aion gateway. Hearn stood with his back to the muddy ditch beside the road. Behind Ostok, Teironians and muira both filtered past, some in twos and threes, some in larger families, some carrying only what they could bear in bags upon their shoulders, some leading draft animals laden with household goods - but all dispersing through the newly opened gates of the city.

“You return to town?” Hearn asked.

“I can hardly travel far with only the tools I carry in this small hip-bag.” Ostok cleared his throat and chuckled wetly.

“I thought- there is an inn only three roads south of town.”

“Yes, hem, junior ambassador Simon has put me up in the guest quarters of her house. She of course will return to Ahn shortly. I intend to travel with them back to Bruna.”

Hearn set the bag he had been carrying over his shoulder on the ground. He stuck out a hand. “Then this is farewell.”

Ostok looked down, then back to the man’s eyes. He rubbed a palm over his bald head. “Ah Hearn, it’s been a hot middle summer.”

Hearn dropped the proffered hand. “What’s the matter?”

“Why do you ask me to- hem, why must it come from my lips? It’s difficult, what I must do - as a bountyman - on my return through the gates.”

Hearn rubbed at his eyes with the knuckles of his index fingers, tenderly over the blackened left socket. “Ostok, please just tell me what worries you.”

“I must tell the knights of Ahn about your involvement in The Footsteps in Red. No no, don’t mistake me. I understand your contrition. I realize now that you have no bonds of loyalty remaining to that secret cabal. But, the right acting of a man in older years does not justify the secret wrongs of youth.”

“Alright.”

“And that word will reach the Teironian government somehow, you know. Some men will criticize you for turning your back on the assassins, some will say you did right in helping me catch Kloe. But no lawful political agency would ever employ you again.”

Hearn scrutinized the muira bountyman for a moment. Behind Ostok, a little girl passed by, flanked on each side by her mother and father. The sound of her sobs punctured the windless dusk each time she turned her head to glance back toward the city. When she had passed by, Hearn said, in a voice of some accusation, “So because my reputation will be black, we must not associate. You say you ‘understand my contrition’, but not enough to shake hands.”

“What!” said Ostok in alarm. “Of course I’ll shake your hand, my faithful guide.”

“You just-”

“I wanted to make sure you understood, you know, that I still have to… Anyway, yes, let us shake.”

They shook hands.

“Hem,” said Ostok after a moment. “I suppose I’ll go then.”

“Farewell, Ostok.”

“Farewell.”

The muira bountyman shuffled back to the gatehouse. He disappeared into its shadow.

Hearn looked down at the small bag of supplies at his feet. He pulled his pocket clock from inside his tunic. Midnoon. The sun would not set for two hours. He would reach the inn well before then, where he could stop and rest for the evening.

Hearn decided to take a moment’s break. He reached down and rummaged in the bag until he found an old wooden pipe and a pouch of smokethistle. He packed it slowly with his thumb, lit it with a quickstriker from his pocket, and took a long, slow drag. The smell of animals and unwashed people filled the air. Some of those who passed him had faces black with the soot of the recent fires. From some dairy farm nearby, he could hear the agonized lowing of goats with unmilked udders.

After a moment, Hearn spotted a pair of figures amidst the diaspora. They wandered silently up, leading a laden elk, until they stood beside him.

They stopped.

One of the figures, a woman, set a bag of her own upon the ground.

For a time, the three said nothing to one another. They stared at the broad, hilly, craggy countryside beneath the peaks of the Mantes Mountains; occasional rectangles of coarse olive-brown grass marking the open spaces where animals pastured.

Hearn sighed. “Let’s go,” he said. He lifted both his own sack and the bag which the woman had dropped. He found her parcel light, for it held dried silt-biscuits for the road.

As Hearn started walking the other two followed, leading their elk. The smaller of the two, a child, pulled a wind pipe from a pocket of his tunic. He began to play notes, mostly in-tune, though stumbling every so often.

Irenna said, “How long do you think it will be before this war is over?”

Hearn said, “Not soon.”