Chapter 4

As they arrived in town at last, the group came together in the main square. Ashmael brought his horse around beside Swift. "To your quarters for dinner, I presume?"

"Yes, Ashmael. Tarra and Ranat must be invited as well. They must have every accommodation."

Ranat twisted around in surprise. "Oh, we'll be staying with you?"

Swift nodded. "Of course. Now let's go, Ashmael. Back to the house."

They rode across the square and down the long, sloping street that led to the governing headquarters. It was a grand building at the foot of a large forested hill, with a yard of neatly trimmed grass and tall trimmed hedges framing the sides of the entrance. The horses trotted up the drive and were brought to a halt.

Ashmael sent Troniel and Ilga back to their own quarters. For a brief moment Tarra, who had dismounted from Ilga's horse, stood watching them go, but once he saw Swift and Seel standing with Ranat, he rushed over in greeting. Embracing his son, his face lit with a smile of joyous excitement.

"Can you believe it, my little one?" He gestured wildly, indicating the house, the lawn, the town. "We're free to join civilization!"

He straightened and let Ranat stand on his own. Ranat smiled. "It's what you've always wanted, father."

A look of concern passed over Tarra's face and he crouched slightly, getting to his son's eye level. "It's what I've always wanted for you, Ranat."

The boy nodded. "I know. It's just that you have suffered so much on my behalf. For the most part, I don't even know what I've been missing."

Swift stepped forward. It was time to go inside. "Well, soon you'll find out. Come now, I'm sure a dinner has been prepared. The cooks would have expected us, at least Seel and myself, for dinner."

The meal was was an understated affair in relative terms, but as they gathered around the table, it was clear that the new arrivals were surprised by their surroundings. Servants brought in warm loaves of bread and bowls of fresh vegetables. From carved tureens they a spooned out bowls of rich, salty soup. As they began to eat, the silver candelabra in the center bathed the room in a warm glow that made it seem as if they had known one another for a long time.

Swift was at one end of the table, Seel to his right, Tarra to his left, with Ranat next to his father, Ashmael also at the end. At first there was only small talk, but gradually the conversation grew more personal.

"I wonder how Azriel is," Seel wondered. Because of their positions, they often had to leave their harling behind in Forever, under Cobweb's care.

"I'm sure he's fine, playing in the garden the way I used to, maybe playing with Tyson." Swift told him assuringly. "Our harling," he explained to Tarra. "He is not with us."

"Oh?" Tarra asked. "Where is he? You don't live here?"

Swift was slightly startled. "Here? No, we're based in Galhea."

Tarra shrank. "Galhea. It is still a Varrish city?"

"It is now the capital of Megalithica," Swift told him, suddenly feeling it again, that same tension-filled dread that had crept into his conversation with Ranat. How could he ever tell Tarra about Terzian?

"I see," Tarra murmured, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of bread crust. "And who rules from this capital?"

Ashmael cleared his throat. "Actually, Tarra, Swift does."

Tarra, who had looked over, now looked back to Swift and nodded. "I... thought perhaps... but I think you are very young -- something about your manner and that somehow, I know you are pureborn."

"I am, tiahaar -- young and pureborn," Swift agreed. "Nevertheless, the Gelaming chose me, trained me, to rule this continent. It is my duty to bring peace and order to Megalithica, to build back everything that was destroyed."

"You have a great deal of work ahead of you," Tarra said heavily. "Whole tribes have been slaughtered. My own people, the Sulh, for example, lost many. Eventually the Varrs held dominion over them and there was peace, but before that..." He shuddered ever so slightly.

There was silence in the room. Swift's thoughts were on his father, on Ponclast, imagining them at the head of the Varrish armies, slaughtering everyone in their path. As a child, he had never had such visions, but now that he knew the truth, had seen the battlefields and what remained, such associations came all too readily, and even though he knew he had not been to blame for that shed blood, it made him angry and ashamed.

It was Ranat who broke the silence. "I meant to tell you, Dad." They all looked over; obviously unused to such formal dinner and indeed company, the boy had been quiet throughout the meal.

"When we were riding through the forest, I was telling Swift about you -- and myself -- and I mentioned your tribe. Swift said his hostling is Sulh."

Ranat's comment had been completely innocent; he had no idea where the conversation would inevitably lead.

Tarra immediate turned and stared. "Sulh?"

Swift nodded. "Yes."

"You were not raised Sulh," he said slowly. "Are you Gelaming?"

"No," Swift answered, knowing the truth was about to be unleashed. "I am a Varr."

Tarra, still staring, clenched his teeth. His hands went to the edge of the table, gripping it hard, and he looked down. "You did not tell me this."

Swift tentatively reached out and placed his hand on Tarra's; the angry har did not pull away. "It wasn't something I thought you'd want to hear." He paused, searching for the right words. "Anyway, Tarra, I'm different, a new kind of Varr. I was never a soldier.Seel and I precipitated the Fall, after which I came to power."

Swift stopped once more, willing himself to utter the potentially inflammatory sentence. "My father was Terzian."

That was it. Tarra flew out of his chair and grabbed Ranat, tearing him away from the table by the arm. "Terzian!"

"Yes, Tarra," Swift answered. What other reply was there? "I'm sorry."

Tarra made for the door but stopped at the other end of the table. "Sorry?" he seethed. "Your father rode armies against my--" His voice, through passion, had broken. He took Ranat by the shoulders. "His father killed your mother, Ranat. His armies anyway."

Ranat looked shocked; his lower lip trembled and he looked down, away. Slowly he walked over to the window and stared out. His hands were clasped tightly together as he stood, obviously turning the matter over in his mind.

At last he mustered the courage to step to the head of the table and speak. "Yes, father, but he did not murder, he did not maim. He is Swift and he and his friends have given us our freedom."

For several moments Tarra stood dumbfounded as the words sank in. Then he took the boy in his arms.

"Oh, my little one," he whispered, kissing the bright blond hair. "You understand so little but... you are right. I must remember how to... have forgiveness and fairness in my heart."

He met Swift's eyes. "I am sorry, tiahaar. Tell me the truth. How did you come to rule Megalithica?"