Part 62 (2/2)

Jarrod sighed. ”I doubt it, Majesty. Nastrus is re- turning to the Island at the Center. I cannot prevent him. We could send out cloudsteeds, but I expect that the unicorns are beyond their range. Our best hope is that Joscelyn will return. There is ample fodder for un- icorns out there, but precious little for humans.”

Marianna's hand flew to her mouth and Arabella looked at her with compa.s.sion. Then she fixed Jarrod with a skeptical eye. ”We do not know what this is all about, though we doubt that there was a plot to em- barra.s.s the Emperor. Nevertheless, we want answers.

We cannot countenance anything that could damage the amity that currently exists between Arundel and Um- bria.” She looked from one to the other. ”Perhaps, un- der the circ.u.mstances, it would be better if you dined at the Collegium.” She shook her head. ”This is most unfortunate.” She paused and her face became stern.

”We expect to be kept informed of any progress you make.”

343.

”As Your Majesty commands,” Jarrod said, and bowed.

They withdrew, knowing that they had been re- prieved. but not exonerated. Marianna was silent and Jarrod, his mind filled with questions, was grateful for that. When he had been listening to Greylock earlier in the day. he had felt a sense of renewal, had felt that the Discipline had regained the respect and affection of the people and would grow and prosper. Now everything was clouded again. What was worse was that his new- found family and his unicorns appeared to be central to the problem. He felt old before his time.

Jarrod was right to think that the world had changed, though his presumption that the causes devolved onto his own shoulders was hubnstic. There would indeed be change, as there must always be change. The peace that the unicorns had helped to achieve had begun to un- ravel years before. This would be the last peaceful gath- ering of these great folk, though no one at Celador that day realized it. Soon, unconscionably soon, there would.

once again, be talk of war. The Age of Ragnor, as Jar- rod was to call it in his monumental history of Strand, was over.

As Jarrod and Marianna made their way toward the Collegium, Strand's two moons shone down on them.

This was their season; the time when both, obeying the laws set down for them by the G.o.ds in a time so far gone by that the mind of man could not comprehend it, appeared together in the night sky. The men and women whose lives they lighted took the phenomenon for granted. It had always been thus and it would al- ways be. It never occurred to them that their fates and frailties, though less predictable, would fulfill cycles of their own. The philosophers among them would have found both hope and despair in that. Had Strandkind been cursed with foresight on that tranquil, cloudless

344 evening, there would have been many who would have despaired. Some would have prayed to the Mother, some to the spirits of the land and some that there might still be unicorns.

It was a matter of indifference to the circling moons.

Wars would come and go, nations wax and wane, but they would ride the heavens with a certainty that the merely mortal could not match. Somewhere in the fath- omless darkness beyond them, in his quarters on the Island at the Center, the Guardian doffed his viewing helmet and vowed that he would never watch again.

The moons of Strand were unaware of that. They were concerned with themselves, the sun and the planet be- neath them. Nothing else was important.

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