Resurrection
by Shadowy Star
January 2006
Disclaimer: I don't own the Coldfire trilogy. It belongs to C.S. Friedman. I do own this story. Don't archive it or translate or otherwise use it without permission.
A/N: The last choice.
Wonder if I were depressed when I wrote this?
Wait for me, my love.
The body in his arms was still warm but the blood was no longer flowing, the heart to pump it stilled forever, those beloved eyes no longer seeing.
He slowly rose to his feet as not to startle the owners of two pistols that were directed at him.
Not yet.
"You've just killed the only man who might have been able to help you. He was a Healer, in every meaning of this word," he said, his tone betraying nothing, decision being made long ago when they had met again.
Not yet.
His eyes straight on the robbers, he bowed slightly. "Allow me to introduce myself," he spoke, his voice deathly in its calmness and cold.
Now.
"I am Gerald Tarrant, the first Neocount of Merentha."
And he took the waves of fae that were streaming toward him, seeking his destruction, and he molded it a last time while giving his soul to a knight in a shining, golden armor who had Damien's face.
The next morning the forest workers found a nearly perfect circle of earth destroyed by an obvious extremely hot fire, covered with twenty or more bodies burned far beyond recognition. In the middle of the area two bodies lie, completely untouched by fire, one fallen over the other - of a man with shoulder-long brown hair, dressed like a warrior, his hands carefully arranged on his sword, and of another man, with golden-brown hair and fine clothes and an ugly scar across his otherwise beautiful face.
FIN
