Epilogue

A chill wind swept down from the mountains. Nash shivered, and pulled his cloak close. Miserable place, the Nameless Lands. It was in the name, really. Any place that no one bothered to give a name could hardly be worth the effort to pitch a tent on, much less invade. But Nash went where Bishop Sasarai pointed, and Bishop Sasarai, well, he had losses to recoup.

The mountain trail was barren. Besides a stunted pine tree here and there, and a few scraggly bushes, it was all gravel and dying grasses. At least he was over the pass, now, and heading down into the valley. He could see tufts of smoke rising from the chimneys of a small town below. Not far now, thankfully. Even if the cold hadn't numbed his feet, Nash didn't think he'd be able to feel them anyway after all the walking he'd done over the past few days. But he didn't hold out too much hope for the little town at the end of the trail. It was a miserable handful of chimneys that belched smoke into the clear mountain air, and as he rounded a ridge, he could see the town and its wooden palisade, and it wasn't much of a town.

Nash stopped to empty gravel from his boots for the ninth time that morning. He'd slept underneath a fallen tree trunk beside the trail leading up to the pass the night before, and every muscle in his body was sore. Staring wistfully down at the town in the valley below, he took a moment to lower his own expectations.

A decent tavern. That's all I ask. A place with a soft bed, a hot bath, good ale, and some women worth flashing my teeth for. Runes! Forget the women. Some decent ale would be just fine. Or anything to drink at all. The bed doesn't have to be soft, either, long as I get a mattress more comfortable than rock. But please, by the Perpetuator's balls - may they both be eternal - let there be a hot bath.

Wriggling his numb toes, Nash slid the boot back on and started down the path. Before long, he came upon the gates set in the town's wooden palisade, facing the mountain pass. Two ruddy-faced youths guarded the gates. At sight of him, one of them called out.

"Halt! Who goes there?"

Nash held his hands up and flashed his most disarming smile. "Hello, friends! I am but a humble traveler looking for a place to spend the night."

The guards exchanged uncertain looks, and then the one who had spoken said, "Traveler, eh? Got a name?"

"Why, certainly. Call me Schtolteheim Reinbach III."

A weary wind swept across the remote corner of the world known as the Grasslands. The wind had been stirred to life by an injured soul wielding the implacable power of a True Rune, and had fanned the flames of war. Now the flames had died, the embers had turned black, and the ashes had scattered.

The wind swept across a sea of grass and sparse woods, towards the border between the Grasslands and the nation known to people as Zexen. There, in a valley spreading out from the banks of the River Cinay, the wind found the trees of a small, secluded glade. It swooped down, bringing cool mountain air down upon the trees, and the sun-bleached stones of a ruined building that had once been a temple dedicated to the Zexen Goddess. The temple had been long forgotten, and seldom visited, but today, a small group of people gathered amid the ruins.

The wind swept over the men and women gathering in the ruins, rustling cloth and tossing hair, and making lantern flames shrink and shiver before rushing back to life. The faces illumined in the lantern-light were Grasslanders and Zexeners alike. People who, for generations, had met only on the battlefield. Now they stood arm in arm, joined in celebration.

In the midst of this joyous group, in front of the pile of lichen-covered rubble that had once been an altar to the Goddess, stood a man and a woman. The man was Karayan, but at his hip he carried a sword in a scabbard decorated with Zexen colors. The woman was Zexen, but at her wrist jangled warrior's bangles carved with Karayan patterns. The man and woman held hands, and when they looked into each other's eyes, nothing else in the world existed.

Once, they had been sworn enemies, but now they walked in step with each other. Once, they had been two, but today they would become one. And already their bond had borne fruit. Soon enough the woman would not be able to hide her growing belly.

Their future was uncertain, but on this night, all was right, and nothing was amiss.

There, in that moment of bliss, the wind lingered. It sensed power radiating from the grove on the banks of the River Cinay. The power did not come from the ruined temple, and neither did it come from the earth, where the spirits danced in triumph. No, the power pulsated from the couple standing before the altar. It was a power strong enough to shatter mountains and turn great cities to ash. It was the power of two of the Twenty-Seven True Runes that had shaped all of creation.

The two True Runes had been parted since the creation of the world, but now they intermingled again. In the long memory of the True Runes, this moment of bliss was but a heartbeat, and so too would the lives of the lovers be no more than a breath drawn and expelled. One day, the lovers would be gone, but the True Runes would remain. Their dance was eternal, the dance that spins new worlds and destroys old ones. There was no true distance between the True Runes. They were neither near nor far from each other. They simply were. But for now, in this moment of bliss, the two True Runes could revel in the gentle touch of their respective bearers, and let their memories mingle. True Fire and True Water, embraced in a conversation spanning eons. Memories of the world's creation.

Of blazing waves, and burning rain.

THE END

Thanks for reading. Sorry I made some of you wait for a long, long time. It's been over 15 years since I posted the first chapter, and, well, I can't really explain the feelings that are going through my head as I'm preparing to upload these final chapters.

Told you I wouldn't give up.