The sun hung suspended in the center of the sky, and its rays shone down upon a scene of death and carnage. Nessalir the Red stood, breathing heavily, among the bodies of Remuran soldiers. Her skin and clothing were dyed a deep crimson by the blood she had shed, and Iarius could not see where her human flesh ended and her dragon scales began.

  "To think such a warrior exists in this world," said Jeskar, in a quiet, strained voice. "Should she turn her blade upon Remura in truth, I think… I might even pity them."

  "Your sympathies are appreciated," Iarius told him, and Jeskar let out a weak, pained laugh.

  "Brother!"

  Iarius turned his head, and saw Orla running to them from behind. She looked haggard, dark circles having appeared beneath her eyes. The strain of maintaining the gateway to the aislaith for so long had clearly taken its toll.

  The half-woman slowed as she reached them, and a pained expression fell upon her face as she beheld the state of her twin.

  "Have all of our people escaped?" asked Jeskar.

  "Yes," said Orla, kneeling beside her brother. "All but you."

  Again, another pained laugh. "Good," said Jeskar. "I shall rest easy, then. Knowing that we still live."

  Orla shook her head. "No, you must come through the portal as well. We can tend to you, heal you, on the other side."

  "Heal this?" Jeskar asked, gesturing weakly to his wound. "No, Orla. I am dying. Our new home must be built without me."

  Tears flowed from Orla's eyes. "Without you, it is no home."

  "Don't speak like that," said Jeskar. "You have Toli, and so many others. I have done my part, and now I shall join the stars to watch over you all." He looked back to the scene of the battle, to the lone remaining warrior who stood, bloodstained, among the bodies. "But there is one last thing I must do."

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  Raising his voice as much as he could, Jeskar called out: "Nessalir!" But his shout was choked and strained, and his voice would not carry. So Iarius joined his voice to the half-elf's call, shouting: "Nessalir!"

  She turned her head, golden eyes flashing in the sun, her whole lovely face a vision of beauty and destruction. The dragonblooded warrior who had slain a centuria approached, the blood of her vanquished foes still warm and wet upon her skin. She approached, and when she reached their small group, she knelt before the dying man.

  "It is done?" she asked.

  "It is," said Jeskar, his voice hardly above a whisper now. "My people are safe. I must thank you, drakkowar. When you arrived here, I thought for sure that you had brought our destruction. But now I die knowing that you instead brought our salvation. For this, I shall always be thankful. But now, I must give you my payment."

  Nessalir remained quiet, her eyes locked onto his. She did not disrespect the dying man with a false display of modesty, did not protest so that he might waste his breath on insistence. Instead, she waited patiently and allowed him to speak.

  "My head," Jeskar told her. "In but a moment, I will be dead. I ask that when I am gone, you remove my head and take it back to Paeliig. Present it to the governor and tell him that the bandits are no more."

  "Jeskar!" Orla gasped, horrified.

  But Nessalir simply nodded. "I will tell them that the Equines fought bravely, but fell into a clever trap the bandits set. I will tell them that only Iarius and myself survived, but that together with the Equines, we slew you all. I will tell them that none of you remain to plague them, and they will have no more reason to hunt you down."

  The elf-blooded man smiled. "You understand," he said. "Thank you, Nessalir the Red. Enjoy… my bounty."

  With his final message delivered, Jeskar closed his eyes. His breaths ceased. The man who had led the bandits of Caelus Pass now lay dead.

  Orla turned away, she wiped the tears from her face. "To the stars, brother," she said softly. Louder, she spoke: "I will go to my people. I will tell them of my brother's sacrifice. Do it when I am gone, please. I have no desire to see my brother's corpse mutilated."

  "Of course," Nessalir told her.

  The remaining twin stood. She walked away, paused, then continued walking. She carried her grief well, Iarius thought. Yet there was no doubt in his mind that come nightfall, she would wail and cry for the passing of her brother.

  When she was gone, Nessalir knelt beside Jeskar's body and lifted her ax. "It was an honor, Jeskar," she said.

  She brought the weapon down upon his neck. Iarius looked away.