Previously
A year ago, the arrogant Sithe, who now stood in front of her, had dared to give Xorlim shelter in his flying fortress. The blond man, who towered over her by a little more than half a metre, looked down on her from above with an arrogant smile. That he dared to face her at all made the blood rush in her ears with anger. Anthalon, of the House of Fahull, was tall even for a Sith. Obviously he wanted to make a statement with the image he was trying to portray here. A visual symbol, as it possessed such great power for many. A fact which this wretch seemed to enjoy far too much. Fahull and Karand had no real war with each other, but when she now glanced in the direction of the flying fortress, with its high white towers and the filigree buildings that so naturally swept across the land, it was clear to her that her decision was the right one. The blond Sithe, with the light blue eyes, drew pictures in the air with his ringed hands, wildly flailing, which were supposed to fill his empty words with something like profundity. Nandimie barely heard a word over the roar of fury in her ears. So the sweeping gestures were only a meaningless background for the hatred that came from the depths of her guts. A hatred which, with every beat of her heart, spread like a stormy tide further and further inside her. Anthalon bent down to her and now pointed with his much-ringed finger at the small troop of Secrùie who had come with her. She really hated everything about the person in front of her. The thin lips, the watery eyes, which she would have loved to give a little more colour with her armoured fist. But above all, the silk robes that fluttered open and wide around the man's wiry body. She herself owned summer dresses which sensuously hugged her slender legs as she walked. This robe almost looked like a male version of that dress. But just because she herself liked to wear dresses from time to time did not mean that she would so deeply offend the lords of another realm and face them on a battlefield in such a garb. It was an insult, it showed how little Anthalon seemed to take her and her secrùy seriously. But most of all it showed that he was not a warrior. Anthalon let others fight for him. He was not a ruler. At least he wouldn't be for much longer. As she tensed, her dark lacquered moonwood armour creaked. It was incomprehensible to her how a proud Sith city could accept a sovereign like this clown, who still puffed himself up in front of her. Slowly and unobtrusively she changed her posture. The soil beneath her bare feet felt firm and arid as she dug her toes into the dry stalks of the tumbleweeds. She would find good footing on this ground. Unlike Anthalon in his silk slippers, or his bodyguards in their plate boots. She had not known what to expect. But that the Siths of Fahull should prove to be such arrogant buffoons was not one of them. Until yesterday, she had been of the opinion that it would be enough if Fahull simply got a new king. But now this so-called ruler stood before her. Surrounded by three other king mages and forty elite bodyguards in full moonlight armour. It was clear to her why Anthalon had paraded before her with such a large force. The bastard before had clearly tried to intimidate her. He wanted to make it clear who was in charge here. An attitude that his guards also displayed. She had seen the fully armoured soldiers eyeing her light moonwood armour. The gazes that lingered on her bare feet, unarmoured left arm or the large recess at her back. They could not or would not understand. Nandimie could feel the power from the lines of force that criss-crossed the steppe reacting to her anger. She would show these caricatures of soldiers why it was a mistake to face warriors like her Secrùie in such heavy armour. Things the Siths of Fahull should have known long ago. Pressing her lips together, she tore her gaze away from the bodyguards, who were eyeing her with clearly misguided interest. Anthalon grinned smugly at her. He had noticed the lustful looks of his guards and seemed amused by this obvious degradation. If his fate had not been determined by her last night, now at the latest, his death sentence would have been passed. Not only that he dared to harbour an enemy. To choose a Xual-Tar over another Moonchild. No, he clearly did not take her seriously. Her armoured fist, with which she held the moonwood blade at her side, trembled slightly with suppressed anger. An anger which drove in waves of magical power through her into the blade until Drangmir literally pulsed with power. Drangmir, was no simple moonwood blade. No, her grandfather Galudariem from the House of the Wave Moon, had broken off Seven Branches from the First of All Trees. Stolen them from the garden of the Moon Father himself to draw seven swords from seven branches. Seven White Blades, which were second to none. Apparently Anthalon had now also noticed her grip on the sword made from the Elder branch. As her knuckles stood out white with tension, the purple lily blossoms that seemed to grow from the White Wood began to open. The blossoms were responding to her flaring magic that was being held back with difficulty. Nandimie knew she had to pull herself together. At least for a little while longer. The Moon Father had created her, like all Ehleen, from deep night, moonlight and a wild stormy sea, a fact Anthalon and his bodyguard seemed to remember as well. The tall man, took a step away from her. How often had she seen something like this? First, kings would stand up in front of her, threaten her, flex their muscles, only to back away when their anger was roused. With effort and difficulty, she was able to control the stormy sea inside her enough to open her tightly pressed lips. "Anthalon of Fahull, King of the Fourth Flying City from the Nesmer Council". She pointed to her secrùie accompanying her. "We have come to punish a criminal, to my kingdom, as is my right and duty. As king, no doubt you will understand this"! The guards, and also the king before her, obviously noticed immediately that, while she was still speaking, no one. Neither she nor any of her warriors gave the slightest hint of respect. Not even a slight bow of the head. Not a curtsy or a scrape, let alone a genuflection. Each of her warriors had fought dozens of battles with her, had seen kings fall and countries perish. Her secrùie would never respect a man like Anthalon. With pride, she straightened a little. Raised her chin a little higher. Proud that she was allowed to lead these warriors into battle, proud that her warriors were apparently equally aware of their worth. So it was only fitting. Her soldiers, her knights, her secrùie should be aware of how proud their Empress was of them. They should not kneel to a Mere Name, especially when it was the Name that wore the crown and not the man on whose head it rested. Anthalon, who felt compelled to reply despite this open defiance, now took the floor. "Nandimie." The utterance of her name, without the appropriate title, evoked an immediate reaction among her soldiers. Ten secrùie, drew like a single person their moon-wood blades glowing silvery with power. Had Anthalon known what a Secrùie was, he would surely have fled immediately. But the Siths still use their King's Pages as in ancient times, only to give power to the mages. In Karand, she herself had begun to train these pages as warriors. Warriors who were not powerful enough themselves to shape the world like a king mage. But a Secrùie could use what little power he had to raise himself to a warrior without equal. Strong as a thousand men, faster than the wind and with a stamina equal to that of a dragon. For that, they only had to learn to let magic flow through them instead of giving it away. Clearly, secrùie were all but useless as king's pages. A king's page also had to be trained. But a secrùie was a warrior of a kind, and if a king's mage still tried to form a spell, one of their warriors could fight his way through the guards and literally tear the mage to pieces. They just had to be quick enough. It was the Secrùie on whose shoulders she had been able to bring down even the most powerful empires on her path so far. Something the Siths should have heard about. Before her warriors could start moving, her unarmoured hand was raised. Immediately, her heroes paused in their movement. Nandimie could feel how much the desire to cut this arrogant man, who had dared to insult their Empress, to pieces burned in her Secruie. A man who always gave orders from behind had dared to insult her, the one who had honestly earned every braid in a duel. If her secrùie had not been in a rage instead of her, she did not know if she would have possessed the calm to let the man speak out. Restless, Anthalon looked from her, to the warriors, and then back to her again. Before he began to speak again, his guards, at a sign, also drew their weapons and raised their shields protectively before the ridiculous king. Nandimie snorted. "Empress of Karand," Anthalon continued carefully. "You stand on my ground. You have presented your demand and now that you have done so, you may leave!" She had expected just such a reaction. Had even longed for it in a way. Where the Ehleen were hot-headed and quick-tempered like the sea, the Siths were proud and vain, like the oh-so-high sky. She allowed her lips to twist into a mocking smile. "Your country? Why, Anthalon, I am standing here. So how can it be your land when you and yours are just passing through the sky up there? If you want this ground, why don't you build on it?" She was aware that her words were almost a declaration of war. But only almost. As the anger took possession of Anthalon and his guards, she began to form power along with her Scruie. If this crétin was as proud as he was foolish, then her plan would work even better than she had thought.
She found it hard to suppress the grin as she felt Anthalon begin to gather power. The man was a kings mage, but so was she. A fact that most forgot. A kingmage did not wield a blade. A kingmage was not supposed to be in the front line. At least that was the widespread assumption. With armour and sword in hand, the assumption was obvious that she was trying to make up for her lack of magical talent with brute force. A grave mistake, to which Anthalon also seemed to subscribe, as he apparently believed that she could not understand his magical invocation and the words of power he spoke. He was good, Nandimie had to admit. But still she understood every single word. Anthalon was calling upon the power of the ancient kings, the power of the Old World, to forget her, her existence and everything that reminded of her. To destroy her as she stood one step in front of her secrùie. That this was exactly the place where she had to stand did not even occur to Anthalon. But here she had to stand so that her secruie could find shelter behind her, as they should. As it was the duty of an Empress to stand protectively before her soldiers until it was time to release the blades. As Anthalon began to gather power, she did the same. It was clear to her what the man was trying to do, it was so obvious that it brought home to her once again how little the man took her seriously. Just before the mage in front of her could finish his spell, she formed hers. The second she had started to weave her spell earlier, it was that she was faster than Anthalon. Silvery moonlight began to close in around their little group. "Who are you to dare address a Lord of the Celestial Fortresses in such a condescending manner"? Without waiting for a reply, the Sithe hurled its annihilation towards them. A power, from the old days, before the Veil had released the world from the Dream. A power created to level whole countries and make them forget. A power that flashed and crackled across her shield as she braced her will against that of the other King Mage. Anthalon was strong. But she had brought down many strong foes before and would not yield to him. The onslaught was so hard and powerful that she was brought down to one knee. She had to reduce the size of her shield, pull it tight around her secrùie. But even though she was sweating and bending, she did not give in. A second later it was all over. Panting, Nandimie straightened up. "Who am I, you ask?" Her voice quivered with effort and boiling anger in equal measure. "Shouldn't you know? I am the granddaughter of the Warlock who challenged the All-being itself. I am the daughter of Ilon, the one who created the dragons. I am the Queen of Karand, the Heart Flower of the Realm, as it is my name. I am that queen who stands here and will not yield"! With these words, Nandimie drew the Silver White Blade at her side in a flowing gesture. Immediately the crimson lilies on the wood blossomed in full splendour. How often she had used her will to call the moon she did not know. But by now, it was so ingrained in her that it seemed perfectly natural for the full moon to appear in the sky as soon as she drew her blade. Silvery white, the light fell on the bare skin of her left arm. Collected there in puddles of cool drops, which gathered in the palm of her hand. Anthalon and his mages had not yet fully recovered from the shock that the Moon Empress and the warriors were still standing, when the Secrùie rushed forward. Even though the Siths were so much taller than her Ehleen, the difference between a normal soldier and one of her so battle-hardened Secrùie was immediately obvious. Left and right, their warriors fell into the ranks of the enemy. Bodies steeled by old power and weapons bathed in white moonlight crushed the bodies of the bodyguards clad in silver metal. The first two guards, who were now rushing towards her, obviously expected the Secrùie on her right and left to intervene in this fight. But the Secrùie were not here to protect her. She was the Moon Empress. It was her job to protect her heroes, not the other way around. In a silver arc, her blade flashed forward, driving the enemies' weapons apart before ducking under the attacks with an elegant twist. Already she stood between the two knights. If these warriors had been Secrùie. But no, they were not. Her wooden bracers intercepted the blade of the one on her right, while she dodged the one on her left with a twist of her body. Immediately she struck back. With her free hand, bathed in moonlight, she touched the warrior on her left. Instantly, the silvery light penetrated the body of her victim. It rapidly propagated there until the knight himself seemed to consist only of silvery light. Silvery light that dissolved into nothingness the next moment. With her right hand, she plunged her silver blade, entwined with lily vines, into the other enemy's chest. Moonwood was good at channelling the power of a king's mage and bundling it into attacks. Her blade, however, was no simple moonwood. Drangmir, was a piece of the first of all trees. A branch of the Elder tree itself. As soon as her blade touched the knight's skin, it ceased to be. Empty and hollow, the armour fell to the ground. Without slowing down, she rushed on. Anthalon and his mages had begun to gather power again. Coldly, she drew the silver moonlight that fell upon her around herself. Enveloped herself completely in that power as she simply ran through the nearest bodyguard. She had no time for a duel, even if it gnawed at her to deprive this man of an honourable death in such a cowardly way. But the duty to protect her own soldiers outweighed the duty to grant honour to the enemy. For that protection, she had to reach Anthalon before he could finish his spell. Had Anthalon been a wiser man, or had he possessed Secrùie as a guard, he would probably have succeeded in throwing another annihilation at her. But neither was the case. With a firm grip, she seized the larger man, forcing him to his knees with magically enhanced muscles. Whereby she noticed that he was still as tall as she was. Something that annoyed her, but would not affect the outcome of this fight any further. "Anthalon of the Fahull, I am the end of your name!" With these words she forced the man around so that he could see how from the south, hidden from an ancient forest, several dragons rose up and quickly approached the city. "If you had not attacked me, I should never have demanded this retribution. But as it is, I have every reason to crush your wretched city and kingdom without the Nesmer Council demanding satisfaction for you! Remember that when you throw yourself to your death in shame!" With these words, she slashed the pommel of her sword at the temple of the wretch before her.

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Later in the evening.

Fahull had fallen after a short time. The surprise attack by their Secrùie had taken the flying city completely by surprise. The defenders had lasted only hours before they saw that their persistence had no deeper meaning. The Siths of Fahull would be incorporated into her Empire in the years to come. But the Flying City itself had had to be destroyed. That had been inevitable. Now she wanted to celebrate. But her bard was nowhere to be found. For the first hour, she had thought he would still come. But after she had drunk a glass or two of wine with her Secruie, Jariel still hadn't come to the party. This man drove her crazy. He never did what he was told, constantly contradicted her, even at court. Yet she just couldn't get him out of her mind. There was something about him that made her forget how heavy her crown sometimes weighed. Could create questions out of nowhere that kept her busy for days and weeks to come. But above all, he managed to find something beautiful everywhere, no matter how banal. He not only found this beauty, but was also able to reveal it to her. If he was holding on to her first encounter all those years ago, Nandimie did not know. But ever since she had been a guest among the Rethingen of the Iselen, Jariel had accompanied her. He played at court, which, given his skill, was enough to justify why he was there. But it was above all his thoughts that she appreciated. Thoughts he shared so freely that he had almost openly insulted several nobles at court. The thought of the past full moon festival elicited an involuntary giggle from her. The bard had so cleverly compared a lord of Sel-Tavol to a bloodsucking Eden bug that the one addressed first nodded contentedly for several seconds before the realisation hit him. When the high lord challenged Jariel to a duel the bard attempted to duel the man with poetry in the large square in front of the palace, she had to intervene. It was up to him to choose the weapon, but whether poems were weapons remained doubtful. The lord's face when Jariel then began to explain to her that if words were not weapons, the lord should not be allowed to demand a duel. Actually, she had wanted to drink and dance with him today. But the damned man was nowhere to be found. Why Jariel did not honour such a celebration with his presence remained a mystery to her. She had even managed to avoid a war with the Nesmers. Even the battle had been relatively bloodless. Slowly, anger rose in her as she began to leave the hustle and bustle of the festival behind. Outside the army camp, in the middle of the steppes of Rahelas-Vhar, the sounds of the revelers quickly faded. Lost in thought, she looked to the ruins of Fahull, which now lay shattered on the barren ground. It was a tremendous victory. She had conquered an enemy nation. The Xual-Tar who had tortured and killed so many of her citizens and for Jariel's sake, it had been done with as few casualties as possible. The exhilaration of battle that until recently had been mixed with the slight buzz slowly faded as she walked towards the lonely mists of the hot springs. The play of the wind, the dark night and something else awakened a melancholy in her that should not have been there. Silently she cursed. Normally swearing helped to dispel the melancholy. Swearing, or what had turned out to be even better in recent years, discussing anything, no matter how trivial, with her bard. But today swearing didn't seem to help. Sighing, she took a sip of the heavy dark wine. The melancholy lingered, finding her soul with the whispering of the wind that drifted over the dry stalks of the steppe. She still had the wineskin to her lips, then she understood. It was not the sad song of the wind that she had just heard. Quietly clinging to the whisper of nature's power, there was a second melody. Almost inaudible and yet so full of melancholy that it seemed to cut into her soul. It had to be Jariel. It could not be otherwise. She could think of no one who would come up with the idea of moping around after such a victory and playing sad songs alone to herself. How often she had asked herself in the last few years why she was so infatuated with this man, she no longer knew. But as always, when she asked herself that, she was annoyed with herself. Knowing better again, she crept between the moon pools on bare feet. When the full moon reflected in the mirror-smooth surface of the pools, this plain would shine almost as bright as day. But so soon after the new moon, it was dark. The light of the stars was only enough to paint the warm mists rising from the ponds in a ghostly light. With each step she took towards the pools, the melody grew stronger. Nevertheless, it took several more minutes of wandering between the still and quiet moonlit waterholes before she caught sight of Jariel. The ghostly wisps of mist, played around Jariel's seated figure like the silken shawls of a dancer from Duhles. He had his back turned to her, still playing that mournful tune on his flute. Like most nobles or royal wielders, he had been privileged against to use moonwood. But where most at court use this honour to make a weapon like a secrùie carried, Jariel had chosen a flute. This had earned him much scorn. A fact that did not bother him and everyone who heard him play this flute knew that his choice was the right one. Quietly she circled the central pond that separated them. In the semi-darkness she could see little of his noble features, full lips and narrow pointed nose. The dark waistcoat, with the water lily crest and the high collar, also blocked her view of her bard's mouth. For the second time that day, she wondered why she let Jariel offer her what she would raze kings and entire cities to the ground for. Slowly, anger rose within her. Careful not to interrupt either the mists or the sad melody of the flute playing, so incredibly painful, she approached on tiptoe. With each step she took towards the bard from the House of Water Lilies of Uhlis Tannar, she felt the wordless song cut deeper into her soul. Even when she came to a halt beside him and cleared her throat softly, he did not end his song. Tears ran silvery glistening from his closed eyes to pool at the straight energetic chin before falling onto the damp stones at his feet. Jariel had never been ashamed of his tears. She had once asked him afterwards if he was not uncomfortable that the court had seen him weep when a hunting party had returned with the body of a large stag. He had only answered that there were tears that should be worn like medals, because they showed that you were part of something, and then there were tears that you shed only for yourself, and these should also belong only to you. What exactly he had meant by that was not clear to her, especially since he had not explained himself further. But even without a precise explanation, she had a pretty good idea of what he had meant. While his fingers danced frantically over the moonwood flute to elicit this heavy sad melody, his face was composed and somehow peaceful despite the tears. With each verse she felt her heart growing heavier. It was impossible to escape the song. Though it was silly, she had to take more than one deep breath before she could muster enough strength to address him. "Jariel? Why aren't you at the feast. Didn't you promise me a dance?" With those words, she awkwardly held out the wineskin to the bard. Jariel let his fingers dance for a few more seconds, giving the last notes of the flute playing time to spread out among the starlit mists, the softly rippling waters and the night. Each note cut deep, without her being able to say exactly why the slowly fading notes touched her so much. "Oh heroine of the fall of Fahull, I think you presume to do what is not your place"! Still he had closed his eyes and not turned towards her. "I sit here and weep as I should. A dance I have promised the Heart Flower at the next celebration. Not a butcher and not on a day of tears!" Without giving her time to reply, he put the instrument back to his lips and began to play again. The still fading notes were seamlessly joined by others as the song continued to grow in power. The heavy melody captured her for a second before she regained consciousness. She shook her head violently, sending her braids flying in all directions. Still, she couldn't completely throw off the pain and spell that Jariel's song had cast over her. To her annoyance, she noticed how rough her voice sounded when she began to speak. "Jariel! Can you explain to me what exactly you mean? We won a great victory today and prevented a war with the Nesmers. Why are you accusing me?" Calmly, the person addressed rose as soon as he had played the verse of his song. Then he put down his flute and looked at her from his unfathomable and knowing eyes. They were eyes she had already admired on the first day. Deep green like lily pads with little sprinkles of pink in them. Eyes that seemed so knowing and wise that she felt small and young almost immediately. "A victory? By no means! You have conquered an enemy. You have slaughtered and ravaged as the Moon Empress does. That heart flower I promised to play for is not a cold force of destruction!" With a sad look he pointed to the plain with his free hand. "There lie the ruins of Fahull. A once beautiful city!
Have you ever been to Fahull?" Nandimie could feel anger rising in her. Of course she had never been to Fahull. Except for today, of course. She was the Queen of Karand and the Siths of Nesmer had been suspicious of her kingdom at the best of times. "Jariel, why are you doing this? I don't really not even know why. But I made sure we could put Xolarim without being at war with the Nesmers now! So what are you accusing me of?" She would have liked to say more. But Jariel had made it clear to her so many times that he did not take orders. Never! How often had she heard him say, "You cannot demand what I give you freely. At first thought, this sounded so nonsensical. But when she thought about it, it contained so much wisdom that she herself had used this sentence several times in conversation with other rulers. Having gone over such issues with Jariel far too often, she knew how it would end if she now insisted on being right as Empress. Stupidly, she also knew that in a conversation like the one that would now follow, she would probably be lectured. She hated being lectured. At least most of the time. But when Jariel did, she wasn't angry. She always felt that in the end she had become wiser together with him. She explained to him the intricacies of governance, magic and the military and he spoke of philosophy and other things. "I'm not accusing you of anything. I'm just sitting here crying because of the senseless destruction of such a beautiful city, at the hands of a woman who didn't even know it. A woman who has not looked up from the moon towers so high on the moonlit clouds, nor sung or danced with the Siths there. I did not come to you to demand or reproach you for anything. You have come to me. So what do you want from me?" If his words had not cut so deep, she would have rolled her eyes. Already it began. "Jariel, what was I supposed to do? You know exactly what Xolarim did to the people of Previen. People who live in my realm and are citizens of my country!" Jariel nodded. "Yes I know that. You know how many tears I shed when this news came. But please explain to me what the fate of Fahull has to do with the suffering of the people. In what way is the suffering of the people not so terrible now? In what way has the slaughter of Fahull made the suffering in this world less?" She knew Jariel was asking her a trick question. Nevertheless, she had to answer. "You know very well that justice is at stake! It is my duty to see that justice is done!" Jariel just shook his head wearily at her retort, making his black braids bob slightly. "Justice, is it? Is there a universal justice? Is justice meaningful? You know very well that Tarnulf never spoke justice without mercy. Justice without mercy is worthless. It will only destroy. For revenge can do nothing else. Today a beautiful place, a beautiful city with many of its inhabitants has been destroyed, because you think you are in the right"! She would have liked to scream. He had managed to make her feel bad. That she felt like a tyrant, on a day of victory. On a day she wanted to celebrate. "What was I supposed to do Jariel. If you know so well what to do. Why don't you tell me then?" The bard bowed his head slightly at the harsh and pained sound of her brittle voice before taking the wineskin from her. Gently he pushed his instrument towards her. "You should have played. You could play. It's never too late for a song!" Gently he pushed her to the seat where he had been sitting. What exactly his plan was, was beyond her. However, if she continued to give him such easy material, which he knew how to counter so easily, there was no way she would get what she wanted. So she slowly settled into his seat. Looking at the ruins faintly visible in the distance, she felt Jariel, who was now standing behind her, begin to untie her crimson hair from its dozens of braids. Before she could say anything, however, he seemed to sense her displeasure. "Nandimie, I wish to see again today the blossom of heart that hides behind the armour of the Moon Empress. The woman for whom it is so easy for me to write songs!" Even though her heart was still sore from the song, she felt it do a gentle bounce in her chest. It was so ridiculous. She had five children, some of whom had already accompanied her to the battlefield, and yet her heart leapt at those words. As the bard began to undo her braids strand by strand so that her hair fell to her hips, she could feel his magic flowing through her into the instrument in her hands. The song of the flute lay heavy on her soul before it began to dance with heartbreaking power, tantalising and beautiful amongst the mists. It was a dance that spoke of loss. Of the end of so much that was beautiful and of senseless destruction. A song that made the armour, the carapace of war, weigh heavily upon her. During the first pause, she loosened the gauntlet that encircled her right forearm. When the song called to her again, Jariel removed the rest of the armour from her so that she could sit with him, free from the war, among the mists and the dance of the melody. Tears were now streaming down her cheeks as well. She had destroyed beauty and brought suffering out of revenge. That was not the task of an empress. Naked and sore-hearted, she looked up at Jariel as the last stoppings of her song were restrained between the ripples and the soft play of the wind. "What was I supposed to do?" Jariel looked at her for a long moment. "Sometimes, my heart's flower, the answer is not so easy. Today, all I can say is that you should have cried. For it is a day for tears and not for songs and dances. I don't know for sure if it would have been wise to let Xolarim go unpunished with his actions. But there is a difference between crying at the end of the day and celebrating!" Shivering and covered all over with goose bumps, she wrapped her arms around her naked body before dipping her feet into the warm spring. "Will you play for me, if today is not a day for dancing, at least I don't want to be alone with my tears"! In a brittle voice she added. "Please!" Jariel nodded as he took the flute from her hand and began to play again.