"Then I'm ready, he said.

"It's a good thing, Leiria said, because if you weren't I would've knocked you on the head and taken you away tied to the back of the horse."

Safar could see she wasn't joking.

"He still hunts me?"

"All of Esmir hunts you, she said. His troops are scouring the countryside dreaming of the fat purse your head will fetch."

Safar laughed. I've been here all along, he said. Twenty miles from his gates."

"Don't feel so clever, Leiria replied. On my way I saw a patrol heading for the village. I rode with them for awhile. The sergeant told me there's rumors of a mad priest living in these hills who is none other than Safar Timura in disguise."

She shrugged, the smile coming back. Fortunately he didn't think much of the rumors and was going to inspect a few other places before coming here."

Safar looked up at her, searchingfor what he didn't know.

"Are you certain you want to do this? he asked. You could leave now. You could give me the child and ride on and find a much better life."

"Shut up! Palimak cried. He was looking at Safar, hazel eyes turned to demon yellow in his delight at finding him here. Shut up, shut up, Shuuut Uppp!"

And Safar heard Gundara answer from the nested blankets. Shut up yourself! I'm tired of shut up! All the time, shut up, shut up, shuuttt upppp!"

Leiria laughed, horse skittering to the side at the loud sound of it.

"There's your answer, Safar Timura! she cried.

And so he broke a jar of oil over the palace model and surrounding brush. He lit the brush, blew the fire into life until it roared.

Then he leaped on the horse and they rode away.

As they clattered past the startled villagers there was a thunderclap from the hill. A moment later there was another clapfrom a great distance, but louder, as loud as if the gods themselves had awakened.

Then the whole northern sky was a sheet of flame so hot the Demon Moon vanished in the brightness.

But they didn't look back. They didn't pause and wait for the sky to clear and see the molten place where the Grand Palace of Zanzair had once stood. Where kings had come and kings had gone since times most ancient.

And where the last kingthe King of KingsIraj Protarus, Lord Imperator of Esmir, greater even than the Conqueror Alisarrian, abode his destined hour and went his way.

Home was a thousand miles or more distant. But Safar could see it beckoning, a hazy, welcoming vision hanging just before his eyes.

He led them hard and fast across deserts and grasslands and wide rocky plains sprawling to the mountains of his birth.

To far Kyrania.

Where the snowy passes carry the high caravans to clear horizons.

The place he should never have left.

The place where this tale ends.