which was Bram Forest's singing
blade advanced relentlessly.

Round and round his head, Bram Forest whirled the whip-sword. Retoc
could--just--block the motion, the death-laden circle, with his own
blade. He became accustomed to it. He used all his effort, all his
skill to block it.

Then, abruptly, Bram Forest raised his sword-arm and brought it down
from high over his head.

Retoc screamed.

And died screaming, his head and torso split from crown to navel.

Bram Forest rushed to Bontarc, stretched out on the sand, and with his
own hand stemmed the bleeding.

Bylanus the Golden Ape said: "All Tarth is yours to command if you
wish it, Bram Forest."

"No, Bylanus. Take your people back to your world and live in peace.
We of Tarth thank you."

Bylanus smiled. "I thought you would say that."

"Portox was a great scientist," Bram Forest said. "But he thought too
much of revenge. The ancient wrong is righted."

"Then you'll spare Abaria?" gasped the delegate of the assembled
Tarthian nobles, who had come to the meeting called by Bylanus that
night.

"My fight was with Retoc and the Abarian army. Retoc is dead, the army
decimated and disbanded. My fight with Abaria is over."

"Then what will you do?"

Bram Forest took Ylia's hand. "I'd like to see a great nation rise
again on the Plains of Ofrid."

Bontarc, his arm bandaged, said: "My people will help you build. And,
with your wayfarers as a nucleus maid Ylia...."

"It will be a small nation at first," Ylia said.

"It will grow, so long as Tarth knows peace," Bontarc told her.

"Tarth will know nothing but peace from now on," Bram Forest promised.

It was a promise which he knew all of them would keep.

THE END

* * * * *

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