Miran stepped out of the shadows behind them, holding his finger to
his lips, his one eye round and pale in the moonlight. He was a ragged
captain, not at all the elegantly uniformed commander of the _Bird of
Fortune_ and the wealthy-appearing patriarch of the Clan Effenycan. But
he carried in his other hand a canvas bag. Green, seeing it, knew that
Miran had managed somehow not only to escape with his skin but had also
carried off a treasure in jewels.
"Behold," he announced, waving the bag, "all is not lost."
Green thought that he was referring to the jewels. However, Miran had
turned and beckoned to someone in the darkness behind him.
Out of it slipped Grizquetr. Tears shone in his eyes as he ran to his
mother and fell into her arms.
Amra began weeping softly. Until now she had repressed her grief over
the children she thought forever lost to her. All thought had been
directed to saving her own life and the lives of the two girls who had
survived with her. Now, seeing her eldest son emerge from the shadows
as if from the grave had thawed the frozen well of sorrow.