Chetwin's Space Grace Chetwin

How like Urolf (Feyrwarl) looked, except that his face had been used in quite a different way, thought Wycan, noting the laughter lines around his eyes. Feyrwarl wasn’t smiling now.
“You rejected your own son, you presumably caused his death … You split our clan and wrecked these woods in a fit of pique. You are not fit to rule.”
Everyone snapped to.
Wycan looked around. A fight was coming.
His hand went to his belt.


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Looking down, Wycan couldn’t even see the ground on which he stood. On a thought, he bent to touch it, and felt … nothing.
“The ground’s gone too,” he went on slowly. “I am standing in the middle of … nothing.”
A clap of thunder cracked the silence.


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 You broke up the Yul Kinta clan, you destroyed this realm. Would that you had never been!
Wycan whirled about to see two figures there: Thrulvar and the other.
Wycan looked into that face and knew. Did he not look into one just like it every day?
“Father.” 


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Leana’s face was white and anxious. “Gom?”
“He’s headed for the Concourse.”
“Then so are we. Elder Hanselor?”
Hanselor raised his arm. “Forward with all speed. Young Althlafor’s in danger of his life!”


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“As for one race being better than the other: my lady, like it or not, you are part Yul Kinta now—with your son.”
For a moment, it looked as if she would strike him. Then she simply stood and strode away.


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His mother slipped, scraped off the cliff wall, then rebounded off towards the falling water. Wycan grabbed at her arm but to his horror his hand passed right through it! Reaching her, the nearer figure caught her by the mantle. The mantle gave, fully revealing the burden beneath, A baby, bound to her chest with a shimmering gray shawl. That glimpse was all he had before woman and child vanished through the falling water.


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