“Stand where you are!” Sarha cried. “I know you, minion of evil. Tell your wicked master that the bowels of Shades await him! Kilmar may triumph in Ylan for a little while, but he will never prevail. Hope remains, and the day will come when that hope will defeat him. And then may he choke on the fear that his end will be for all of time. And from his prison of Death he will never escape. This he has wrought for himself and for the ilk that do his bidding, such as you!”
There was such passion in her voice that for a moment even Gread drew back in fear. But then he laughed, and stared at the old woman with no mercy in his eyes.
“No, Ylan whore,” answered Gread, “you mislead yourself. It is for you that Death waits -- for you and that child you hide under your cloak. Do you think me blind? Give him to me, so that he may join his family in death. I had joy in killing them, and there will be even greater joy when this last Ylan is dead. Give him to me, or endless agony in my master's torture chamber awaits you!” Gread and his guards started forward on their horses.
“Halt!” she commanded. Such passion and power of voice was in her that Gread and his servants heeded her. “You will never have us! The fate of the child is beyond you, and beyond your evil master who defiled my womb for ten terrible moons!” With that Sarha wept, and backed to the cliff’s brink. Gread looked upon her amazedly, for this information was new to him. Warring emotions played across his face, but fear and compassion did not win out.
Sarha looked upon them as they approached once more. Fear had left her, and there was triumph in her voice. “You will never have him.” Then she turned and leapt off the cliff, and the warm hands of Death quickly embraced her.
“Old fool!” laughed Gread cruelly. “You have done my work for me! You too do his bidding, though you did not know it.” He looked towards his guards. “Search below,” he ordered them. “Make sure they are truly dead.”
Then Gread went into trance, and sent his report to Lord Kilmar.