“Kenlahar!” Molnar’s impatient call brought him back to his senses. The staircase had deposited the two travelers near the throne of the Queen, which was spotlighted by a circle of torches. The ring of light seemed to cease just a few feet away from the throne.
“Step forward, Kenlahar, so that we can see you,” Molnar shouted, though Kenlahar was already very near. He hesitated—it took all of his courage to step into that circle of light. Yet finally, he walked through the shimmering wall of torches.
“There you are!” Puzzled relief showed in Molnar’s face.
Strewn over the enormous high-backed throne was a many-hued pile of blankets. As Kenlahar approached he began to distinguish a person beneath the blankets. First an immense, round face and then two plump hands emerged from the shapeless mass. Molnar was the only person visible to Kenlahar, but he doubted they were alone.
Prince Molnar turned to the bundle of blankets on the throne. “Mother, this is Kenlahar. He had journeyed far in his search for his brother.” He glanced sideways at Kenlahar. “Balor was the name, I believe.”
“My son,” emerged a soft, wheezy voice. “Why do you…bring us…this person?” The Queen seemed unable to finish a sentence in one breath.
Flamboyantly, as if what he was about to say was greatly amusing, Molnar said, “He is my gift to you, Mother.”
“Do not tease me, Molnar.” The panting, dry voice was imbued with venom. “I will not care who rules after me, for I shall be dead. Perhaps I shall take you with me as well.”
Molnar paled, and for the first time since Kenlahar had met him his swagger disappeared. “I am not mocking you, Mother!” He removed his pack from his back, and brought out a velvet bag. Untying the strings, he poured the precious stones into the Queen’s outstretched hands. The wheezing breath grew louder as the contents of Molnar’s pack overflowed her hands and fell onto her voluminous lap. “Are you pleased, Mother?”
“You have done well.” Her plump fingers dug through the treasure.
That is nothing, he said, pointing at the wealth with contempt. The fingers stopped groping and the moon face turned expectantly toward him. He drew a curved blade from its scabbard; the metal was pale and cold in the torchlight. He uttered a short laugh. “Toraq’s Dagger! Now what do you think of your son?”
“You have done well, indeed.”
Molnar laughed again. “Yes, it is well, and still not all. There is one treasure more valuable than any other! Did I tell you, Mother, that Kenlahar comes from a land deep in the Tream—a place called the House of Lahar?”
Kenlahar became conscious of the weight of the Star Axe around his neck. Molnar was going to betray him, he saw, in order to impress that thing on the throne. He began to back away from them.
The Queen had leaned forward, jewels falling from her lap unheeded. “You have the Star Axe?”
At that moment, Kenlahar vanished into the dark shadows. Too late the Queen and Molnar saw their error. “Seize him!” she cried and collapsed in a coughing fit, while the Prince desperately shouted orders.
Kenlahar ran across the gigantic throne room searching for a way out. As he had suspected, the darkness had concealed many guards, who were even now lighting torches all around him. Their strategy soon became obvious. The torches began to form a ring around the perimeter of the crater. Kenlahar halted and, crouching, removed Alcress from under his jerkin.
Why was he carrying the Star Axe if he never intended to use it? he thought. Why had it chosen him, when he had chosen the path of peace? He did not know what powers he might unleash if he used the Star Axe—or if he could control those powers once he had unleashed them.
Even in the increasingly violent course his life had taken, he had not yet seriously injured another man. He had not set out with the intention of not using it, but the fates of the Raggorak had kept him from using Lahar’s battleaxe. He would not start using it now, though it meant his death. He re-sheathed the Star Axe and looked up to see the guards complete their circle. The ring of torches began to close around him.
His mind made up, Kenlahar got to his feet and started running toward the only exit he knew of. The encirclement had not yet closed beyond the throne, and Molnar was standing where Kenlahar had left him. Gauging the progress of the guards, Kenlahar picked up speed and burst into the spotlighted area. As he hoped, the guards had kept a respectful hole in their circle. Prince Molnar only had time to utter a short exclamation before Kenlahar pushed him from his feet, and then he was beyond the throne and the guards.
The curtained doorway was closed off. Desperately, Kenlahar heaved at the stone door, but it would not budge. He ran his fingers over a portion of the wall, as he had seen Molnar do, but it was a futile end to his gamble. He turned to meet his pursuers—and since he had rejected the use of the Star Axe, his death.
Suddenly, a few feet away, another door swung open. Kenlahar sprang through just as it began to swing ponderously shut behind him. Molnar arrived and hesitated, stopping to judge the width of the rapidly closing exit. Then it was too late, and his furious shout was abruptly cut off as the door snapped shut.
Kenlahar breathlessly turned to look at his new surroundings. In the corner of the room a young girl gaped at him. She was dressed in rags, which contrasted with the luxury of the chamber, and Kenlahar assumed that she was a servant. The walls were covered with thick tapestries, and the floor was filled with cushions and rugs, the Queen’s colorful blankets. There did not appear to be any exit from the room.
Suddenly he felt a hand on his arm. He looked down at the girl questioningly. In response to his look she led him to the wall and held a tapestry aside. Kenlahar began to speak, but she held her hand to her mouth. So he said nothing and ducked behind the curtain after her.
The girl led him down a long narrow tunnel. Again and again they descended short flights of stairs, which opened to yet more long halls. Kenlahar lost all sense of direction and soon he was not certain any longer if they were going deeper into the mountains or outward to the surface. They encountered no other people. Finally a blank wall confronted them.
The wall slid aside as Kenlahar and the girl drew near. A large fireplace, filled with burning logs, took up one whole side of the room beyond; the room felt freezing cold, nonetheless. The bare stonewalls and floor had innumerable cracks from the constant changes in temperature. The room was large, and empty of furniture except for an enormous desk in one comer, its every cubbyhole filled by strewn parchment. Kenlahar’s eyes were taken by the sight of a man so that that the stool he sat on to work at his massive desk almost came to Kenlahar’s waist.
The man had his back to them as they approached. He turned, his pen held delicately in long fingers. “Ah—Kenlahar. You have arrived at last!”
Fascinated, Kenlahar watched the man unwind and stand; he seemed as absurdly slender as he was tall. The long arms gestured at the young servant girl. “You must forgive us,” the man said. “But the Queen will allow only very young, very deaf girls to attend her.” The girl nodded to his hand motions and left the’ way she had come. “Yet they understand enough to hate her,” the man continued, and waved his arm hospitably at the fire. They stood near it, warming themselves as they talked. The girl soon returned with a tray of food.
“I have already seen how servants are treated in your kingdom,” Kenlahar said.
“The royal family of Kernback was once vigorous and humane,” the tall man acknowledged, “but now it is dying out. The present ruler has few of her predecessors’ strengths and none of their humanity. Her son, Prince Molnar, will someday be just as fat as his Mother, but will have none of the humanity or strengths. Perhaps only a new dynasty can save this ancient city.”
“Who are you?” Kenlahar finally managed to ask, through a mouthful of food.
“I am Karrack, the Queen’s physician—a healer as you are, though perhaps a bit more sophisticated in my medications.” He paused, waiting politely for Kenlahar’s next question.
Kenlahar supplied it, “How do you know who I am?”
“I know much of what happens in the Queen’s dominions,” the physician said. “Your presence here is an example of that. It was I who sent Prince Molnar to the barrow of Toraq. I feel responsible for what happens to you! And I believe your next question will be, why? An answer to that question would require too much time for now. So if you are through playing who, what, why, where, when, and how, you had better get as far from Kernback as possible.”
The physician turned from the fire and walked back to his desk, evidently dismissing Kenlahar from his attention. The wall slid aside.
Kenlahar was at a loss. The entire interview had taken less then five minutes—the tall physician mystified him. “But where shall I go?”
The tall man turned from his desk and said shortly, “You will find the help you need in the mountains, Kenlahar.”
Once again the young servant girl solved his quandary, by appearing at the opening and motioning for him to follow. He knew that he did not have any choice but to abide by Karrack’s advice. Kenlahar couldn’t blame the doctor for choosing not to hide him somewhere among the secret corridors. What a fool he had been, Kenlahar thought, to have so blindly followed the treacherous Prince Molnar into the city!
Karrack watched the wall slide shut, and opened the top of his desk. His most precious possession—a shapeless gray rock—slipped into his hands. He greeted the visitants one by one, until four of the Raggorak had replied. The Healer Coron expressed surprise, and the Cormatine annoyance, that it was Karrack, and not the Hermit who had called the meeting.
“I have been waiting for word from him,” he said. “Why did he not tell us of the Axe-bearer? When Balor reappeared at the House of Lahar, I feared all was lost!”
“The Hermit is dead,” Karrack announced. “Kenlahar arrived at the city this night. Prince Molnar, who was holding Toraq’s Bane, accompanied him. He helped the Axe-bearer on his way and then I guessed the Hermit felt his duty was done. He has allowed himself to die.”
“I was afraid he would do that,” the fifth and last of the Raggorak said. “He has never forgiven himself—or us—for the exile of Lahar. But it removes all my doubts about Kenlahar. The Hermit would never have allowed himself to die, unless he knew Kenlahar would succeed.”
“You will soon meet him yourself,” Karrack directed at the fifth man. “He has left Kernback. He will be headed for the Sanctuary Mountains. Watch for him.”
“I intend to stay with him for as long as it takes! Kenlahar has learned all he needs to know; has been hardened enough. Now we must maneuver him into a situation where he must resort to using the Star Axe. Perhaps the Healer Coron’s training of the value of life will serve to force him to wield Alcress!”
CHAPTER XII
Kenlahar followed the servant girl down one empty corridor after another. Dust and rubble from the cracked, crumbling, walls had carpeted the floors with a thick layer, attesting to their ancient age. Kenlahar noticed that the walls were covered with painted murals, which astounded him. The family of Lahar did not replicate life on objects; no doubt the Elders had once banned it—for forgotten reasons. Fascinated by the pictures, Kenlahar began walking almost at the girl’s heels in an effort to catch all the features of the faces in the light of the single torch.
The representations of people in the murals were a kind of stiff, formal caricature—it fit Kenlahar’s impression of the city folk. The rich colors, of reds and purples and greens, were amassed with such profusion that the tints seemed unnatural. There was none of the subtlety of line and color that Kenlahar remembered from the House of Lahar.
He exclaimed loudly at the sight of one of the figures. The servant girl turned and motioned for silence—indicating eloquently that they were near people and could be overheard. Kenlahar pointed speechlessly at the face on the wall. It was a dark face, with black hair and beard, and gaunt cheeks. The man was obviously surrounded by worshippers, and in his hand he held what Kenlahar knew to be the Star Axe. If the face had been clean-shaven, he would have looked exactly like Kenlahar!
The girl nodded, almost bowing, but Kenlahar could see no surprise in her eyes. Instead, she once again signaled for quiet and led on. Kenlahar followed apprehensively. Now he could hear people on the other side of the walls, and he marveled at the hidden hallways that honeycombed the city, and yet remained unknown to its citizens. The sounds of a bustling, populated city—the hawkers’ shouts, the bickering of shoppers, the cries of children—reached his ears. The passageway ended abruptly at a dirty, faded wall hanging.
The girl made it known that he was to stay quiet and wait; then she went through the curtain. Kenlahar resisted the temptation to peek behind it, and the girl reappeared quickly, carrying a filthy, bloodstained cloak. As Kenlahar gingerly donned the garment, the girl pantomimed that he was to linger a few steps behind her. Then they went through the wall hangings.
Kenlahar found himself in the busy marketplace of the city. The houses were tight in upon one another, and the steep slope gave the impression of the buildings being stacked on top of each other. He had emerged from behind a butcher’s stall. The meat cutter looked at him with a misleading casualness and Kenlahar nodded slightly, but the man did not respond. Kenlahar hurried after the young servant girl, who was already immersed in the crowd.
He found it all but impossible to both keep up with the nimble girl, and also make his way through the crowd, without stumbling into the shoppers. All the people—men, women, and children—seemed far more capable of avoiding collisions with each other he thought. But the bewildered, frightened fugitive seemed to have lost the ability, in his lonely wanderings, to dodge. Everywhere he turned he confronted someone, and he was sure that people were staring at him curiously. It was like a nightmare.
Inevitably, he slammed into someone. The man was almost two heads taller than Kenlahar, and he heard the stranger’s breath forced out of his chest. His breath stopped as well when he saw the uniform of a Queen’s soldier. The man said good-naturedly, “Watch it there, young man!”
Kenlahar mumbled his pardons and hurried away. He caught a glimpse of the frightened face of the girl staring back at him, and he willed himself to walk and not break into a panicked run. Don’t look back, he told himself; but at the last moment the urge grew too strong and he gave in to the impulse.
He saw the soldier staring at him over the heads of the crowd, with a dawning suspicion growing in his face. When Kenlahar stared back at him, that suspicion seemed to change rapidly into a certainty. The puzzled eyes hardened and seemed to drill into Kenlahar, and the face set in a scowl. The soldier turned and waved to someone out of Kenlahar’s sight.
The servant girl was now leading him into the thick of the crowd, and once in its midst he did not require persuading to discard the bright red butcher’s coat. With an easy, fluid motion, the girl plucked another loose cloak from one of the many outdoor food stalls. The little girl also clipped a purse from the belt of a passerby, Kenlahar noticed. He was thankful for the new coat, for his hooded swamp cloak was all but shredded away.
Kenlahar put it on quickly. He was anticipating the paths of the other people now, and blending in inconspicuously. But it was too late. He soon saw that no matter what direction they emerged from the crowd into less populated, thinning parts of the throng—especially near the gates—patrols of soldiers were keeping a close watch on all the departing shoppers. Again and again, the girl and Kenlahar were forced to retreat back into the crowd’s center. But the day was ending, and the people were beginning to drift slowly home. It would be an hour yet before they were all gone, but the market was already emptying noticeably. By now, even the escape to the butcher’s stall was blocked off.
A cover to a stall slammed shut behind him, and Kenlahar jumped. It was obvious when he glanced at the girl that she would not be able to get him out of this trap. She had reverted at last into a frightened little servant girl, and Kenlahar felt ashamed that he’d expect
ed her to extricate him again. It was time he quit following and made his own choices, he told himself. But there seemed to be no alternatives open to him. All he could think of was of somehow bypassing the patrols and he hand signed to the girl; first, a scooping movement, and then a soaring motion.
The girl seemed to understand something from these ambiguous signs and excitedly nodded her head. She rushed off and almost left Kenlahar so far behind that he lost sight of her. It did not matter. Kenlahar soon had a suspicion of where the girl was leading him. He could smell it before he actually saw it.
All the waste and slop of Kernback flowed through the culvert she showed him, but it was at no spot deeper than a few feet, or wider than it was deep. He noticed with distaste that it was so murky that he could easily conceal himself in it. But he would not get into it until he had to, he decided. They began to follow its course toward the walls.
This time they were able to venture out of the crowd much farther than they had before. Eventually, they emerged from the market entirely. Kenlahar had begun to hope that they would escape detection when he saw a patrol approaching. As he reluctantly waded into the culvert, Kenlahar thought he caught the ghost of a smile in the little girl’s eyes, just before he lost sight of her. He made a resolution not to submerge into the noisome liquid until he was on the verge of being spotted, and crouched down under the edge of the culvert. That patrol veered off, and he was left alone.
Before he went on, Kenlahar hastily bundled what was left of his package of herbs and the jug of Cormat’s blood into the remains of his rain-cloak, now one of only two reminders he still possessed from the House of Lahar. After a moment’s hesitation he included the Star Axe.
He held the bundle over the refuse and waded down a steepening decline toward the distant walls. It appeared for a while that he would be able to walk through with no trouble. The number of people the soldiers had to search kept them busy; the increasing darkness helped conceal him, and a tendency not to get too near the stink by the townspeople aided him.
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