by Brian Daley
Andre began. “His name, in the Old Tongue, was given as Toa-wa-Day, Lord of the Just and Sudden Reach. But early on he was nicknamed Reacher, and is called the Wolf-Brother by some. He’s the descendant of a line of mighty men, but in his generation a thing unwonted came to pass. Reacher’s father was presented with a daughter as firstborn. To complicate matters, Reacher was unusually small at birth, rather than a doughty specimen like his father and grandsires. He was to serve as proof of the ways in which appearances deceive us.
“Many advisers and seers counseled the then King to allow Reacher’s older sister Katya to reign rather than her diminutive brother. Traditionalists opposed any coparcenary solution and refused to see a woman sit the throne. The case was not altogether unlike that between you and your . . . Strongblade, except that in this case there was a wise King of will and conviction to deal with it; would that Coramonde had been so lucky!
“He kept tight rein on his advisers and subordinates and carefully guided the development of his two children after the death of his wife.
“Reacher, though his size remained less than average, began to boast remarkable strength and agility, much more than his birthright, even from formidable ancestors. More than one lusty warrior-in-training was knocked atumbling by the boy, and the bigger they were, to paraphrase the shaggy adage, the farther they tumbled.
“When the lad was still twelve, his father dispatched him to live and learn for a time with the Howlebeau, the Steppes Runners. Though a small tribe, they’re the proudest and hardiest folk on the High Ranges. They disdain horses, but are hunters by nature and travel on foot, capable of great feats of stamina and speed. They, along with most of the other peoples of the steppes, had compacted peace and bonds of friendliness with Freegate, and were pleased to take Reacher with them on endless roamings.
“The boy’s special gifts nourished under the tutelage of the Howlebeau. He learned to use their traditional weapons of clawed glove and cestus. He lived among them for six years and became a legend on the High Ranges, and the greatest hunter and fighter of all by the time he was fifteen, brother to wolves and winner of many single contests and combats.
“While her brother roved the steppes with his adopted clan, Katya was nurtured by her father, her education carefully ordained. As Reacher ran with the Howlebeau and their furry kin, she was kept close to her father’s side to watch the subtle arts of statecraft, and she didn’t fail to acquire them. The boy became a champion warrior in a land of warriors; I, who have seen many places, tell you that I’ve never seen better. The sister grew wise beyond her years in the clash of politics.
“The boy was called back six years ago, at the age of eighteen, to begin a new phase of study. With the help of his father, counselors and sister, he’s absorbed much knowledge of regnancy and integrated it with the honest, equitable attitudes of the Howlebeau. He is intimate with the techniques of moving men and women to his will, but does it without the impulse to control; his highest mission is the well-being of his people.
“His father fell in a skirmish with desert raiders from the eastern wastes. Reacher ascended the throne with his sister as first minister and virtual coruler. He is, I believe, much by way of a paragon of what a man and king should be, and he and his sister, devoted to their subjects and well thought of by them, are still much feared by enemies.
“You know of course of the free city’s radius of purview; when we’re at the base of the Keel of Heaven we’ll see one of the merestones which mark its circumference. Within that boundary, no one may war or transgress without danger from the vengeance of Reacher and his army. From the High Ranges to the wastelands, they’ve tracked their enemies and wrought hard justice. No army has ever prevailed against Freegate, my friend, but several have perished attempting it.”
“Why is the city so impervious, then?”
“You’ll see when we arrive. It was thought of and constructed even before the Tangents; the four major Ways emanate from it as spokes from a wheel. I don’t know that the army exists to violate its gates.”
“I hope that we won’t need to find out,” the Prince responded. “The endless legions of Coramonde assembled would be force enough to break any city, be it ever so strong and stout a garrison. Kee-Amaine, with Earthfast to bolster it, could never hope to stand against all Coramonde’s banners.”
The wizard didn’t choose to rebut this, but moved to another topic.
“In Reacher’s service, it may interest you to know, are the last of the reptile men still in the world. If any natural beings I’ve seen are the equal of your Earthfast ogre guards, they are the reptile men of Freegate.”
They spoke of assorted things for a time. Springbuck had removed his mask on making camp, but now his sword began to irk him, encumbering him as he sat. He removed it, and as he did so Andre eyed it attentively and asked that he might examine it.
“BAR,” he read, thumbing the characters near the blood channels. “A curious name and not without meaning, I’m sure. What was it meant to bar, I wonder, and from what? Hmm, I perceive that though this glyph was struck upon the pommel at the time of the blade’s forging, the lettering was mechanic’d into it later. The whole is of an age of generations; the glyph is of great efficacy and appears to have something to do with permanence, though I cannot make out what property or conditions it preserves. How intriguing, and I seem to half-remember—”
Springbuck told Andre of Bar’s uncanny keenness and how he’d come on it, neglected in the armories at Earthfast. The plump sorcerer scanned his memory.
“That’s it, then,” he said. “A glyph to keep the blade eternally sharp and imperishably honed. This is the sword Never Blunted, first carried by your great-great-grandfather. His elder son carried it for years until he won the sword Flarecore in Veganá and gave Never Blunted to his younger brother. This brother carried it during the first campaign against the Meerionites and it served him bravely when he and a small detachment defended against a flanking sally. They held high ground while your great-grandfather carried the day—”
“Unaware that he’d come close to disaster,” Springbuck finished, the tale coming back to him now. “And later the sword went to its owner’s son, Pon. And when Grandfather was assaulted by an armed host as he bivouacked at a river tower near Daggerdraw, he and a few sword carls held the door of that small donjon.”
“—and his cousin Pon fought a lone battle in its cellar, holding at a sally port for an hour against dozens of attackers before his war cries were heard over the hubbub of battle, after help had arrived.” Andre nodded. “As I’ve said, young Heir, your heritage is proud. Court chroniclers recognized the deeds of the sword and the men who have borne it. Because it had ever been the defense at the back of the Ku-Mor-Mai, in the teeth of things, as it were, it was renamed Bar.”
“And Pon became Pon of the Iron Arm,” Springbuck said, having heard the story before, but without the re-designation of Never Blunted as Bar. He pulled the gleaming weapon from its scabbard of polished fish skin and white brass and cut the air with it, “Almost would I rather bear it than Flarecore, the sword of tradition.”
“There was more honor in Bar, forged for the Protector Suzerain, than in Flarecore, which is stolen and is not with its proper owner,” Andre said.
The Prince was indignant at this and retorted angrily, “Won by Springbuck’s great-grandsire in Veganá, you mean. Would you deny spoils of just battle? Return a dangerous weapon to criminals?”
Andre shook his head.
“The sword belonged to one in Veganá who fought for Right with vigor as great as the Ku-Mor-Mai. Yardiff Bey met your ancestor on that journey with lies and distortions, hatching friction and feud between those who should have been friends and allies. When the Protector Suzerain returned to Earthfast, he took with him that which should have remained as a bulwark and symbol of resistance against harrying invaders.
“Even now Flarecore’s spiritual legatee is in need of it to contend with the foes of Veganá.�
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“Andre, you’re sure, you’re certain, that Flarecore is the selfsame brand? The one that the Ku-Mor-Mai have used cannot be another?”
“Even so. As it was described to me, a cut-and-thrust greatsword, the blade green-blue and lustrous, damacened with silver and with many runes and sigils laid upon it. And the potency of the runes is that for whoever knows the proper incantation the blade breaks into flame which devastates whatsoever it touches. Even the arming girdle on which it’s borne was described to me precisely, ornate and backed by mail and formed of oblong plaques, on each a raised crest that is the Leopard of Veganá. Is this not accurate?”
“To any detail,” Springbuck confirmed. “And from whom comes this exacting inventory?”
“The sword’s given name is Blazetongue, and I have its description from its true steward. You know, your great-great-grandfather had the knack of calling forth flames from it, but the trick was not passed on and the process is thought lost. Yet, I fear that Yardiff Bey may have the ability and give it to Strongblade to reinforce his claim to weapon and throne. It’s not for nothing that Bey is named by his masters al naiir Shardishku-Salamá hotan; the Hand of Shardishku-Salamá in the Crescent Lands.”
Yardiff Bey! The Prince flushed with anger at the name. The man had woven a web across the face of the world and his plots were without number, all meeting at this point in time. Even in his rage, the son of Surehand could see that the sorcerer had labored with absolute genius for long years and in many quarters and that his schemes were well thought on and far-looking.
“I suppose,” he said to Andre, “that when I gain the throne you’ll want me to return Flarecore—Blazetongue, I mean—to Veganá?”
“Justice dictates it, honor demands it. Veganá has always been a mainstay against invaders from the southwest, protecting the entire seaward end of the Crescent Lands, though at such a distance from Coramonde that your people have all but forgotten it. But that nation will fall soon unless some sort of aid arrives. Moreover, you already have one sword of high renown and weighty deeds; what would you need with two?”
Springbuck laughed, despite himself.
“And how is it, Sir Wizard, that you know so very much about my family and our affairs?”
“Hum, I, er, must confess, I became interested only when I understood that Yardiff Bey was. It behooved me to find out all I could about the lineage of the Ku-Mor-Mai, to unearth what I could of Bey’s dealings with them over the years.”
Springbuck nodded and shrugged, wishing to leave the subject, and cast an eye to the hour pole.
They’d spoken beyond the end of their watch, and so roused their relief and were both soon asleep.
* * * *
They eluded several more contingents of fighting men during the nights thereafter, the soldiers always moving westward, hard. But on the third night, and from then on, the Western Tangent was empty and they encountered no one.
Prowling wolves and lions didn’t care to molest so many men together, and they went their way untroubled. The landscape changed as trees once again grew in stingy copses and grassland was the rule. Terrain became less even, and the Tangent frequently notched through small hills, exposing naked rock walls to either side. With the moon waning, their going was slower than formerly, but they pushed their mounts to make all distance possible in darkness, and hid as best they could by day.
Still, Springbuck found time to be with Gabrielle. He was shy at first, clumsy with his conversation and self-conscious. Her cold reserve had softened to him, and she coaxed him along discreetly, holding back derision.
Van Duyn knew jealousy at this peculiar courtship, but hardened himself to it and resolved not to let it occupy his thoughts.
On the ninth night, or more correctly the dawn ending it, they came up through low foothills and saw a great obelisk twice the height of a man and hewn by much moil from the stone of that region. The merestone, marking the purview of Freegate, had engraved on its surface facing them a raised fist bearing a shattered chain. On the far side, Springbuck turned in passing and saw that the reverse face held the snarling tiger of Coramonde.
They traced the Tangent up into the cold mountains, and though it was seldom used, it was still in excellent condition. Once the way began to wind even higher in the peaks, however, they came to places where it was tilted by shifts in the very roots of the earth, convulsions from the times of the Great Blow.
Here the lordly eagle soared, companion to the wind, stately monarch of an empire of sheer canyons and star-challenging crags. They crossed spans of bridging, long stretches resting on fragile-appearing arches. Genteel plants had fallen away, leaving hardy scrub. The Tangent reached the highest summit by means of a long, winding uphill climb through a valley with several draws branching off—to dead ends, Andre said—to the right and left. They came to a stop at the apex, a narrow saddle of barren ground bordered by rocky swells at whose feet loose rubble lay. Then they pushed on, in daylight now, cold and tired. The road dipped into a smaller valley ringed with balanced boulders, then pushed its irresistible way down toward Freegate.
They stopped at a rain pool to water the horses, and Van Duyn considered how hard up they’d have been to traverse the Keel of Heaven had the Tangent not pierced the mountains for them. He wondered how, if the Tangent antedated the Great Blow which was rumored to have, among other things, created the range they traveled, the road seemed to have been built over the mountains. He made a mental note to inquire as he examined the rock walls at the side of the way. The stone gave the impression of having been molded aside, compacted somehow.
They camped just below the tree line at nightfall. Animal noises in the dark, disturbing even in the more familiar countryside of Coramonde, echoed and ululated through the mountains to grate on the nerves and conjure primeval fears. Andre caused their fire to burn high and brightly, for they had few apprehensions of pursuit now, but were wary of whatever solitary, malicious things there might be skulking through the Keel of Heaven. Springbuck rolled up in his thick, fleece-lined cloak with his back to the fire and didn’t turn or voice surprise when he felt someone move up close to him, lying with back against him and face turned contemplatively to the fire. He knew that the revelations of the past days were working on Gabrielle’s control, and was gratified that she sought solace in his nearness.
Van Duyn slept with his back to a boulder, his big rifle across his knees. Presumably, Andre deCourteney slept, though it might have been his choice to leave his material body, to contest against ill wishes and nightmare thoughts directed at his friends by spiteful inhabitants of the mountains, to send them flying before his undeflectable wrath.
At any rate, no harm came to any of the renegades from Coramonde there.
Shepherds hadn’t been in evidence on the western side of the range, having fled rumors of war, but the eastern side was something else again. As they rode down the next morning, they encountered many flocks of rank-smelling sheep and goats and traffic of various sorts. The people seemed a fairly amiable lot, though they watched the riders with care.
Before long, a body of horsemen bearing lances showed up to block their path and ask their business. They were well armed, dressed in shirts of gambeson under mail, with plaid woolen pantaloons and colorfully enameled helmets. Their leader, wearing a winged casque, identified himself as a captain of the border guard of Freegate.
Andre came forward and said his name, adding, “These are my friends and allies, here to caucus with your King and at his behest.”
The captain was plainly impressed but dutifully skeptical, and instructed his second-in-command to proceed on patrol with half the complement, positioning the remaining men before and behind the newcomers to serve as both honor escort and guard detail.
They went at a rapid pace toward Freegate proper; one soldier plucked a horn from where it hung at his side and blew loudly when the party approached any town or obstruction in the road. People and livestock alike scuttled from their path and t
he riders’ travel was unimpeded.
By midafternoon they were down out of the foothills and passing through shallow valleys and occasional stretches of wood. Springbuck saw none of the remnants of times before the Great Blow which one encountered in Coramonde.
Finally, just beyond a last wide band of forest, the sun splashed from the white, lofty spires of Freegate. When they left the shadows of the timber, those who hadn’t theretofore seen the free city gasped; Springbuck understood why it was one of the foremost strongholds of the world, a place where men walked with heads up proudly and eyes bright. Andre knew of only one place as imposing, the sea citadel of the Prince of the Waves.
And when the company of tired fugitives looked upon Freegate the Enduring, much of their weariness was forgotten and hope lifted their hearts once more.
Chapter Fifteen
With a host of furious fancies
Whereof I am commander,
With a burning spear and a horse of air,
Into the wilderness I wander.
—Tom O’bedlam’s Song
Freegate stood upon a plateau in the valley. But perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the city and the table of land on which it was built were separated from the rest of that country by a gulf some half mile or more wide; while the plateau was level with the rest of the region, the chasm around it dropped nearly a thousand feet to a moat of extremely dense jungle—the only visible means of entrance to and egress from the city. The Western Tangent met the other three Ways at an awesome roundabout a mile or so beyond Freegate, connected by an approach artery to the stone bridgeway.
Perched on their side of the jungled gap, an imposing barbican defended the entrance. Through it passed a steady flow of people and animals, for the stone avenue was broad enough for a passage of men, vehicles and beasts in both directions. Sentries occasionally stopped this or that one, but most who went through the barbican to Freegate did so unmolested.
