The Starfollowers of Coramonde

by Brian Daley

  “I think not. You were awakened for a different purpose than torment.”

  Awakened? The last thing he recalled, and that none too clearly, Bey had plucked him up. He’d thought he’d recognized an astounded Andre deCourteney. Then something had hit him like megavoltage.

  “Dunstan, I’ve been down for the long count, haven’t I?”

  “Yes. You were brought to Salamá unliving, I understand. I only heard a little besides what passed between Bey and Flaycraft. A mystic bolt and a Dismissal struck you concurrently, and balanced one another.”

  “I died?”

  “No, you are no ghost. Magics in contention will eliminate first those elements common to both. When those forces are canceled, the remaining energies compete. But in your case, both the bolt and the Dismissal were Andre’s, and held all forces in common. Thus, all energies, all influences, were neutralized. All activity stopped; you were neither dead nor alive, until Yardiff Bey quickened your life once again. There is one who wishes to speak with you, you see.”

  “With me? Who?”

  “His name is Evergray. He is a Lord of Shardishku-Salamá; not one of the Masters, but high in authority.”

  “And he’s why Bey brought me around? But what’s it for?”

  Dunstan sighed, resting his head on the stone behind him. “After Yardiff Bey captured me, he fled to Death’s Hold in Cloud Ruler. It was the only place that would receive him; a few of his adherents still lurked there in hiding.”

  “Yeah, Gabrielle and I thought you were there. She did this thing, this seance-like.”

  “I was interrogated by Flaycraft. Under his hand, I told whatever little I could. I was put to great pain, and lost all bearings. I gather that Bey regained his Masters’ favor, and I was moved here, to Salamá, but for long and long I thought myself still to be in Death’s Hold.”

  “What about this Evergray?”

  “I was placed here by Yardiff Bey, but one day Evergray came, having heard about me from Flaycraft, who is his servant. Prisoners, outsiders of any kind, are almost unknown in Salamá. He wished to question me about the world. Until then I had sat in the dark, for there was no light until Evergray came. I used to sit and sing, sing every saga and ditty and ballad I knew, just to fill the blankness.”

  “And Evergray?” Gil encouraged gently.

  “Yes. He wanted to know what my songs were, at first. He treated my every word like a report from an undiscovered continent. On one visit he mentioned that there was another outsider here, enemy of Yardiff Bey, in a mystic coma. He asked me if I knew the man, but when he described you, I said I thought not. When last I saw you, Gil, there was no burn-mark on your cheek, nor any scar cut in your brow.”

  “Got ’em in Earthfast the night we raided.”

  “Ah. I was in the Berserkergang then, and took no notice. Strange to say, the Rage has never come upon me again since that night. There were many moments when I might have welcomed it.”

  “It isn’t in you anymore, Dunstan. It passed to me.”

  The Horseblooded was silent for a few moments. “Now I must make apologies to you.”

  “Not your fault. It saved my life once, I think. Anyway, it doesn’t matter here. But why’d they stick me in with you, if Bey was keeping you shut away in the dark?”

  “Because Evergray wanted it, perhaps. Or it may be that the Masters are eavesdropping on us. I don’t know, but your company is welcome, even though I’m sorry to see you here.”

  Gil rubbed his hands together, feeling them wet and slippery. “That passageway’s buttoned up tight, huh?”

  “I have never been able to inspect it, but I presume so, yes.”

  The American found he felt constricted. “I was never locked up before, y’know? I mean, I’ve been confined to barracks and like that, but nobody ever shut me in before. Hard to take.”

  He felt stupid, complaining to a man who’d once had the freedom of the High Ranges and then been fastened to the rock in unending night. Dunstan asked, “How fared my kinsman Ferrian?”

  “They couldn’t save his arm of course, but they pulled him through. He came south with me and Andre deCourteney and some others. We had to leave him with the Sages of Ladentree, but he didn’t seem too put out about it.”

  Dunstan chuckled, a strange sound. “He always loved chinwagging, and old stories. Odd, in a Champion-at-arms, to be so—”

  He stopped, interrupted by vibrations in the walls and floor. A vertical crack of orange light materialized where the passageway had been. Gil scrambled to his feet and stumbled toward it, planning to take whomever it was from behind when they entered. But he was stiff and sore. Before he could do it, Flaycraft sprang into the chamber. The torturer moved nimbly, but without grace. He had a long wooden club, studded with spikes, in one hairy fist. He saw Gil, and gave a moist, grunting laugh.

  “Yes, try it! Try often; bare your teeth, little mutt!” He waved the club over his head, making the air whistle. The American, still weak, knew Flaycraft would maim or kill him, given the chance.

  Another figure came up behind, filling the passageway, blocking most of the light from it. Flaycraft’s club lashed out again, and Gil jerked backward. “Little mutts do not stand,” the torturer snarled, “when Lord Evergray enters a room.”

  Gil leaned back against the slab, goggling at Evergray, scion of Shardishku-Salamá.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  When half-gods go,

  The gods arrive.

  Ralph Waldo Emerson

  “Give All to Love”

  HE—if Evergray was in fact a man—was tall, close to seven feet. He wore loose robes that broke different colors from their highlights, and a complicated metal headgear, half crown, half helmet, with loops, spires and projections; it seemed just a bit loose.

  His face was long and inexpressive, a smooth face without wrinkles or creases, a mannequin’s face. Eeriest of all were the eyes, red-pupiled, with whites showing all around them, as if their owner were in a constant state of fascination.

  The American muttered, “What have we got here?” Flaycraft made an irrigated guttural sound, starting forward with club raised. Gil backed away hastily.

  Evergray waved the beast-man aside. “Stay your hand, good Flaycraft.” His voice resonated in the room, immediate to the ear, but without the bass pitch Gil would have expected from a giant. When he moved to inspect the American more closely, Gil decided to stand and see what was going to happen.

  Flaycraft snarled. “He should be on his ugly face before you, great Evergray.”

  The giant stopped a few feet from Gil, examining him. “Of what value is his obeisance to me, faithful one?” The torturer shot Gil a look of sizzling hatred. Evergray went on. “Is it true, what has been said? Are you, in fact, from a place outside this line of Reality?”

  Gil hedged. Information looked like his only commodity of life right now, and he wanted the best rate of exchange he could wangle. “Why should I tell you?”

  “Flaycraft can make you tell. He would enjoy it; he detests you.”

  “Then yeah, I come from another Cosmos.”

  “But you have free will?”

  “Uh, I guess so. Why, don’t you?”

  Flaycraft yelped, “You are here to answer, not ask!” He charged forward and rammed the tip of the club into Gil’s belly, too fast and strong to avoid. The American folded and groveled on his knees, distantly registering Dunstan’s words.

  “Matchless Evergray,” the Horseblooded said, “please understand: He is a stranger, unfamiliar with proper decorum. I shall explain, and he will mend his ways.”

  Evergray wasn’t paying attention, though. His face was half turned, as if he were listening to something from the passageway. The others heard nothing. “The Masters summon me,” the giant said. “This discussion will wait.” He exited.

  Flaycraft, who’d been hoping for the command to continue his work, relaxed now. Panting, Gil sat back on his heels, holding his stomach. He gasped, “This isn’
t… over yet, ass-face… You and me are… gonna go round and round, one day.”

  Flaycraft chortled, and followed his Lord. The passageway thundered shut. Gil grabbed a corner of the stone slab and hauled himself up. He staggered back to Dunstan. “Thanks for talking up. Flaycraft was about to put a monumental hurting on me.”

  “He enjoys pain, and hates you.”

  “What for?”

  “He knows you are Yardiff Bey’s enemy, and he is Bey’s servant as well as Evergray’s personal attendant. And he is jealous, I think. He resents the Scion’s interest in you.”

  “Well, they’re welcome to each other, for all I care.”

  “Are you feeling better?”

  “A bit. I picked up assorted dents and dings, getting here.” He fingered the swollen injury on his head, from his fall aboard Osprey. “Listen, what’s that nut talking about, this ‘free will’ stuff?”

  Dunstan explained. Evergray had held long, questioning conversations with him about the nature of choice, and volition, and whether men truly possessed them. He was obsessed with the topic. The Horse-blooded told Gil, “For him, all things center upon Evergray; he has been taught to think that way. Notwithstanding, he has also been taught it is the nature of Reality to limit free will. Our fates are all determined for us, or so the Masters hold it. Evergray has begun to doubt that, though, and wants to know if free will exists. When he heard that you come from outside this Cosmos entirely, he pressured Yardiff Bey to awaken you.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Bey. He might want to keep me around for a hostage, but he’d leave me on ice.”

  “But he is Evergray’s father; you are now in Yardiff Bey’s mansion.”

  “Evergray is Bey’s third child? The one in the prophesy?”

  “So it is said. Evergray will talk about himself endlessly if he is inclined. He is not a true offspring, in the sense of being born of the body. He seems to be a construct of sorts, brought into existence by Bey’s magic, animated by the Five.”

  “A construct? Like a machine?”

  “More the product of occult skills and alchemy, as is a golem. I am Horseblooded, Gil; I can’t explain, for I don’t ken it myself. But Evergray is alive by Yardiff Bey’s skills, and looks upon him much in the way of a child toward a father. His thoughts do not operate as ours do, and I find it hard to comprehend him.”

  “He wants my advice, sounds like. How do we use that to get out of here?”

  “I am at a loss as to that. My plight is less easily remedied than is yours.”

  “A lot of people will be gunning for the Masters soon; when I was with the Mariners this Omen appeared, what they called the Trailingsword.”

  “The Trailingsword? Peculiar tidings indeed.”

  “When he nailed me, Bey said the Trailingsword doesn’t matter. The last piece of the Lifetree was destroyed; nothing can stop the Masters.”

  “Only a renewal of the Lifetree can end Salamá’s influence, I understand, but the Five can still be foiled or frustrated.”

  “Lifetree, Great Blow, Trailingsword—what have they got to do with Evergray?”

  “Of that I am as ignorant as you. Centuries ago the Lifetree bloomed very close to this spot, fed by the one arcane spring whose waters will sustain it. Rooted in the earth, reaching to the sky, it kept the world in harmony. There were celebrated wizards and warriors here in those days, the Unity.

  “But some hungered for overlordship. Amon sought them out. They worked treason by night, uprooting the Lifetree and destroying it, striking down the most powerful members of the Unity. Then they began the incantation that would liberate the hordes of the Infernal Plane, the Great Blow. An antithetical spell was shaping in what is now Coramonde. The Bright Lady set the Trailingsword over the place where her supporters gathered. Whoever opposed the new Masters gathered there to defend, while her adherents worked their counter-spell. In seven times seven days, the final contest of magic came to pass. The Great Blow was stopped, but the world was upset and tottered, and changed.”

  “And Bey’s afraid a branch of the Lifetree survived. Or was. It would have stopped the Masters for good?”

  “And stripped away every strength they have acquired over the centuries.”

  “You said the Trailingsword appeared, uh, forty-nine days before the last bout. I must have seen it weeks before I was bagged. I’d give my right arm to know how much time went by while I was out.”

  “In any case, the Trailingsword promises momentous events.”

  “The problem’s how to use that on Evergray.” The passageway ground open again. This time, Gil stayed put. Flaycraft waddled in, club in one hand and a bucket in the other. He laid the bucket on the stone slab and brandished the club at Gil. “Exalted Evergray will question you later. Therefore, hold yourself ready.” He turned to go.

  “Hey, Flaycraft,” Gil called. The torturer paused. “Was your mother really raped by a fur carpet?”

  The beast-man growled and raised the club. He saw the American brace himself, and laughed. “You will be most, most unhappy when mighty Evergray has no further questions for you!” He backed into the passageway. Seconds later, it closed.

  In the bucket, Gil found a bottle of water and a bowl of cold, gooey stuff like gruel. The purpose of the bucket, in a featureless stone room, was evident. He offered some of the food to Dunstan, but the Horse-blooded shook his head. “I’ve no need of it.”

  “You’re not missing anything. I’ve squooshed tastier goop out of bugs.” He forced himself to eat a little, and drank greedily. “What do you suppose Evergray’s doing?”

  “From time to time he is summoned by the Masters of Shardishku-Salamá.”

  Again Yardiff Bey stood in the ring of light. But where he’d been the Accused months before, he was once more the Hand of Shardishku-Salamá. With him stood Evergray. The Masters’ incorporeal voice came once again, speaking to the giant.

  “Scion of Salamá, are you prepared to begin your Assumption?”

  Evergray’s head remained erect, light splashing from the horns and projections of the crown-helmet. The Masters pursued their point. “Why do you not respond? The subject here is a majestic legacy.”

  “Why was I interrupted?” the giant burst out. “I had questions yet to ask the mortal.”

  The collective voice of the Five betrayed cold irritation. “Mortals will wait, but the affairs of the ages will not. Soon, now, you must be filled like a water vessel with Our great power, to wield it over the earth at Our command.”

  “But that moment is not yet come, when you Five will Ascend to the godhead.”

  “Neither is it far off. Transference of our energies will be done by portions, for to do it all at the once would overtax even you. The first portion will be done now. Go to the chapel that is appointed for you and await it.”

  Evergray didn’t budge. “Tarry not,” the Masters told him. “Submit to Our will, as you were created to do.” The giant stared into the blackness with wide, red-pupiled eyes.

  At last he said, “The Masters’ wish has always been law in Salamá.” He left the ring of light. Bey waited patiently, head thrown back in thought, the ocular gleaming. When he was sure his progeny had gone, he spoke.

  “Have no misgivings. All is well with Your great plan.”

  “Our Scion becomes truculent. It must not come to disobedience.”

  “And shan’t; I have arranged against that. The mortal will be the key. Through MacDonald I will insure Evergray’s hatred of free-will creatures. The Scion will yield himself up to your designs.”

  “We tolerate no miss-moves. We will be endowing Evergray with great forces for safekeeping, forces of which we must divest ourselves in the final moments of our Ascension.”

  Bey nodded impatiently. And when They had Ascended to godhead, Evergray must accede to them. “It will be so. The Lifetree is perished,” he reminded them, “and there is no counterforce.”

  “There is no counterforce. The alien will behave as you plan?�
�

  “He may do any of several things, but all are foreseen, and serve my purpose. I perceive that the Rage has passed from the Horseblooded into this one, and that makes him altogether more suitable. Far better Evergray believes he has chosen to obey, rather than risk injuring him with Compulsions.”

  “He must bend to Our will, and turn others to his. Your part in this will not be forgotten.”

  Bey bowed deeply. “As you new gods shall serve Amon and his infernal deity, so Yardiff Bey will serve you, and so shall Evergray rule the Crescent and South-wastelands by your command.” He bowed again, ecstatic, on the brink of every ambition.

  Gil spent an unknown period waiting for Evergray to show up. He ate, slept, had marathon talks with Dunstan, and began the cycle again. His sleep time changed, in circadian adjustment, into naps, and the tension of imprisonment penetrated his dreams. His vitality came back and he began to exercise, though he felt guilty that Dunstan couldn’t.

  Flaycraft, when he came, told them nothing. Gil baited him, but stopped short of provoking a fight. Reacher could have taken the beast-man apart; Hightower would certainly have broken him over one knee; but Gil was nowhere near their class, and had been drained by the things he’d undergone. The torturer would bare his canines and make ominous threats, then leave a new bucket, taking the old one away. Afterward, Gil would find his hair on end, his hands shaking.

  Finally, the Scion of Salamá appeared. The passageway rumbled open and, backlighted by the orange radiance, Evergray beckoned to Gil from beyond it. The American came haltingly, not quite believing he was permitted a small taste of freedom. He had a moment’s indecision about leaving Dunstan alone, but figured he’d have to play Evergray along.

  Outside, Gil blinked in the light of a corridor as wide as a city boulevard. The cell-side of it was solid rock; the other wall was opaque glass or crystal, lit from the exterior by a molten orange luminance, rearing up hundreds of feet.

  The passageway shut, and Gil could see no opening where it had been. But indicating its position was a glowing rune, suspended in air by the stone wall of the corridor.