But there was only so much it could do. Now Death and Destruction had almost overtaken it; now they were level with it; and now they were ahead of it. Then, they wheeled and came on it head-on; and the horse reared and struck. But nimbly they dodged its hooves, and as Albrecht tried to turn it, they blocked it off again, and the horse reared once more. They had Albrecht trapped—no matter which way he whirled the mount, they were there before him, herding that horse, terrorizing it, threatening it—and giving Albrecht all he could do to stick in the saddle.
And so they held the Duke of Wolfsheim until Helmut galloped up on Vengeance. Twenty meters distant, he snapped a command; the dogs ceased their charging. By that time, Albrecht’s horse was blown and trembling. Albrecht wheeled it and brandished the Great Sword of Boorn. He raised his visor, and Helmut saw that his eyes were unafraid.
“So this is the famous Knight of the Morning Star,” he rasped.
“No,” said Helmut, checking Vengeance. “No. Only a little boy whose father was murdered, whose mother was driven to suicide, whose half brother was killed, and whose right hand was cut off.” He lifted his own visor and spat. “I have come for what is mine, Albrecht.”
“This?” said Albrecht. He raised the Great Sword of Boorn. “Aye, if you want this, then you shall have it.” And all at once he charged.
Vengeance leaped forward immediately, and Rage flashed in the air. The two swords—both made of the same steel—clanged together. The horses collided. And each knight was unseated and fell to ground. But each had good armor and came up nimbly. And now they faced one another at sword’s length.
“Have at it, cripple!” Albrecht snarled, and he attacked, wielding the Great Sword of Boorn two-handed. Its mighty blade of Dolo steel would have split Helmut from crown to crotch had it landed fair, but it rang off the blade of Rage, which he could use but single-handed. Then back and forth they fought.
All across the moor those blades could be heard aringing like bells. Rage was a mighty sword, but so was that one of Boorn, and Albrecht had two hands to Helmut’s one. First Albrecht drove Helmut dodging back, then Helmut regained initiative and thrust and hacked so that Albrecht fought clear. On and on they went, blade against blade, until it seemed impossible that flesh could bear so much fatigue.
Particularly that of Helmut. He had been using his sword arm all the long day, even while Albrecht was fighting clear. Now Albrecht’s mighty two-handed blows were wearing down even his iron endurance, his strong left arm. He had to end it quickly; and in his eagerness, he was overbrash. Just as he raised his sword for a blow he hoped would rip Albrecht’s from his hands, Albrecht swung, double-handed, with all his might, and the heavier Great Sword of Boorn rang like a cathedral bell against the blade of Rage and sent it flying wide out of Helmut’s grasp.
Albrecht laughed. “All right, cripple, now you pay your reckoning!” With naught to fear, he raised the Great Sword of Boorn high in his hands and brought it down with terrible power.
It rang again, but not off Helmut’s helm or armor; he threw up the iron fist; the sword blade hit the morning star with a shock that he felt in every muscle. Albrecht cursed and swung again, and then again; and each time, desperately, Helmut countered the blade with that spiked-ball right hand, catching, parrying… And now Albrecht was panting with exhaustion. Helmut could see his eyes behind his helm, and they were full of desperation. But Helmut knew that his were just as desperate; he had no strength to waste…
And so he moved in fast, swinging with the morning star, the chain-mace fist, and Albrecht thought he had him and slashed hard, giving a great cry of triumph at the opening he saw. But the morning star became a blur and caught the blade once again, between its spikes, and Helmut hit backwards with the morning star and gave a twist; and then the Great Sword of Boorn went flying from Albrecht’s hand. Albrecht was unarmed; but Helmut still had the morning star.
Albrecht cried out and raised his hands. But it was no use; the spiked morning star slashed down with terrible force against his helm. His eyes went dull, his knees sagged, and Helmut struck and struck again, battering Albrecht’s head this way and that. The eyes within, visible through the visor, suddenly glazed completely, and Albrecht, as the morning star rang and rang and rang again against the metal, driving it in against his skull, lost consciousness, so that the ringing of that iron fist against his helm must have been the last thing he ever heard, or its spiked awfulness the last thing he saw. For now he fell, lay motionless, and Helmut dropped beside him, raising the morning star and pounding down with it. “For my father!” he screamed as it rang against the armor. “And for my mother! And my brother! And myself! And all good men who here today have died.” And he was still at it when Sandivar came and gently dragged him to his feet and restored his sanity.
They caught the barbarians at the Jaal, and the lesson they taught those cattle people before they could get across and flee back into their Dark Lands was a fearsome one. Then back to Marmorburg; and from the Marble Steps to the Palace, the streets were lined with citizens who raised the cry, “All hail, Morning Star! All hail, son of Sigrieth! Morning Star! Morning Star!”
But Helmut’s face was grim as he rode Vengeance at the head of his army in that parade. Nor did it relax much through the pomp of coronation, when he received the crown of Emperor of the Gray Lands and the congratulations of Carus and his court, who had come to Boorn for this occasion, to do the Morning Star King honor.
And still was he unsmiling and dour as he sat in the royal box and watched the games, the tourneys and the jousts. Hagen flanked him on one side, and beyond Hagen was Nissilda. Neither she nor Helmut had, in all this confusion, had chance to talk; but it seemed to him that he had nothing to say to her anyhow. It was all done, over with, now; he had his revenge, he had his throne, whate’er he wanted was his; but he could feel delight at none of it. He was still frozen within, as he had been ever since his return from that gray underworld, and now it seemed to him that the matter was hopeless. He would go through life like this, full of dead grayness, bitterness, and discontent, but never any human feeling. Restlessly, he turned his eyes away from the games; and then he arose, unfastened the ermine cloak, handed it wordlessly to Sandivar, and stalked out of the royal box. Sandivar turned in surprise. “Where are you—?” But then he broke off, for Helmut was already gone.
He stalked swiftly through the halls of Marmorburg, did Helmut, with Rage belted to his side. He went quickly down the great steps of the palace and strode along the empty street that led down to the Marble Steps along the Jaal. Everyone in Marmorburg was at the games, it seemed, and his footsteps rang loudly on the pavement.
Then he heard behind him lighter, quicker footsteps. “Good King!” He halted, turned, and saw Nissilda running after him, her rich gown of embroidered silk clinging to the curves of her body. She was lovely and distraught; and he should have felt something; but he did not.
She came up alongside and caught his arm, with its steel fist, and said: “You left the games.”
“I had the mood to walk.”
“May I walk with you?”
“Aye,” he said.
Silently, they walked together toward the Marble Steps. There, on the Jaal embankment, they halted. It was sunset now, and the sky was streaked with rich, bright, glowing colors that limned the ruins of old castles on distant hills beyond the city and made the newer ones more splendid. The sunlight glinted on the surface of the Jaal and on the luxurious barges anchored there. It was a scene of most surpassing beauty; and Nissilda said: “What loveliness.”
“I can see none.” His voice was sharp.
“You are still all… frozen, as you said, within?”
“Aye,” he said. “I feel nothing.” Then savagely, he struck his thigh with a doubled fist, and then he turned to her. “And what use is it?” He cried. “To be alive, to be a king, to have a palace, to be mighty in war—What use is any of it, and a man feel nothing?”
Her hand caught his and found it. “It is only a
memory that must be obliterated,” she said softly. “Ugliness to be wiped out. Look now, and see, see the beauty, and let it wipe from your mind the horror.”
“Nothing can.”
“Try; look, see. The sun on marble, on the old castles, on the hills and on the river. See you not the beauty?”
He was silent for a moment. Then he said, in a different tone: “Aye. It is very different from a battlefield.”
“Yes,” she said. She moved around and slipped her hand within his. “Now, you feel my hand, do you not? And it holds yours, and is warm and has life in it.” She raised her hand and with it his and pressed his against her breast. “Life, and the beat of heart.” Her voice was intense, her eyes, as he looked down into them, held him, and suddenly he felt something stir within him. “There is naught but life,” she whispered, “and naught but love, to keep out the dark and horror. They are the only magic that will work against it. Love makes the moment proof against any hell; the touch of lips, the beat of heart to heart, these are all we have or anyone, king or beggar. And if love cannot obliterate your memories of hell, what is it for?” She reached up and pulled his head down, and her lips met his as she pressed his hand against her breast, and he felt the throb of her heart against his fingers, and suddenly it all broke, it thawed, all that was frozen in him; he felt it go like ice in spring. He saw her loveliness and that of the world around him, and all at once gray memories had vanished, faded, were drowned forever in her perfume.
He seized her in his arms and held her to him and kissed her long and hard. And when the kiss was over, he knew that he was well, and he threw back his head and laughed. She stared at him in amazement; then she began to laugh, too, and they clung together laughing and holding each other there on the Marble Steps, as the sun went down behind the Gray Lands.
The Sword of Morning Star Page 18
