Last Sword of Power

by David Gemmell

  “Why?” asked Cormac.

  “The demons are gathering,” said Revelation.

  The stones formed a circle some sixty feet across around the flat-topped crest of a hill eight miles from Noviomagus. Cormac led the weary Anduine to the center of the hill, where he spread his blanket and sat beside her. The blind girl had borne the journey well, staying close to Cormac, who steered her carefully away from jutting tree roots and rocks.

  Revelation had moved ever farther ahead, and when the tired youngsters reached the hill, he was kneeling by an old altar stone, carefully notching his staff. Cormac approached him, but he waved the boy away, then began to measure the distance from the altar to the first standing stone, a massive gray-black monolith twice as tall as himself. Cormac returned to Anduine, gave her some water, and wandered to the other side of the circle. The huge stones were more jagged there, and one of them had fallen, the base cracked like a rotten tooth. Cormac knelt beside it. Carved into the stone was a heart bearing letters in Latin. The boy could not read Latin, but he had seen such inscriptions before. Two lovers had sat here, looking to the future with hope and joy. There were other carvings, some recent, and Cormac wished he could read them.

  “Where is Revelation?” asked Anduine.

  Cormac rose and, taking her hand, led her to the fallen stone, where they sat in the fading sunshine.

  “He is close, marking the ground with chalk and measuring the distance between the stones.”

  “He is creating a spirit fortress,” said Anduine, “sealing the circle.”

  “Will it keep the demons out?”

  “It depends on how much magic he holds. When he came to see me in Austrasie, his power stone was almost finished.”

  “Power stone?”

  “They are called Sipstrassi. All the lords carry them; my grandfather had three.”

  Cormac said nothing but watched as Revelation continued his esoteric work with the chalk, joining an apparently random series of lines, half circles, and six-sided stars.

  “Why are they hunting you?” he asked Anduine. “There must be other brides less troublesome.”

  She smiled and took his hand. “You were born in a cave, and your life has been very sad. Your great friend was slain, and your sorrow is as deep as the sea. You are strong both in the body and in the soul, and there is a small wound—like a gash—on your right arm, where you fell while being chased by the hunters.” Reaching out, she took his right hand, her fingers sliding softly along the skin of his arm until she reached the graze. “And now,” she said, “it is gone.”

  He glanced down. All signs of the tear in the skin had vanished.

  “You, too, are a sorceress?”

  “And that is why they want me. They killed my father, but Cotta and the Lord Revelation rescued me. They thought I would be safe in Britannia, but there is no safe place. The gates are open.”

  Revelation joined them, his face streaked with sweat and dust, his gray eyes showing his fatigue. “The power of the stone is used up,” he said. “Now we wait.”

  “Why has Wotan left the Halls of Asgard?” asked Cormac. “Is it Ragnorak? Has the end of the world come?”

  Revelation chuckled. “Three fine questions, Cormac! The most important, though, is the last. If we are all alive in the morning, I will answer it for you. But for now let us prepare. Take Anduine to the altar stone and lift her over the chalk marks. None of them must be disturbed.”

  The youth did as he was bidden, then drew his sword and plunged it in the ground beside him. The sun was dipping over the sea in red fire, and the sky was streaked with glowing clouds.

  “Come here,” said Revelation, and Cormac squatted down beside him.

  “Tonight you will be tested. I want you to understand that it will begin with deceit and they will want you to leave the circle. But you must be strong no matter what happens. Do you understand?”

  “Stay within the circle. Yes, I understand.”

  “If they break through, one of us must kill Anduine.”

  “No!”

  “Yes. They must not have her power. There is so much I wish I could explain, Cormac. You asked about Ragnorak. It will come soon if they take her, later if they do not. But believe me, it will be better for her to die at our hands than theirs.”

  “How can we fight demons?”

  “You cannot. I can. But if they fail, they will be followed by men. I wish I knew how many. Then you will fight. I hope Grysstha taught you well.”

  “He did,” said Cormac. “But I am frightened now.”

  “As am I; there is no shame in that. Fetch your sword.”

  Cormac turned and rose to see the maid Anduine kneeling by the blade, her hands slowly running down the length of the steel.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Nothing that will harm you, Cormac,” she replied, pulling the sword clear of the earth and offering it to him hilt first.

  The sun sank, the last glimmerings of light fading in the western sky. A cool wind rose, hissing through the long grass. Cormac shivered and took his sword to the waiting Revelation.

  “Sit down and gaze upon the blade,” said Revelation.

  “It is a part of you now. Your harmony, your spirit, your life flows through it. These three mysteries a warrior must understand: life, harmony, and spirit. The first is life, sometimes called the Greek gift, for it is taken back day after day. What is it? It is breath, it is laughter, it is joy. It is a candle whose flame falls toward a tomb. The brighter the light, the shorter its existence. But one thing is certain, and this the warrior knows. All lives end. A man can hide in a cave all his days, avoiding war, avoiding pestilence, and still he will one day die. Better the bright flame, the great joy. A man who has never known sorrow can never appreciate joy. So the man who has not faced death can never understand life.

  “Harmony, Cormac, is the second mystery. The tree knows harmony, and the breeze and the quiet stars. Man rarely finds it. Find it now, here on this lonely hill. Listen to the beating of your heart, feel the air in your lungs, see the glory of the moon. Be at one with the night. Be at one with these stones. Be at one with your sword and yourself. For in harmony is strength, and in strength there is life.

  “Lastly there is spirit. Tonight you will want to run … to hide … to escape. But spirit will tell you to stand firm. It is a small voice and easy to shut out. But you will listen. For spirit is all a man has against the darkness. And only by following the voice of spirit can a man grow strong. Courage, loyalty, friendship, and love are all gifts of spirit.

  “I know you cannot understand now all that I am saying, but soak the words into your soul. For tonight you will see evil and know despair.”

  “I will not run. I will not hide,” said the boy.

  Revelation placed his hand on Cormac’s shoulder. “I know that.”

  A swirling mist rose up around them like the smoke of a great fire, rolling tendrils questing across the circle and recoiling as they touched the chalk lines. Higher and higher it rose, closing over their heads in a gray dome. Cormac’s mouth was dry, but sweat dripped into his eyes. He wiped it clear and stood with his sword at the ready.

  “Be calm,” Revelation said softly.

  A sibilant whispering began within the mist, and Cormac heard his name being called over and over. Then the gray wall parted, and he saw Grysstha kneeling at the edge of the circle, the two arrows still jutting from his chest.

  “Help me, boy,” groaned the old man.

  “Grysstha!” yelled Cormac, moving toward him, but Revelation’s hand gripped his arm.

  “It is a lie, Cormac. That is not your friend.”

  “It is! I know him.”

  “Then how is he here, forty miles from where his body lay? No, it is a deceit.”

  “Help me, Cormac. Why won’t you help me? I spent my years helping you.”

  “Be strong, boy,” whispered Revelation, “and think on this: If he loved you, why would he call you to be sla
in by demons? It is not him.”

  Cormac swallowed hard, tearing his eyes from the kneeling man. Then the figure rose, the flesh stripping away like the skin of a snake. It swelled and curved, dark horns sprouting from its brow, long gleaming fangs rimming its mouth.

  “I see you!” it hissed, pointing a taloned finger at Revelation. “I know you!”

  A black sword appeared in its hand, and it rushed at the slender chalk line. White fire blossomed, scorching its skin. It fell back, screaming, then attacked once more. Other bestial figures appeared behind it, screeching and calling. Cormac hefted his sword, the blade gleaming white as captured moonlight. The mass beyond the circle charged, and a thunderous explosion roared from the ground. Many of the demonic beasts fell back, writhing and covered in flames, but three entered the circle. Revelation raised his staff over his head and was instantly clothed in black and silver armor, the staff now a silver lance that split into two swords of dazzling brightness. He leapt to meet the attackers, and with a wild scream Cormac rushed to aid him.

  A demon with the face of a lion lunged at him with a dark sword. Cormac blocked the blow, rolled his wrists, and sent his own blade hissing into the creature’s neck. Green gore fountained into the air, and the beast fell dying.

  “The girl! Guard the girl!” screamed Revelation.

  Cormac swung his eyes from Revelation’s battle with the two demons to see Anduine being dragged from the altar by two men. Without pause for thought, he leapt forward. The first of the men ran at him, and the boy saw that his attacker’s eyes were as red as blood. As the man’s mouth opened to reveal long curved fangs, fear struck Cormac like a physical blow and his pace faltered. But just as the creature bore down on him with terrifying speed, the boy’s courage flared. The sword flashed up to block a blow from a slender dagger and then down, cleaving the demon’s collarbone and exiting through the belly. With a hideous scream the beast died. Cormac hurdled the body, and the creature holding Anduine threw her to one side and drew a gray sword.

  “Your blood is mine,” it hissed, baring its fangs.

  Their swords met in flashing arcs, and Cormac was forced back across the circle in a desperate effort to ward off the demonic attack. Within seconds he knew he was hopelessly outclassed. Three times his enemy’s sword was blocked within inches of his throat, and every counter of his own was turned aside with contemptuous ease. Suddenly he tripped over a jutting rock, tumbling to his back. The demon leapt for him, the sword slashing down … only to be blocked by the blade of Revelation. The silver-armored warrior brushed aside a second blow, spun on his heel, and beheaded his opponent.

  As suddenly as it had come, the mist disappeared, the stars and moon shining with pure light on the stones.

  “Are we safe?” whispered Cormac as Revelation pulled him to his feet. Beyond the circle stood seven Viking warriors.

  “Not yet,” said Revelation.

  The black-clad man they had seen in Noviomagus stepped forward. “Release the girl and you will live.”

  “Come and take her,” offered Revelation, and the warriors advanced in a grim line, some holding swords and others holding axes. Cormac stood rooted to the spot, waiting for Revelation to signal a move. When it came, it surprised the Vikings as much as it astonished Cormac.

  Revelation charged.

  His swords slashed down at the first men in the line, and two were dead in that instant. In the chaotic melee that followed Cormac screamed a wild battle cry and launched himself at the Vikings to Revelation’s right, his sword hammering into a man’s arm and half severing it. The attacker yelled in pain and leapt to his left, blocking his comrades’ attack on Cormac. The boy lunged his sword into the man’s suddenly unprotected belly, then shoulder charged his way through them.

  A sword sliced into his shoulder, but diving to the ground, he rolled under a swinging ax, crashing into the axman’s legs. The Viking tumbled to the ground, and Cormac swung his sword viciously into his neck. Bright blood spurted over the blade. Rising to his feet, he saw that Revelation had killed the last of the warriors; the black-clad leader was sprinting away across the circle. Revelation swept up a fallen ax and hurled it with terrifying force to take the leader in the back of the neck, almost severing the head. Cormac glanced around the circle, but no fresh enemies could be seen. Then he looked toward Revelation and froze, his sword dropping from his fingers.

  Gone was the beard and the lion’s mane of silver hair. Instead, standing before him was the dark-haired warrior of his dream, the man who had leapt from the cliff on the day Cormac was born.

  “What is the matter, boy? Is my real face so terrible?”

  “It is to me,” said Cormac. “Tell me your name, your true name.”

  “I am Culain lach Feragh, once called the Lance Lord.”

  “The Great Betrayer.”

  Culain’s gray eyes locked onto Cormac’s. “I have been called that—and not without justification. But what is it to you?”

  “I am the babe you left in the cave, the son you left to rot.”

  Culain’s eyes closed, and he turned away momentarily. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned to Cormac.

  “Can you prove this?”

  “I don’t have to. I know who I am. Grysstha found me the day you … I was going to say died, but that is obviously not true. You helped my mother to the Cave of Sol Invictus. You told her you were sorry you had led her to this. Then you killed those men and went to the cliff top. There you threw the sword into a tree while the horseman and the cripple watched.”

  “Even if you were the babe, you were too young to see all that,” said Culain.

  Cormac lifted the stone from around his neck and tossed it to the warrior. “I didn’t know any of it until the day I ran away, when I slept in the cave and saw a vision. But I was found in that cave, beside the warhound and her pups, and for all my life men have called me ‘demon’s son.’ Had it not been for Grysstha, I would have been slain then.”

  “We thought you dead,” whispered Culain.

  “For years I dreamed you would come for me … it gave me hope and strength. But you never did. Why did you not come back—even to bury your son?”

  “You are not my son, Cormac. Would that you were!”

  “But you were with her!”

  “I loved her, but I am not your father. That honor goes to her husband, Uther, high king of Britain.”

  Cormac stared at the strong, square face of the warrior who had been Revelation and searched in his own heart for hatred. There was nothing. In that moment of recognition something had died within the boy, and its passing had been masked by his instant anger. Now that anger was gone, and Cormac was more truly alone than he had ever been.

  “I am sorry, boy,” said Culain. “Pick up your sword. We must go.”

  “Go?” whispered Cormac. “I’ll not go with you.”

  He retrieved his blade, turned his back on Culain and Anduine, and began to walk toward the south and Noviomagus. But just before he reached the edge of the circle a blinding flash of light reared up before him, and his vision swam. As swiftly as it had come, the brightness was gone, and Cormac blinked.

  Ahead of him was not the scene of recent memory, the sea glistening darkly beyond the white walls of Noviomagus. Instead, mountains reared against the horizon, snow-capped and majestic, cloaked in forests of pine and rowan.

  “We need to speak,” said Culain. “And you are safer here.”

  Suddenly Cormac’s anger flared once more, this time as a berserk fury. Without a word he leapt at Culain, sword flashing for the man’s head. Culain blocked the blow with dazzling speed but was forced back by the ferocious double-handed assault. Time and again Cormac came within scant inches of delivering the death blow, but each attack was countered with astonishing skill. In the background, unable to see what was happening, Anduine stumbled forward with arms outstretched, calling their names. In his rage Cormac did not notice the blind girl, and his sword slashed in a wide arc, missing Culain
and slicing toward the girl. Culain leapt feetfirst at the boy, catapulting him from his feet, the swinging sword catching Anduine high in the shoulder. Blood spurted from the scored flesh and Anduine screamed, but Culain ran to her, holding Cormac’s stone against the wound, which sealed instantly.

  From the ground Cormac viewed the scene with horror and deep shame. He sat up and, leaving his sword where it lay, approached the others.

  “I am sorry, Anduine. I did not see you.”

  She reached out, and he took her hand. Her smile was as welcome as sunshine after a storm.

  “Are we all friends again?” she asked. Cormac could not reply, and from Culain there was a grim silence. “How sad,” said Anduine, her smile fading.

  “I will find some wood for a fire,” said Culain. “We will camp here tonight, and tomorrow we will journey into the mountains. I used to have a home here; it will afford us safety for a while at least.”

  He stood and wandered from the circle. Under the bright moonlight Cormac sat with Anduine, unable to find the words to approach her. But he held to her hand as if it were a talisman.

  She shivered. “You are cold?”

  “A little.”

  Reluctantly he released her hand and fetched the blanket, which he wrapped around her slender frame. During the battle with the Vikings the spell of changing had vanished, and now she was as Cormac had first seen her: dark-haired and possessed of a fragile beauty. She held the blanket to her with both hands, and Cormac felt the absence of her touch.

  “Has your anger gone?” she asked.

  “No, it is waiting deep inside me. I feel it like the winter chill. I wish I did not.”

  “Revelation is not your enemy.”

  “I know. But he betrayed me, he left me.”

  “He thought you dead.”

  “But I wasn’t! All the years of my life have been filled with pain. Had it not been for Grysstha, I would have died. And no one would have cared. I never knew my mother; I never felt her touch or her love. And why? Because Culain stole her from her husband. From my father! It was wrong!”