The Swordbearer

by Glen Cook

  "He's been more help than trouble. Usually he doesn't get involved."

  "You've got some new ghosts, haven't you?"

  Hildreth was perceptive. "Too many. Way too many." They reached a portico surrounding the Raftery, that once had been the Palace of Chrismer. Surly men in red tried to keep them from entering. Gathrid rested a hand on the hilt of the Sword. They parted.

  That's real power, he thought. But how much longer would Daubendiek tolerate being used only as a threat?

  Hildreth muttered, "I'd like to see those boys go through the Brotherhood entry test again. The only power they can handle is muscle power."

  Delegates from the five Orders packed the Grand Forum of the Raftery, their robes forming rainbow stripes. Gathrid saw just one empty seat. That was the throne of the Fray Magister.

  In days of yore it had been Chrismer's audience throne.

  The waterfall roar of voices diminished as people recognized the Swordbearer. Gerdes Mulenex met Gathrid's eye. His face became as red as his robe. He controlled himself, managed a half-mocking bow.

  "I don't know what you can do," Hildreth whispered. "But try something. You're the last hope. For the Raftery and the Empire."

  Gathrid descended the worn marble steps leading to the main floor. The delegates were seated on benches surrounding that, rising stadium fashion. The handful of men down on the circular floor appeared to be the leaders of factions, negotiating deals.

  Gathrid walked across that floor and mounted the small, circular speaker's rostrum. Mulenex sputtered, but did not stop him. He turned slowly, surveyed the silent gathering.

  Daubendiek moaned. The audience heard, but appeared more interested in the other blade. It whined as well, at a higher pitch.

  Gathrid said, "On the spot where I stand, where the bloodstains remain to remind us of the cost of not questioning the follies we hear, the Winged Tempter perished at the hand of my predecessor." He pointed. "Blood. Blood. Blood. There's no end to the blood when the affairs of nations are managed by fools. There're a hundred tales told about the Great Sword, and the Swordbearer, and their roles in the Brothers' War. Most are but shadows of fact. Listen while I tell the true story of Tureck Aarant."

  He closed his eyes and blanked his mind and yielded his mouth to his predecessor. Out poured words and warnings formulated by Tureck Aarant himself. "Then, as today, men were not the masters of their destinies. Only a handful knew the truth. They weren't allowed to tell it. But today I can. The eye of Suchara has wandered for the moment.

  "The Immortal Twins, and all the great names of the Brothers' War, weren't fighting for their beliefs or ambitions. They were toys. They were pawns."

  Theis Rogala went narrow-eyed and pale. Gathrid knew things he should not. He related details of Aarant's life that only Tureck and his esquire could have known. Somehow, Suchara had erred. Something strange had happened.

  The youth paused. He surveyed his audience. He saw puzzled looks, hostile looks, friendly looks. Hardly a face bore the stamp of disbelief. He suspected the Brothers had access to undoctored accounts of the war, where a glimmer of the truth would have shown through.

  To a man the delegates were attentive.

  "I am the Swordbearer," he thundered, smiting the rostrum with a fist. His audience jumped. "I am the Chosen! I am the Eater of Souls and Discoverer of Secrets. I have one of the latter to share. It belonged to Brother Sagis Gruhala of the Blue, whose true allegiance was Red, and whose doom overtook him in Torun.

  "Brother Gruhala was a lucky man. The agents of the Imperium, of the Blue, and of the Red, all sought him. He eluded them all and found himself a place in Torun's underworld. Then chance or a jest of the Great Old Ones caused our paths to cross."

  Gathrid studied Mulenex while he related details of the murder of Honsa Eldracher and the betrayal of Katich.

  "And that, Brethren, is Truth. Tally these details against the facts you know. Then try to deny it."

  The long silence died. The mood became dangerous. Blues charged onto the floor. Mulenex looked round like a trapped rat seeking an avenue of escape. The color fled his gross face.

  Here and there, fists flew.

  A grim, pale Count Cuneo joined Gathrid. "Well done, lad," he said. "But a count too late. They finished the balloting before we arrived. He was elected."

  "They can't reverse themselves?"

  "Only by hastening his elevation to a higher plane." The Count wheeled, waved. A trumpeter winded his instrument till order was restored. Hildreth assumed the rostrum.

  "Gentlemen, an announcement of import. Let me get it in before the brawling begins. I've just received a communiqué from the Imperial Legate at Torun." He waved a letter. "It says the Mindak Ahlert, having concluded an Alliance with Bochantin, has brought his army through the Gastreich Pass in the Lowenguth Mountains. He's sweeping south out of Bochantin. Kimach of Bilgoraj has disappeared in mysterious circumstances. He didn't establish a regency or inform anyone of his whereabouts. There's no one in charge there. The Bilgoraji army is collapsing. The Alliance garrisons in the Beklavac narrows are cut off. Because you're here, there's no wizardry to neutralize Ahlert's Power. The Legate says Bilgoraj is done. His letter is eight days old."

  The Brothers seemed bewildered. A few expressed outright disbelief.

  Gathrid watched Mulenex. The Magister's response was interesting. The man became so outraged he was inarticulate. He looked ready for a fit of apoplexy.

  Hildreth bellowed into the uproar. "Gentlemen! Our survival is at stake. Brotherhood and Imperium alike. It's time to set aside everything but desperation."

  They let him speak, though the confusion did not subside. Not a man sat quietly. The animosity between Red and Blue became palpable.

  Hildreth shouted, "Till now Bilgoraj has been a stone wall keeping the wolves out of our sheep cot. Now that barricade is gone. The predator is upon us. Only Malmberget can field a significant army.

  "But! Brethren, but! Ahlert is weak. He spent his winter campaigning. He had a bitter time downing Nieroda's rebels. He may not be strong enough to follow up this triumph.

  "Nevertheless, he'll try. He's seen the consequences of indecision. He may swing to the opposite extreme. If he does so, we can expect him at the gates of the Maurath within the month. If he comes, Malmberget won't have time to intercept him—assuming they're inclined to try.

  "If Sartain goes, the west goes. Anderle isn't a great power these days, but it has emotional import. Ahlert knows that as well as anyone.

  "The Swordbearer has been in the east. I haven't had time to ask about Ahlert's strengths and weaknesses. While I'm talking with him, I suggest you put aside your differences and turn your wits to helping Sartain survive. Your lives are on the line too. You'll be the first put to the sword.

  "Let's save the squabbling till we can afford it."

  Hildreth stepped down. He handed the Legate's message to Gerdes Mulenex. "Give it some honest thought, Gerdes." He turned to Gathrid. "Come with me." He strode to the exit stair.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Maurath

  The man has his occasional flash of brilliance," Yedon Hildreth observed. He, Gathrid and Rogala were watching Ahlert's approach from the Maurath's roof. "But he's bet everything on one pass of the dice."

  Even with the addition of western renegades and his allies from Bochantin, Ahlert had fewer troops than he had brought across the Karato.

  "You should always hold something back," Hildreth said. "You've got to keep a surprise or two tucked away. And you should, by damn, have an exit in case things go sour."

  Gathrid peered across the countryside. The Mindak's western friends were having a good time plundering the farm villages.

  Count Cuneo continued to think aloud. "He can't starve us out. He'd have to close the lanes to the sea to do that. I don't see how he can take the Maurath and cross the Causeway, either. He's in a spot. He has to take Sartain before Malmberget arrives. If he doesn't, he's dead."

  "He
's got a plan," Rogala said.

  "Of course he does. He wouldn't be here if he didn't. I'm just trying to figure out what the hell it is. Wish I'd beaten him to Avenevoli."

  As soon as he had convinced himself that Ahlert was coming, Hildreth had taken the Guards east in hopes of repeating his famed victory. The Mindak, probably through the agency of Magnolo Belfiglio, had anticipated him. His cavalry had taken the ferries and the heights overlooking them. The Count had retired without offering battle.

  "I doubt he's found anything to replace Nieroda and the Toal," Gathrid said. "And he knows the Sword is here. He's trying to bluff us. Or his dreams of conquest have driven him completely mad."

  Rogala's permanent companion, Gacioch, chuckled wickedly. He refused to reveal what he found amusing. When the dwarf threatened to put chains through his ears and wear him as a necklace, he did remark, "The caverns of Ansorge contain more evils than you ever thought, Theis."

  Gathrid could not fathom the remark. Rogala seemed aggravated by it.

  Magnolo Belfiglio, by informing his master of Count Cuneo's thoughts, would allow Ahlert a tactical advantage, Gathrid thought. But that would not reduce the Maurath and its satellite sub-fortresses. They were too formidable for the host the Mindak had brought.

  "He's not wasting time," Rogala remarked.

  It was early. Ahlert had spent the night camped beyond the promontory from which Gathrid had first seen Sartain. His forces were dividing into units facing the outer line of fortresses. Some of them would have to be reduced before the Maurath could be approached. Their war engines had punishing, overlapping fields of fire.

  Attacking those outer works would be expensive. Each boasted a garrison of six hundred seasoned Guards supported by a dozen skilled Brothers. The fortilices had been designed by the best military architects of recent centuries. Neither Rogala nor Hildreth believed Ahlert's manpower resources sufficient to reduce more than two or three.

  Then there was the Maurath, the elephantine, wolverine fortress designed to withstand the efforts of a hundred-thousand attackers.

  The more he thought about the situation, the more nervous Gathrid became. The Mindak had to be armed with something really devastating.

  Ahlert's forces moved with a swiftness and precision amazing for such a mixed bag of fighting men.

  Men in dark armor, on dark horses, advanced under a flag of truce. Behind them, Ventimiglian quartermasters spread out across the abandoned fields, staking out campsites and erecting biers for the expected dead. They trampled the freshly planted crops. A company of peasant militiamen near Gathrid cursed and shook their fists.

  "There's confidence for you," Rogala muttered. "He figures he'll be here long enough to properly care for his dead." No biers had been erected before the battle at Kacalief.

  "At least he's still realist enough to expect casualties," Hildreth replied.

  The parleying party stopped at a respectful distance. Only the Mindak and his standardbearer came closer.

  "Don't look directly at him," Gathrid warned. "He's wearing the Ordrope Diadem."

  "Grellner's toy?" Hildreth asked. "I wasn't sure he'd recovered it."

  "Don't be surprised by anything. Ansorge is a cellar filled with black miracles."

  "Let's go see what he's got to say."

  Above the tunnel through the Maurath was an alcove-balcony for confrontations such as this. The tunnel itself had been sealed by massive stones forced up from road level by water pumped into chambers beneath them. The tunnel, in theory, would be harder to break through than the immensely thick wall of the Maurath itself.

  "Gathrid. Theis." The Mindak wore what appeared to be a genuinely friendly smile. "Glad to see that you're still well. I'd feared for your health. These westerners are treacherous."

  Aarant prodded Gathrid. "They are that. It hasn't been that long since I heard one of their Kings plotting to betray the rest to you."

  "Ah. Poor Kimach. You see? He was a greedy man. And a fool. He was a flawed tool at best. He would have broken in heavy work. And he knew it. No doubt he's happier where he is now. The gentleman with you, I presume, is the renowned Count Cuneo?"

  Hildreth bowed slightly. Because Ahlert had chosen to speak Old Petralian, the formalities had to be observed. "I'd hoped to meet you earlier, Sir."

  "At Avenevoli? But I was there! I heard you were in the area. I'm sorry we missed each other."

  "Such is luck. Such is luck. I suppose conditions weren't propitious for any early meeting."

  "And Mead?" Gathrid interjected. "I trust she's well?"

  Ahlert managed to look startled, wistful, and mildly annoyed. "Magnolo says she's as well as can be expected. She bore me a son two days ago." He glanced eastward for a fraction of a second, his dream momentarily interrupted by the anxieties of a husband. "Your lady, too, is resting well. I knew you would've wanted the right thing done. I took the liberty of having artisans prepare a suitable resting place. And another for your sister as well." He peered at Gathrid intently, as if trying to determine whether or not the youth was surprised. "May we all have the good fortune to revisit those places and people whence our heartroots spring."

  Hildreth was puzzled by the personal exchange. He brought the conversation back to the present. "That's a big traveling party you've brought on your pilgrimage to pledge fealty to the Empire."

  "When one visits Sartain, I'm told, no display of pomp and power is too great."

  "This one isn't great enough."

  "Perhaps not. Yet we petition entry, and audience with the Emperor and Fray Magister. I note that the latter isn't represented in your party. That's curious."

  "He finds himself occupied elsewhere. No doubt he'll be heartbroken when he hears that you departed without making his acquaintance."

  Mulenex and the best minds of the Brotherhood were deep in the bowels of the Raftery. They were trying to discover the source of the Mindak's confidence. And some means of negating it.

  "That would never do. I'll have to insist on paying him a visit."

  "The Emperor has bid us tell all would-be visitors that the Causeway is closed. My apologies, Sir."

  Gathrid found the evasions and false politenesses amusing. Petralian was a language for diplomats. It seemed to have been specially shaped for men who wished to avoid being pinned down.

  "That's final? Beyond compromise?"

  "Unfortunately."

  "A pity, though not unanticipated. Gathrid, my best. Theis, the same to you. Have you heard from our friend from Sommerlath? She'd be interested in our reunion, I think."

  So, Gathrid thought. He knows Nieroda survived. And he doesn't consider her a danger at the moment.

  "No. Nothing," he replied. Probing with little hope of illumination, "You wouldn't know where she is, would you?"

  The Mindak smiled a tired, wary smile. "She's where she always is when you don't see her. Looking over your shoulder. I suppose there's nothing more to be said. Count?"

  Hildreth's frown suggested he was puzzled by the exchange. "That's all."

  "So be it, then. So be it." Ahlert returned to his party. As he went, he thrust an arm toward the east, making a come hither gesture.

  Hildreth asked, "What's that about?"

  Gathrid shrugged. "I don't know him that well."

  "We'll find out the hard way," Rogala said. "Let's get back upstairs."

  When they reached the battlements they saw that a low, dense blackness now masked the eastern skyline. Occasional clouds surged up, collapsed back into the onrushing wave.

  "A storm?" Hildreth wondered. "Out of the east? Signalmen. Pass the final alert."

  Men with wigwag flags and mirrors communicated with Sartain and the satellite fortresses, bringing them to maximum readiness.

  The Mindak reshuffled his forces but did not attack.

  Gathrid stared eastward. The darkness drew closer. In places great banks of blackness rose to obscure the morning sun. His nervousness grew, though there was nothing to do but wait. The
re were no more preparations to make.

  "Those are birds or something," he gasped. "Big ones, too."

  Hildreth swore. "We should have nets."

  "Too late," Rogala said.

  The Count signaled the island anyway. "We'll strip the fishing fleet. For the next attack."

  Gacioch laughed. "That's what I like. A man with a positive outlook."

  "Shut up!" Rogala snarled.

  It grew dark. Gathrid muttered, "I hope this place is as invincible as everyone claims." He had his doubts now.

  The things were terrier-sized. They had long leathery wings and jaws like crocodiles. Hundreds of thousands descended on the Maurath. Their stench was overpowering. Gathrid felt as though he had fallen into a bat cave as big as the world. He swung Daubendiek in a murderous blur.