The Swordbearer - By Glen Cook Page 0,15

soul. He could not identify the stalker.

Sometimes he thought the dreams symbolic of his association with the Sword, or with the puppet master Theis Rogala, or with the mysterious Suchara. As often, he suspected his subconscious was reacting to being hunted by Nevenka Nieroda.

Whatever, it cost him invaluable rest. He became nervous and irritable. He engaged in growling matches with Rogala. The dwarf began watching him closely, obviously puzzled.

Shortly after the eighth sleep, Rogala announced, "We go topside in an hour."

"Finally. I hope it's daytime." His spirits rose. His strength and will returned. "I've had enough of these caves to do me the rest of my life."

"Don't get your hopes up, boy. We might have to come back down." Rogala always looked on the dark side.

"Daubendiek . . . . "

"Has its limitations. It's not ready for another of those . . . those . . . whatever possessed that man. We have to stay out of their way till it is."

Gathrid thought of Anyeck, of Kacalief, and grew angry. Yet the pain and loss had begun to pale. Others of his feelings seemed oddly weak too. The effect puzzled him.

"Theis," he asked, "does the Sword? . . . Will it kill my emotions?"

"Eh? The contrary, I'm told. Makes them more intense."

"Then why don't I feel? . . . "

"Ah. How much can a man bear? How much of the agony of another life can he assimilate? You'll feel it later, boy. When there's time. The mind is remarkable that way. Knows when it can indulge and when it can't. It can't now. It's got to worry about staying alive. That what's been bothering you?"

"No." He did not elaborate. His nightmares seemed foolish by day.

Day was hurrying into bloody sunset when they resurfaced. A thick layer of smoke deepened the red. Around the horizon, like the pillars of the sky, smoke rose from countless fires.

"They're burning Gudermuth to the ground!" Gathrid cried.

"Quiet!"

Then Gathrid, too, heard the faint sound of approaching hooves. A Ventimiglian patrol passed nearby and continued on toward a small encampment near the smouldering ruins of a village. A picket of crucifixes surrounded camp and town. The easterners had shown no mercy.

After a long look, Rogala asked, "It's always like this?"

"I guess. The stories out of Grevening were grisly."

The dwarf had seen grim doings during the Brothers' War, yet the savagery of the Ventimiglians seemed to shake him. "But why? Why slaughter a beaten people? Especially harmless peasants?"

"The Mindak swore he would destroy or enslave everyone. The only buy-off was to surrender the Sword. We didn't believe it existed."

Rogala's face twisted into the cruelest expression Gathrid had ever seen. It smoothed out in an instant. "He'll get it. Between the ribs. But that'll wait. Where are we?"

"I don't know."

"It's your country, isn't it?"

"I never traveled much."

"What's forty miles southwest of the place where we met?"

"The grain-growing counties. Small towns, small castles. We didn't do anything big, though. Katich is the only real city in Gudermuth."

"Don't apologize. There's a lot to be said for the rural life. The city. What direction is it?"

"West. Thirty or forty miles more, I guess. I don't know for sure. I'm sorry."

"Another apology. The Swordbearer doesn't apologize. Men apologize to him. Remember that. Be arrogant. It's expected. So. Make it forty miles just to be sure. I've had enough walking. We'll steal horses. Can you ride?"

Gathrid scowled. The dwarf seemed to think him a total incompetent. "Yes. But Katich would be under siege. It may have fallen."

"Not to worry. Best place to hide from an enemy is in his shadow. Gives you the chance to watch over his shoulder. And stab him in the back if the mood hits you. Don't give me that look. You want to stay alive, Sword or no, you'd better learn this lesson. You get your enemies any way you can. Fight fair, play the brave chevalier, and you're going to get your guts spilled."

Darkness settled in fast. Soon the Ventimiglian encampment was distinguishable only by its campfires, gleaming like bright little stars . . . . Gathrid glanced eastward. Yes. "Theis, look at that." He pointed.

"What?"

"The comet."

The dwarf cursed and muttered and groaned. "That again. It's going to be another rough one."

"Was there a comet before the Brothers' War?"

To his surprise, Rogala answered him. "Yeah. The same one. The same damned one. It's going to be rugged, boy. 'Bout time to visit our friends over there."

"I don't think I'm up to horse-stealing right now, Theis. I haven't got