The Swordbearer - By Glen Cook Page 0,22

ready to panic. Gathrid saw, and did not care.

But he could not see himself.

From across the frontier they saw Nieroda huge in an envelope of Cimmerian mist, and past him a blinding man-shape of fire surrounded by aquamarine haze. The haze had about it suggestions of a woman's face. Some even saw blood-red eyes burning over the Swordbearer's shoulders.

Daubendiek, too, had its apparent growth and backing aura. For a moment the Swordbearer had a fist filled with blades, as if Daubendiek itself were but the iceberg tip of an enchantment spanning multiple dimensions.

For Gathrid the world continued to diminish, to narrow, to become unreal, till his universe contained but one concrete object. The Enemy. The thing that called itself Nevenka Nieroda.

A vagary crossed his mind. Had Nieroda ever been human?

The darkness and its content remained motionless, waiting, ignoring Gathrid's challenge. It seemed indecisive, as if no longer certain that its own challenge had been wise.

With a Daubendiek that seemed a half-dozen yards long Gathrid clove the Nieroda-darkness. A bolt like that which had slain his horse ripped into the haze surrounding him. He laughed. It tickled.

More than ever, Daubendiek demonstrated a life and will of its own. It moved in deadly patterns no mortal eye could follow, punishing to the limit the weapon which strove to turn it. That was a blade brother to the one once borne by Obers Lek. It had no hope of victory. It screamed out its life as Daubendiek chopped shrapnel from its edge. The Sword sang in a high, exultant voice.

The end came swiftly. Nieroda's blade died with a despairing wail, becoming mortal metal which Daubendiek cut as easily as spidersilk. With a berserker's one-handed backhand swing, Gathrid removed Nieroda's head.

The dark mist faded. A headless little man collapsed. A susurrus of awe ran through the Alliance army.

And Gathrid knew that he had been cheated. He had won a hollow victory. He had slain another man already dead. The thing that had been Nevenka Nieroda had abandoned the body moments before the mortal blow. It remained alive to work its mischief elsewhere. They would meet again, and next time Nieroda would bear crueler weapons.

Gathrid looked around. Whence he had come a half-dozen Toal on dragon mounts had turned their backs and were departing. He would not be able to catch them even were he so inclined.

The small, hairy thing pranced and babbled at his feet, pointing westward. Gathrid stalked toward his motherland's frontier with her protector, Bilgoraj. "Kimach Faulstich, you great King, why have you forsaken your neighbor?" He hoped his words thundered off the hills behind the Alliance army. He was in a vicious rage. King Kimach had failed to keep faith. There would be a reckoning.

They sensed his wrath, over there, though they did not hear it. Hundreds fled. Thousands remained, rooted in their fear.

But as he drew closer the aura and Power leaked away from him. He dwindled. He took his first step into a foreign land as Gathrid of Kacalief, a bewildered sixteen-year-old Gudermuther completely unhappy with the fate that had singled him out.

Calculation replaced fear in the eyes of one Brotherhood observer. He was a fat man all in red. He summoned his henchmen.

Certain allied Kings did the same.

Chapter Six

The Allies

Rogala stared at the map Gathrid had drawn, committing it to memory. The youth said, "It's pretty rough. It's been two years since I studied geography. Right now we're about two hundred yards inside the Bilgoraji border, here."

"It's good enough. The shape of the land hasn't changed, just the borders and names. Not much left of Anderle, is there?"

"You didn't leave a lot to build on. The Hattori and Oldani barbarians came out of the north and overran what was left. They set up a lot of little kingdoms of their own. Those have been banging away at each other for centuries, trying to take each other over. There're only a few of the original royal families left. Then the Emperor plays one King off against another, trying to weaken them, hoping to resurrect the Imperium's old glory. All the Kings say, yeah, it's great to have the Empire around—as a referee in their squabbles—but they don't want it making a real comeback. When you add the Brotherhood to that already thick soup, you have a real devil's stew."

They had been given a tent near the edge of the Alliance camp. Elsewhere, captains and Kings were trying to adjust to the presence of the Swordbearer and, perhaps, arrogating to