more of Ansorge? You'll see how hopeless it would be for one man to try anything."
Gathrid suspected he was being maneuvered away from the Eye. How could he harm it, though? By slaughtering the old man? "Might as well."
Later, he asked, "And why are you here? You should be getting your army under control."
"Those brigades have been written off. A while without pay, supplies or word from home will make them more amenable. But you're part right. I can't wait forever. Sooner or later, Nieroda will turn eastward. Probably after defeating Cuneo, while the troops are heady."
"That's not saying why you're here, only why you're not there."
"The will of Chuchain? I think the Great Ones mean us to be allies."
Gathrid half expected that. Visions of Kacalief returned. The excesses there had been committed by the Toal, but this was the man who had given the order to march.
"I know," Ahlert said. "It's ridiculous. We're enemies. I destroyed everything that meant anything to you. I lured your sister to her death. And you slew my myth of invincibility by slaying her. My throne will never be secure again. I can't raze Ventimiglia to expunge that memory. And you stole my chance to control all four Powers before they fully wakened. I had Chuchain, Bachesta and Ulalia. I would've had Suchara but for foul luck. All ambition is vanity."
"Still . . . "
"Where lies the greater evil?"
It had been laid out like playing cards face up. Gang up on Nieroda. Make alliance with the old enemy, or face the Dark Champion alone.
Gathrid did not like it. It forced another questionable decision. He had faced nothing else since discovering the Great Sword. Nothing in this mad world, now, could be reduced to black and white.
"You convince the mind but not the heart."
"I know. I have the same conflicts. Let the intellect rule passion for a while."
Gathrid recognized a rock formation. "You're headed for the surface?"
Ahlert nodded. "We'll have to move fast if we do ally. The Toal up there will know instantly. It'll act. We'll have to be there to stop it."
Gathrid pondered. The Mindak, though harsh, was human. Nieroda was something undead, something come back from the grave to torment the living.
Assuming Ahlert was telling the truth. This talk could be all maneuver . . . . "How can I believe you?"
"A touchy point. You could wait and see. That's always good. But in this case it would be too late by the time you got proof."
"It would," Gathrid agreed.
"I'm strong. Ventimiglia is strong. But our system makes it impossible for me to command the Empire's whole strength. I depend on the support of the Corichs, the organizers of the peasant brigades. They're frightened. Nieroda is a mistress of elder sorceries. Horrors we can't comprehend these days. If you had time to go down and see the past . . . " He seemed to disappear inside himself.
"Yes?"
"What? Oh. I can't win alone. She'd seize control of Ventimiglia. With the Empire and her ancient sorceries she would tear at the world like a wounded tiger. She'd destroy everything."
"You've given this some thought."
"A lot of thought." Ahlert stopped walking. "I'm going to place myself in your power. I'm betting you'll resist temptation long enough to learn the truth." Hands shaking, the Mindak removed the Ordrope Diadem. "Squat down here."
Gathrid was frightened. He had an urge to say he believed, and never mind the truth. Then an imp of suspicion whispered at his ear. Suppose that was what Ahlert was fishing for? He dropped to one knee.
The Mindak accepted the challenge.
The Diadem seemed weightless. A man could forget he wore it.
Gathrid rose. Pale, grim, Ahlert stared at the ruby. His dark eyes glazed. His personality hit Gathrid like a sudden storm. The cold power of it drove the youth back against the cavern wall.
He rolled with the force, released mental channels worn smooth by the Sword's predations. He learned more than he wanted to know. He yanked the Diadem off, thrust it at its owner. To live with that continuously, seeing every man's bleak black deeps . . . . It was too much. Ahlert had an incredible will.
"You saw?" the Mindak demanded.
Gathrid nodded. Ahlert had not lied. His Western army had gone mad. It had to be neutralized.
The impossible had become imperative. His conscience allowed him no choice. He and Daubendiek had to serve Ventimiglia in order that he might serve his own people.
The Toal awaited them beyond the cave mouth. It snapped