The Swordbearer - By Glen Cook Page 0,63

not forget what had happened here. That thirst for revenge would stay with him, like a tropical disease, and would keep shaping his behavior . . . .

Could that be why Nieroda had selected this site? For its impact on the Swordbearer?

Maybe there was something to Mead's viewpoint after all.

Gathrid, though, believed that he had banished his old pain. He was interested only in Loida. The journey west had changed her. And it had changed him, he admitted. They were growing up.

What would become of her after he was gone?

He remained convinced that his days were numbered.

He had to find some way to make sure she did not fall captive again. She had been hurt enough. A visit to the ruins of Rigdon had crushed her. The site of her childhood home had been a tangle of brambles and vines under which had lain blackened stone and bleached bones.

The Aarant soul told him to be careful with Loida. Suchara was a jealous mistress.

Tureck was the strongest of his secondary souls. He alone had managed to retain some individuation.

Gathrid still was not accustomed to its pressure. Aarant had brought him all the minds he had acquired as Swordbearer. It was weird, being able to remember things that had happened a thousand years before his birth.

"Swordbearer!" Rogala called.

Gathrid turned reluctantly. "What?"

"We're ready. The last battle is about to begin. You want to pay attention here?"

"This is no Armageddon, Theis. It's just an episode on the road to the last battle. And you know it."

Rogala raised an eyebrow. The youth no longer sounded like Gathrid of Kacalief.

Gathrid added, "This isn't anything but a preliminary. An elimination to see who fights next round. The winner gets Ventimiglia."

Rogala nodded, but kept staring.

Gathrid's glance flicked to the Mindak. He thought of Mead. Her love was being devoured by Ahlert's pursuit of dreams more elusive than the wind.

The Mindak himself had declared all ambition self-delusion. Why didn't he abandon his fool's dreams?

Because they were Chuchain's. The Great Old One was dreaming him through his paces.

As Suchara was doing Gathrid.

A boy called Gathrid of Kacalief said good-bye to Loida Huth-sing. The Swordbearer drew his blade. The breath of Suchara rolled across the world.

Nieroda's army braced itself.

Today the ancient sorceries were all in play. The Dark Champion had laid upon her followers a compulsion salvaged from the glory days of Sommerlath. They were as steadfast as the Toal. Not a soldier among them knew fear. Not a one conceded his own mortality. To a man the Western army would stand and win—or die.

Smokes materialized before Ahlert's host. Prancing and screaming, a horde of Gacioch's cousins rushed out of them.

They were met by their like, summoned by Nieroda. They indulged in a shrieking combat that lasted only minutes.

Lightnings slashed here and there, always to be neutralized before they did any real harm.

Soul-devouring javelins and arrows that could not miss stormed through the winter sky, and slid away from their targets, or simply ceased to be.

Rains of poison and disease fell from no visible cloud, and never reached the earth.

Ahlert's infantry started forward.

A fissure opened between the armies. The earth thrashed like a broken-backed cat. The gap was deep, steep-sided and too wide to leap. Ahlert's soldiers dropped to the ground, clung for their lives. They stayed down while awaiting their commander's response.

A hail of stone blistered from the sky. It obscured the sun while it raced in from some land far away. It plunged into the gap with a vast hiss and rattle. It filled the chasm in minutes. The brigades took to their feet and tramped across.

Nieroda abandoned the more spectacular sorceries. The moment of mundane combat was at hand.

"She's holding the Toal back," Ahlert remarked as he walked his cavalry in the wake of his foot.

"And her horse," Rogala added.

Gathrid considered dismounting and joining the infantry. Daubendiek was impatient.

Heralds called for the Western army's surrender. A flight of arrows answered them.

The Mindak strove to overcome the sorcery which made near-Toal of the foe. He failed. The witchery of Sommerlath was beyond him.

"Recall," he ordered after a bitter hour. His men were making no headway. "We'll try breaking through with the horse."

"Through the middle," Rogala suggested. "You break through either flank, she'll hit yours when you turn to roll up her line. Just punch through and go for the she-devil herself. Try to get it over as fast as you can."

Ahlert nodded, but frowned a query.

Rogala continued, "This looks like she's set it up to kill people. On both