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For two furious minutes he smashed Daubendiek against the stone of the
Maurath. His rage was so overpowering the blade could not stay him.
Then a cold rationality returned. He bent over Ahlert himself. The Ordrope
Diadem he shifted to his own head. He tucked the Staff under his arm. Someday,
he thought, Staff, Diadem and both swords would accompany him on a long sea
voyage. He could consign them to the deeps....
A shadow fell across the mouth of the tunnel. A feeling of threat tainted the
air. Gathrid left off his silent apologies. His gaze met that of a Toal.
It was like none he had encountered before. This was a man in the flesh and
armor of an Imperial Legate. The body still lived. But Gathrid recognized its
spiritual stench. He knew those cold, dead eyes. He knew the Hell-stallion it
rode, that only a Toal could master. No mortal animal would permit such a
devil to bestride it.
So. Nieroda had found her way around Ahlert's refusal to reveal how to
introduce a Toal into new flesh. She had begun installing her fallen Dead
Captains in live bodies. The bodies of Imperials.
She's close, Ahlert had said....
This monster was a fit object for his wrath.
The youth hurtled out of the tunnel, oblivious to the possibility that the
flyers might have returned. The Toal's mount reared, screamed.
Daubendiek protested Gathrid's action. The youth had seized total control. His
will was behind his decisions. The soul, the stubbornness of Yedon Hildreth
had tilted the balance away from Suchara. At that moment Gathrid was
completely confident of his ability to master the Great Sword and defy
Suchara.
Daubendiek whined in fright. Gathrid bid it slay the Dead Captain.
Suchara fought him. Fought him for no better reason than because this was what
he wanted to do. Had he not wanted to slay the Toal, She would have driven
him.
"Kill it!" he thought at the Sword. Reluctantly, the blade went for the Toal.
The false Legate tried to flee.
Gathrid slew its mount with the younger sword. He allowed the Toal itself no
chance to gain its footing. He drove Daubendiek through its breastplate.
Deep inside Gathrid, the half-forgotten soul of Mohr-hard Horgrebe cackled
evilly, spitefully, feeling its former possessor suffering.
Gathrid did not let the Toal flee with the smoke rising from the corpse of
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Legate Cervenka. On a subjective level, with his newfound will and a year of
anger, he seized the fell spirit. They struggled for a moment, crashing around
that nowhere place where he had destroyed his own haunt. He took that demon by
the throat and shook it the way a terrier shakes a rat.
It ended quickly.
Gathrid bent, recovered a glowing Toal-sword. He tossed it to Theis Rogala,
who had pursued him onto the Causeway. "Hang onto that."
The dwarf gulped, bobbed his head. He was pale and frightened. He could not
believe what he was seeing, what he had heard when Ahlert had spoken to Tureck
Aarant.
Gathrid smiled at him, his eyes narrow. "Greetings from Tureck, Theis." Rogala
flinched. He would do some heavy thinking before using his dagger to complete
this cycle of the Sword's history.. No need to worry yet, Gathrid thought.
Suchara would not order him murdered while Nieroda yet remained in the game.
Or would she? Would she be that frightened?
He shrugged. Rogala was too disturbed to try anything soon.
He stared at Sartain. The Dark Champion was there somewhere. The Toal had
proved Ahlert's statement. He reached inside and read Legate Cervenka.
Sometime after Hildreth and the army had moved into the Maurath, Nieroda had
descended on the Raftery. Now she was subverting the Imperial Palace.
The youth smiled, though he was not amused. Gerdes Mulenex had made a pact
with a devil at Katich. The devil had come to collect.
That was what the Mindak had meant by saying she was looking over their
shoulders.
The youth examined his surroundings. The flyers had vanished. Ahlert's wizards
had packed up their witcheries. Easterners lined the ramparts of the Maurath.
In their faces he saw awe, fear and dismay. Their officers were trying to get
them to withdraw.
They knew what had happened to their Emperor. The hopes that had brought them
west had died with him. Despair had fallen on them like a deadly cloud.
Gathrid thought of Mead again. Belfiglio, too, would know. The task of
informing the Mindak's wife would fall to the old slave. Gathrid did not envy
him his mission.
Hildreth's senior officers began gathering in the tunnel. "Let them depart in
peace," Gathrid said, pointing upward with the younger sword. "Muster your
battalions. We have work on the island. Nieroda is there."
He was sure they would revolt. Someone must have seen him fell Hildreth.
His previous usurpations had accustomed them to accepting his authority. There
were no witnesses to Hildreth's murder, apparently. They began forming their
units.
Gathrid gazed down at Count Cuneo. He indulged in a moment of self-loathing.
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