The Swordbearer

"That's what I said."

"There was no love in that place we went. Only hatred."

"Hatred born of jealousy. Or envy. Or inability to handle love. Love makes a family. And love destroyed that one, yet binds them in their dreams. They don't understand."

"I'm not sure I do, either."

"To be unable to comprehend love is human too, Gathrid. They still have love without knowing it.

Only Bachesta has lost it entirely. Ulalia has lost care. His only desire is a peaceful, dreamless sleep."

"And Theis Rogala? What is he in all of that?"

"Once upon a time there was a man named Theis Rogala who was Suchara's lover. He was a whole man.

... Now he guards the blade where a jealous Chuchain chained her soul. He brings it forth to do battle when he must. To protect its existence. To help Suchara defend herself. But what's left of that man has grown weary of the whole mess. I owe, but must I pay forever?"

The dwarf seemed to be thinking aloud rather than speaking to his companion.

"Why slay the Swordbearers?"

"They become too enamored of their roles. They enjoy their might. And they grow too strong. And she grows fond of them, thinking they might set her free. She gives them knowledge and power they might wield against her. I can't permit that. It has to be me. But I dare not use the blade myself. I'd become enslaved. She knows me too well, and her desperation is too great. So I wait till she chooses, and hope that someday all the right things happen at all the right times. But despair gnaws at me like the worms of the earth. I have so little left to give- unless I do take up the blade."

Evening was coming on. Peasant women were at their cookfires. The aroma of woodsmoke teased Gathrid's nose. Soon his stomach would compel him to go down and exchange another bit of Imperial silver for another bowl of burned stew. He would remain marginally acceptable as long as his money lasted.

He had become an outsider in his homeland.

"Finally, why did you follow me here?"

The dwarf did not respond.

"Theis?"

"To collect Daubendiek." •

"I left the Great Sword in Sartain, Theis. I put it aside. I bear only the blade born in Nieroda's forge."

"You left metal. Not the attachment. There'll be a day when your path swings back to Sartain, whether you will it or not. She won't let you scorn her."

"It may have to be that only one of us will leave this hill, then, Theis."

"Could be."

"I wouldn't like that. And, Theis? I don't think I'd be the one staying. You're fast, but I don't think you're fast enough."

Rogala shrugged. "I'm getting older. Because I don't care as much as I once did. And being blind won't help, will it?"

"Does it always have to be this way?"

"I don't know what else to do."

Gathrid sighed. Silence stretched till it became oppressive.

Rogala coughed. "I like you, Gathrid. You've become like a son. I don't want to. ... Show the blind old man another way. I taught you the art of killing. Teach me the art of living."

Gathrid could find no words. The silence stretched again. Finally, he tried, "You know the secrets of the greats and near-greats of a hundred ages, Theis."

"You've looked into more souls than either of us can count, lad. I've seen them only from the outside."

"There must be something in all that," the youth agreed. Rogala was trying.

Every path led to the same destination. A death. More blood on this hill that had seen too much already. The limits seemed inflexible, the end assured.

The sun had declined almost to the horizon, growing bloated and red as it touched the distant earth. The night would be here soon, and with it, perhaps, a longer night. Rogala would sense the gathering darkness. He would move when the sight advantage had disappeared.

Gathrid thought, I should kill him now. Quick as he is, he can't outdance this sword.

He could not cut the man down. Had the victim been anyone else ... He just did not have Rogala's murder in him.

Was Suchara staying his hand?

He let his senses range... . Was that a calling, way over there, hovering on the edge of perception?

"Don't do it, Theis. You're dead if it clears its scabbard."

"I've taught too well."

"Maybe. I see two choices, Theis. We can join forces. We can find your Suchara and waken her. Or one of us can die here. Maybe both. You don't seem capable of letting it go."

"You know I can't."

"What happens if she returns?"

"The others perish."

"I know that. I mean, what would happen to you and me? And my world?"

"I don't know. I don't care about the world. It's not mine anymore. She's what interests me."

"Theis, turn to your right thirty degrees. Good. Out there about a half mile are some cookfires.

Feel them? Around them are all the people left in this part of Gud-ermuth. Winter will be here soon."

"So?"

"Those people have survived the Mindak, Nieroda, and a winter of famine already. And they did nothing to earn any of that. How much more must they endure?"

Rogala shrugged, his face a mask of indifference.

"Once you said they'd endured too much already. I've heard you say this thing has gone too far."

The youth nodded toward the mausoleum where his sister and Loida lay.

"She's a jealous woman, Gathrid. And insane by your way of looking at things. Don't forget. She dreams. Are we responsible for her nightmares? Her power is godlike. She doesn't realize that she shapes reality. A moment of pique gives us pain, but she doesn't know she's hurt anyone real."

Thoughtfully, he added, "She may have lost track of the line between reality and fantasy even before the trap took her."

"I owe her, Theis. For my sister. For Loida. For Count Cuneo and the Mindak. She's taken a lot from me, Theis."

"But you want to waken her?"

"Maybe so I don't have to kill anymore. I really don't want to. Especially not tonight."

"What the dream has raped away the dreamer might restore."

"What?" Gathrid spoke so sharply, so suddenly, that Rogala exploded like a startled quail. He came to a halt ten feet away. His knife was in his hand.

"Calm down, Theis. I was startled. What did you mean? She could bring back the dead?"

"I think so. No guarantees. I can't pretend to speak for her. But she has the souls of all those Daubendiek has slain. They went into you, but also into the blade. You lost them, but they're not lost. If you see what I mean."

"Theis, I don't really trust you. But I'll try to make you a deal. I'll give you your life and Suchara's awakening. If ... If you can get her to give me back what I've lost."

Rogala shifted tack. "No one can turn back the sands."

"I want my dead. You want your dreamer. Help me and I'll help you. Could it be simpler?"

Rogala continued facing him from a fighting crouch, his head turning slowly back and forth as he listened for movement. He waited. And waited. Finally, "All right." He sheathed his dagger.

"Unless she changes my mind."

Gathrid laughed nervously. "Let's go get supper." He approached the dwarf carefully, rested a gentle hand on the man's shoulder. "Partner."

Halfway down the hill, Rogala said, "You ever hear the tale of Lundt Kharmine?"

"No."

"It's old. Probably lost now. Lundt Kharmine went down into Hell to rescue his lost love."

"Sounds like the story of Why las Rus. So?"

"You may wish you'd killed me after all."

"Theis, I've been to Hell already. Nothing terrifies me anymore."

The distant campfires all flared at once. For a moment they illuminated Rogala's face. He wore his wicked, knowing smile.

Gathrid shuddered, forced it out of mind.