“He kept tight
rein on his advisers and subordinates and carefully guided the development of
his two children after the death of his wife.
“Reacher,
though his size remained less than average, began to boast remarkable strength
and agility, much more than his birthright, even from formidable ancestors.
More than one lusty warrior-in-training was knocked atumbling by the boy, and
the bigger they were, to paraphrase the shaggy adage, the farther they tumbled.
“When the lad
was still twelve, his father dispatched him to live and learn for a time with
the Howlebeau, the Steppes Runners. Though a small tribe, they’re the proudest
and hardiest folk on the High Ranges. They disdain horses, but are hunters by
nature and travel on foot, capable of great feats of stamina and speed. They,
along with most of the other peoples of the steppes, had compacted peace and
bonds of friendliness with Freegate, and were pleased to take Reacher with them
on endless roamings.
“The boy’s
special gifts flourished under the tutelage of the Howlebeau. He learned to use
their traditional weapons of clawed glove and cestus. He lived among them for
six years and became a legend on the High Ranges, and the greatest hunter and
fighter of all by the time he was fifteen, brother to wolves and winner of many
single contests and combats.
“While her
brother roved the steppes with his adopted clan, Katya was nurtured by her
father, her education carefully ordained. As Reacher ran with the Howlebeau and
their furry kin, she was kept close to her father’s side to watch the subtle
arts of statecraft, and she didn’t fail to acquire them. The boy became a
champion warrior in a land of warriors; I, who have seen many places, tell you
that I’ve never seen better. The sister grew wise beyond her years in the clash
of politics.
“The boy was
called back six years ago, at the age of eighteen, to begin a new phase of
study. With the help of his father, counselors and sister, he’s absorbed much
knowledge of regnancy and integrated it with the honest, equitable attitudes of
the Howlebeau. He is intimate with the techniques of moving men and women to
his will, but does it without the impulse to control; his highest mission is the
well-being of his people.
“His father
fell in a skirmish with desert raiders from the eastern wastes. Reacher
ascended the throne with his sister as first minister and virtual coruler. He
is, I believe, much by way of a paragon of what a man and king should be, and
he and his sister, devoted to their subjects and well thought of by them, are
still much feared by enemies.
“You know of
course of the free city’s radius of purview; when we’re at the base of the Keel
of Heaven we’ll see one of the merestones which mark its circumference. Within
that boundary, no one may war or transgress without danger from the vengeance
of Reacher and his army. From the High Ranges to the wastelands, they’ve
tracked their enemies and wrought hard justice. No army has ever prevailed
against Freegate, my friend, but several have perished attempting it.”
“Why is the
city so impervious, then?”
“You’ll see
when we arrive. It was thought of and constructed even before the Tangents; the
four major Ways emanate from it as spokes from a wheel. I don’t know that the
army exists to violate its gates.”
“I hope that we
won’t need to find out,” the Prince responded. “The endless legions of
Coramonde assembled would be force enough to break any city, be it ever so
strong and stout a garrison. Kee-Amaine, with Earthfast to bolster it, could
never hope to stand against all Coramonde’s banners.”
The wizard
didn’t chose to rebut this, but moved to another topic.
“In Reacher’s
service, it may interest you to know, are the last of the reptile men still in
the world. If any natural beings I’ve seen are the equal of your Earthfast ogre
guards, they are the reptile men of Freegate.”
They spoke of
assorted things for a time. Springbuck had removed his mask on making camp, but
now his sword began to irk him, encumbering him as he sat. He removed it, and
as he did so Andre eyed it attentively and asked that he might examine it.
“BAR,” he read,
thumbing the characters near the blood channels. “A curious name and not
without meaning, I’m sure. What was it meant to bar, I wonder, and from what?
Hmm, I perceive that though this glyph was struck upon the pommel at the time
of the blade’s forging, the lettering was mechanic’d into it later. The whole
is of an age of generations; the glyph is of great efficacy and appears to have
something to do with permanence, though I cannot make out what property or
conditions it preserves. How intriguing, and I seem to half-remember—”
Springbuck told
Andre of Bar’s uncanny keenness and how he’d come on it, neglected in the
armories at Earthfast. The plump sorcerer scanned his memory.
“That’s it,
then,” he said. “A glyph to keep the blade eternally sharp and imperishably
honed. This is the sword Never Blunted, first carried by your
great-great-grandfather. His elder son carried it for years until he won the
sword Flarecore in Veganá and gave Never Blunted to his younger brother. This
brother carried it during the first campaign against the Meerionites and it
served him bravely when he and a small detachment defended against a flanking
sally. They held high ground while your great-grandfather carried the day—”
“Unaware that
he’d come close to disaster,” Springbuck finished, the tale coming back to him
now. “And later the sword went to its owner’s son, Pon. And when Grandfather
was assaulted by an armed host as he bivouacked at a river tower near
Daggerdraw, he and a few sword carls held the door of that small donjon.”
“—and his
cousin Pon fought a lone battle in its cellar, holding at a sally port for an
hour against dozens of attackers before his war cries were heard over the
hubbub of battle, after help had arrived.” Andre nodded. “As I’ve said, young
Heir, your heritage is proud. Court chroniclers recognized the deeds of the
sword and the men who have borne it. Because it had ever been the defense at
the back of the
Ku-Mor-Mai,
in the teeth of things, as it were, it was
renamed Bar.”
“And Pon became
Pon of the Iron Arm,” Springbuck said, having heard the story before, but
without the re-designation of Never Blunted as Bar. He pulled the gleaming
weapon from its scabbard of polished fish skin and white brass and cut the air
with it. “Almost would I rather bear it than Flarecore, the sword of
tradition.”
“There was more
honor in Bar, forged for the Protector Suzerain, than in Flarecore, which is
stolen and is not with its proper owner,” Andre said.
The Prince was
indignant at this and retorted angrily, “Won by Springbuck’s great-grandsire in
Veganá, you mean. Would you deny spoils of just battle? Return a dangerous
weapon to criminals?”
Andre shook his
head.
“The sword
belonged to one in Veganá who fought for Right with vigor as great as the
Ku-Mor-Mai.
Yardiff Bey met your ancestor on that journey with lies and distortions,
hatching friction and feud between those who should have been friends and
allies. When the Protector Suzerain returned to Earthfast, he took with him
that which should have remained as a bulwark and symbol of resistance against
harrying invaders.
“Even now
Flarecore’s spiritual legatee is in need of it to contend with the foes of
Veganá.”
“Andre, you’re
sure, you’re certain, that Flarecore is the selfsame brand? The one that the
Ku-Mor-Mai
have used cannot be another?”
“Even so. As it
was described to me, a cut-and-thrust greatsword, the blade green-blue and
lustrous, damascened with silver and with many runes and sigils laid upon it.
And the potency of the runes is that for whoever knows the proper incantation
the blade breaks into flame which devastates whatsoever it touches. Even the
arming girdle on which it’s borne was described to me precisely, ornate and
backed by mail and formed of oblong plaques, on each a raised crest that is the
Leopard of Veganá. Is this not accurate?”
“To any
detail,” Springbuck confirmed. “And from whom comes this exacting inventory?”
“The sword’s
given name is Blazetongue, and I have its description from its true steward.
You know, your great-great-grandfather had the knack of calling forth flames
from it, but the trick was not passed on and the process is thought lost. Yet,
I fear that Yardiff Bey may have the ability and give it to Strongblade to
reinforce his claim to weapon and throne. It’s not for nothing that Bey is
named by his masters
al naiir Shardishku-Salamá hotan;
the Hand of
Shardishku-Salamá in the Crescent Lands.”
Yardiff Bey!
The Prince flushed with anger at the name. The man had woven a web across the
face of the world and his plots were without number, all meeting at this point
in time. Even in his rage, the son of Surehand could see that the sorcerer had
labored with absolute genius for long years and in many quarters and that his
schemes were well thought on and far-looking.
“I suppose,” he
said to Andre, “that when I gain the throne you’ll want me to return
Flarecore—Blazetongue, I mean—to Veganá?”
“Justice
dictates it, honor demands it. Veganá has always been a mainstay against
invaders from the southwest, protecting the entire seaward end of the Crescent
Lands, though at such a distance from Coramonde that your people have all but
forgotten it. But that nation will fall soon unless some sort of aid arrives.
Moreover, you already have one sword of high renown and weighty deeds; what
would you need with two?”
Springbuck
laughed, despite himself.
“And how is it,
Sir Wizard, that you know so very much about my family and our affairs?”
“Hum, I, er,
must confess, I became interested only when I understood that Yardiff Bey was.
It behooved me to find out all I could about the lineage of the
Ku-Mor-Mai,
to
unearth what I could of Bey’s dealings with them over the years.”
Springbuck
nodded and shrugged, wishing to leave the subject, and cast an eye to the hour
pole.
They’d spoken
beyond the end of their watch, and so roused their relief and were both soon
asleep.
They eluded
several more contingents of fighting men during the nights thereafter, the
soldiers always moving westward, hard. But on the third night, and from then
on, the Western Tangent was empty and they encountered no one.
Prowling wolves
and lions didn’t care to molest so many men together, and they went their way
untroubled. The landscape changed as trees once again grew in stingy copses and
grassland was the rule. Terrain became less even, and the Tangent frequently
notched through small hills, exposing naked rock walls to either side. With the
moon waning, their going was slower than formerly, but they pushed their mounts
to make all distance possible in darkness, and hid as best they could by day.
Still,
Springbuck found time to be with Gabrielle. He was shy at first, clumsy with
his conversation and self-conscious. Her cold reserve had softened to him, and
she coaxed him along discreetly, holding back derision.
Van Duyn knew
jealousy at this peculiar courtship, but hardened himself to it and resolved
not to let it occupy his thoughts.
On the ninth
night, or more correctly the dawn ending it, they came up through low foothills
and saw a great obelisk twice the height of a man and hewn by much moil from
the stone of that region. The mere-stone, marking the purview of Freegate, had
engraved on its surface facing them a raised fist bearing a shattered chain. On
the far side, Springbuck turned in passing and saw that the reverse face held
the snarling tiger of Coramonde.
They traced the
Tangent up into the cold mountains, and though it was seldom used, it was still
in excellent condition. Once the way began to wind even higher in the peaks,
however, they came to places where it was tilted by shifts in the very roots of
the earth, convulsions from the times of the Great Blow.
Here the lordly
eagle soared, companion to the wind, stately monarch of an empire of sheer
canyons and star-challenging crags. They crossed spans of bridging, long
stretches resting on fragile-appearing arches. Genteel plants had fallen away,
leaving hardy scrub. The Tangent reached the highest summit by means of a long,
winding uphill climb through a valley with several draws branching off—to dead
ends, Andre said—to the right and left. They came to a stop at the apex, a
narrow saddle of barren ground bordered by rocky swells at whose feet loose
rubble lay. Then they pushed on, in daylight now, cold and tired. The road
dipped into a smaller valley ringed with balanced boulders, then pushed its
irresistible way down toward Freegate.
They stopped at
a rain pool to water the horses, and Van Duyn considered how hard up they’d
have been to traverse the Keel of Heaven had the Tangent not pierced the
mountains for them. He wondered how, if the Tangent antedated the Great Blow
which was rumored to have, among other things, created the range they traveled,
the road seemed to have been built over the mountains. He made a mental note to
inquire as he examined the rock walls at the side of the way. The stone gave
the impression of having been molded aside, compacted somehow.
They camped just
below the tree line at nightfall. Animal noises in the dark, disturbing even in
the more familiar countryside of Coramonde, echoed and ululated through the
mountains to grate on the nerves and conjure primeval fears. Andre caused their
fire to burn high and brightly, for they had few apprehensions of pursuit now,
but were wary of whatever solitary, malicious things there might be skulking
through the Keel of Heaven. Springbuck rolled up in his thick, fleece-lined
cloak with his back to the fire and didn’t turn or voice surprise when he felt
someone move up close to him, lying with back against him and face turned
contemplatively to the fire. He knew that the revelations of the past days were
working on Gabrielle’s control, and was gratified that she sought solace in his
nearness.