Durendal had refused until it was too late.
He had cut it absurdly fine, surviving
only because his luck had held. So he was one of the
three murderers. The only recompense he could
make was to punish the others; Herat had already paid.
That left one more to die.
Kromman would not expect to be
followed, so he would not be taking precautions.
He might well be invincible when he did, for he
had resources he had refused to reveal. In a
crowded city, or even a forest, he would vanish
without difficulty, but here on the rolling wastes of
Altain his inquisitor tricks might fail
him. He could not have much of a head start.
After about half an hour, Durendal saw him
in the far distance, leading his spare mount. For almost
another half hour, the inquisitor rode
blithely on, unaware that death was creeping ever
closer at his back. When he did look behind
him, Durendal was close enough to detect the move;
thus he was not taken unaware when Kromman's
spare horse stopped to graze and Kromman himself
disappeared, mount and all.
Durendal changed horses then, so he could
make a spurt in the direction he had last seen
his quarry, and he abandoned his spare. Rumors of
invisibility cloaks had begun to circulate
about the time he'd left Ironhall, but little was
known about them. He must hope that they could not mask
both a man and a horse, or at least not
completely. Again his luck held. Soon he
detected a faint blur ahead somewhat to the right of
his line of travel. He angled that way. At
times he seemed to be racing alone over the dry
hills. At others he could see a shadow or a
riderless animal. Often he could detect dust.
Another hour went by in relentless pursuit.
He was parched and exhausted and his horse was in
worse shape, but Kromman's was flagging
badly. Every time he changed course, Durendal
could cut a corner.
At last, as he was descending into a small
hollow, he saw the inquisitor appear ahead of
him, discarding his invisibility and slowing to a walk.
When he reached the bottom, he reined in and
dismounted to examine his horse's hooves, bending
over each and taking his time. Durendal made
sure that Harvest was loose in her sheath, not
gummed there by Herat's dried blood. When he
drew close enough for the sounds of his pony's shoes
on the stones to be audible, the inquisitor looked
up with sudden alarm.
"Sir Durendal! You startled me." If
fish could smile ... "I had given you up for
lost. Wonderful! What has happened to your
Blade?"
At thirty feet away, Durendal
slid down to the ground and looped his reins around a
dead thorn bush, which would suffice as a tether if
his horse believed in it strongly enough. He
walked closer to Kromman, keeping his right side
to his opponent, wondering what tricks were to come.
"Exactly what you wanted to happen to him."
"I don't think I quite follow." Kromman
was caked with dust. He rubbed his forehead with his arm.
Twenty feet.
"You shut the trapdoor. You locked the
gate."
"Oh no! I certainly did not! That was not our
agreement. If you found the trapdoor shut, the
monkeys must have closed it. I expect they went
and checked the gate after that. Flames! but that sun
is bad, isn't it?"
"You killed Wolfbiter and you are a dead
man."
Either fear or anger glinted in the fishy eyes.
"That is not true! I don't know what's come
over you, Sir Durendal. I shall certainly
include this episode in in my report."
"You will not be making a report. Now throw your
sword over there--still in its scabbard. And your
knife, too."
"I shall do no such thing!"
Ten feet.
Again the inquisitor raised an arm to his
face. How could there be sweat on him in this
virulent dry heat? The dust would soak it up
if there were. Durendal started to turn his head
away, but only a fraction of a second before a
flash brighter than the sun seared his eyes. The
two horses screamed in terror, a tumult of
hoofbeats shook the world.
Blind and half mad with pain, Durendal whipped
out Harvest. He could see nothing, but he knew
Kromman's fighting style and his distance. He had
three paces to come. One, two, three--parry!
The blades clanged. If Kromman had used
his customary lunge to the heart, his sword was right
there, so parry! again and then riposte! He swung
Harvest around like a scythe and felt her strike
flesh. Kromman's shriek was accompanied
by what sounded like a sword falling on the rocky
ground, but he was capable of any deception.
Making Harvest dance random patterns in front
of him, Durendal backed away. He heard no
footsteps following, and a moment later he
detected a groan of pain some way
off. He paused then.
Lurid green fires swayed before him; tears
streamed down his cheeks. That last-minute aversion
of his head had saved his sight from worse damage,
for a vague grayness to his left marked reality
returning. Slowly the green mists cleared
until he could make out blurred shapes of
thorns and rocks, and eventually he located
Kromman, curled up on the gravelly ground
with his sword behind him.
Durendal approached quietly,
cautiously. If that black puddle was blood--
for some reason he was not seeing colors--then he
had seriously injured his opponent or even
killed him. He hooked Kromman's sword
away with Harvest, then picked it up and tossed it
safely out of reach.
"Tell me why."
The inquisitor whimpered.
"Why did you leave Wolfbiter and me there
to die when the hue and cry started? You followed us
in. You probably saw everything we saw and more,
but you had an invisibility cloak. And when you
left, you deliberately locked us in to die."
Slowly Kromman turned his head.
Durendal's sight had cleared enough now for him
to see that he had opened the inquisitor's belly
from side to side. He was lying there holding his
guts in place with both hands, and no doubt
suffering excruciatingly. Oh, what a shame!
"No."
Durendal's knuckles ached around the hilt of
his sword as he fought to restrain his hatred.
"Flames, man! You are about to die. Do you
want to die with lies on your lips? You wounded the
monkey--I heard it cry out, and the blood on the
floor was still wet. You left footprints. You
turn your toes in, you scum. Tell me why."
The inquisitor's face blanched under its tan
and dust. "I'm sorry! Yes, I w
as, I
mean I must have been, just ahead, or at least not
far ahead of you. I panicked. That's all.
I'm not a trained fighter like you, remember. I
lost my head. I'm just a glorified clerk who
wasn't cut out for--"
"You're a glorified slug. But that isn't the
worst of it. The worst of it is that you lied about the
invisibility cloak. Even if you only have one
of them, there was no need for three of us to risk our
lives. So what's your explanation of
that, Master Kromman?"
"I'm hurt! I--I need help!"
"Well, you're not going to get it. For the murder
of Sir Wolfbiter, I condemn you to death.
Die, but take your time. Take all the time you
want. And give my regards to your brothers the
vultures."
Durendal sheathed his sword and walked away.
Three men had murdered Wolfbiter and all
three must die for it. That seemed very probable and very
just as he trudged back up the endless dirt
slope with the sun only a foot or two above his
head--or feeling like that. His eyes ached and watered
so hard that he could still barely see, and the tears were
all he had to drink. Kromman must have known his
fancy trick with the light would spook the horses,
so either he had been desperate enough to take the gamble
or he had arranged some way of calling his own
back to him. Perhaps that was what he had been doing
when he worked on its hooves. Durendal would have
to survive on his own two feet. If he lasted
long enough in the heat to make his way back to the city,
assuming he could find it, then he would very likely
be caught by the Brethren, and that would mean
Durendal for breakfast with an apple in his mouth.
He made his way to the highest elevation he could
find and paused there, rubbing his eyes. He
assumed they would heal in time, if he had time, but
at the moment a fog of tears hid Samarinda,
although he knew it must be to the east. He could tell
south from his shadow. There was no sign of his horses
or Kromman's, and if there were he would never be
able to catch one. He would run himself to exhaustion
in the attempt.
Someone was coming. At first he could not make out who
or what, but probably more than one and so
obviously heading in his direction that he must have
been seen already. He set off across the vast
landscape to meet them. It might be the Brethren
intent on vengeance, and in that case he had no
chance of escape. It might be Everman, having
had a change of heart. It could never be
Wolfbiter. No matter how marvelous the
monks' healing conjurements were, they could not have
repaired that much damage.
Eventually he came to an outcrop of dusky
rock that, while it offered no shade, would
at least be a place to sit down, so he sat
down. By then he knew that the others were two
camels, with only one rider.
They came up the long slope under the enormous
sky until the rider was close enough to identify as
Everman. He had removed his cap to show his
auburn hair. He made his camels crouch on
the dusty grass. Dismounting stiffly, he walked
over to Durendal, handed him a water bottle, and
chose a suitable rock to sit on.
Durendal drank greedily, then the two men
stared at each other for a long moment.
"Repentance? Coming home?"
Everman shook his head. "I would die at
dawn. I really don't want to, anyway, but
I couldn't if I did. I wasn't lying to you."
"You lied about your ward." So Kromman had
said--but had Kromman been telling the truth?
Apparently he had, because Everman shrugged.
"Only when I said he died of sickness. He was
killed in a skirmish just this side of Koburtin.
I failed my ward." He looked up
defiantly.
"That's why you challenged? To die?"
"I suppose so. Before you judge my new
brotherhood, brother, consider the ethics of the
old." Dust had collected in the fine lines on
his forehead. His hair had lost its sheen and was
thinning at the front; thickening neck and jaw.
... He saw that Durendal had noticed. "Not
quite the man I was, am I?" He smiled
sadly, making grooves from nose to mouth. He
had not had those yesterday.
"That fast?"
Nod. "A lifetime every day. By sunset
I'll be middle-aged. By midnight I'm
old." He smiled ruefully. "From then until
dawn it gets really bad."
"So you lied about staying of your own free will?
They trapped you!"
Everman leaned his arms on his knees. He
toyed with his cap, then glanced warily at
Durendal. "How much did you see?"
"More than enough--animals, scavengers.
Starving rats."
"You don't know what it's like. Not trapped
... Well, partly, I suppose. They do have
wonderful healings, and they kept me alive in
spite of all the blood I had lost, and Herat
alive, also. The next morning, the
monkeys brought me a mouthful of meat. I
didn't know what it was, but it worked like fire.
I screamed for more, and they brought more. The next day
I knew what it was, but I couldn't do without
it."
"It has to be eaten right after the conjuration, I
presume?"
"Within minutes. It won't keep." Everman
went back to tormenting his headgear. "Rejuvenation!
You can't imagine what it's like."
"You pay for it. You just told me you'll be old
"That isn't as bad as the real thing, though. It
can't be! To have to go through that--wind going first, then
speed, strength ... senses waning, pains,
decay ... to go through all that knowing that it's
permanent, that it's forever, that there isn't going to be
any remission. ... No, that must be much, much
worse. Life must be one long torture. You have
that to look forward to." He shrugged again. "No
one survives it. Except us. We start
afresh every morning."
"At a price."
"They're all volunteers! Every one of them!
They know the risks. They all have a chance. In
drought years, or after a big war, the waiting list
grows to hundreds. All volunteers."
No, there was no repentance. An honorable
swordsman had sold his soul for immortality.
He could not even see the evil.
"Are they really all volunteers? What
happens on the days when the challenger wins?"
"Ah!" Everman sighed and replaced his cap
on his head. "Yes. Well, on those days we
engage in active recruitment--but we take one
of them, one of the strangers. He just didn't
expect to go so soon, that's all."
"And he dies in an alley with a knife in his
back instead of a sword in his hand?"
"Let's not argue, old friend." Everman shook
his head sadly and put his hat on. "We're not
going to agree. I did warn you that the secret
wouldn't work in Chivial."
"What do you want, then?" Durendal peered
around at the horizon with sudden suspicion,
wondering if he was being encircled.
"Thought you might need a little help. Looks like
I was right, too. What happened to your horses?
What's wrong with your eyes?"
"Had a disagreement with my tame
inquisitor. I won on points."
Everman shrugged. "You shouldn't consort with such
lowlife. I also came to say I'm sorry about
Wolfbiter. He was top drawer, wasn't
he?"
"They don't come any higher."
""All Blades are born to die." That's
what they told us at Ironhall, but they
didn't know about me. Wolfbiter's what I
came about. I brought you his sword to take
back."
Flames! Durendal wasn't sure if the
pain was anger or sorrow, but whatever it was, it
made speaking difficult. He nodded.
Everman waited a moment, looking at him as
if waiting for something. Finally he said, "They say
a Blade can never rest if his sword doesn't
hang in the hall. Friend, you have my word on this--he
has been returned to the elements in proper
fashion. I lit the pyre myself. He was not a
volunteer."
Would they eat Herat instead? But it was
welcome news. "Thank you."
"I brought you some water and food. Two days
due west, then aim for the two peaks like breasts--
that'll bring you to Koburtin. The tribes have
mostly gone south at this time of year. You should be
all right."
Disconcerted by the painful lump in his throat,
Durendal said, "Thank you. Look ... I
wish I could say I'm sorry about Herat. I
never met a swordsman to match him."
"Yes," Everman said sadly. "He was no
coward. He didn't shout for help, and he was
risking a lot more than ... But he had his
faults. I haven't congratulated you on beating
him. Let's let it go at that, shall we?"
"Yes," Durendal said. "We'd better
let it go at that."
"One other thing. I am authorized to offer you his
place, if you want it. No tricks, I
swear. You can join us, and welcome. Forever."
"No thank you."
Everman smiled. He blinked as if he had
dust in his eyes. "I'm not surprised. I'm
sorry, though. You don't know what you're turning
down. Just tell me this: Is our brotherhood so
much more evil than yours? You don't think I'm