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 Gudermuth. 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 Whylas 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.
THE END
About the Author
Glen Cook is the author of dozens of novels of fantasy and science fiction, including The Black Company, The Garret Files, Instrumentalities of the Night, and The Dread Empire Series. Cook was born in 1944 in New York City. He attended the Clarion Writers Workshop in 1970, where he met his wife, Carol. “Unlike most writers, I have not had strange jobs like chicken plucking and swamping out health bars. Only full-time employer I’ve ever had is General Motors.” He currently makes his home in St. Louis, Missouri.
Glen Cook, The Swordbearer - Glen Cook
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