The Starfollowers of Coramonde (43 page)

“Got ’em in
Earthfast the night we raided.”

“Ah. I was in
the Berserkergang then, and took no notice. Strange to say, the Rage has never
come upon me again since that night. There were many moments when I might have
welcomed it.”

“It isn’t in
you anymore, Dunstan. It passed to me.”

The
Horseblooded was silent for a few moments. “Now I must make apologies to you.”

“Not your fault.
It saved my life once, I think. Anyway, it doesn’t matter here. But why’d they
stick me in with you, if Bey was keeping you shut away in the dark?”

“Because
Evergray wanted it, perhaps. Or it may be that the Masters are eavesdropping on
us. I don’t know, but your company is welcome, even though I’m sorry to see you
here.”

Gil rubbed
his hands together, feeling them wet and slippery. “That passageway’s buttoned
up tight, huh?”

“I have never
been able to inspect it, but I presume so, yes.”

The American
found he felt constricted. “I was never locked up before, y’know? I mean, I’ve
been confined to barracks and like that, but nobody ever shut me in before.
Hard to take.”

He felt
stupid, complaining to a man who’d once had the freedom of the High Ranges and
then been fastened to the rock in unending night. Dunstan asked, “How fared my
kinsman Ferrian?”

“They
couldn’t save his arm of course, but they pulled him through. He came south
with me and Andre deCourteney and some others. We had to leave him with the
Sages of Ladentree, but he didn’t seem too put out about it.”

Dunstan
chuckled, a strange sound. “He always loved chinwagging, and old stories. Odd,
in a Champion-at-arms, to be so—”

He stopped,
interrupted by vibrations in the walls and floor. A vertical crack of orange
light materialized where the passageway had been. Gil scrambled to his feet and
stumbled toward it, planning to take whomever it was from behind when they
entered. But he was stiff and sore. Before he could do it, Flaycraft sprang
into the chamber. The torturer moved nimbly, but without grace. He had a long
wooden club, studded with spikes, in one hairy fist. He saw Gil, and gave a
moist, grunting laugh.

“Yes, try it!
Try often; bare your teeth, little mutt!” He waved the club over his head,
making the air whistle. The American, still weak, knew Flaycraft would maim or
kill him, given the chance.

Another
figure came up behind, filling the passageway, blocking most of the light from
it. Flaycraft’s club lashed out again, and Gil jerked backward. “Little mutts
do not stand,” the torturer snarled, “when Lord Evergray enters a room.”

Gil leaned
back against the slab, goggling at Evergray, scion of Shardishku-Salamá.

When half-gods go,

The gods arrive.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Give All to Love”

HE—if Evergray was in fact a
man—was tall, close to seven feet. He wore loose robes that broke different
colors from their highlights, and a complicated metal headgear, half crown,
half helmet, with loops, spires and projections; it seemed just a bit loose.

His face was
long and inexpressive, a smooth face without wrinkles or creases, a mannequin’s
face. Eeriest of all were the eyes, red-pupiled, with whites showing all around
them, as if their owner were in a constant state of fascination.

The American
muttered, “What have we got here?” Flaycraft made an irrigated guttural sound,
starting forward with club raised. Gil backed away hastily.

Evergray
waved the beast-man aside. “Stay your hand, good Flaycraft.” His voice
resonated in the room, immediate to the ear, but without the bass pitch Gil
would have expected from a giant. When he moved to inspect the American more
closely, Gil decided to stand and see what was going to happen.

Flaycraft
snarled. “He should be on his ugly face before you, great Evergray.”

The giant
stopped a few feet from Gil, examining him. “Of what value is his obeisance to
me, faithful one?” The torturer shot Gil a look of sizzling hatred. Evergray went
on. “Is it true, what has been said? Are you, in fact, from a place outside
this line of Reality?”

Gil hedged.
Information looked like his only commodity of life right now, and he wanted the
best rate of exchange he could wangle. “Why should I tell you?”

“Flaycraft
can make you tell. He would enjoy it; he detests you.”

“Then yeah, I
come from another Cosmos.”

“But you have
free will?”

“Uh, I guess
so. Why, don’t you?”

Flaycraft
yelped, “You are here to answer, not ask!” He charged forward and rammed the
tip of the club into Gil’s belly, too fast and strong to avoid. The American
folded and groveled on his knees, distantly registering Dunstan’s words.

“Matchless
Evergray,” the Horseblooded said, “please understand: He is a stranger,
unfamiliar with proper decorum. I shall explain, and he will mend his ways.”

Evergray
wasn’t paying attention, though. His face was half turned, as if he were
listening to something from the passageway. The others heard nothing. “The
Masters summon me,” the giant said. “This discussion will wait.” He exited.

Flaycraft,
who’d been hoping for the command to continue his work, relaxed now. Panting,
Gil sat back on his heels, holding his stomach. He gasped, “This isn’t… over
yet, ass-face… You and me are… gonna go round and round, one day.”

Flaycraft
chortled, and followed his Lord. The passageway thundered shut. Gil grabbed a
corner of the stone slab and hauled himself up. He staggered back to Dunstan.
“Thanks for talking up. Flaycraft was about to put a monumental hurting on me.”

“He enjoys
pain, and hates you.”

“What for?”

“He knows you
are Yardiff Bey’s enemy, and he is Bey’s servant as well as Evergray’s personal
attendant. And he is jealous, I think. He resents the Scion’s interest in you.”

“Well,
they’re welcome to each other, for all I care.”

“Are you
feeling better?”

“A bit. I
picked up assorted dents and dings, getting here.” He fingered the swollen
injury on his head, from his fall aboard
Osprey.
“Listen, what’s that
nut talking about, this ‘free will’ stuff?”

Dunstan explained.
Evergray had held long, questioning conversations with him about the nature of
choice, and volition, and whether men truly possessed them. He was obsessed
with the topic. The Horse-blooded told Gil, “For him, all things center upon
Evergray; he has been taught to think that way. Notwithstanding, he has also
been taught it is the nature of Reality to limit free will. Our fates are all
determined for us, or so the Masters hold it. Evergray has begun to doubt that,
though, and wants to know if free will exists. When he heard that you come from
outside this Cosmos entirely, he pressured Yardiff Bey to awaken you.”

“That doesn’t
sound like Bey. He might want to keep me around for a hostage, but he’d leave
me on ice.”

“But he is
Evergray’s father; you are now in Yardiff Bey’s mansion.”

“Evergray is
Bey’s third child? The one in the prophesy?”

“So it is
said. Evergray will talk about himself endlessly if he is inclined. He is not a
true offspring, in the sense of being born of the body. He seems to be a construct
of sorts, brought into existence by Bey’s magic, animated by the Five.”

“A construct?
Like a machine?”

“More the
product of occult skills and alchemy, as is a golem. I am Horseblooded, Gil; I
can’t explain, for I don’t ken it myself. But Evergray is alive by Yardiff
Bey’s skills, and looks upon him much in the way of a child toward a father.
His thoughts do not operate as ours do, and I find it hard to comprehend him.”

“He wants my
advice, sounds like. How do we use that to get out of here?”

“I am at a loss
as to that. My plight is less easily remedied than is yours.”

“A lot of
people will be gunning for the Masters soon; when I was with the Mariners this
Omen appeared, what they called the Trailingsword.”

“The
Trailingsword? Peculiar tidings indeed.”

“When he
nailed me, Bey said the Trailingsword doesn’t matter. The last piece of the
Lifetree was destroyed; nothing can stop the Masters.”

“Only a
renewal of the Lifetree can end Salamá’s influence, I understand, but the Five
can still be foiled or frustrated.”

“Lifetree,
Great Blow, Trailingsword—what have they got to do with Evergray?”

“Of that I am
as ignorant as you. Centuries ago the Lifetree bloomed very close to this spot,
fed by the one arcane spring whose waters will sustain it. Rooted in the earth,
reaching to the sky, it kept the world in harmony. There were celebrated
wizards and warriors here in those days, the Unity.

“But some
hungered for overlordship. Amon sought them out. They worked treason by night,
uprooting the Lifetree and destroying it, striking down the most powerful
members of the Unity. Then they began the incantation that would liberate the
hordes of the Infernal Plane, the Great Blow. An antithetical spell was shaping
in what is now Coramonde. The Bright Lady set the Trailingsword over the place
where her supporters gathered. Whoever opposed the new Masters gathered there
to defend, while her adherents worked their counter-spell. In seven times seven
days, the final contest of magic came to pass. The Great Blow was stopped, but
the world was upset and tottered, and changed.”

“And Bey’s
afraid a branch of the Lifetree survived. Or was. It would have stopped the
Masters for good?”

“And stripped
away every strength they have acquired over the centuries.”

“You said the
Trailingsword appeared, uh, forty-nine days before the last bout. I must have
seen it weeks before I was bagged. I’d give my right arm to know how much time
went by while I was out.”

“In any case,
the Trailingsword promises momentous events.”

“The
problem’s how to use that on Evergray.” The passageway ground open again. This
time, Gil stayed put. Flaycraft waddled in, club in one hand and a bucket in
the other. He laid the bucket on the stone slab and brandished the club at Gil.
“Exalted Evergray will question you later. Therefore, hold yourself ready.” He
turned to go.

“Hey,
Flaycraft,” Gil called. The torturer paused. “Was your mother really raped by a
fur carpet?”

The beast-man
growled and raised the club. He saw the American brace himself, and laughed.
“You will be most, most unhappy when mighty Evergray has no further questions
for you!” He backed into the passageway. Seconds later, it closed.

In the
bucket, Gil found a bottle of water and a bowl of cold, gooey stuff like gruel.
The purpose of the bucket, in a featureless stone room, was evident. He offered
some of the food to Dunstan, but the Horse-blooded shook his head. “I’ve no
need of it.”

“You’re not
missing anything. I’ve squooshed tastier goop out of bugs.” He forced himself
to eat a little, and drank greedily. “What do you suppose Evergray’s doing?”

“From time to
time he is summoned by the Masters of Shardishku-Salamá.”

Again Yardiff
Bey stood in the ring of light. But where he’d been the Accused months before,
he was once more the Hand of Shardishku-Salamá. With him stood Evergray. The
Masters’ incorporeal voice came once again, speaking to the giant.

“Scion of
Salamá, are you prepared to begin your Assumption?”

Evergray’s
head remained erect, light splashing from the horns and projections of the
crown-helmet. The Masters pursued their point. “Why do you not respond? The
subject here is a majestic legacy.”

“Why was I
interrupted?” the giant burst out. “I had questions yet to ask the mortal.”

The
collective voice of the Five betrayed cold irritation. “Mortals will wait, but
the affairs of the ages will not. Soon, now, you must be filled like a water
vessel with Our great power, to wield it over the earth at Our command.”

“But that
moment is not yet come, when you Five will Ascend to the godhead.”

“Neither is
it far off. Transference of our energies will be done by portions, for to do it
all at the once would overtax even you. The first portion will be done now. Go
to the chapel that is appointed for you and await it.”

Evergray
didn’t budge. “Tarry not,” the Masters told him. “Submit to Our will, as you
were created to do.” The giant stared into the blackness with wide, red-pupiled
eyes.

At last he
said, “The Masters’ wish has always been law in Salamá.” He left the ring of
light. Bey waited patiently, head thrown back in thought, the ocular gleaming.
When he was sure his progeny had gone, he spoke.

“Have no
misgivings. All is well with Your great plan.”

“Our Scion
becomes truculent. It must not come to disobedience.”

“And shan’t;
I have arranged against that. The mortal will be the key. Through MacDonald I
will insure Evergray’s hatred of free-will creatures. The Scion will yield
himself up to your designs.”

“We tolerate
no miss-moves. We will be endowing Evergray with great forces for safekeeping, forces
of which we must divest ourselves in the final moments of our Ascension.”

Bey nodded
impatiently. And when They had Ascended to godhead, Evergray must accede to
them. “It will be so. The Lifetree is perished,” he reminded them, “and there
is no counterforce.”

“There is no
counterforce. The alien will behave as you plan?”

“He may do
any of several things, but all are foreseen, and serve my purpose. I perceive
that the Rage has passed from the Horseblooded into this one, and that makes
him altogether more suitable. Far better Evergray believes he has chosen to
obey, rather than risk injuring him with Compulsions.”

“He must bend
to Our will, and turn others to his. Your part in this will not be forgotten.”