She wept for the world they were losing.
They were real, he knew that now. For they crushed as they came, and he felt the vibrations of their movements within his body. While the stars told him that a bad time was at hand-a long, bad time-he did not require their counsels to this end. He continued to draw upon the forces which had raised High Dudgeon and were now to defend it. He began to feel as he had in that distant time.
On the peak of the new mountain to the east, a serpent began to form. It was of fire, and he could not guess at its size. In the times before his time, such Powers were said to have existed. But the wielders had passed to their final deaths and the Key had been lost. He had sought it himself; most of the Lords had. Now it appeared that another had succeeded where he had failed- that, or an ancient Power was stirring once more.
He watched the serpent achieve full existence. It was a very good piece of work, he decided. He watched it rise into the air and swim toward him.
Now it begins, he said to himself.
He raised his wand and began the battle.
It was a long while before the serpent fell, gutted and smoking. He licked at the perspiration which had appeared upon his upper lip. The thing had been strong. The mountain was closer now; its movement had not slowed while he had battled the thing sent against him.
Now, he decided, I must be as I was in the beginning.
Smage paced his post, the forward entrance hall to High Dudgeon. He paced as slowly as he could, so as not to betray his uneasiness to the fifty-some warriors who awaited his orders. Dust fell about him, rose again. There would be startled movements among those of his command whenever a weapon or piece of armor, dislodged from its place on a wall, would crash to the floor somewhere within the keep. He glanced through a window and looked quickly away; everything without had been blotted from sight by the bulk which stood now at hand. There came a constant rumbling, and unnatural cries would pierce the darkness. Lightninglike, apparitions of headless knights, many-winged birds and man-headed beasts passed before his eyes and faded, as well as things which left no forms within his memory; yet none of these paused to menace him. Soon now, soon it would be over, he knew, for the prow of the mountain must be nearing his Lord's tower.
When the crash came, he was thrown from his feet, and he feared that the hall would collapse upon him. Cracks appeared in the walls, and the entire keep seemed to move backward a pace. There came the sounds of falling masonry and splintering beams. Then, after several heart beats, he heard a scream high overhead, followed by a final crashing note somewhere in the court yard to his left. This was followed by dust and silence.
He rose to his feet and called for his troop to assemble.
Wiping the dust from his eyes, he looked about him.
They were all of them on the floor and none of them moving.
"Arise!" he cried; and he rubbed his shoulder.
After another moment of stillness, he moved to the nearest and studied the man. He did not seem to be injured. He slapped him lightly, and there was no reaction. He tried another; he tried two more. It was the same. They seemed barely to breathe.
Unsheathing his blade, he moved toward the courtyard to his left. Coughing, he entered it.
Half the firmament was shadowed by the now motionless mountain, and the courtyard held the ruins of the tower. Its prow had broken. The present stillness seemed more terrible than the earlier rumbling and the recent din. The apparitions all had vanished. Nothing stirred.
He moved forward. As he advanced, he saw blastmarks, as though lightning had played about the place.
He halted when he saw the outstretched figure at the edge of the rubble. Then he rushed forward. With the point of his blade, he turned the body.
He dropped the blade and fell to his knees, gripping the mangled hand to his breast, a single sob escaping his throat. He heard the crackling of fires begin suddenly at his back, and he felt a rush of heat. He did not move.
He heard a chuckle.
He looked up then, looked all about him. But he saw no one.
It came again, from somewhere to his right.
There!
Among the shadows that moved on the slanting wall...
"Hello, Smage. Remember me?"
He squinted. He rubbed his eyes.
"I-I can't quite make you out."
"But I see you perfectly there, clutching the meat."
He lowered the hand gently and raised his blade from the flagging. He stood.
"Who are you?"
"Come find out."
"You did all this?" He made a small gesture with his free hand.
"All."
"Then I will come."
He advanced upon the figure and swung his blade. It cut but air, throwing him off balance. Recovering, he aimed another blow. Again, there was nothing.
He wept after his seventh attempt.
"I know you now! Come out of those shadows and see how you fare!"
"All right."
There was movement, and the other stood before him. He seemed for a moment tall beyond measurement, frightening, noble.
Smage's hand hesitated upon the blade, and the hilt took fire. He released it, and the other smiled as it fell between them.
He raised his hands and a paralysis overcame them. Through fingers like twisted boughs he regarded the other's face.
"As you suggested," he heard him say. "And I seem to be faring well. Better than yourself certainly.
"I'm pleased to meet you once again," he added.
Smage wished to spit, but he could summon no saliva; besides, his hands were in the way.
"Murderer! Beast!" he croaked.
"Thief," the other said gently. "Also, sorcerer and conqueror."
"If I could but move-"
"You will. Pick up your blade and cut me your carrion's toenails-behind the neck, of course."
"I do not..."
"Lop off the head! Let it be done with one, quick, clean blow-as by a headsman's axe."
"Never! He was a good Lord. He was kind to me and my comrades. I will not defile his body."
"He was not a good Lord. He was cruel, sadistic."
"Only to his enemies-and they had always earned it."
"Well, now you see a new Lord in his place. The means whereby you may swear allegiance to him is to bring him the head of your old Lord."
"I will not do this thing."
"I say that to do it willingly is the only means whereby you may keep your life within your body."
"I will not."
"You have said it. Now it is too late to save yourself. Still, you will do as I have ordered."
With this, a spirit not his own came into his body, and he found himself stooping, retrieving the blade. It burned his hands, but he raised it, held it and turned.
Cursing, weeping, he moved to the body, stood above it and brought the blade singing down. The head rolled several feet and blood darkened the stones.
"Now bring it to me."
He picked it up by the hair, held it at arm's length and returned to where he had stood. The other accepted it from him and swung it casually at his side.
"Thank you," he said. "Not a bad likeness at all." He hoisted it, studied it, swung it again. "No indeed. I wonder whatever became of my old one? No matter. I shall put this to good use."
"Kill me now," said Smage.
"I regret that I must save that chore for a bit later. For now, you may keep the remainder of your ex-Lord company here, by joining all but two others in sleep."
He gestured and Smage fell snoring to the ground; the flames died as he fell.
When the door opened, Evene did not turn to face it.
After a prolonged silence, she heard his voice and shuddered.
You must have known," he said, "that eventually I would come for you."