"I'm not going home."
"I was afraid you'd say that."
"If I might make a suggestion," Gacioch interjected as Gathrid started up the bank. "They won't get onto your trail as fast if you shove the boat back out into the current.''
Gathrid looked to the east. A procession of torches was snaking across the fortified bridge. He did not have the adventurer's mentality, he concluded. It seemed cruel to waste a man's boat.
Stealing it had been bad enough.
"Do it!" Loida snapped.
"All right, already!"
"This isn't my first escape," the girl said.
"Don't put too much faith in her experience," Gacioch rumbled. "She's never gotten away."
Gathrid spent a moment watching the boat slide off into the darkness. What was the demon's game?
Gacioch was doing his best to avoid his masters. Why?
He had to move. The torches were approaching. Perhaps his underminds could resolve his questions while he concentrated on escape.
He did not expect the Ventimiglians to remain out of touch long. Locating Gacioch and the Sword should present no problem for a sorcerer. Both would strain the fabric of this plane.
Gathrid tramped along head down, silent. He missed Rogala. He told himself that was because he would find the dwarf's perception of distant events useful.
The voices down inside him chuckled. They always did when he lied to himself.
Gacioch kept up an abrasive commentary. It made Rogala's reticence appear ever more attractive.
Gathrid suffered through all the latest gossip from the courts of Ventimiglia and Hell. Then the demon offered to do his scouting. All he had to do, Gacioch claimed, was decor-porealize him. Any fool could manage the necessary spell.
Alarm bells clamored in the depths of the youth's mind. "No. I don't need any help. Thank you."
A ghostly, merry tinkle of Toal merriment assured him that the offer had been a trap.
Rogala remained in his thoughts. What had become of Theis? He no longer had that feeling of being followed from a distance.
If he wanted to reach the Library, he had to start thinking like the dwarf. Eschew mercy. Make the goal everything. Don't let anything else matter. Be willing to sacrifice anyone and anything...
. His stomach knotted. His thoughts disgusted him.
Near midnight they came upon a manor. Gathrid found himself feeling an inexplicable homesickness.
Ah. Some of his souls belonged to men who had begun their lives here. Their emotions were bubbling. He drew their memories to his forebrain.
Using their knowledge, he traveled westward till he reached a manor famous for the horses it bred.
He stole two. He rode away wondering how soon their loss would be noted, and if it would be connected with him.
After a time he turned northward again. He planned to make a grand swing, west and north, around Dedera. That should be less predictable than his former, more direct route.
Fate, luck or the masking hand of Suchara herself, served him well. Even by day no one challenged his party, though they passed manor after manor and hundreds of people glanced at them incuriously.
He pushed hard all day. Loida became too tired to complain. Late in the afternoon he started following roads tending eastward again. By dusk he and Loida were directly north of Dedera. The peaks of the Chromogas looked like bloody teeth in a horizon-spanning jaw as the setting sun illuminated their snowy peaks. Gathrid kept pushing.
Then a Toal appeared on their backtrail.
Whence it came Gathrid had no idea. He glanced back and there it was, gleaming black astride its black stallion, keeping a respectful distance. It had not been there minutes earlier. He thought it was the one he had dueled near the Bilgoraji border. It had the same feel, and the lance it bore blazed against the gathering darkness.
Attack seemed far from its mind.
"Oh, it won't," Gacioch grumbled. "It's just here to keep an eye on the Sword."
"I'll still end up fighting it." Gathrid shuddered. He did not want another of those dread entities drifting along behind the corners of his vision. Would they squabble over him like jackals over a carcass? "Loida can't go much farther."
He expected a Rogala-like suggestion that the girl be ditched. Gacioch disappointed him. "Then stop and let her rest. He isn't going to bother you. In fact, he'll make sure nobody else does."
"What?"
Gacioch's great failing, as he himself confessed, was that he talked too much. "He has orders to make sure the Sword doesn't get snatched by the wrong people. He can't do anything but follow orders."
"How do you know?"
Gacioch sniggered. "You'll just have to take my word."
Gathrid took the chance. It was not as much a matter of trusting Gacioch as of doing what had to be done. He abandoned the road for a woodlot. In minutes Loida was snuggling against him for warmth. The tireless Toal took a sentry post a hundred yards away. Gathrid tried hard to remain awake, but sleep quickly took him. He had a dreamless night. His haunt may have been communing with its fellow.
He was surprised to waken unharmed and still his own creature, with the Sword still in his possession. Or vice versa.
The Toal stood statue-still, stone-patient. Its eyes remained fixed on the road. Gacioch's hints about someone other than the Mindak wanting to lay hands on the Sword began to make sense. Gathrid got a feel of the shape of it from his haunt.
All was not right in Ventimiglia. Nevenka Nieroda and the Dead Captains were out of control. They were acting behind the Mindak's back, and not in his interest. It looked like they wanted to keep Daubendiek away from Ahlert.
Why?
His Toal-haunt projected that infuriating mirth.
"Gacioch." He was unsure whether or not demons slept. Gacioch put on a good show of waking grouchiness.
"What?"
"What's going on out west?"
"Folks are sleeping. It's night out there. They'd be sleeping here, if certain people didn't ..."
"In the war, I mean."
Gacioch had no shoulders to shrug, but gave a definite impression of having done so. "Not much.
Ahlert is bogged down. Involved in a war of attrition."
Gathrid recalled Rogala's assessment of the Mindak's generalship. "A master warlock but an indifferent captain?" he suggested.
"In a nutshell."
It became more clear. "And the troops are getting restless?"
Gacioch would say no more. Gathrid suspected he had hit the mark. So. The politics of disunity had reached the enemy camp. Ventimiglia was not a monolith anymore.
Nieroda had to be the focus. Dissension is a contagious disease, he thought. He would have to redouble his vigilance. Two factions would be after the Sword. Neither would care what became of Gathrid of Kacalief.
Maybe he could use them... .
The important goal remained the Library. In fact, reaching it now seemed absolutely essential. Was that an intuition? Might it be a subliminal instruction from Su-chara?
He wakened Loida. "Time to go, girl."
She glanced round, spied the Toal. "It's still here."
"It's still here. I'm afraid it'll be with us for a while."
Breakfast was quick and cold. The horses were lacking in a properly enthusiastic attitude. Gacioch talked at length when Gathrid questioned him, but had nothing concrete to say. It was not an auspicious beginning for the day.
"Let's go, Loida. We've got a long way to go." The map in his mind was daunting, though his shared souls assured him the journey was easier than it looked.
Gathrid set a hard pace once more. Not only did he want to reach the Library before the Ventimiglians thought to seal it off, he wanted to get there before Nieroda appeared. He suspected restraint on the part of the Toal reflected its expectation of the controlling spirit's imminent arrival.
They entered the foothills of the Chromogas shortly before noon. They started collecting new followers there. These soon formed a veritable parade. Gathrid drove the horses harder.