A flying thing appeared. It circled high overhead. It did not resemble the dragon thing Nieroda had ridden in Gudermuth. Who bestrode it Gathrid could not tell. It did carry a rider, he believed.
The Toal remained a fixed two hundred yards behind him, changing its pace when he did. The Ventimiglians stayed that far behind it. Gathrid wondered where their loyalties lay.
By now, he thought, there could be no doubt of his destination. This was the wildest country he had seen since leaving the Nirgenaus, though even here there were manors. They perched atop the terraced hills. He searched his encyclopedia of memories. The Library was the only thing on the map of his mind. They could not think he was bound anywhere else... .
They were letting him go where he wanted, then. To their purpose. They wanted him at the Library.
Was he doing Nieroda's work? Was he killing these animals and punishing himself and Loida for nothing?
Logic battled emotions long keyed to danger. Once again he wished Rogala could advise him. "Take a chance," he said aloud. He had played hunches before. He slowed to a walk.
The procession did the same. No one made a threatening move, though the Toal did station itself closer.
People were watching from the hillside farms. The peasants were not working today. They were lined up as if to observe the passage of a parade. When he appeared, some retreated. Some fled toward places of hiding.
He experienced that feeling of power which heretofore had come only with the drawing of the Sword.
Then he came to the Library, sooner than he expected. And found the answers to several riddles.
Why his progress had not been interrupted. Why the serfs were on holiday.
The Mindak Ahlert was there waiting for him.
Chapter Ten
Ansorge Gathrid's hand leapt to Daubendiek. He spurred ahead. Gacioch laughed. The feeling of growth came over the youth. Daubendiek whined in its scabbard, begging to be freed.
The men with the Mindak, captains and sorcerers all, backed away. Gathrid's horse reared, hammered the air with its hooves. It screamed, came to earth prancing.
The Mindak was not intimidated.
This was the first time Gathrid had seen the man un-armored. At Kacalief he had been but another suit of dark plate, indistinguishable from the Toal. Today he had eschewed all warlike gear save a ceremonial dagger. He was afoot, wearing clothing more suited to court than the field.
Have I guessed right? Gathrid wondered. Is this really Ahlert? Or might he be some viceroy?
Gathrid spied a circlet half ridden in the man's heavy, dark hair. It was a simple gold serpent with a ruby egg in its mouth.
The minds within the youth reacted, saying the coronet was another product of the Library. It was the infamous Ordrope Diadem, which had been Grellner's secret weapon. It gave its wearer the ability to look into minds, to ferret out character flaws and hidden dreams which could be twisted and manipulated. Anyone who looked into the jewel became entranced.
Only the Mindak would wear the Diadem. It was one cornerstone of his power.
Ahlert slowly spread his hands, showing himself unarmed. He peered intently, trying to draw Gathrid's gaze.
The temptation was too much. Gathrid glanced at the ruby.
Ahlert moaned and reeled back, throwing a forearm across his eyes. Gathrid swayed. He almost fell from his saddle. For an instant he felt a great vacuum sucking at his mind.
They exchanged stares. Ahlert's men withdrew to a safer distance. The Toal moved nearer Gathrid. A
shadow fluttered along the ground. Gathrid glanced up at the flyer.
Then he examined Ahlert more closely.
He had expected an elderly caricature of Gerdes Mu-lenex. What he saw instead was a thirtyish, lean, dark man with mouth corner quirks suggesting a rich sense of humor. But the man's dark eyes were cold, calculating, the windows of a nighted soul, of a man of boundless ambition.
Gathrid found him reminiscent of Yedon Hildreth, particularly in the aura of stubbornness he exuded.
Ahlert spread his hands again. "Come down, Sword-bearer. Let's talk."
Daubendiek quivered hungrily. Loida begged, "Kill him while you have the chance. He'll trick you."
"No doubt. Or I might fool him." He believed he was safe. The Mindak had something on his mind.
Conquering his memories of Kacalief, Gathrid said, "Speak."
"Here?"
The youth glanced around, understood. "Into the Library, then. You and me. Alone together." He met Ahlert's eye, squeezed Daubendiek's hilt. "Maybe only one of us will return."
Gacioch laughed again.
"The Library?"
"The underground city. The place where you dredge up these horrors." He indicated the Toal.
"Ah. Ansorge. Come along, then." The Mindak seemed to be a man of few words.
Loida was not pleased. "Don't leave me here! They'll sacrifice me."
Gacioch leered and jeered.
The Sword, though undrawn, made itself felt. Gathrid could summon no emotion concerning the girl's welfare.
"No one will harm you." The way the Mindak spoke, while surveying his officers, made that sound like a statement of natural law.
Gacioch wanted to go, too, but argued with no special vehemence. "Don't buy any cats in a sack, boy," he said by way of parting.
"You're certainly a puzzle," Gathrid told him.
"Glad to hear it. Glad to hear it. I'd stop being fun if I was predictable."
The Toal, too, wanted to go. It asked no permission. It dismounted, took lance in hand and began to follow.
"Begone," Ahlert ordered. "Mohrhard Horgrebe, I command you. Go you forth, whence you came. This I command in the name of Great Chuchain."
The hairs on Gathrid's neck stirred. Chuchain. Where had he heard that name? Something Rogala had muttered. An entity the equal of Suchara. Sometimes her ally, more often her rival.
The Toal came on.
"I was afraid of this," the Mindak said. "The break is complete."
"The name of Chuchain may be impotent, but is the Sword of Suchara?"
"Never mind. Let it come. There's another one here that can't be kept out. It's discorporeal."
Gathrid shrugged, followed the Mindak. The Toal Mohrhard Horgrebe did likewise. Then it stopped.
It seemed to listen. After a few seconds in that attitude, it took three jerky steps to one side and seated itself on a boulder.
Instructions from Nieroda?
Ahlert led Gathrid into a tunnel that showed signs of recent mining. He strode a dozen steps inward, halted, intoned, "The Child of the Father, Great Chuchain, and He Who Bears the Wrath of the Mother, Suchara of the Sorrows; He Who Slew the Son. I say three times, let us pass! Let us pass! Let us pass! In the Name of Great Chuchain."
Something stirred. Something caressed Gathrid's face with spider's silk, with the light, nimble fingers of elves. Unbidden, words formed on his lips. "In the Name of the Mother, Suchara Beneath the Sea.''
The fingers of gossamer withdrew. "Come," Ahlert told him.
It was not a long passage, and hardly as miserable as his subterranean trek with Rogala, yet Gathrid was relieved when they departed the tunnel. The sense of presence there, of unseen, hungry things watching, was overpowering.
"Ansorge," the Mindak said. "City of Everlasting Night. City of the Night People. The ones remembered as elves and trolls in your legends. They're all dead now. An unfortunate after-effect of the Brothers' War. Only their guardians remain. Their last project was to collect the wrack of the war. They didn't survive long enough to finish. Daubendiek and the Shield of Driebrant were their most noteworthy oversights."
For a minute Gathrid was just an awestruck sightseer. The cavern and city it contained stretched as far as he could see. Countless thousands of balls of light drifted around, mostly on aimless currents of air. Some bounced and dodged like playful butterflies while others swooped and darted like swallows on the hunt. They came in every color. Occasionally one changed hue.