The youth had been at Covingont three days. Having nothing else to do, he had spent his time thinking, questioning, wriggling on the hook of his conscience.
Loida joined him in Covingont's chill. "There's so many of them," she whispered. "And when they came to Grevening before, we thought the whole might of Ven-timiglia had fallen on us."
"There's more of them. We haven't seen a ghost of their real strength. There're so many people in Venti-miglia."
"What're you going to do when this's over? When peace comes?''
He glanced at her. Could she be that naive? "Try to rest easy in my grave."
She faced him, took his hand. "You're sure you're going to end up like Aarant, aren't you. Why? Do you really have to? Or are you going to make it come true by believing it?"
"The Sword ... Loida, it's taking me over. I can't get away from it. I can't leave a room without it anymore. Remember the fairy tale about Ash Boy and the Sticking Stone? He would throw it away every night before he went to sleep, and every morning it would be back in his hand when he woke up. That's the way this is. Only maybe I'm the stone. We're going to be stuck the rest of my life. Which won't last long if other Sword-bearers are any indicator. I can't get away from Suchara."
Loida squeezed his hand. "The priests never tell us why the gods do what they do. They just say we have to go along."
"I don't think they are gods. That's the strange part. But they can't be human. Sometimes I think they exist only in our imaginations. One old guy in Senturia said they wake up because there's a need in the race. A collective mind that calls them forth."
"My father used to say that about the gods. That they exist only in the hearts of the faithful."
"One thing for sure. Rogala is real. The Sword is real.
.
Nieroda is real. And they've all been around a long time. Sometimes they used other names. The Mindak's scholars say Grellner was really Nieroda. And she might be the Driebrant who made the Shield."
"Do you believe in reincarnation?"
"Only the way Nieroda does it. She's a continuous ego. Her identity isn't ever interrupted, Why?"
"I wondered if I played any part in Tureck Aarant's life."
"You believe in it?"
"Yes."
"The only woman in his story was his mother."
"And she would fill the same role as your sister. What you called the kin-death."
"I suppose." He scowled at the soldiers below. Their column seemed endless. He wondered how many would become sacrifices on the altar of this godlike family's game.
He forced a smile. "Guess I've been around Rogala too much. The thing goes on and on, but the scripts aren't fixed. Things are a little different each time. Maybe this time humanity will win."
"Gathrid, were you happy at Kacalief?"
"Most of the time. Why?"
"You take everything so serious. You make everything so important. You want to change everything to the way it should be. I thought maybe you had a bad time when you were little."
"You think Rogala is right? That we should just go along? Make it easy on ourselves? Loida, somebody's got to fight it."
"You can say that till the sun freezes, boy. It won't make a whit of difference." The dwarf joined them. Gathrid started to move away. He was doing his best to avoid Rogala still. Loida clung to his hand, holding him there.
"It hurts," Rogala said. "It hurts like hell sometimes. But that's the way things are. Even for us. And we're the shakers and movers. The ones who make things happen. Think how frustrating it must be for the ones we happen to."
A nasty chuckle drew Gathrid's attention. Rogala had installed Gacioch in a special carrying case, an ornate box. He carried it in the crook of his arm.
"See you've found a friend, Theis. Enjoy. You were made for each other."
"You don't have to like me, boy, but we're stuck with each other. You could try to get along."
"Try to get along? Why don't you take your own advice?"
"How do you mean? I'm willing to try."
"I've got a name. It's not Boy. I had enough of that from my father. And I'm tired of hearing about how we don't have any choice. A man always has a choice. Su-chara can't control us every second. She can't make us live if we don't want to."
"This's serious," the dwarf grumbled. He considered Gathrid intently.
"Why not do a belly-buster off this here tower?" Gacioch asked. "It's been dull for days. Big news. Sword-bearer commits suicide. That would liven things up."
"I just might try it."
"Don't be a fool," Rogala snapped.
"Appeal to his better nature," Gacioch suggested. "Remind him that he'll hurt the people he lands on." The demon hooted as if at one of time's great jokes.
"I don't need to," the dwarf replied. "He's right about the choice. Suchara can't control him all the time. But he hasn't thought it all the way through. She doesn't need to, thanks to Nieroda."
He grinned evilly. "He's got this haunt. It would take him over if he died. And it wouldn't let him die all the way. It would keep him sitting there behind it, watching everything it did with his body."
Gathrid shook in an instant of fury. Rogala was right. It was that impotence which had made the souls of Mohrhard Horgrebe and Obers Lek so difficult to digest. They had spent ages despairing over their usage.
"That's still a choice," he blustered.
"Sure is. And as pretty a one as you'll ever have to face. You up to it, Gathrid? Really up to it?
I didn't think so."
The Mindak and his wife came to 'the tower's top. Gathrid immediately forgot everything but Mead.
The woman had a warmth, compassion and understanding lacking in his other acquaintances. Though she was twelve years older, he remained halfway in love.
Common soldier to high commander, Ventimiglians were interested only in survival, plunder and power. Hows and whys and who got hurt were matters of supreme indifference.
Mead cared.
Yet she believed in her husband.
It had taken Gathrid weeks to resolve the apparent contradiction. He finally concluded that the lady agreed with her husband's ultimate goal, an empire free of strife. What she loathed were his methods.
Gathrid bowed to the Lady Mead. She offered him a ghost of a smile. Loida scowled. The youth was more obvious than he thought. He said, "We were just discussing the traps of our lives."
"We're all trapped in our lives," Mead observed. "Either by the Great Old Ones or by ourselves. No use mourning it, Gathrid. Make the best of a bad situation. Try to leave things better for those who will follow us."
"Any success would be devoured by the Great Old Ones," Ahlert told her.
The lady smiled her serene smile.
"What?" Gathrid asked. He had missed something. Had the Mindak finally told Mead that he had been Chosen by Chuchain?
"You're picking an argument, dear," Mead told her husband. "I'm not going to play today." She guided Ahlert to a point twenty feet from Gathrid's group.
The youth reddened. He took a step in the Mindak's direction.
"Just hold it," Rogala growled. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Gathrid stopped. He was surprised at himself. "Oh. Yes. All right." He felt a moment of shame. He was becoming arrogant behind his despair. He was getting too confident of his immunity from every peril but Rogala's dagger.
He had not been born with this blade in his hand. Behind it he was nothing but Gathrid of Kacalief, a very unprepossessing youth.
He was getting antsy. He had to get out of Covingont soon. He had to start doing something.
Fate granted his wish soon enough. Messenger birds began arriving. Contact had been made with Nieroda. Her rebels were in Silhavy and Gorsuch. Patrol after patrol reported an encounter. The presence of Toal was mentioned in every message.
Nieroda had split her army into divisions commanded by the Toal, hoping to draw the Mindak into multiple engagements. Gathrid saw her strategy. He and Dauben-diek could be but one place at a time. She was diluting the power of the Sword.