Gathrid half-listened while he watched Mead chat with Ahlert's sister. The topic was babies. The sister was extremely gravid. Mead was in the third or fourth month of her first pregnancy. Gathrid would not have guessed had she not mentioned it.
Ahlert continued, "I'll have to smooth their feathers, then get them to raise another army. So you don't get bored in the meantime, I arranged access to our libraries and historians. Rogala says you're interested in the history of the Great Sword. My people did a lot of research when we thought we could lay hands on it first."
"Uhm." Gathrid nodded. He watched Mead till Loida poked him in the ribs. "Why'd you do that?"
"It's not polite to stare. And the Mindak is trying to tell you something."
Embarrassed, he devoted more attention to Ahlert.
"We found a cache of readable books in Ansorge. They span several thousand years. Some are in Old Pe-tralian. Those are the springboard my people are using to translate the rest. You could help, being familiar with Petralian."
"I suppose." Ahlert had become formal and remote. The youth's staring had not won him any affection.
"You seem distracted, Gathrid."
"It's a strange land. Everything is different. I don't know what to do. I grew up in a remote outpost. This's the first real city I've seen. No one here but Loida shares my background."
Ahlert smiled. "I suppose so. That hadn't occurred to me. Well, scholars are scholars. You won't be uncomfortable doing your research."
The Mindak was right. The men he joined next morning were indifferent to anything but their pursuit of knowledge.
He was a research project himself, Gathrid discovered. He spent half the day answering questions.
After lunch they answered his and showed him where to find the histories he wanted to plumb. The pattern persisted for weeks. They drained him of every thought even vaguely relating to the Great Sword.
The first thing Gathrid read was a report delivered to the Mindak two years earlier, "A Summary History of the Great Sword, also known as the Sword of Suchara, also known as Daubendiek." Its style matched that of its title. It contained sketches of previous Swordbearings.
Tureck Aarant had been one of the luckiest Sword-bearers. His Choosing had been brief and comparatively painless. It had ended in a quick death at Rogala's hand. That section added little to Gathrid's knowledge.
Aarant's immediate predecessor had been killed in battle. His predecessor had committed suicide.
Earlier, there had been a Swordbearer who had met his fate at the hand of someone bearing the Shield of Dreibrant, and several who had been as successful as Aarant. There was mention of a Stodreich Uetrecht who, like Anyeck, had overreached. Rogala had ended his stewardship after just two days.
The earliest Swordbearer with a remembered name was one Scharon Chaudoin. His entry was longer than Aarant's. He had been a contemporary and enemy of Nev-enka Nieroda when she had been alive.
She had used the name Wistma Povich then, and had adopted the name Nieroda later.
Chaudoin had battled Sommerlath and been defeated. Povich had separated him from his esquire and captured him. He had been the longest lived Swordbearer.
His life had spanned a thousand years, the entire lifetime of Sommerlath's Queen. He had spent every moment of her reign imprisoned in a large bottle drifting at the end of a tether over Victory Square in Spillenkothen. He had shared his prison with Daubendiek and a bloodsucking imp.
The Sword had remained in his hand. He hadn't had room to use it. He'd simply had to wait till Rogala had found a way to kill him.
After the report, Gathrid read history books. The more he read, the more he saw a pattern. The scholars confirmed his notion. •
Evenings involved meals with Ahlert's family. After Gathrid's novelty value faded, those shrank.
Rogala and Gacioch became part of the dinner scene. Gathrid avoided the dwarf otherwise, and did not talk to him at table.
Gacioch he saw more frequently. Ahlert's scholars were studying the severed head too. Gacioch made himself difficult. The youth often heard the demon's cursing from his study bench.
He enjoyed being round the scholars. Had the choice been his, he would have joined them. One evening he detained the Mindak after their supper.
"How are the studies coming?" Ahlert asked. "Are they keeping you busy?"
"Hurting and helping, I guess. There's so much pain in it. There're too many parallels between my path and Aarant's. And the others."
"We Chosen follow a script," Ahlert mumbled. "They fight the same old fights."
"I don't like it. In fact, I can't stand it. I don't want to follow Aarant's road. I'd rather be a scholar. This's the first time in my life I've ever done something I really enjoyed."
"Why'd you want to see me? I don't have much time. I have a meeting with the Corichs."
Gathrid unslung Daubendiek and proffered the Sword. "Take it. You wanted it. I don't."
Ahlert refused. "It's too late, Gathrid. Suchara is awake. I'm not even tempted. She'd destroy me.
It's safer for both of us to play the game out."
"But ..."
"They call me a lot of names, but fool isn't one of them. Only a fool would wrestle Suchara when She's awake. Sorry. You've been Chosen."
Gathrid cursed under his breath. He cursed again when he spied Rogala in a doorway, a knowing smirk peeping through his beard.
Ahlert said, "Take your walk with Loida. You'll feel better.''
Gathrid departed, stamping his feet angrily.
He and Loida took long walks after dinner every evening. They seldom spoke while strolling. Talk did no good. Just the proximity of another lonely soul was adequate medicine.
"Let's go to the lily pools tonight," Loida suggested. "What happened? You were really happy at supper, when you were joking with Mead." She looked as though she had bitten into a pellet of alum. She made the same face whenever Mead's name came up. Gathrid did not notice. He was not perceptive about women.
Loida Huthsing was blessed with patience.
"I tried to give Ahlert the Sword. He wouldn't take it. He practically laughed at me."
"Oh. Let's go to the lily pools anyway. Somebody said they're blooming again."
"Isn't it late in the year?"
"Sometimes sorcery is good for something besides making war."
The ponds she favored lay in one of Senturia's wild parks. They were surrounded by exotic trees.
Among those there were benches and tables and statuary. The area was popular with young couples.
Gathrid never noticed. Perhaps he was too young.
They stayed out late that evening, watching the moon shine off the pools. The silvery orb worked no magic. It only reminded Gathrid of his sister. He talked about her and brooded about his Swordbearing. Loida became exasperated.
"You're so naive!" she snapped. "So self-involved."
"That's not true. I just don't want to hurt people."
"Whatever you say, Mister Imperceptive. I swear, that foul-mouthed demon is better company than you are. Let's go back."
"Loida. ..."
"Oh, just be quiet."
They played out similar scenes several times. Gathrid never caught on.
He remembered that night only because it was then that he learned that all was not sweetness and light between the Mindak and Mead.
They were in the dining hall when he and Loida returned. Ahlert was in a foul mood. His meeting with the Corichs had gone poorly. He and Mead were arguing about conquests to be undertaken after Nieroda's destruction.
The Mindak argued that genocide was a rational and pragmatic policy. "If we wipe them out, they're no trouble later. We can use our own people to exploit the land.'' He seemed baffled by Mead's insistence that assimilation was a better course.
"It's inhuman. How can you murder all those people?"