The youth realized she had not known the whole truth, had not understood the Dark People's motives. She would not have faced the risks had she done so. Yet her ploy came within a whisker of success. Gathrid was in no shape for wrestling his haunt.
The stretcher-bearers carried him to a warm room deep inside Covingont. Loida, Rogala and the Mindak's people crowded in. "Build up the fire," someone ordered. One of the weary stretcherbearers began chucking logs into the fireplace.
Loida kept on with the frightened questions.
Rogala snapped, "Girl, if you want to stay, get on round the other side there and keep quiet. The questions will answer themselves." He was surprisingly gentle. He turned, asked, "Has it started?"
The senior of the four wizards assigned to the youth replied, "Not yet. He seems to be in shock right now."
Rogala felt Gathrid's pulse, watched his breathing, considered the color of his skin. Shock, all right. He had seen it on a thousand battlefields. But no one had touched the youth. Why, then?
Gathrid suddenly arched his back and made a terrible sound deep in his throat. He began thrashing.
Foam appeared on his lips.
"That's it," said the senior wizard. "Hold him," he told the stretcher-bearers. "Let's get him into some sort of restraints. Rogala, see that he doesn't swallow his tongue. Put something between his teeth. He could bite it and drown in his own blood."
The dwarf seized a piece of kindling.
The wizards chanted, then listened with an inner ear, then chanted some more. The senior finally observed, "It's a strong one, this devil."
"One of the Toal spirits," Rogala replied.
"This's going to be hard work, then. If it knows how to install itself with outside help."
The wizards practiced their craft. Two days would pass before they dared relax, before they saw themselves safely through the crisis. The Toal haunt was stubborn and determined.
For a time the Gathrid inside, so weakly anchored to his flesh, did not realize who or what he was. He knew only that he was fighting for his existence. And in the beginning he did not have much motive for winning.
He seemed, to be in a different world, an imaginary world. He formed an army of one, and upon an unseen plain he met another such host, a formless shadow that seemed to be mostly hunger. It leapt at him, and bore him down, and seemed about to devour him... . Then they were back where they started, facing one another again. It leapt at him, and bore him, down, and seemed about to devour him... .
Gathrid was baffled. Over and over, the same thing happened. And each time something broke the chain before the moment of disaster.
Then he felt Tureck Aarant in there with him. Tureck Aarant, who could have taken him, fighting to save him. And then there were other forces, things unseen, from outside the dream, which put constraints upon the shadow, and weakened it while he grew stronger.
There was no feel of time in there. Nor did Gathrid care, till caring returned and he began to fight more from desire than reflex. The battle turned the instant he rediscovered his will to survive.
"That's it," Aarant whispered. "That's it. We have it on the run now. Come. Let's destroy it." And in an instant they were in pursuit, flying across the unseen plain.
The youth's eyes opened. He needed several seconds to get his bearings. He found Loida holding his hand, looking exhausted and worried. "Hi!" he croaked, grinning a rictus of a grin.
"Gathrid!"
"I'm back."
She threw herself at him, hugging him. Then she shouted, "He's awake! He came out of it."
Rogala and several Ventimiglians charged into the room. "How you doing, son?" the dwarf demanded.
Weakly, Gathrid replied, "I think the worst is over."
"What happened?"
"Careful," Aarant whispered inside him.
"I was going to ask you. The Toal thing, I think."
"That's what we figured. Ooh, that Nieroda was crafty.''
Gathrid tried to lever himself into a sitting position. Loida had to help him. "How long was I out?"
"Two days. And she used every second." Rogala told the tale.
Nieroda's forces had ripped and torn at the army blocking the Karato. A finger of one assault had high-watered in the snows below fortress Covingont. The Mindak was still trying to drive that thrust back. The old scars on the walls of the pass had been obliterated by new ones.
Gathrid smiled. "What good would winning do her? Winter will hold the pass better than any army."
Rogala shrugged. "The seasons turn."
Gathrid tried to get to his feet. "I've got to get down there and help."
The Mindak entered. He examined the youth. "You aren't going anywhere for a few days."
"But ..."
"You're too weak. To be honest, I don't want you going out there and losing the Sword."
Rogala agreed. "You just stay put. Take it easy. Girl, keep an eye on him. Yell if he gets too frisky."
They forced him back down on the cot. And once down, he found he did not mind having Loida fuss over him.
In his shy way he was fond of her. He did not yet know her well, but he did feel good when she was around. He was tempted to stretch his convalescence.
Loida was first to sense the changes in the Sword-bearer. He had returned to the world possessed of an altered perspective, a new determination, a new hardness, a new hunger for the destruction of the forces toying with mankind. She found this new Gathrid frightening. She liked the old one better.
Chapter Thirteen
Gudermuth Again That Nieroda was an inspired commander became ever more obvious. Rogala's prophecy of defeat seemed likely to come true despite a defense that he had guaranteed to be a sure thing. The dwarf began to doubt it himself.
Then, after having subjected the Ventimiglian host to seven days of savagery, Nieroda decamped and raced westward. Ahlert's people were too weak and weary to do anything but thank their gods that they had survived.
Nieroda told no one her intentions. The Mindak's man Belfiglio could tell his master nothing. The Eye could not look into the minds of Nieroda or the Toal.
Nieroda had a week's lead before Ahlert became organized enough to follow.
Now Rogala's scheme revealed its weakness. There were not enough draft animals to draw the supply train. Ahlert stumbled westward, losing ground every day.
Nieroda reached Gudermuth while winter still gripped the little kingdom. Her army was tired and cold and hungry, but confident.
In her absence Count Cuneo had managed to restore much of the Alliance's shaky fighting spirit.
Morale had risen when his vigorous campaign broke through the brigades holding the Beklavac narrows. In an effort to solidify the Alliance further, he marched on eastward and relieved the capital of Gudermuth, adding his own Imperial troops to those of Honsa Eldracher and Katich's native defenders. He believed further successes there would seal the remaining vacillators into the pact.
Nieroda challenged Hildreth and Eldracher as soon as she reached Gudermuth."
"They've seen a hell of a fight," Eldracher observed. He was a tall, lean, weathered man of middle years. In manner and bearing he resembled his friend, Yedon Hildreth. He and the Count were of a class that had become inbred. "What do you think?" he asked Hildreth.
Nieroda's vanguard did look ragged and panicky, as if in a hurry to escape. Her main force, a hill farther away, seemed to swirl and surge, as if hurrying along in disarray.
"The rumor is true." Hildreth scowled ferociously. "The boy made big talk, but he's gone over to the Min-dak. He's no better than Aarant was."
"Stopping Nieroda seems a sound enough reason."
Hildreth's scowl deepened. He was a black or white man, this Count. His viewpoint held little room for compromise. "They'll hit the city," he guessed. "They'll want our food stores. It's just possible they don't know I'm here. I'll go out and hit them first. See if your spook pushers can find out how close Ahlert is."