He realized he had slipped into Suchara-thinking. Damn the casualties! He was disgusted with himself. "How bad is it, Theis?"
Rogala shrugged. "Who can tell? They're holding out. They're covering the Causeway. But Ahlert put in his best. Only time will tell."
Time had nothing to reveal before sundown. Though weariness depressed the tempo of the fighting, it continued. News from Sartain remained sketchy. A quarter of the vast city appeared to have been captured. The Imperial Brigade had bogged down for lack of strength to exploit its coup. It appeared to have trapped the Fray Magister in the Raftery.
That night Gathrid found time to sleep. And for the first time in months his Toal-haunt plagued him.
He was dreaming confused dreams, his brain laboring at the Augean task of integrating the souls Daubendiek had devoured, when it began. Sudden, vicious, determined, it hit him. It was a cold evil intent on making him its own. There was no warning. One moment there was nothing, the next a reverberating shock as it smashed in, driving tentacles into his soul. The sleepy semiawareness that was Gathrid of Kacalief almost succumbed.
Tureck Aarant never slept. He was like Rogala in that respect. He fought the Toal. He gave Gathrid time to assume control, to begin resisting.
They seemed lost in another universe, the youth and his enemy.
Gathrid interpreted the struggle in symbols he could understand. While aware that his body lay on a rude barracks cot, foaming at the mouth and speaking in tongues, he lived a savage unarmed combat with a faceless foe whose muscles were iron, who whispered of devouring him. Back and forth across a cold, featureless plain they battled, beneath moons and stars that might have been the faces of mocking gods. The chill evil of the Toal filtered deep into his being, to the dark recesses where his worst fears and blackest desires lay hidden, straining at their chains.
Rogala, Hildreth, and a dozen Brothers and physicians stood by, unable to help, unsure, even, that this was the attack of Covingont being repeated. At first the dwarf thought Gathrid's mind had snapped under the assault of too many new personalities.
In that inside place Gathrid realized that he was losing. His opponent knew neither fear nor fatigue, and had nothing to lose. It could maintain the assault indefinitely. Panic lashed the youth.
In a moment of inspiration, Rogala placed the Sword in his hands.
Another apparition materialized on Gathrid's subjective plain. Tureck Aarant looked down on the struggle. He radiated an infinite sadness. He was his own master no more. His ancient mistress had reclaimed him.
He waded in with the chill fearlessness of the Aarant of legend. Suchara's will drove him. Hatred marred his features, curses distended his mouth. There was no escaping the mistress.
His was a hopeless mission. His ages enslaved to a Toal had left him vulnerable. As it had promised Gathrid it would do him, the Toal-monster did Tureck Aarant.
Others of Gathrid's stolen souls bombarded him with unwanted advice. They feared for him. He was their immortality.
He did accept the advice of an assassin from Torun. He got behind the Toal and tried strangling it with a forearm... .
Those were his perceptions. The reality was a pure battle of wills.
Aarant's will was not strong enough. As the Toal twitched in Gathrid's arms, before spinning away into the plane of Hell whence it had been summoned in ages past, it took a last killing bite.
The saga of Tureck Aarant ended at last. His personality faded. Only his memories remained.
Gathrid felt hollow, incomplete, as if some critical organ had been ripped from his chest.
He had lost his best friend.
He sat and wept. For a while he shook uncontrollably. Great moaning sobs racked his body.
The body in the Maurath responded in the same fashion. Rogala gaped.
And outside the Maurath the battle continued. The attempt to connect island and fortress beneath a wooden canopy collapsed. The Ventimiglian penetration of the fortress highwatered and began to fade. But Ahlert's wizards had the great tunnel two-thirds cleared.
All through the night Ahlert's boats ferried troops to Sartain. A dark stain spread on the map of the island. Anderle's diminutive navy intercepted many of the Min-dak's boats. The Imperial Brigade proved unable to take the Raftery.
Ahlert had lost his momentum.
Gathrid regained his self-control. He covered his embarrassment with a show of business. "It's been two days. Any news from Malmberget?" His companions shook their heads. Hildreth, looking ashen, did not respond at all. "What's wrong with the Count?" the youth asked.
"Had a go at their gate-clearing party," Rogala replied. "Took an arrow. Stubborn old coot hid it.
Nobody noticed till he was ready to keel over from loss of blood."
"He do any good?"
"Not enough. I figure they'll break through in another hour. We'll cut them up some while they make the passage, but there's no way to stop them all."
"Thought this place was supposed to be able to hold out forever. Katich did better without our resources."
"Katich didn't have to deal with those flyers. Even so, you've got a point. The engineers shouldVe given more thought to the fact that the defenders might have to face sorcery.''
Gathrid reflected. The gantlet would be expensive for the men passing through. Each one who fell in the tunnel would make the journey more difficult for others. The Mindak might waste half his army before succeeding.
Gathrid was sure Ahlert would try. His obsession would compel him. "Theis, better think about what we'll do if Sartain falls."
A messenger rushed in. He tried to report to Count Cuneo. "The flyers are back! They're driving them inside."
"Inside the Maurath?" Gathrid asked. "Yes, Sir. They're all over the upper level." The youth dragged himself upright. "Help me with my armor, Theis. We should Ve expected this."
"There're a lot of things we should have expected;" Rogala said. "Only we didn't."
"They won't have room. ..." Hildreth protested weakly. He seemed to be coming back.
"They don't need any," Gathrid retorted. "They just have to keep us distracted till Ahlert breaks through." He addressed the Brothers present. "Block the stairwells and barricade the doorways.
Keep them off the tunnel levels." "What's Ahlert going to do with Sartain once he gets it?" Rogala asked. "He hasn't taken the Maurath. He'd have to fight his way out again."
Gathrid could not answer that. Only the Mindak knew why he wanted the Queen City so badly.
He considered allowing a reversal of roles. For an instant only. There were a million people on the island. He and these soldiers were here to protect those people, not to defeat Ahlert. The Mindak would show them little mercy. Rogala would say so what. Let Ahlert through. The people of Sartain would fight. They would hurt their conquerors. Malmberget could clean up what remained.
The dwarf's focus was a little narrow sometimes. "Theis, I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't know why he wants Sartain himself. I don't think he's thought about it. It's a move in Chuchain's game.
It's an end in itself." "Dumb."
"Not so tight with that lace. I want both arms loose.
And you don't have room to criticize, Servant of Su-chara."
Rogala yanked the lace tight. "Sartain is symbolic to the Power Ahlert serves," he admitted.
"Chuchain will score a few points if his champion captures the city.''
Gacioch whooped crazily. Rogala glared at the demon. "That was a howler, eh?"
Gathrid listened carefully. That was one of the demon's augury laughs. They always presaged some special unpleasantness. As usual, Gacioch refused to elucidate.
"Theis, that critter is starting to irritate me." His latest bout with his Toal-haunt had left everything to do with higher and lower planes, demonology and Power, irking him tremendously. He had lost his only friend... . Why, of all times, had it chosen to strike now? In what way had Nieroda profited? "I think I'll stuff him in a sack with fifty pounds of rock and drop him into the Sound."