Garan the Eternal (15 page)

It had been decided to send forth a beam of condensed energy, a directional beam, to strike upon the planet selected for our landing place. Within this gigantic tunnel of pure energy the bullet-like ship would ride secure to its destination. The invisible walls would ward off wandering meteors, safeguarding the voyagers. But there was no time to test our theory. Even now the coming doom hung heavy above us, a glowing ball of orange in the night sky.

Three weeks before the end we were summoned to a last mighty conference in Yu-Lac. It was no longer possible to keep secret the fate of Krand; the end had almost
come. There had been eruptions and two tidal waves and a series of earthquakes, growing in intensity.

This night we met to select those who were to venture out into space that some part of our world might be saved. Thran and Thrala sat together and before the Lord of Gorl lay a list of names. It was clear that those adventurers must be young and strong, well able to survive the strain of space travel. And few of those gathered there could so qualify. Yet no shadow lay upon their faces as they listened.

Name after name was read out. I was mightily pleased to hear that both Anatan and Analia were included. But when at length Thran was done, I rose to protest

“My Lords, withdraw my name.”

“But we have need of you —”

I cut through Thran’s response. “You will have little need for a soldier on your raw new world. I will stay here where I will be of some worth in the disorder of these last days. Nay, I go not. I am Krand’s, and Krand’s will I be until the end.” I looked at Thrala. All the bitterness and hate was gone from me and I faced her smilingly. I saw her hand touch her unsteady lips and then move toward me. I was well content.

So in spite of all their urging I held to the decision I had made. And Anatan would have stayed by me if I had not fairly forced him into the transport flier which was to take them to Cor and the ship. Thrala came to me at the last moment.

“Beloved,” she said clearly, “now you have given me a memory which is more precious than the treasure of a thousand kings. Until our next meeting, farewell.” And in the sight of all of them she laid her hps to mine.

Then they were gone and we stood on the landing stage looking after that black speck fast fading into the distance. Zacat was the first to stir. He turned to me, his hand outstretched, his old wide grin splitting his plain face.

“You have been a good comrade, Garan. When we meet beyond the stars, we shall have tall tales to tell, you and L Now, farewell.”

“Where are you going?” I demanded.

“Back to Ru. I am soldier enough to wish to remain-at my post until the end.” And his flier too vanished in the hazy sky.

I was alone.

Chapter Ten

Darkness

We were on the crest of Yu-Lac’s tallest watchtower. My body was pressed against the stone; I could feel the chill of that contact through my cloak. But there was the coldness of death itself within me.

“There it rises!” Was it the Emperor who spoke or had the dull pounding of blood in my brain beat out the words?

Behind the distant mountains there was a splotch of flame, a blooming burst of fire. A shattering roar. . . . The murmur of the frenzied city was eaten up and gone. But from the surface of our stricken world arose a javelin of light, up and up. A spear of protest hurdled against the gods.

One deep shuddering sob broke through my control. The Emperor’s arm was about my shoulders.

“There passes the heart of Krand. Was it not worth the price, my son?”

“No!” pounded the hot blood in my veins.

I squarely faced his fine eyes.

“Aye,” my lips formed the word my heart did not feel.

Even as I watched, the spear of flame spun out into the void. The heavens were dark and drear again. From below came the cries of a world gone mad with fear and hate.

‘To the last, son?”

‘To the last.” I sealed the pact between us.

We turned and, side by side, descended from the watch- tower to the street. There we separated, he to attend to his duties, I to mine.

As a soldier I knew that from now on until the end I must use all my powers and all of the men under my command to preserve order. I well understood that this was to be a thankless task. I realized the enormity of it as I hastened to the barracks through the crowded roistering mobs
which packed the streets. No force under Krand’s sun could hope to bring order from this chaos — but we must try.

Everywhere the mobs milled in hopeless confusion. Some engaged in senseless acts of violence, open street fighting, and looting and gutting of buildings. With a sense of pride which held even now I sighted the bright uniforms of my own soldiers as they literally fought to do what little they could to keep some small control. Every street corner seemed now to have sprouted an oracle. Some of these prayed; others shouted blame for the coming holocaust against the Learned Ones, inciting their listeners to acts of violence in a world gone mad.

I fought my way through, welcoming the physical action which kept me from thinking too much. It was hard to realize that my lady Thrala was gone, if plans had not gone awry, on her way through the great void between the stars to another world and another life in which I would have no part. I was not one to be resigned to such a loss. Far otherwise — then and there did I swear to On that if he allowed me another existence sometime, somewhere upon another world, as some of our people thought could happen, I would once again find the life essence that was Thrala. And then — nothing — no force of God or man would ever separate us.

Holding to that oath as a storm-racked sailor might cling to a life raft, I reached the barracks. Troops filed — trotted — out to face the chaos beyond. One might so watch an Ana trying to restrain a grippon. For every act of violence they prevented there were a thousand more come to a bloody finish.

The next few days were a nightmare of thankless, ceaseless activity. There was no real night — or day — only duty and a terrible fatigue of both mind and body. All sane life in Krand, it seemed, had come to a halt. The pleasure palaces were filled with those seeking forgetfulness. Half the buildings in the city of Yu-Lac had been looted and gutted. We made no arrests — there was no time — nor prisons. We delivered summary justice at the scene of each crime. Only a few continued to lead a normal life and attend to normal duties: my own men, to my continued pride, the police, and most of the Learned Ones. Had one needed proof of the evil wrought by the madness of Kepta, he need only raise his eyes and look.

I was kept so busy in those last days of disintegrating
Krand that I had little time to think of Thrala, or to speculate upon the fate of the spaceship.

On the fourth straight day without sleep and little rest, I knew I must seek some easement or fall in my own path. Also I had an errand at the Palace. Wearily I made my way to the roof where my flier was kept. I exited into a chilly, wind-swept, blood-red dawn. Above me the invading planet hung its threat — a hammer to cover a quarter of the sky. I knew, if our Learned Ones were correct, that now the moment was very close when all Krand would break into fragments.

As I rose above the ravaged city I saw that we now had another remorseless enemy. Huge waves of water battered the lower reaches, demolishing walls which had stood unchanged for generations, dealing death to any who had tarried there overlong.

Acting on a sudden premonition, I pushed at top speed for the Palace. The Emperor and I had made a pact; I was sure he would rather meet his end in the clean On-given air. He and I could do no more for the world of our birth.

I flew against the push of a mighty wind with that same need for carrying out orders as had kept me at my post throughout these fear-crazed days. The flier controls were an enemy I must fight with all my strength. Beneath me buildings shuddered, shook like sapling trees in a vicious storm and there was a deafening roar of sound. My craft was no longer answering any control I could assert. As it spun I caught alternating glimpses of sky and ground. Buildings shattered their debris down upon the small running things once of my own kind. Huge waves rolled back, taking with them a rubble of stone-broken bodies.

Darkness — and with it panic which was like a body blow. All else I had expected but this, carrying with it all man’s age-old fear, was far worse than any warning could suggest. That lasted only a moment while something too huge to be eye-measured passed and was gone into space. Suddenly, I knew: Krand had split asunder and had added a new moon — or, was that Krand which had gone hurtling by and this the moon?

My flier was completely beyond control, smashed at and buffeted by the howling, screaming wind. Only the pilot’s seat webbing had kept me so far from being beaten to death within. Breath — I could no longer breathe — Now, as blackness descended upon me, I saw — not the chaos of a world
such as no man might ever look upon and yet live. I saw — Thrala — Thrala as she was and would ever be for me!

For a long moment there was an awed silence between my Lady Thrala and myself — who was now Garan of the Flame in the cavern world of Tav. Those scenes we had just viewed were too vivid in our memories, too hurtful even yet.

And — who was I? Garan of Yu-Lac that was — how far back in time, could any reckon that now? Or Garan that is — in the here and present, who could put out his hand to the lost one and feel hers lie within it?

Thrala — I caught her up, shaken well out of that daze the past had flung over me. Against me, my arms about her, no separation now — ever.

Forgotten was the room in which we stood — the now blank mirrors of seeing.

Search was ended — an end was a beginning.

ONE SPELL WIZARD

In all professions there are not only the awe-inspiring great successes, and the forgotten failures, but also those who seem unable to climb the tallest peaks, yet do not tumble hopelessly into the chasms in between. There were sorcerers in High Hallack of whom nobles were quick to speak with reverence when in company; what they said in private remained private if they were lucky. One could never be quite sure of the substance of shadows, nor even of the pedigree of a web-weaving spider. Such uncertainty can be nerve-racking at times.

Also there were warlocks and wizards near to the other end of the scale who barely eked out livings in tumble-down cottages surrounded by unpleasant bogs, or found themselves reduced to caves where water dripped unendingly, and bats provided a litter they could well do without. Their clients were landsmen who came to get a cure for an ailing cow or a stumbling horse. Cow — horse — when a man of magic should be rightfully dealing with the fate of dales, raking in treasure from lords, living in a · keep properly patrolled at night by things which snuffled at the doors to keep all unhappy visitors within their chambers from dusk to dawn — or the reverse, depending upon the habits of the visitor. Sorcerers have a very wide range of guests, willing and unwilling.

Wizards have no age, save in wizardry. And to live in a bat- and water-haunted cave for long sours men. Though to begin with wizards are never of a lightsome temperament. A certain acid view of life accompanies the profession.

And Saystrap considered he had been far too long in a cave. It was far past the time when he should have been raised to at least a minor hill keep with a few grisly servitors, if not to the castle of his dreams. There was certainly no treasure in his cave, but he refused to face the fact that there never would be.

The great difficulty was the length of Saystrap’s spells: they were a hindrance to his ambition. They worked very well for as much as twenty-four hours — if he expended top effort in their concoction. He was truly a master of some fine effects with those, but when they did not last he was labeled a dismal failure, which was enough to bring all his frustrations to the boiling point.

At last he was driven to accept his limitations to the point of working out a method whereby a short-lived spell could be put to good account Only to do this he
must
have an
assistant. But, while a sorcerer of note could pick and choose apprentices, a half-failure such as Saystrap had to take what he might find in a very limited labor market.

Not too far from his cave lived a landsman with two sons. The eldest was a credit to his thrifty upbringing, a model young man who was upright enough to infuriate all his contemporaries in the neighborhood, to whom he was constantly cited as an example. He worked from sunrise to early dusk with a will, never spent silver when copper would do — in all ways an irritating youth.

But his brother was as useless a lad as any father wanted to curse out of house and field. He could be found lying on his back with the mowing hardly begun watching clouds —
clouds,
mind you I Put to any task he either broke the tools by some stupid misuse, or ruined what he was supposed to be working on. And he could not even talk plain, but gobbled away in so thick a voice that no decent man could understand him, not that any wanted to.

It was the latter misfortune which attracted Saystrap’s attention. A wizard’s power lies in spells, and most of these must be chanted aloud in order to get the proper effect — even a short-time effect. An assistant who was as good as dumb, who would not learn a few tag ends of magic and then have the audacity to set up in business for himself, was the best to employ.

So one morning Saystrap arrived via a satisfactory puff of smoke in the middle of the cornfield where the landsman was berating his son for breaking a hoe. The smoke curled very impressively into the sky as Saystrap stepped out of its curtain. And the landsman jumped back a step or two, looking just as amazed as he should. Saystrap found this gratifying, a lucky omen, and prepared to bargain.

“Greetings,” he said briskly. He had long ago learned that any long build-up was not for a short-spelled wizard. It was best to forego the supposedly awed mumbles and get right to the point.

But he did not overlook the staging, of course. A pass or two in the air produced two apple trees, about shoulder height (he had to make it quick), still loaded with fruit. And, as an additional nice touch, a small dragon winked into existence and out again before the landsman found his voice. “It is a fair morning for field work,” Saystrap continued.

“It was,” the landsman returned uncertainly. Magic in the
woods, or a cave now — that was one thing. But magic right out in the middle of the best yielding cornfield was a different matter. The dragon was gone, he could not really swear it had been here, but those trees were still standing where they would be a pesky nuisance around which to get the plow. “How — how can I serve you, Master — Master — ?”

“Saystrap,” supplied the wizard graciously. “I am your near neighbor, Master Ladizwell. Though busy as you have been on your very fruitful land you may not be aware of that.”

Master Ladizwell looked from the trees to the wizard. There was a hint of a frown on his face. Wizards, like the lord’s taxmen, were too apt to take more than they gave in return. He did not relish the thought of living cheek-by- jowl, as it were, with one. And he certainly had not invited this meeting.

“No, you have not,” Saystrap answered his thought. This was the time to begin to bear down a little and let the fellow know just who and what he was dealing with. “I have come to ask your assistance in a small matter. I need a pair of younger feet, stronger arms, and a stout back to aid me.” Now this lad” — for the first time he glanced at the younger son — “has he ever thought of going into service?”

“Him?” The landsman snorted. “Why, what fool would — “ Then he stopped in mid-word. If this wizard did not know of his stupid son’s uselessness, why tell the family shame abroad? “For what length of service?” he demanded quickly. If a long bond could be agreed upon he might get the lout out from underfoot, and make a profit into the bargain.

“Oh, the usual — a year and a day.”

“And his wages, Master Saystrap?”

“How would you reckon his worth?”

“Well, now, at this season another pair of knowledgeable hands — “ Ladizwell hurriedly kicked at the broken hoe, hoping the wizard had not seen that nor heard his hot words to his son.

“Will this suffice?” Saystrap waved a hand in a grand, wide gesture, and in the field stood a fine horse.

Ladizwell blinked. “Right enough!” he agreed hurriedly. He held out his hand and Saystrap slapped his into it, thus binding the bargain.

Then the wizard gestured again and smoke arose to wreathe both him and his newly engaged servant When
that cleared they had vanished and Ladizwell went to put a halter on the horse.

At dawn the next day, Ladizwell was far from pleased when he went to the stable to inspect his new prize and found a rabbit nibbling the straw in the stall but no horse. However, he thought, at least he did not have to feed and clothe that slip-fingered lout for a year and a day, so perhaps he was still better off than he had been yesterday.

Saystrap, back in his cave, was already making use of his new servant. To him this Joachim was a tool with neither wit nor will of his own. But the sooner he began to give what aid he could the better. Saystrap had to resolutely brush out of his mind visions of stone walls, treasure rooms,
things
pledged to his service; those were as heady as aged wine and not made to disturb working hours.

There were brews boiled and drunk — by Joachim. And he had to be led, or pushed and pulled, through patterns drawn in red and black on the rough floor. But in the end Saystrap was satisfied with the preliminaries and went wearily to his hammock, leaving Joachim to huddle on a bed of bracken.

At dawn the wizard was up and busy again. He allowed Joachim a hasty — and to the lad very untasty — meal of dried roots and berries, hurrying him until Joachim was almost choking on the last begrudged bite or two. Then they took to the traveling cloud again and emerged from it not too far from the Market Cross of Hill Dallow. That is — there strode out of the cloud a man in a gray wool tunic leading a fine frisky two-year-old colt, as promising an animal as any one, lord or common, would want to lay eye on. And this was sold at the first calling in the horse fair for a bag of silver pieces heavy enough to weight a man’s belt in a satisfying manner.

The colt was led home by the buyer and shown off as being an enviable bargain. But when the moon rose, Joachim stole out of the barn, dropping stall and door latch into place behind him. He shambled off to the far side of the pasture where Saystrap waited impatiently.

This was a game they played several times over, always with a good gain thereby. Saystrap treated Joachim well enough — though more as if he were really a horse than any man. Which was Saystrap’s mistake. For Joachim might seem stupid, and be too thick of speech to talk with his fellows, but he was not correspondingly slow-witted. He
learned from all he heard and saw his master do. Deep in him a small spark of ambition flared. There had not been anything about his father’s land which had ever brought that into being. For, no matter how hard he tried, his brother, without seeming to put forth any great effort, could ably outdo him. But this was another world than the farm.

Then, by chance, he learned something which even Saystrap did not know, that spells were not always wedded to the spoken word.

His master had sent him to gather herbs for brews. This was wild country and men seldom traveled it But furred and four-footed hunters had their own well-trodden trails.

For all the barrenness of the wild land Joachim was glad enough to be alone in the open. For, after what he now thought of as the homy comforts of the farmhouse (even with his father’s caustic tongue, his brother’s sneers to dim his days), he found the cave very damp and dreary, and he missed the fields more than he would have believed possible. It seemed a very long time since he had had a chance to lie and watch the slow passing of clouds overhead, dream of what he might do if he had a sorcerer’s treasure now, or had been born into a lord’s family.

But this day he found himself mulling over Saystrap’s doings rather than paying attention to clouds, and his onetime dreams. In his mind he repeated the words he had heard the wizard use in spells. By now the change spell, at least, was as familiar to him as his own name. Then he heard a sound and looked around — into the yellow-green eyes of a snow cat. It hissed a challenge and Joachim knew that here stalked death on four paws. So, he concentrated — without being sure of how or on what.

The snow cat vanished! On the rock crouched a barn rat

Joachim shivered. He put out his hand to test the reality of what he saw and the rat scuttled away squealing. Was this by any chance some ploy of Saystrap’s, meant to frighten him into his work? But — there was another way of testing. Joachim looked down at his own body. Did he dare? He thought again.

Soft fur, paws with claws — he was a snow cat! Not quite believing, he leaped up, to bound along the ridge. Then he stopped beneath a rock spur, and thought himself a man again, more than a little frightened at his own act

Then that fear became pride, the first time in his life
he had cause to feel that. He was a wizard! But only in part. One spell alone could not make him a real one. He must learn more and more, and at the same time keep his secret from Saystrap if he could. Doubts about that gnawed him all the way back to the cave.

The only trouble was that Saystrap no longer tried other spells. And the few scraps Joachim assembled from his master’s absent-minded mutterings were no help at all. Saystrap was concentrating on what he intended to be his greatest coup in shape-changing.

“The harvest fair at Garth Haigis is the chance to make a good profit,” he told Joachim, mainly because he had to tell someone of his cleverness. “We must have something eye-catching to offer. A pity I cannot change you into a coffer of jewels. Then I could sell to more than one buyer. Only then, when the spell faded” — he laughed a little, evilly, and poked Joachim in the ribs with his staff-of-office — “you would be too widely scattered between one keep and the next ever to put you together again.” He was deep in thought now, running his long forenail back and forth across his teeth.

“I wonder.” He eyed Joachim appraisingly. “A cow is bait only for a landsman. And we have dealt too often in horses; there might be someone with a long memory there. Ah!” He tapped the end of his staff on the rock. “A trained hunting falcon — such brings a gleam of avarice to any lord’s eye!”

Joachim was uneasy. True enough, Saystrap’s trick had always worked smoothly. He had had no trouble freeing himself from barns and stables when the spell lifted. But keeps were better guarded and it might not be easy to flee out of those. Then he thought of his own secret He might, in the allotted time, cease to be Saystrap’s falcon, but that did not mean he had to become an easily recognized man.

The fair at Garth Haigis was an important one. Joachim, wearing falcon shape, gazed about eagerly from his perch on Saystrap’s saddle horn. Men in booths remarked on the fine bird and asked its price. But the wizard set such a high one, they all shook their heads, though one or two went so far as to count the silver in their belt purses.

Before noon a man wearing the Cross-Key badge of Lord Tanheff rode up to Saystrap.

“A fine bird that, fit for a lord’s mews. My lord would like to look at it, Master Falconer.”

So Saystrap rode behind the servant to the upper field where tents were set up for the comfort of the nobly born. There they summoned to them merchants with such wares as they found interesting.

Lord Tanheff was a man of middle years and he had no son to lift shield after him. But his daughter, the Lady Juluya, sat at his right hand. Since she was a great heiress she had a goodly gathering of young lords, each striving to win her attention. It was her way to be fair and show no one favor over his fellows.