One of the Elders called Kenlahar’s name once, though he stood in full view of the tribunal. Kenlahar was pushed forward another step by Captain Jonla, and discovered that his rage had been replaced by resignation. “You wish to leave the House of Lahar?” the Elder asked officiously, without once looking up from the papers before him.
Kenlahar refused to answer, confused and angry by the injustice of the charge. The Elder finally looked up. “Come boy, we have been told by the Healer Coron that you and Balor wish to leave the island.”
The Lashitu, who sat on the Elder’s right, turned and said plaintively, “I knew it was a mistake, letting those two be taught by Coron.”
“Remember, it was Coron who reported this transgression.”
“Yes, and lucky for him that he did!” the Lashitu answered in the same peeved tone.
Kenlahar was stunned by what he had just learned. Now he remembered how close the Healer Coron was to the Elders. The old man would do anything to keep him from leaving. But who had told him such a lie—and why?
He realized that the High Elder was speaking to him. “Tell me, son. Why would anyone wish to leave the House of Lahar and venture into the Tream? The worst thing we could do would be to grant your wish. Such a fate is so dire that we have hesitated to use it as a punishment!”
“Only one person has left the island in my lifetime,” the Lashitu added in spite. “And she did not leave of her own free will.”
“Ah, yes,” the High Elder said in a low voice. “The mother—I had forgotten that.” He cleared his throat. “Nonetheless, we cannot knowingly allow our young men to risk their lives in such foolish ventures.”
The kindly tone of the High Elder made Kenlahar look closely at him for the first time. He saw with surprise that the High Elder was actually a fairly young man. Though the gray hair at his temples made him look dignified, an amused glint in his eyes belied the severity.
When Kenlahar still did not speak up the High Elder continued in a bemused tone, “We have heard very little of you since your…ah, remarkable birth, Kenlahar. And now, in a period of just two days, your name is all I have heard. Initially there was your rather surprising refusal of the Axedelve. Then, last night, the Healer Coron came to me with the news that you were planning to leave the island.
“There is something strange about the Healer Coron, but there is no denying he knows a great deal.” The High Elder stared into Kenlahar’s eyes. “This time I listened very carefully to what the old man had to say, for it came following some surprising information from the Watch. I would like the Council of Elders to hear what I have already been told. Captain Jonla?”
All heads turned to regard the legendary leader as he hobbled forward. The old warrior cleared his throat and said stiffly, “During the Axedelve, a small party of Qreq managed to sneak onto the island. We were able to slay all the Qreq but one, who we captured and questioned. It appears that the only purpose of the Qreq patrol was to find and ensnare one person—someone named…Kenlahar!” Captain Jonla glared at Kenlahar with undisguised suspicion.
“Soon after,” the High Elder continued the story with puzzlement written in his face, “one of Captain Jonla’s own men also came to me and suggested that you were intending to leave our island—hinting as well that you were a spy for the Warlord.”
Captain Jonla interrupted, angrily demanding to know who had gone to the High Elder without notifying him first. The High Elder supplied the name, with a note of contempt. “He said his name was Jakkem. I have never seen or heard of him before.”
This brought a hiss of anger from Balor. “Jakkem! He is nothing more than a bully and a liar. If there are any traitors in the House of Lahar, it is he!” Balor suddenly wrenched away from his guards and stepped forward to confront the Elders. “This has gone far enough. I have already told you. It was not Kenlahar who wanted to leave, but I. I do not understand why Coron turned us in!”
‘‘Ah, yes,” the High Elder continued, as if he had not heard the outburst, in a mystified manner. “Then there is Balor. One of our finest young warriors I am told—and fiercely loyal to you, Kenlahar.” Once more, the High Elder turned his bemused eyes to the apprentice healer. “Do you have an answer for all these riddles and charges, young man?”
“I think I can give you the answers you want.” It was the Healer Coron who stepped before the dais, instead—leaving his guards balking behind him at his sudden shift. The room quieted and everyone turned their eyes on the old man. The High Elder shifted uncomfortably on his throne, and the Lashitu eyed the old man uneasily. The Healer Coron seemed to have suddenly taken on an invisible mantle of authority. Neither of his students had ever seen him like this before. Nor, apparently, had the Elders.
“Fifty years ago,” the old man said in a surprisingly strong voice, and his manner compelled all of them to heed his words, “when we were stronger, and the Qreq weaker, we could have gone to the Warlord’s Haven and rooted them out. But we have bided our time too long. Now all it will take to destroy us will be one well-placed torch! Without help, that day is nearer than any of you realize. The Warlord is marshaling his Qreq for the final assault. Our only hope is to find allies…” Kenlahar stared at the old man, astounded by the outpouring of words. The Healer Coron had always discouraged just such talk. Now he was setting forth a convincing case for breaking the isolation of the House of Lahar—one that Balor and he had presented to the old man many times, to no avail.
“But you betrayed us,” Balor objected from the side of the room. “You turned us in to keep us from getting help!”
“No!” the Healer Coron answered vehemently. “I knew that you could never survive without an escort through the swamp. Only the Elders could give authorization for that.” At these words, the old man turned once more to the dais. “We must move quickly, for Toraq, the Sorcerer King, has discovered that there is someone dwelling within the House of Lahar who is heir to the Star Axe.”
“But the Sorcerer King was defeated by Lahar, with the Star Axe!” the High Elder objected.
“Defeated?” the old man mused. “Yes, he was defeated, but he was not destroyed, as we had thought. For he had risen again from whatever limbo he lay for so long. The Warlord of the Qreq is…Toraq, the Sorcerer King!”
Kenlahar was astonished by the fear in the old man’s voice, until he remembered the terrifying legends of the Sorcerer King. He saw the same fear spread through the Chambre. The Warlord had been a deadly enemy, he thought. The Sorcerer King was doom itself!
The Healer Coron nodded, satisfied by the reaction. “Now you may understand why I ask for such a desperate quest—to send Kenlahar into the Tream for help. Any risk must be taken, if we are to survive.” The Healer Coron seemed about to go on with his dire predictions, but he stopped, realizing perhaps that he had already frightened them enough.
None of the others moved or spoke. They stared at the Healer Coron, stunned by the succession of revelations. “There is one more thing Kenlahar must know before he leaves the House of Lahar and fulfills his destiny.” The old man looked at his student with an apology written in his eyes. “You have become a man, Kenlahar. It is right that you should become one in form as well as substance.”
Kenlahar looked questioningly into the Healer Coron’s face. At last I shall be told the truth about my mother, he thought. At last I shall be told my lineage!
“You have always known that there was something tainted in your birth,” the old man said. “I tell you the full story now only by risking exile. The Elders decreed that no one would ever be allowed to tell you the truth.” He looked in the direction of the dais, but the Elders made no effort to stop him from speaking. “Your mother was exiled, Kenlahar, as you have always suspected. But the reason—that you have never known.” He rubbed his eyes wearily, “How can I tell you?” “Tell me!” Kenlahar demanded. He tried to catch the Healer Coron’s eyes, but the old man was avoiding his gaze.
“Many years ago, an Outsider came to the House of Lahar. That stranger
was arrested, but your mother took him as her swain, and helped him escape. For this sacrilege, she was sentenced to the certain death of exile. Since that time, this story has not been told. The family has always felt that there is something different about you, Kenlahar. And they are more right than they know. Only I, among the living, know the truth. Only I know the identity of that stranger—your father. I have waited until this moment to tell you, for the truth would not have helped you. Now …” the Healer Coron paused, seeming to search for a way to tell him. “The best way to reveal the truth is to show you. Touch the blade of the Star Axe, Kenlahar!” he commanded. Kenlahar was startled. “Touch it?”
“Yes, quickly!” the old man ordered, guiding Kenlahar the last few feet to Alcress.
Kenlahar extended his hand gingerly, and one finger brushed the- blade. The blinding flash that emerged from Alcress was that of a falling meteor. He jumped back and threw his arm over his eyes. Then it seemed to grow dark in the hall. When his eyes had once again adjusted to the dim light of the torches, he saw the Watch on their knees before him. It was the Lashitu, who had taunted him for as long as he could remember, who now said reverently, “You are the one for whom we have waited so long!”
The Healer Coron pulled the Star Axe from its hold in the dais and started to remove the blade of the battleaxe from its ancient and brittle haft, which he threw to the floor. He carefully sheathed the Star Axe in a battered scabbard, which he proferred to Kenlahar.
Kenlahar hesitated before taking weapon. To his relief, it remained quiescent in his hands. The Healer Coron helped him tie the scabbard around his neck, securely bound to a cord. Bewildered, he said, “But I felt nothing! What must I do with it?”
“That, Kenlahar,” the Healer Coron said, “is what you must discover for yourself! You must learn to use it. You must go Outside and learn.” The old man seemed to be trying to will the resolve- into Kenlahar’s mind—-student and teacher locked in a steady gaze.
Captain Jonla protested. “But if Kenlahar can wield the Star Axe, there is no need for him to leave! Is this now what we have waited for? Kenlahar can lead us into the next battle against the Warlord!”
With a cry, one of the guards—who always lined the walls of the Chambre, inconspicuous and unnoticed—sprang forward with his blade drawn. Though Kenlahar had time to raise the Star Axe in protection, it moved sluggishly upward, displaying no special power. Only the quick action of Captain Jonla saved Kenlahar. To his relief, the old warrior stepped swiftly in front of him and easily skewered the charging guard.
“There is our spy!” the High Elder exclaimed.
“Or one of them,” the Healer Coron contradicted.
“We must assume that the Warlord knows that someone with the power of the Starborn is here. Unless and until Kenlahar learns to use Alcress, he will be easy prey for Toraq. He must flee—now!
“Kenlahar alone will not be able to save us. The Star Axe is only an empty vessel, which must be imbued with the power of the Starborn. But if he has a chance to learn its secrets, and if he can bring help, and if the Warlord remains unaware that it has been aroused at last—then we shall have a chance.”
The High Elder spoke finally. “Kenlahar must not go alone. We must choose Companions to the Star Axe—our own Raggorak. Balor will go as he wanted, and Captain Jonla will lead a company of the Watch. Be sure that you take along the man named Jakkem. The Lashitu also, I think, would not be left behind.”
Indeed, the Lashitu was looking at Kenlahar with very different eyes, with almost worship in his gaze. “You must go tonight,” the High Elder continued, “at the darkest, most secret hour. If the Warlord finds out that the Star Axe is active he will redouble his efforts to destroy us. I want you to leave with as little fanfare as possible—the Warlord must not know you have left. Not yet. Later, it may take some of the burden off us if he knows you are Outside. Until then, no one outside this room is to know what happened here tonight.”
Sanra saw that the audience was about to end, and slipped quietly out of the Chambre. She had watched the proceedings from the back of the room with dismay. The hope that Lahar, or his descendant, would return in the time of the House of Lahar’s greatest need and bear Alcress to victory as the prophecy presaged, had truly been their only hope. But she would never have guessed that it would be Kenlahar. She did not want it to be Kenlahar!
She had seen that Kenlahar was very different from the others. Not just because of his small stature and dark colorings. He had a quality of strangeness, of almost alien demeanor. She had never been able to discover what that aura of strangeness portended. It was only then that she remembered what everyone else had avoided saying. In the old tongue, Ken-Lahar meant “Son of Lahar!”
CHAPTER V
The troops were not in their battle armor, but were dressed instead in the green of the Watch. Many wore the rain resistant cloaks that the scouts bought at great expense from the Swamp People. No amount of experimenting could discover the secret of the materials in the cloaks. The Swamp People seemed to have a different art of weaving, Kenlahar reflected. Perhaps even of thought.
The ordeal of the last few days had left Kenlahar exhausted. They had remained in the Chambre until this early hour. In that time the Lashitu had refused to leave Kenlahar’s side. The apprentice noticed the change in the shaman’s attitude with sour humor. Balor was busily helping command the warriors. His dream of becoming a member of the Watch had been unexpectedly fulfilled at a young age, Kenlahar thought.
Captain Jonla strode across the docks with the assurance of command. The old warrior was renown for his knowledge of the Tream. Most of the family preferred to know little of the swamp, but Captain Jonla spent much of his life exploring its endless wastes. His hair and eyes were light, as was most of the family, but he appeared dark, for he had been browned by long days in the sun. His arm was still in a sling, seeming to add to his crooked hunch. He approached Kenlahar and shoved a bundle of rain gear in his hands, asking brusquely if there was anything he wished to do before they left.
Kenlahar suddenly remembered that with all the activity and excitement he had not yet said farewell to Sanra. But Captain Jonla was waiting impatiently for an answer, so he reluctantly shook his head. The warriors were already beginning to load into the boats. The first mingling of sunlight into the dark was only a few hours away. Kenlahar thought tiredly that it was just as well that he did not have to explain to Sanra.
One of the warriors near him was staring at Kenlahar, and he recognized with a start, Jakkem’s scowling face. Kenlahar had hoped he could avoid Jakkem, but now he supposed wearily that he would have to face him. He would stay out of the big man’s way if he could, but he was afraid that next time he might lose his Atima forever. But Jakkem did not speak. He obviously was not going to challenge the bearer of the Star Axe. At least not yet.
Kenlahar was about to step into a riverboat when he caught sight of the Healer Coron and Sanra in the shadows of the dock. The old man waved uneasily. Kenlahar hesitated and then, daring Captain Jonla’s scowls, he walked back quickly to clasp his teacher.
“Old man,” he said. “Being chosen to study under you, even for a little while, is the best thing that has ever happened to me. If it had not been for you, I would have thought the House of Lahar was the only civilized place on earth! The rest would have been the Tream, a hellish blank, or Outside—legends and myths as it is for any ignorant dolt. If only…”
The old man smiled and relaxed. “I am sorry, Kenlahar. I only wish I could come with you, but as you have reminded me many times, I am not a young man.” Kenlahar was astonished to see that the old man had tears in his eyes. Now, for the first time, Kenlahar began to wonder who the Healer Coron really was. He remembered how the old man always seemed careful to avoid any questions about his past. No one could remember when the Healer Coron had first appeared behind his desk in the Archives. Nor did anyone really know how old he was. Only now did it strike Kenlahar as strange.
Now Sanra timidly emerged from behind the Healer Coron, and Kenlahar went to her, taking her hand. “I’ll be back, Sanra.”
Her fingers tightened on his. “I know you will, Kenlahar. But I am afraid you will not be the same.” “People don’t ever really change, Sanra. They just become more of what they are.” He lifted her chin and kissed her. Turning, and resolutely not looking back, he did not see Jakkem approach her as well.
“I’ll be back, Sanra,” Jakkem mimicked, grinning. “And I assure you, I will be the same person.”
She stared back at him coldly. “Oh, I am sure of that, Jakkem. But I will not change either! If I were you, I would not expect me to be waiting here for you!” Jakkem’s smile widened and he patted her cheek. She pulled away sharply, and re-entered the shadows of the dock’s shelter. She did not see his smile turn to a look of rage.
Captain Jonla’s command to board was passed along, and the last of the party untied the boats and embarked. None of the Companions noticed a small figure, disguised in the bulky green cloak of the scouts, emerge from the shelter, glide across the docks, and slip into one of the lead boats.
The Healer Coron watched his two students leave with a pride he tried not to show. He turned away from the fleet of boats as they slipped away from the pier, and walked through the empty, early morning hallways of the House of Lahar.
He smiled to himself. It had been part of the role the old man had played to discourage the boys yearnings to leave, until it was the proper time. He had to be certain neither boy would leave without his knowledge. But now the time had come at last.
Sanra was an element he had not counted on, he thought with a frown. He had seen her jump into the third boat, but had not tried to stop her. Sanra could not change what was about to happen—what had been ordained would happen a thousand years before.
Entering the Archives and sitting behind his desk with a sigh, the old man lifted a pitted and scoured lump of metal, of the same texture as the Star Axe, from a concealed drawer. Then he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. For the next few minutes the Healer Coron did not move, but he was not inactive, not asleep. One by one, other thoughts entered his consciousness. Thoughts that, like their voice, reflected the diverse personalities of the visitants. Eventually, five different thought patterns were greeted by and shared the mind of the old man.
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