Before the gates, the defenders fought with a desperate denial of the inevitable. The eerie wail reached them, and the attacking Qreq hesitated momentarily, looking back uncertainly. Kenlahar held the Star Axe ready as the Qreq looked at each other in dread. The Qreq were backing away, not out of fear of the outnumbered defenders, but as a panicked and frightened response to some news. The army at the gates stood their ground suspiciously. But as the horde turned and ran, the combined armies of Kernback and the Star Axe roared in victory and pursued them.
“Let them be,” Kenlahar said quietly to Whistler, who still stood protectively at his side. When the mountain man began to protest vehemently, Kenlahar repeated his request. “They will never threaten us again. They were the Warlord’s tool, and Toraq is gone.” And so the Qreq were let go, though only a few were to survive the thirsty landscape, the hungry scavengers on the route to the Havens.
Kenlahar walked from the cliffs, toward the small knoll on the outskirts of the huge battlefield. He picked his way through the tangled, tortured bodies. He already knew in his heart who had saved him again; but his hopes and fears continued to rage in his mind.
He had merely needed the will to use the Star Axe. The secret of the Star Axe had been to simply to use the weapon in anger. All this time he had been running! If he had turned to confront his enemies at any point along the way, it would have all ended sooner.
And yet, he had gained the good will of four of the five Peoples through his healing—not through Alcress. His Atima had proved to be a stronger force than the deadly Star Axe—though he had also possessed both powers all along. At the Island Laharhann the Kith and the Elders had accepted him only because of his Atima. In the Tream he had assumed the title of Cormatine, though he was still not sure what the duties of the Cormatine were. He had won the friendship of the Bordermen through the use of his herbs. And it had been his miraculous display of power in bringing back Whistler from the dead that had united the Seven Tribes.
As he neared the hill with a retinue of worried followers, he heard the hysterical voice of the Lashitu. “Why! Why did you have to kill him! There was no need—we had an agreement!” The shaman was flailing, with little real force, upon the shoulders of a stunned Sanra.
Kenlahar called out her name. She turned uncertainly, and then her eyes widened in surprise. She ran to him and fell thankfully into his arms. While she sobbed, Kenlahar surveyed the bloody scene. The Lashitu, he saw, was hopelessly mad. The shaman did not even seem to recognize the man he had once zealously followed. Balor lay with a gash on his forehead, his head thrown back—unmoving. Kalese lay beside him, with her eyes closed tightly, moaning and quivering in the grip of feverish dreams. Jonla lay off to one side, barely recognizable to Kenlahar, dead.
In the center of the battlefield was a dismembered body that Kenlahar recoiled from instinctively. He was suddenly certain that this was the fearsome Toraq—the Warlord, the Sorcerer King. Evil still emanated from the corpse, an evil no longer concealed beneath his beautiful exterior.
Kenlahar motioned for Whistler to take the still crazed and shouting Lashitu away. As if the shaman could sense Kenlahar’s grief through his madness, he fell quiet at last. Kenlahar gently handed Sanra to Sar Devern, and she seemed to trust the lieutenant as Kenlahar’s man. He knelt beside Balor and placed his friend’s bloodied head in his lap. Balor was dying, and there was no way that Kenlahar could recall him. He moved onto Jonla, who was cold—long dead. There was no spirit here to recall even if he somehow still had his Atima.
Kenlahar was sure that he had lost his Atima—irrevocably lost. He had compounded the death of Molnar with the killing of numberless Qreq. Bitterly, he reflected on the many months, the many, many miles he had sought to keep his healing powers, only to lose it on that day he needed it most, needed it to save the life of his friends.
Kalese moaned, and Kenlahar turned to her guiltily, recognizing her as the girl from the Tream with surprise. Somehow he sensed the link between the two Companions. Her wounds were also serious, he saw, perhaps fatal. If a healer did not soon stop their bleeding, Balor and the swampgirl would die! A healer--which he no longer was.
“Whistler!” he shouted, and the little man approached with respect. All his followers, he now saw, had kept reverent distances from the Companions, for they could sense the magnitude of their efforts. “Save them!” he pleaded to Whistler.
Whistler looked back at him in surprise and puzzlement. “But my lord, you are more accomplished in healing than I!”
“Do as I tell you!” Kenlahar shouted.
“Your friend is right, Kenlahar…” a new voice ventured. “You are the only one who can save them.” Kenlahar turned angrily on the speaker and saw the tall form of the Queen’s physician standing at the edge of the watchers, and a head over them. “You do not know what you ask!” he said. “I have killed, not once but many times. I cannot heal!”
“You are the bearer of the Star Axe,” the tall man replied. “You are the rightful heir to all the powers of Lahar. Use them before it is too late!”
Kenlahar turned back to the bodies of Balor and Kalese uncertainly. Kalese’s eyes opened and she looked uncomprehendingly up at him. Then she smiled. “Cormatine! We have been searching for you. All we have done has not been for nothing!” She tried to turn her head in a frantic search. “Where is Balor? He will be so happy to see you.”
Kenlahar did not answer but tears filled his eyes. She looked down on the body she had flung herself upon, and saw the still disarrayed figure of Balor. Her face drained of color, and despite her wounds, she turned and covered him with her own body. Then she too became still. Kenlahar quickly called for medicines from the doctor, Karrack.
Within a few minutes, he knew that he had saved the swampgirl—though he doubted she would thank him for it unless he could save Balor as well. He turned Balor over and gently straightened his limbs. Balor was still breathing, a very shallow and ragged motion. Kenlahar bent over and breathed his own life into that of his friend. He was amazed when the action seemed to briefly revive the warrior. Balor opened his eyes just long enough to smile weakly, and Kenlahar knew that he too would survive. He had not lost his Atima! Once more he hovered over Jonla and searched in vain for a way to call him back, but it was beyond him.
At his instructions the wounded and dead were carried with much honor to the gates of Kernback. There, at the base of the cliffs he spent many days saving the thousands of wounded, with Sanra and Karrack at his side. Again and again came the call from within the White Walls, from the grateful people of Kernback. “Come!” they would plead. “Enter our gates and take your rightful place on the throne of our city. Such menial work is not for our King. Leave it to the doctors.”
But Kenlahar refused to enter until his work was done, and that would not happen until the House of Lahar had been saved. In his place he sent Balor and Kalese to preside as his regents. The girl had recovered from her wounds quickly, though Balor was slower in regaining his strength. “People of Kernback,” he shouted to the White Walls. “I must leave you, for a while. When I return I will enter the gates and take my place as your ruler. But, while I am gone, I ask you to follow the orders of my friends, Balor and Kalese.”
Kenlahar asked Whistler to muster a small army, one that was no more than a small portion of the total might that had taken part in the battle of the Chalk Plains. Sanra asked to stay with Kalese—she had still not recovered from her grief for Jonla—and had no wish to see the House of Lahar. The feeling between Sanra and Kenlahar had changed, for they both had gone through much. Kenlahar felt it was best not to argue with her. She had shared a long journey, and suffering, with Captain Jonla.
So Kenlahar set off alone, without the Companions, for the House of Lahar. At last, after unforeseen adventure and triumph, he would fulfill his promise to the Elders. With him went the Lashitu, whose madness he had not been able to cure. Sar Devern also came along to command the army, and the Whistler and Karrack came with
out being ordered to.
The awesome host stopped first at Herald’s Manor, and Sar Devern entertained Kenlahar as he had before. This time, as a tribute to his new ruler, Sar Devern freed the slaves of his estates. In return, Kenlahar named him once again Herald of Kernback, a hereditary title. The army continued on to the Pass of Lava. Again they stopped and Kenlahar proclaimed the Sanctuary Mountains to be free forever from the threat of the King’s soldiers. The mountains would now truly be sanctuary for all people. The Seven Tribes of the mountains were recognized as one of the Five Peoples, the term “outlaw” banished.
At the Borderlands, Kenlahar stopped once more at Swamp’s End. There he buried Toraq’s Bane, and to it he added the unadorned blade Sanra had plucked from the Chalk Plains. The barrow was to be guarded forever—forever watched with vigilance, that another Warlord may not arise. Kenlahar bowed before the shattered shall of the Hermit’s cabin. Then the host entered the boundaries of the Tream, and was met by representatives of the Swamp People. They were guided safely and uneventfully through the swamp. At the village of the Cormat, Kenlahar beckoned the Cormatine to follow, and to bring with him as much of the blood of the sacred Cormat as his people could gather.
And so at last, the army approached the barren territories Kenlahar recognized as those surrounding the Island Laharhann. He wondered why he felt so anxious and scared—he was returning as a victor, yet he felt strangely unsure of himself. His heart began to beat faster as they drew close to the ancient home of Lahar’s descendants. Then the army was at the banks of the River Danjar, and a view of the huge structure was granted by a clear dawn.
Qreq ships were moored on the island, but the House of Lahar stood intact. There was no sign of life on its many docks and balconies. It was one sight Kenlahar had not expected. If the House of Lahar had been charred, burnt hulk he would have been downcast, but not surprised. What he had hoped to see was a battle, still raging; the House of Lahar miraculously holding back the furious attacks of the invaders. But the thought that the House of Lahar would surrender had never entered his mind. Yet that is what appeared to have happened.
The huge building no longer looked spectacular to Kenlahar, not after his long journey Outside. The army he had brought with him, which he knew to be small by all standards of Kernback, lined the banks of the river on both sides of him, as far as the eye could see.
Even as Kenlahar watched the House of Lahar uncertainly, several men jumped into the river and began swimming toward the island. They scrambled onto the far shore of the island and disappeared into the edifice. A few, harrowing minutes passed as nothing moved on the island. Then one of the men emerged and clumsily sailed back one of the small fishing boats. “There are no Qreq on the island,” the scout reported, obviously mystified. “I could find no one at all.”
This made no sense to Kenlahar, and he tried to understand what could have happened. Surely the family would neither desert nor surrender the House of Lahar! They would have died first. The Qreq did not capture their targets, but burned them to the ground! “I will explore the House of Lahar myself,” he said. “None of you know its hallways the way I do. An Army could hide among its many rooms, and you would never find them. Perhaps they are simply startled by our appearance and are hiding. Once they see me, they will come out.”
Sar Devern objected. Once inside, he explained, there would be no way to protect him completely from attack. The old soldier begged to be allowed to lead the search party. “Just tell me where to look!”
Though he did not feel as confident as he sounded, Kenlahar turned him down. “No. This is something that only I can do. Do not worry, Sar Devern. I will have Alcress with me.” His reassurance did not keep Sar Devern from almost overloading their one boat with guards. Whistler insisted on coming along as well. After a moment’s thought, Kenlahar decided to bring along the Lashitu also. The deranged shaman had ceased his endless, stricken babble at the sight of the House of Lahar. Perhaps once he was inside its walls, or so Kenlahar hoped, the Lashitu would come to his senses.
The little boat moved sluggishly toward the House of Lahar, and Kenlahar examined its shape warily. It appeared abandoned, yet Kenlahar had a sense of being watched by many eyes, unfriendly as well as friendly. They landed at last on the rain-slicked docks. With a shudder at the eerie silence, Kenlahar entered the familiar hallways.
As soon as he had passed into the inner passages, Kenlahar knew that the House of Lahar could not have been empty for long. The sisters had swept the many hallways free of dust until just recently. Reluctantly, Sar Devern allowed Kenlahar to lead the way, but only because there seemed no way of anticipating his path. Kenlahar walked steadily toward the Great Hall, in as straight a line as the winding corridors would allow.
Finally, he entered the Chambre, sure that here, if nowhere else, there would be a sign of where the family had gone. He stopped short, shocked by the sight of a slimmer, but still nastily grinning Jakkem. The big man stood before the dais, where the Elders sat with bowed heads. The Healer Coron, though, looked back at him from one side calmly, and nodded in greeting. Too late, Kenlahar saw that the walls were lined with Qreq warriors. It was a trap, and he had walked right into it. The Elders looked at him unhappily, but Kenlahar noticed a glint of hope in the High Elder’s eyes.
“At last,’’ Jakkem said mockingly. “I thought you would never arrive, Kenlahar! I was even able to prepare this little surprise welcome for you. I must admit that I did not think the Warlord would allow you to escape. Still, now I will be able to present you to him myself! I would not look for any help here, Kenlahar. Toraq owns the House of Lahar now. I have captured it for him without even harming it. I think he will be pleased.”
The Healer Coron interrupted Jakkem’s boast. “You captured the House of Lahar only through the treachery to your own people. I would not be so proud.”
“Silence, Coron!” Jakkem said, and the healer was reminded of his place by a blow from the Qreq.
“You should listen to the Healer Coron,” Kenlahar said at last. “He is a wise man. You should brag, for the evil you have done has been for nothing, Jakkem. Toraq has been destroyed and his armies have fled. You are alone!”
Jakkem believed him, but did not want to, Kenlahar saw. Addressing the Qreq more than the others in the room, the traitor said, “I do not believe that a coward such as you could kill the Warlord!”
“I did not kill the Sorcerer King,” Kenlahar said with a vindictiveness he did not like in himself. “Remember Sanra, Jakkem? She destroyed the Warlord!”
Now the Qreq were glancing at each other uneasily. Kenlahar turned to speak to them. “I have set your people free. After Toraq was slain, I allowed the others to return to the Havens, which is now yours to live unmolested. No one will bother you again.”
Kenlahar lifted the jug of Cormat’s blood from where it hung by a cord to his belt. “I know the Qreq have suffered. I know how you suffer even now. And I know why! The disease with which the Warlord had infected your people, and has made you his slaves, causes you great pain. I can cure you of this pain if you will let me.”
One of the Qreq stepped forward to look at him closer, searchingly. The Qreq seemed to sense that he was speaking the truth. In his hands he held the Star Axe, which all Qreq had feared and respected. “You know of the Curse?”
In answer Kenlahar drank of the blood of the Cormat and then handed the jug to the Qreq. He stepped backward warily, then hesitantly reached for and sniffed the jug. Then he drank from it. Minutes passed in an ominous silence, while Kenlahar clasped the Qreq hand, and the two figures remained frozen. Finally they broke apart.
“He speaks the truth,” the Qreq announced to the others. “I am free of the Curse!” The other Qreq began to approach Kenlahar eagerly, but Sar Devern and his guards flourished their swords menacingly. Kenlahar motioned for them to be let through. One by one the Qreq moved forward and underwent the transformation.
No one noticed Jakkem moving away from the dai
s and approached Kenlahar from behind. Then the traitor leapt at Kenlahar—and his sword would have pierced Kenlahar’s exposed back if it had not been for the Lashitu. With a screech, the shaman threw himself between Kenlahar and the long blade. The assassin’s sword struck and the shaman, clinging still to Kenlahar, slowly slid to the floor.
Before Kenlahar could forbid it, a Qreq had cut down Jakkem with a savage blow. Kenlahar hung his head at the murders. The Lashitu had begun by hating him, Kenlahar thought, he had ended by dying for him. Many others had died in his name. Killing seemed to follow him wherever he went. It seemed that he was helpless to avoid it. But perhaps now the killing was over. The Healer Coron grasped Kenlahar around the shoulders. “You have fulfilled the prophecies, Kenlahar. You are truly the Son of Lahar.”
The Healer Coron sat behind his desk in the corner of the library and watched Kenlahar pace unhappily. In the chair by the window sat Whistler, while Karrack stooped at one end of the room glancing at the rows of books. They all avoided each other’s eyes. At last the door opened, and dust spread through the cavernous room. The Cormatine entered and stopped, surprised at who else was within the Archives.
“Come in, Cormatine!” Kenlahar said. “Now…how do you usually convene a session of the Raggorak? I regret that the Hermit could not be here as well.” The Healer Coron only smiled at this statement, proud and not at all surprised. The Cormatine though, scowled, while Karrack looked at the Axe-bearer sharply. It was the Whistler who calmly asked, “How do you know who we are?”
“It was the Cormatine who first told me,” Kenlahar held up his hand at the man’s protest. “Oh, at first, I did not remember what happened when I drank of the Cormat’s blood and was questioned. But when I drank it again, the entire, illuminating conversation came back. I had to guess who some of you were, but when I thought it over it was simple. At every stage of my quest it seemed I was saved and helped by one man. When I remembered how there was supposed to be one Raggorak among each of the Five Peoples, and that all the Starborn were healers, it was easy to identify you.
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