by Dave Duncan
He stalked forward. Anger rarely made him
reckless, only ruthless. He stopped before the
human vomit on the dais, the kneeling
cniht, his mother. ... He had seen that jeweled
hilt somewhere. ... He made a barely
perceptible bow.
"Uncle?"
"We must be speedy," the King proclaimed to the
werod. "There is no need to drag out this painful
business. Son, it is not seemly for a man of
your breeding to go unarmed, but before you can be admitted
to the fyrd we must witness that you are of noble birth
and accept your oath. Thereafter we shall ask you
to redeem our honor in the matter of the challenge
that has--"
A howl of outrage from the fyrd and even the
guests behind him informed King Cynewulf what they
thought of a man being delegated to fight his own
cousin. Men like Swetmann might slay kinfolk
for ambition, but it was not approved behavior. For a
king to order such a murder was unconscionable.
"Did not my mother pass on my message,
ni`eding?" Radgar yelled. "I told her that
Wulfwer tried to kill me when I was a child and if
I ever saw him at the end of my
sword, I would cut out his tripes. Is that what
you want me to do?"
Cynewulf spluttered, unable to make himself
heard in the resulting pandemonium. Apparently
that was what the human fungus wanted, though. Was
there no depth to which this human dreg could not sink?
Of course not! He had proved that five years
ago.
The uproar drained away reluctantly.
Radgar said, "I need no heriot, Uncle.
I found a sword on the wall. Up there. A
king-slaying sword!"
It was a satisfaction to watch the monster glance
guiltily at the exact place on the planks
and a joy to see him pale. Radgar laughed
aloud. He knew he should be content with this small
triumph, but now his temper was in the saddle,
spurring him on to folly. Now he would tell the
world what had happened on that terrible night in
Twigeport. Then he would have to swear blood
feud. As soon as he began doing that, the house
thegns would cut him down, so just enough words to let
everyone know what he was doing, then snatch up the
heriot sword, and bury it in that royal
belly--
"King-slaying sword, ni`eding! I have seen
it slay lesser men too. Your tanist can tell
us how Hengest and Frecful died, can't you, dear
Wulfwer? What matters more is that earlier that
same evening--"
"Radgar!" Queen Charlotte shouted. "It
is time to take the oath, Son. Behold,
everyone, the Queen honors Atheling Radgar!"
She reached out in a rustle of fabric and took the
sword of Seven Tears from the cushion, needing
both hands to lift it.
"Charlotte, no! Do not!"
Ignoring her husband's cry, she raised the
blade in formal salute. "Atheling, may all
your great ancestors ..."
"Mother!" Radgar shouted. "You stay out of this!
Give me that sword--"
The moment he struck the eagle, Wasp knew
that he had blundered. Instead of blocking the
conjuration, he had loosed spirits of death and completed
it. The bird had not been there for the reason he
supposed. He spun around in time to see
Healfwer's half face twist with terror in the
instant before he burned away to ash. The battle
for Weargahlaew was decided; spirits of fire
triumphed over the spirits of earth. The ancient
crater roared back into life, consuming forest and every
living thing within it in one great blast of flame--
everything except Wasp, because he was within the
octogram. Then he too was swept away.
Like a crimson-orange rose unfolding, the
fiery fountain sprayed into the night sky. For an
exquisite, timeless instant the flower hung there,
air and fire rejoicing in liberty. Far below, the
ice-clad peaks of Baelmark stood as islands
in a sea of cloud under the cold stars. Then
earth's ancient tyranny reasserted itself. Down
the plume plunged, raining incandescent death upon the
slopes of Cwicnoll. A myriad elementals
battled for supremacy: Fire and water to make
lava, fire and earth in burning ash, fire and
air, air and rock for thunder, death and chance ...
Roiled together in confusion, the disparate spirits
shrieked conflicting aims, while in among their
millions one small voice of sentience
screamed unheard.
With the passing of daylight and the King's failure
to call for candles, the hall had grown very dim.
That changed even as Radgar reached for the sword his
mother was so unsteadily holding aloft. A ruddy
glow streamed in through the gable window as if the sun were
rising again on a clear morning. Radgar
hesitated, and then he saw the King. He had
turned away, hands over his face in despair.
What ...?
The Queen swayed. The sword waved
uncertainly.
"Mother!" Radgar jumped to aid her and narrowly
missed disaster as she swung the blade down.
"It's very heavy. ..."
She released her grasp. The weapon clanged
on the flagstones. He caught her as she
toppled and lowered her to the dais.
"Mother, Mother!"
She smiled up at him vaguely. "Dizzy
spell. I get them at times. ..."
Clutching her in his arms, he looked up at the
King and read terrible things in those hateful,
bloated features, lit by that bloody
light. "No, it is not just a dizzy spell!"
He had turned his back on Wulfwer, which was
folly. "What ails her, Uncle? What foul
trickery is this?"
"I don't know what you mean ..."
Cynewulf looked to his son.
The tanist ran forward. "Cut out my
tripes, will you? If we must fight, then let us
start now!" He swung his sword at the
kneeling Radgar.
The stroke should have rolled his head on the
floor. That it did not was due partly to cries of
alarm from the spectators, partly his
Ironhall-honed reflexes, and partly because a
wild surge of earthquake made Wulfwer
stagger and sent his would-be victim tumbling out of the
path of the murderous slash. Thunder roared through the
hall. Radgar reeled to his feet, ripped
away his cloak, and snatched up his grandfather's
sword.
Now he would kill Wulfwer. There was no
doubt in his mind about that, no alternative. He
could see nothing except that detestable face as the
tanist leaped in to try again. Radgar deflected
the slash: Clang! He did not riposte, just
smiled. Wulfwer tried again, a thrust this time,
parried again. Clang!
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
Clang!
"Keep trying, Cousin!" Radgar jeered.
<
br /> He was in no danger, although dueling in an
earthquake was not part of the Ironhall
curriculum. Clang! The tanist was far
less nimble than he was, so the heaving ground
impeded him more. The pressure--clang!--he
could put in his blade was incredible, but subtlety
was not in him. Clang! Clatter! Now
Radgar danced back before the frantic
onslaught, enjoying his opponent's steadily
rising panic, but aware that he had total control
of the duel. "Hurry! You need to kill me,
remember? Right ear!" He cut. Nice
sword.
Wulfwer's scream sounded more like fury than
pain. He carried on with the battle, streaming
blood.
Clang! Spectators tried to clear out of
their path, staggering as the ground shuddered. Several
times Radgar had to--clang!--jump
over rolling bodies. He wondered what the
fyrd thought of this, the first demonstration of real
fencing ever seen in Baelmark. He could tell
what dear Wulfwer thought. He knew he was
doomed.
"Left ear!" More blood.
"Stand and fight!" the giant howled, eyes
wide with fear.
"Come and get me!"--Clang!--"You couldn't
kill me when I was only"--clang!--
"thirteen! You tried to"--clang!--clang!
--"drown me. It's harder to fight men, isn't
it--Cousin?"
Tiring of the game, Radgar slashed the
tanist's wrist, almost severing his hand. Wulfwer's
sword rang on the stones, leaving him staring in
disbelief at a fountain of blood. The fight was
over.
Simultaneously, the world steadied. Although that
strange red light still lit the hall with a gory
glow and the mountain continued to roar hungrily, the
floor no longer heaved. Those who had fallen
scrambled to their feet, or were helped up by others,
while Radgar and his cousin faced off in the center,
panting, and no one spoke. Then--
"Mercy!" Wulfwer clasped his wrist and
squeezed, trying to shut off the flood of
lifeblood.
"Speak!" Radgar roared. "Confess! Tell
the truth if you hope to live. Why did you
challenge your father?"
"Mercy!"
"No mercy!" Radgar swung a
woodcutter's chop at the giant's knee,
cutting him down like an oak. A thousand voices
cried out in horror at this breach of honor.
Ignoring them, he straddled the fallen thegn and
delicately put sword point on cheekbone.
"One wrong word and you lose this eye. Speak,
brute! What was the plan tonight?" He did not
recognize his own voice. "You were going to kill
me, weren't you? How?"
"The sword!"
"Louder! Let them all hear. Confess or
I cut you to pieces."
Wulfwer howled, still clutching his wounded arm in
an effort to stem the bleeding. "The sword was
cursed. Whoever was first to lift it would be dazed.
It wouldn't have killed you! Just giddy."
If Radgar had been first to raise
it, he would now be dead. That went without saying.
"I am your bane, Wulfwer. Did
Healfwer never tell you that? were you going to kill
me the night my father died?"
"No!"
Jab! Radgar spared the eye but opened the
flesh back to what was left of the ear.
Wulfwer screamed. "Yes! Yes! I was
going to drown you. Help me! I need healing!"
"Who killed King Aeled?"
"Don't know--Father told me to stay in the
hall. Said I was to be seen there so no one could
suspect me."
"So he told you Aeled was going to die before it
happened?"
Wulfwer's lips curled back in terror, but
then he mumbled, "Sort of ..."
That was enough.
"Murderer!" Radgar cut his cousin's throat
as his father's had been cut. The hall resounded with a
great animal sound of mingled cheers and protests:
approval, disgust, outrage, and delight. He
did not care. Leaving Wulfwer gurgling and
thrashing in his death throes, he hurried back
to see to his mother, not knowing if it was his legs or the
floor that trembled so.
He wondered why there were so many people fussing around
her--until he saw the blood. Wulfwer's
wild slash, which had so nearly decapitated him,
had struck the Queen instead, cutting her chest
open, severing ribs. A couple of house thegns were
struggling to bandage her, but blood foamed out with every
breath. She was unconscious. From what he
recalled of Ironhall's classes on wounds,
she had only seconds left to live.
"Get her to a healer!" he yelled. He
dropped the sword and knelt to lift her.
Four house thegns grabbed him from behind and hauled
him upright to face the King.
Cynewulf struck him across the face.
"Murderer! You slew an unarmed man--we saw
it ourself!"
"Get your wife to a healer, monster!"
Radgar squirmed vainly in the house thegns'
grip. He tasted blood, for the rings had cut
him.
"That was unfri`ed! You slew our son before our
eyes, unarmed and wounded. Ro`edercraeft, take
this criminal outside and cut his head off." The
King was trying to play an outraged father,
but his glee kept oozing around his mask.
He had right on his side. The duel had been
completed. There had not even been formal declaration
of blood feud. No thegn in the room would see
his son slain in cold blood and not then take
reprisal. A monarch, especially, must defend
his rights and honor. The spectators were roaring,
half supporting Radgar and half Cynewulf.
Meanwhile Ro`edercraeft's armored toughs
controlled the hall.
"Yea, lord!" the marshal said. "A pleasure!
Take him, men."
The house thegns turned Radgar around and
hauled him along the hall toward the door.
Another dozen closed in around as escort. They
were all bigger than he was and his sword lay
abandoned on the floor. He had played right into the
King's hands. He was as good as dead. Bitter the
taste of defeat!
Roaring defiance, Leofric and his men charged
past the posse and formed up ahead, cutting them off
from the exit.
"Release him!" bellowed the one-eyed man,
and the men of Faro`edhengest roared their agreement.
It was a convincing roar, but it was bluff. They had
no weapons.
Ro`edercraeft was right behind Radgar. He
yanked the prisoner's head back and laid an
ice-cold dagger across his throat. "We can do it
here as easy as outside in the square. Stand
aside."
"He deserves fair trial!"
"On the count of three he dies," the marshal
barked. "One ..."
Radgar could barely see his would-be rescuers,
for he was forced to stare at the rafters, sti
ll so
strangely lit by the bloody glow. His case was
hopeless, but his plight was his own fault and
certainly no reason for his friends to die in a
hopeless cause.
"Stand aside, ealdor!" Radgar shouted.
Nothing happened.
"Two ..."
Radgar tried again. "My father would not want the
men of Catterstow slaughtering one another for my
sake. You cannot rescue me. Stand aside."
Leofric ground his teeth. "He is to be
held for trial!"
"Certainly."
It was a lie, and everyone knew it, but
Leofric stepped back. "Let them past!"
"Thank you!" Ro`edercraeft said brightly.
"So kind! Clear the way." He kept the dagger
where it was until the Faro`edhengest men had moved
back to the sides. "Forward!"
So died the last of the House of Catter ...
Just before the prisoner and his escort reached the
doors, the doors blew off their hinges in an
explosion of flame. The firedrake standing
outside peered in under the lintel.
Healfwer? Had the old maniac summoned this
awful thing, or had the mountain spawned it?
Radgar picked himself up from where the house thegns
had dropped him and backed away while he
considered the problem. Everyone else had fled
screaming to the far end of the hall. His ordeal in
Twigeport had left him with a terror of fire,
but he had overcome it in Ironhall on the
night he had rescued Wasp and the others. Fire
no longer scared him very much at all--but a drake
was no ordinary fire. Already the heat on his face
was painful.
"Healfwer?" he roared.
"Arrrh!" answered the firedrake, almost as
if trying to speak. "Arrrh, arrrh!" It flowed
into the hall, tearing away part of the wall.
Radgar turned and ran after the others. There
really ought to be a back door to this place. Why
him? It would have to be him, of course. He was
fireproof and Aeled's son; and he must try to do
something, because no one else could; and the monster might
even be his fault, if his crazy grandfather had
conjured it up after hearing the ghost's story. The
entire Catterstow fyrd was trapped here in
Cynehof along with every earl in the kingdom except
one. If the firedrake killed them all,
Baelmark would collapse in anarchy.
His mother's body lay deserted on the edge of the
dais with the sword of Seven Tears nearby.
Even before he reached them, he began to strip, for
he knew how clothes prolonged the pain as they