Sundrinker

Belran the Leader had always taken his role seriously, but since Duwan had departed he had intensified the training of the young warriors to the point where no Drinker of fighting age was without bruises. Belran had awaited the coming of the second period of long light eagerly, and, as the beautiful time came, and lengthened, he found occasion often to go to the lower end of the valley, climb the narrow vent, and gaze out over the barrens.

It was pleasant to be alone for a change, away from the respectful but exuberant, young, would-be warriors. He stood on a high, rounded boulder and looked away across the barren landscape to the south. Du was growing weaker, sinking ever lower in the sky, and soon the long darkness would begin and the Drinkers would accept the limitations put upon their activities by the long winter, made bearable only by the many hot, flowing springs that warmed the valley with their steams. The think vines would be directed to close in, to make the houses airtight with their closely locked bodies and cold-resistant life organs, and during that long darkness a few new ones would be sprouted to be entrusted to the good earth in the steam-filled young houses.

There was no sign of movement within his eyesight. Du's dimming light gave the bare stones and pockets of sterile sand a melancholy aspect, and he turned away sadly. He'd been fond of Duwan, who had been one of the most promising young warriors he'd ever taught, but it was not only the thought of Duwan being dead that made him sad. With Duwan died hope, even that weak, reluctantly rekindled hope that had come when, at last, one of the Drinkers traveled to the south. He thought of going south himself. Perhaps it had been too much to expect that a youth with only one arm should be able to overcome the vast distances and the unknown dangers and return.

Soon the long darkness would end all hope, and then—

He was not willing to face the people feeling as he did. He felt a sense of guilt as he walked into the valley, chose a spot near a spring where Du touched the hungry earth and lay down, exposing his chest to the sun. He felt warm and languorous with Du feeding him, and his eyes closed. He awoke with a jerk, his ears searching for the sound that had awakened him. His sword seemed to materialize in his hand as he leaped to his feet to face the ragged, bundled apparition that stood before him, longsword pointed at his belly.

'Greetings, Belran,' the apparition said, 'I have come to have a rematch of the test.'

'Duwan?' The Leader peered into the darkness under the stranger's hood, saw the gleam of orange eyes, let his eyes fall to the newcomer's left side to see, to his disappointment, only emptiness.

Duwan pushed back his hood, smiling broadly. 'Well, Leader, may I have my test?'

Belran felt like weeping. So the legend of renewal was false. If that part of the old tales was false, how could any of it be true?

'The longsword is no match for two,' Belran said.

'Then we will make the odds even,' Duwan said, sweeping his shortsword out from behind his back.

Belran's eyes went wide and he whooped. He dropped his own sword heedlessly—and this action told Duwan more than anything else that Belran was pleased to see him—and slipped between Duwan's swords to embrace him. Duwan was laughing.

'Did you meet the Enemy?' Belran asked, pushing himself out of the twining of arms.

'I have met him,' Duwan said. 'The challenge is great, but the opportunities are greater.'

'And does Du shine all year long? Are there many brothers? Is the Enemy strong? How does he fight?'

'Hold,' Duwan laughed. 'I have much to tell, and I don't want to have to tell it many times.'

'You are right,' Belran said, his hands feeling the hard muscles in Duwan's left arm. 'Come, we must spread this news rapidly. We will have a gathering before Du slips below the horizon to the south.'

'My father and mother?' Duwan asked.

'Well,' Belran said. 'Your grandmother hardens, but is also well.'

'And the young one called Alning?'

Belran turned his face away. 'She blossoms, and is well,' he said. It was at that moment that Jai chose to emerge from behind boulders and Belran's hand went to his sword.

'This is Jai, Drinker, once a slave to the enemy,' Duwan said. 'She, too, has much information to impart.'

They spread the news through the villages as they walked the length of the valley. A growing entourage shouted, laughed, sang behind them. Minstrels flanked the moving mass of people, adding new verses of triumph to the Song of Duwan, for it had become a popular story since Duwan's leaving.

Duwan had known pain, the fear of death, wonder, sadness, the joy of grafting, but the emotions that came to him when he entwined arms with his father and then clasped his mother and the hard, old shell of his grandmother were the most powerful emotions of his young life. He was weeping shamelessly. Even his father's eyes were moist, and