He did not think as he measured the distance to the gouted fangs – arm, spear, blade at this angle, knees bending to that precise degree needed to launch him upward toward the spot of naked skin which stretched obscenely at the base of the thing’s neck….
And he leapt.
The green spear blade whipped upward, slicing its way through the jaw, through the roof of the horrid mouth, up and into the brain caverns, was levered over and down with Thewson’s full weight upon it so that he stood in that instant upon the creature’s neck, between the lashing pincer feet. He thrust the spear down to pin the hideous head to pave. The whole, monstrous length of the thing lashed in a frenzy against unyielding stone.
Thewson screamed then, echoing the horses, half in triumph and half in pain at the acid drip on arms and shoulders. The green-clad warriors gathered to hack at the thrashing feet with blades suddenly as willing as his own. Then Obonor drew him away from the beast and poured something upon his wounds, something which stilled the fire as abruptly as it had come. Stupidly, Thewson looked down at the black acid stains upon his skin, heard Obonor say as from a great distance, ‘They will heal clean, Lord. Forgive us, but it was necessary to be sure.’
Obonor knelt at Thewson’s feet in deep obeisance. The others knelt beside him, except one who kept watch upon the creature which died slowly upon the stone. Witlessly, Thewson watched two of the men take up his spear with enormous reverence, clean it of the envenomed blood and return it to his hand after bowing to the blade as well.
Thewson said, ‘The noise was to attract the beast. To make it hunt us.’
‘Yes, Lord.’
‘To test – what? The edge of my blade? My courage? The warriors of the Lion Courts need no test, no, even in these northlands!’
‘No, Lord. But the bearer of the Sword of Sud-Akwith, that one might be false even if the blade were true.’
Thewson could only stare, stupidly. ‘What is this? No more silence now. I will be told!’
‘This, Lord.’ Obonor touched the spear blade with great respect, touching his hand to his forehead and heart when he had done so. ‘This green blade, with the guard curved so, is the blade of Sud-Akwith, cast into the Abyss of Souls by Sud-Akwith himself, thousands of years ago. Then did the Prince, Widon the Golden, say he would not take up what had been cast away until it returned to him or to his people of its own will. Then did he and all the people of Widon – which was a host of the people of Akwith – go into the northlands in the time of my forebears.
‘There were they met by a man, a singer, a king among the people there, one who became greatly honoured among our people for he had built a goodly land. It was he who prophesied the return of the Sword of Power, the blade of Sud-Akwith, in the hands of a dark warrior from the south. He would bring it, said the prophecy, to call the people of Widon to the service of the Firelord once more.’
Thewson heard in the caverns of his mind a far-off whirr, a gentle laughter, a voice saying ‘Thewson’ almost affectionately. It was like the voice of a god, the voice of the blade when he had chosen it, or it had chosen him, calling him by name. He said, ‘It was not made as a spear blade? It is not a spear blade at all?’
‘It is as the Lord wills,’ answered Obonor. ‘It is in the Lord’s keeping.’
‘How do you know it is not false?’
‘Because, Lord, the Tharnel worm is kin to those demons, the Hagak d’tumek, which came from beneath the city of Tharliezalor in Sud-Akwith’s time. The Sword of Power can kill them, leaving the bearer scatheless. We can kill them with lesser weapons, but they take long to die and many of us die as well. Oh, Lord Thewson, surely you have come for some very great purpose and surely you know why you come at last, bearing this great gift.’
They were all gazing at him, including Lain-achor, eyes shining with expectant tears, while he sat wondering what he was to do or say next. He discarded the idea of telling them he had been sent by a bird. They would think that trivial, though Thewson was of the sudden opinion that that bird and the jewelled bird god of his youth might have more in common than mere wings. Still, now the gods left him without words, and he cursed at them futilely.
Presently, he said, ‘Well. In the Hill of Gerenhodh came a messenger of the Powers to say, “Remember the people of Widon the Golden and those of the Axe King.” I, Thewson, say to those people, “Evil walks in the world and the sisters of Taniel call upon them.” There, I have said.’
It seemed to be enough. They mounted, helping him quite unnecessarily in mounting the great horse, finding a quick way out of the place of stones to thunder across the northern moorlands, fleet as the wind toward their distant homeland, calling ‘Ris, Ris, the Dark Warrior comes,’ like madmen, embarrassing Thewson. Behind them it seemed that a part of the city withered and faded like a melting shadow under the lowering sky.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
ORENA
Day 1, Month of Flowers –
Days
