bit of luck, he will have the chieftan down just as we show ourselves and charge.'
Alodar heard grunts of agreement, and the desire to rest quickly passed. The bloodthirst rose again, and he jerked at the hilt of his sword. He struck out in the lead down the hillside, scrambling over the rocks and just barely remaining behind cover. The urgency boiled higher, and his nostrils flared in anticipation. The rest followed behind as he descended the irregular trail.
Halfway down, his view suddenly blurred. As he lurched around a large boulder, he did not see the cove, but more of the hills leading to higher mountains in the distance. In the very center, a monolith of cold granite soared into the sky. Alodar stopped and blinked in confusion. He was Alodar the bloodspiller, with a purpose soon to be fulfilled. There was no room in his existence for anything but his mission.
But the spire compelled, and he felt himself drawn forward. He seemed to skim over the rough ground. Like a tiny leaf blown by the wind, he hurled to the tower. At its base, his compulsion grew, and he launched himself up the side. Hand over hand, as rapidly as he seemed able, he climbed into the sky, drawing nearer to whatever called him. In an instant he neared the peak and stopped to stare at what was before his eyes. The stone was smooth, with no more grips to pull him higher; but directly in front, protruding from the rock, was the tarnished surface of an ancient bracelet.
As Alodar reached forward to pull it from the wall, the vision wavered and blurred. He felt the presence of the eye expand in his mind, growing, consuming, absorbing into blackness the sights about him. The scene flashed away and he looked down into a cove populated by a small tribe of barbarians. He blinked again, but the image remained firm.
He resumed his hurried descent, untroubled by what he had seen and intent only on what he was meant to do. Down the hillside the party went, until at last they stood poised at the outcropping, barely fifty yards from the small camp at the water's edge. With perfect calmness, Alodar marched out from the hiding place and headed straight for the barbarians, his hand on the hilt of his sword and his gaze steady.
The men in the camp spotted him almost immediately. Alodar heard an order barked from the water's edge as two men rose to meet him. He closed half the distance and scanned those still seated, marking for sure the one who commanded them.
'Drop your arms,' the two guardsmen growled in unison as he approached. Alodar took but two more steps and felt the last restraint hurl away. The lust for blood billowed up. With a frenzy, he drew his sword. Swinging it high overhead, he ran at the two with a chilling yell.
The man on the right cleared his blade of the scabbard but did not have time to use it. Alodar's sword swung down into his shoulder with a bone-breaking thud. As the man sank, clutching spasmodically with his free hand the wound, Alodar pulled his sword backwards and wrenched it free. The other nomad stood openmouthed, still not comprehending the folly of such a suicidal attack. Alodar thrust his dagger into the nomad's stomach with his left hand in a swiping zigzag that spilled the man to the ground.
The men behind all scrambled to their feet. The ones nearest instinctively drew their swords as Alodar thundered into their midst. They formed a shallow bowl around him, animal hide shields high and swords pointing out. Alodar looked beyond, down to the water's edge, where he saw the chieftain now on one knee, peering in puzzlement at the commotion.
Using sword and dagger together, Alodar lunged at the two immediately in front. As his blade skittered off their shields, he bolted around them. The man on his left slashed backwards, and Alodar felt the sharp edge of pain race through his left arm. He convulsively dropped his dagger and faltered for a step, his vision fogging from the blow. But the urge to run amok welled up even stronger and beat down the pain, hurling it away. With the arm dangling at his side spewing blood, he sprinted down the beach to his target.
The chieftain rose to his feet, barking new orders to the men scattered along the way. Behind Alodar, the original group pounded after, now out of sword reach but sealing off all retreat. Glancing quickly to the side, Alodar saw a bowman nock an arrow and began to track his progress across the sand. One arrow sailed by in front, and then a second fell inches behind.
He burst across the logs which defined the chieftain's campfire and closed upon the three men who still stood between him and his goal. With a savage yell, he hacked low underneath the falling shield on his right and hit just above the ankle, sweeping the man from his feet. The two on the left both slashed downward on his unprotected side but missed as Alodar dipped and scrambled forward.
The man nearest swung again, this time in a low horizontal arc. The point reached Alodar's calf, and his leg buckled. The leader and the two aides closed about him, each eager to deliver a mortal blow.
The pain coursed up through his leg and spine as Alodar struggled to stand and get past the chieftain's guard. Three blades were raised against him, but he concentrated only on one, trying to find an opening before they fell.
Suddenly beyond the periphery of the camp, a mighty yell arose and the marines and the rest of the royal party charged into view. The three swordsmen hesitated and turned to see the cause for the commotion. Alodar saw his chance. He swung his sword up into the air, reversing his grip, and plunged it daggerstyle at the face of the leader. The point caught the barbarian in the left eye and snapped his head backwards with the fury of the blow.
The other two nomads spun back to see their leader fall and then dropped their jaws as they saw Alodar standing with both arms at his side, staring vacantly. One took a step forward, sword still high, but then hesitated to look back at the wall of men racing his way.
Alodar felt the fury slowly subside and the pain from leg and arm return. As the delayed blow slashed down, his leg again buckled. The sword caught him in the flesh of the shoulder and deflected off and down into the sand. Without caring, he saw the nomads waver and then throw down their swords.
The world without fell away and the crescendo of the pain rose higher. In desperation Alodar sought out the eye, the eye which had comforted him, which had provided for him, which gave him his reason for being and protected him from pain.
But the presence was not there and the pain grew stronger, throbbing through limb and torso and beating on the fiber of his brain with ever-increasing strokes of lightning. Alodar groped for a touchstone, some reference point in the void to guide him to the eye, but none was there. Then, as he was on the edge of consciousness, a vision came of a granite crag, a bracelet embedded in its peak, and the sleeping form of a great wizard. As the pain finally overwhelmed him, Alodar clawed the air, reaching out to grasp at the strange force which beckoned him over the hills.
PART FIVE
The Wizard
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Improbable Imp
'LOOK, Grengor, he stirs.' Alodar heard the words filter through the numbness that permeated his entire body. He opened his eyes slowly and saw Aeriel's auburn curls cascading down about his face. He shifted the position of his head and felt her caress on his cheek. A dull throb pounded in his head.
'Gently, Alodar,' she said softly. 'My lap will serve as well as any cradle till you mend. There was some sweetbalm in the chieftain's plunder but it was far from freshly brewed. It closed the wounds and stimulated the regrowth, but it still will be some time before you are whole.'
Alodar frowned as dim memories stirred. A bouncing ride, thin acorn gruel forced between his lips, Aeriel's soft words, sunlight and campfires swirled together in a blur. He looked out into the evening light and saw a dozen campfires scattered about the slopes of a wide-mouthed valley. The hills came together like cupped palms, and ferns and long-stemmed grasses clustered near the small stream that ran where they touched. On the slopes, the naked oaks were few, and stately pines soared over a hundred feet into the sky. Ponies whinnied in the distance, mixing their cries with the guttural accent of the north-men's voices. In the group nearby, two tangle-haired women served the queen, while one of the marines passed a waterskin back to a chieftain.
