Poul Anderson

“ Why are you working in a place like this, when you could be the greatest courtesan in the world? Kings would be your slaves, and armies would go to battle with your name on their lips—if they only knew you."
She shrugged. "Fortune does strange things sometimes," she said. "I am Freha, and I am here because I must be." Her slim fingers ruffled his harsh black hair. "But tonight," she breathed, "I am glad of it, since you came. And who are you, stranger?"
"I am Alfric, called the Wanderer, son of Beodan the Bold, son of Asgar the Tall, from the hills and lakes of Aslak." ”

“ Black against the sky, the Temple loomed on the hillcrest, but Alfric saw no movement.
Hildaborg slipped against him. "Now what shall we do?" she whispered.
He laughed softly, the old grim battle joy flowing up in him. Weariness and despair fell off like an outworn cloak—there was new strength in his thews and a goal in his mind.
"I heard, down there, how Valkarion really hates the priests," he said. "The city is seething with revolt which wants only a leader. Could the common folk rise, I think nigh all the city guards, impressed into priest service by fear, would come over to their side. ”

“ Battle raged there, as the rebel guards and the blood-howling mob bore down on the garrison. Fire was already licking at the rafters where flame arrows had struck; the Temple would soon stand aflame even as the palace was burning, as the Empire was burning and sundering. The two pillars of Valkarion were crashing to earth, and what would be left when they were gone?
By the leaping fire-blaze, Alfric saw the torn and trampled bodies of priests and slaves. He recognized one battered face and stooped over for a closer look. Therokos lay dead. ”

“ If the Temple men assault one point in strength, they'll be inside!"
"Let them!" blazed Alfric. His eyes were like green fire under the swaying crystal candelabra. "Send messengers to all entrances, Ganimos—tell the men there to retreat, firing the palace to hinder pursuit. We'll gather all our forces here—"
"Burn the palace?" cried the guardsman. "I swore to defend it!"
"You swore to defend the Imperial family too, didn't you? If we can't get outside to help the Empress, you'll be a hell of a use to her! Now go!"
There was no gainsaying the wild power which blazed in the northerner. ”

“ Bright Dannos was sweeping triumphantly down on pale Mother Amaris; he would cover her and then pass on, and out of that wedding would come the fate of the world. Cold fate, dark destiny—night and famine and death, the moons hurtling over a world sunk into final oblivion.
Well, men died, sometime or other, and all they could do about it was to meet the end bravely. Alfric squared his shoulders and marched into the Temple. ”

“ From the boundless wastes of the desert shall he ride, ruin and darkness in his train, and the last long night of the Empire will fall when he comes.
"Woe, Dannos, your temple will stand in flames when the heathen king is come! Woe, Mother Amaris, he will defile your holy altars and break them down! Gods themselves must die, their dust will whirl, on the breath of his wind-god, the last blood of the Empire will be swallowed by the thirsty desert. ”

“ Of a sudden Alfric stiffened. He heard the measured tramp of feet—a city patrol approaching, just around the next corner. Whirling, he led the way into an alley black as a cave mouth. It was blind, but there was a door at the end, from behind which came the twanging of harps and the thin evil whine of desert flutes. A tavern—shelter, of a sort—
Moonlight glistened on steel as the half-dozen guardsmen passed the alley—passed, stopped, and turned back. "They may be here," Alfric heard a voice. ”

“ Alfric knocked the sword from a nerveless hand and brought his own blade against the guardsman's throat. "Hold," he said. "One word, one movement, and you'll roll in the gutter with your comrades."
Freha came up, the cloak blowing about her wonderful naked body in the wild wind. She was a fay sight under the moons, and the prisoner groaned as he saw her. "Lady—lady, forgive—"
"Forgive a traitor?" she asked, wrath sparking in her voice.
"Why are the priests after me?" rapped Alfric.
The guard stared. "Surely—surely you know—"
"I know nothing. Speak, if you want to remain a man." ”

“ The armor and clothing were strained on his tall form, ill-fitting, but with the cloak draped over, and the helmet shadowing his face, he should pass muster. Under the cloak, across his back, he had his broadsword—these short southern stabbers were no good.
Hildaborg was better fitted. Slim and boyish in the shining steel, her long hair tucked under the crested helm, spear carried proudly erect, she seemed a young goddess of war. Alfric thought dizzily that no such woman had ever crossed even his dreams. ”

“ Now they need only hunt us down and kill us."
"'Twill take some doing," growled Alfric. "Ha, we may yet pull their cursed temple down about their shaven skulls!"
"And so the prophecy would be fulfilled—you would blow out the last dim flicker of light—" She stopped, staring at him, and her voice came slowly: "Valkarion, the last citadel of civilization, the last hope of the dying world, to be wasted by a heathen bandit—perhaps the priests are right, Alfric of Aslak. Perhaps you should die."
"Luigur take your damned prophecy!" he snarled. ”

“ Steel hissed beside him as the other swung with a scimitar. The hengist screamed as the blade cut its sleek gray hide. The forehoofs lashed out, the great hooked beak snapped, and the slave lay a bloody ruin on the Imperial Way.
Alfric reined in his prancing mount and looked around, breathing hard. An ambush—by the bear of Ruho, they'd meant to kill him!
But—why?
A poor solitary wanderer was no worthwhile quarry for footpads—anyway, these weren't outlaws but slaves; they must have been set here with orders to destroy some specific person. ”

“ Alfric grinned, a wolfish gleam of teeth in the night. "Also, I heard tales—restlessness, a struggle for power between Temple and Imperium, with the Emperor an old man and the last of his line, unable to get a child on his young queen Hildaborg. It seemed opportune."
"How so?" He thought she breathed faster, lying there beside him.
He chuckled, a harsh iron sound in his corded throat. "How should I know? Except that when such a hell's broth is bubbling, a fighting man can always scoop up loot or power or—at the very least—adventure. If nothing else, there might be the Empress. ”

“ And pray your Moons help comes ere we're cut down!"
"We'll die like men, anyway," said Ganimos, "not like beasts in a trap. Thank you for that, Stranger."
"Then—hai, Hildaborg!" Alfric plunged over the barricade.
The Household guards followed, a wave that formed into a wedge and plunged across the gardens. The finest warriors of Valkarion hit the wavering Temple forces like a spear going home.
Ax and sword! Spear and arrow! Clang and roar of metal, whirring weapons, rushing blood—shouts and curses, screams, deep-throated oaths—death unchained in the gardens of Valkarion! ”

“ Alfric sank into thought for a while. Then suddenly he said: "Now I know why the priests are after me. But what of you? Where do you come into this picture?"
"I knew about the prophecy," she replied. "Also, I knew what my fate was likely to be when Aureon died. The Temple and the Imperium, ostensibly the two pillars of the Empire, have long been struggling for power. Each side has its warriors and spies, its adherents among the nobles and commons—oh, the last several generations have been a weary tale of intrigue, murder, corruption, with first one side and now another on top. ”

“ One hit him on the cheek. Pain knifed through his head. "Hai, Ruho!" he roared, and banged a skull. The mob edged away a little. Eyes and teeth gleamed white in the bloody torchlight.
A trumpet-blast sounded, harsh and arrogant over the rising voices. Someone screamed. Alfric saw spears aloft, steel gleaming red—a squad of guardsmen to the rescue.
The rescue! He groaned, lifted Hildaborg, and sought to retreat through the crowd.
Too late. The guards were hacking a bloody way through the mob; it scattered in panic and the squad was there.
"Just in time," panted its chief. "The folk are ugly. ”

“ Strange, to trade blows with men who were only red highlights against the roaring night. For a timeless interval, it was all clamor and death and flying steel.
But the Household was being carved away—man after man fell—and now the palace besiegers were streaming through the gully, Ganimos and his squad cut off on the bridge—hai, Hildaborg, it had been a lovely fight but it was nearing its end.
Alfric looked up at the mighty sky, and he saw the majestic shield of Dannos slip over Amaris. Her light was cut off, the hilltop grew dimmer—the Moons were mated. ”

“ The same, always the same endless squabbling, carrion birds quarreling among the bones of the Empire. I went on the next war, or to see the next part of the world, and erelong I learned never to stay too long in one place lest the newness of it wear off."
"Valkarion is ever new, Alfric. A man could live his life here and never see all there was." ”

“ Luigur take the Empire, as he will whatever we do." He laughed, a joyous sound echoing in the night. "We'll build our own stead and live as freefolk and raise a dozen tall sons. Hildaborg, let's go!"
For a moment she stood silent. When she spoke, her voice trembled a little, and the moonlight glinted off tears in her eyes.
"I love you for it, Alfric, and gladly would go. But Therokos is besieging the palace—he is gathering in all who ever spoke well of me ... shall my friends be hanged and burned and hacked to bits, and I safe in Aslak?"
"You're a fool. What could you do for them?" ”

“ Alfric flung on his kilt, dagger belt, and baldric. "Out the window!" He whipped the girl to him, held her supple body against his, kissed her hard and swift as the swoop of a hunting falkh. "Goodbye, Freha, you have been a wonderful companion. I'll see you again—if I live."
"But—you can't leave me!" she gasped. "The slaves will burst through—"
"Why should they harm you? They're after me."
"They will." He felt her shaking against him. "They will, that's their way—oh!"
The door shuddered as a heavy weight was flung against it. "That's they," snarled Alfric. "And the bolt won't hold very long. ”

“ Why are you here?"
"He can't," said Freha. She came up to them, white in the moonlight, her long hair blowing loose about her shoulders. "The Temple breeds these slaves, raises them from birth to utter, fanatical obedience. And—see—" She pointed to the dead man gaping under the window.
Stooping over, Alfric saw that he had no tongue.
The northerner shuddered. With a convulsive movement, he broke the neck of his prisoner and flung the body aside. "What do they want?" he panted. "Why are they after me?"
"There is a prophecy—but quick, there will be others. ”

“ Most were native Valkarionas—merchants in their flowing cloaks and fur-trimmed silken robes, workers and artisans in tunics of blue or gray, peasants in clumsy homespun garments and fur caps, swaggering young soldiers in red tunics and polished metal, painted harlots, ragged beggars, near-naked slaves, the others of a city where life still pulsed strong though the days of glory were more thousands of years behind than it was pleasant to count. ”

“ And if we meet guards, you'll die first."
Therokos flung him a glance of utter hate, but stumbled obediently ahead. The empty corridor echoed dully to their footfalls. Near its end, Therokos pressed a camouflaged stud, and a section of the rock wall swung aside on noiseless hinges.
Hildaborg took a torch from the wall and closed the door behind them. They went down a long sloping tunnel, so low that Alfric had to stoop. "You cannot hope to escape," said Therokos, his voice again under his wondrous control. "Best you give up peaceably, saving trouble and lives on both sides. ”

“ There was a rostrum, surrounded by a tight ring of Temple guards, and from atop it a robed priest was haranguing the throng.
"—the Dynasty is dead, and the wrath of the Moons lies heavy over Valkarion. Woe to the world, for the heathen fiend, the scourge of Dannos, is loose!
"Yet I bring hope—aye, from all-merciful Mother Amaris I bring cheer in this darkest hour. There is time, still time to seize the barbarian ere his power grows. There is still time, too, to seize and disown the half-caste witch Hildaborg. ”

“ I've no great faith in spaedom myself."
"These prophecies are true, Alfric! Now and again they have erred, but I think that is simply because the songs had become garbled in the long time they were handed down without much belief. All too often, the future history in the Book has been written anew by time's own pen." Hildaborg slipped a guardsman's tunic over her slim form. Her eyes were half-shut, dreaming. "They say the Sibyl was loved by Dannos, who gave her the gift of prophecy, and that Amaris jealously decreed she should foretell evil oftener than good. ”

“ He thrust aside a burly peasant, who turned on him with a snarl. "Mind your manners, guardsman! Is't not enough you should be traitor to the Empress?"
"Aye, the city guards have sat about drinking and gaming and making the streets unsafe for our daughters," said another man harshly. "They didn't get off their fat butts till this chance came to go yapping after Hildaborg."
Alfric tried to shoulder past the ring of angry folk who gathered. "Aside!" he called. "Aside, or I use my spear!" ”