The Return of Kavin (32 page)

Thuramon shook his head. “None can do that last work, except
myself
,” he said.

“Yet that other who follows will reach us before we reach the pass,” Kavin said, looking from one to another.

“Prince Kavin!” Hugon said, suddenly. “No!”

“Yes,” Kavin said. “I must remain to meet him. He is my fate, as I am his.” He looked at Thuramon. “I remember now, old master. Even the name I bore, in that other life. Gann, I was called.” Kavin turned in his saddle, to look toward the ridges behind. “And there, beyond that ridge, Gann’s body…
my
body… comes to greet me.”

“Not alone,” Hugon said. “The wizard needs no help from me any longer.” He loosened his sword, and bit his lip to control
a certain
nervousness in his voice. It was necessary, Hugon thought; if a man’s to sound brave, though he’s not, he must not squeak or quaver. For once in all my rogue’s days, Hugon told himself, I’ve found that time at which I can be a man of honor. Or be mistaken for one, at any rate.

“My Lady,” he said to Gwynna, “
take
this talkative beast… since I stole him from you in the first place… and keep him in memory of me, if I come not again.” He grinned at her. “Know that I’ve had a fine passion for you, but I’ve no wish to offer you my slightly soiled hand. And I could afford no other gifts, alas… till now.” He dug into his pouch and brought out a small sack. “Take this as well, and use it, if you regain Armadoc or not.”

“I am staying with you!” Fraak cried out, his tail curling around Hugon’s arm for a better grip.

“But you’re my friend, small scaly one,” Hugon said gently.
“And if I ask you, as friend, to do me the service of going with the lady, what then?”

“Now, hold!” Kavin snapped. “I need no help. You
fool,
you’d be cooked like a chitterling before you had a chance to lay blade on that Thing.”

“I had another notion, Prince,” Hugon said. “This… Gann, I think you called him… is not entirely invulnerable.” He pointed to the narrow pass ahead. “He’ll have to pass there, as we will… and I’d had a thought or two…”

“Kavin, if you’re to be burdened with my wordy friend here, you’ll have no time for anything else,” Zamor broke in. “Look, I’ll stay as well.
If only to keep Hugon from getting in the way.
But then, if he wishes, he might talk that demon of yours to death.”

“I want neither of you to stay,” Kavin said. He looked at them both. “There’s neither need nor use in it. Listen, now. I told you that creature yonder is
myself.
All my life has led toward this place… and the former life, when I was Gann. I must pay my way, and the time of payment has come.”

“Kavin,” Thuramon said, “he may seize your mind, as he nearly did before. Remember; when you saw him first, in his tomb of ice… even then you nearly fell.”

“I remember,” Kavin said. “I saw… what I had been, in that life. The power of that drew me, but I remember more, now. There was glory, and we were like gods… but we were growing less than men, as well. That world died, Thuramon. Gann should also have died. Because he did not die entirely, he and I must meet and only one will… be.” He stared at Thuramon. “I think I can hold against him, now,” he said. “And he dares not use his weapon against me, as you said. But I can use mine against him.” His hand dropped to his sword hilt.

Thuramon nodded. “It may be that you can resist,” he said. “But may the gods help you if you cannot.” He glanced at the others. “Come… be reasonable. Kavin would meet Gann… alone.”

He pulled at the reins, and his horse clattered toward the narrow pass ahead. After a moment, Gwynna swung her mount around to follow him, with a swift, strange glance at Hugon. But Hugon waited, his mouth set in a stubborn line, till Zamor reached across, and slapped his horse’s flank a mighty blow with his open hand.

Hugon’s horse whinnied, and sprang away, galloping toward the pass, Zamor following.
But once through the gap, a slit in the rock that was as narrow as a door, Hugon yanked furiously at the reins, bringing the horse back on its heels as Zamor reached him.
He swung down from the saddle, and flung Fraak free, to sail up and circle around; he himself headed doggedly toward the slope of rock beside the narrow trail.

“Hugon, you fool!” Zamor called out, and slid out of his own saddle. He undid the lashing that held the long axe, and twirled it, staring up at Hugon’s climbing figure. “Since you’ve made up your mind to leave your damned bones here,” Zamor called, pleasantly, “I may as well stay too. Wait for me, brother.”

FIFTEEN

He was very near, Gann knew. He lifted his head, and his empty eyes stared toward the trail that wound up ahead. Yes, the other was there… and he waited, no longer fleeing.

Gann moved with long strides around the turn, and into the open space among the rocks. There were long shadows now; the sun was nearly set. And the other stood there, silently, a tall figure in that primitive cloak of his, leaning on a long straight sword whose point was set in the ground.

A sword, Gann thought. He stopped, and his arm went out, gesturing at the five who followed him; they too halted at the command.

Gann stared at Kavin, and the hunger grew stronger… like a leaping fire, up and up. And the pain, too; it lanced through him. His hand went to his chest, and he clutched at it in an involuntary gesture.

And, most strangely, Kavin’s hand moved in the same way; the mirrored face twisted into lines of agony, as Gann’s did.

We are linked already, Gann thought, staring at the other. He stepped forward, slowly, very slowly, his eyes on the other.

“You… know… me,” Gann said. His voice was hollow, and the words came with great difficulty.

“You are Gann,” Kavin said. “You are
myself
.”

“No,” the other said, in that strained voice. “I am Gann. You are Gann. WE are Gann.” He took another step forward.
“Yield.
Yield,
and we… shall… be… one.”
And suddenly louder, “ALIVE.”
And another step.

“I remember the pain,” Kavin said, quietly. “I should have died when the surgeons did their work. But I did die, Gann. Gann is not real.” He stared at the other. “Gann is merely a remnant. As though I had cast away an old cloak, torn and of no use…”

“I… LIVE!” the other said, in a deep, hollow shout. His eyes glared.

Kavin’s sword came up; he stood, legs slightly apart, his cloak wrapped around his left arm, the long blade moving and seeking. His eyes moved over the scaly armor that covered Gann, studying it with a swordsman’s skill.

“One of us must die,” Kavin said, in a completely calm voice. “You died a long while ago.
In another world, Gann.”

“I AM GANN!” the other said, and stood, with the curious weapon in the crook of his arm, watching the lifted blade. “I AM GANN. I WILL NOT DIE!”

Kavin moved forward a single step.

“You… know…” Gann said. “It… was… the great age. What we… had done.
So… much.
Power.
To… know… all… things.”
He stared at Kavin, and the sword point wavered slightly. “I cannot kill myself,” Gann said.
“You.
Cannot do that either.”

Then Kavin lunged forward, and the point struck, sliding toward a nearly invisible joint at the shoulder. It went in, and the other staggered back; he fell to his hands and knees, and remained there, head downward.

Kavin staggered, and fell back a step. His face contorted; the pain that was Gann’s now struck Kavin’s body as well.

Then, Gann’s face came up; he stared at Kavin, from the position he still held, on all fours. Blood, dark and strange in appearance, welled from the corners of his mouth.

“We share… even that,” Gann croaked. His face contorted into a horrible parody of mirth. “I CANNOT DIE,” he said, and began to crawl toward Kavin.

Kavin lifted the long blade, and… froze. He could not strike again. The dead eyes that had once been his own stared at him; the empty shell that was
himself
crept, bleeding in great drops that splashed in the dust, toward him. And Kavin stepped backward, foot by foot.

Again he tried to strike, and could not; and once more he stepped back. They were within the narrow cleft in the rock, and still the dead thing crawled on, toward him.

Kavin backed away again, a distance this time; he flung back his head, and cried out in the dreadful pain that clawed at his flesh, wordlessly. Then, as he began to feel his very self dissolving, flowing back toward that other… there was a cool hand touching his face. A voice, whispering.

“You…” Kavin said, swaying dizzily.

“I am here,” the voice said.

Gann was there, in the narrow space, framed by the columns of rock on either side; he crept, still, and bled. And now he lifted his head, and the dreadful eyes glared; and he laughed, a sound like no laughter heard on earth.

“I HAVE YOU!” he said.

Then there was an enormous thundering sound. Dust billowed up, in an outward rolling wave, as rocks cascaded into the cleft. Amid the roar of the fall, the voice of Gann came in a long, terrible, scream… and then was silent.

Kavin, his face gray with dust, stood and stared.

Then Hugon came sliding and slipping down the rock face, Zamor behind him. Fraak arched across the sky, high above, screaming a wild cry of triumph and leaving a trail of smoke.

“Kavin!”
Hugon came, running. “Gods, man, are you hurt badly?”

Kavin stared at him and drew a hand across his face.

“I’m… not hurt at all,” he said, and his voice sounded strangely to him, in his ears.

“You look nearly killed,” Hugon said. Zamor grunted agreement.

“I’ll never doubt Thuramon’s word again,” Hugon went on, as he helped Kavin walk toward the waiting horses.
“That… thing.
I saw your point go into it, and I thought that was the end of it; nothing human could take a foot of steel in the weasand and go on… but that creature did. Saw it crawling, like a broken-backed snake…” Hugon stopped, with a shudder.

Zamor laughed. “Hugon was near ready to foul his breeches, I thought for a minute. But I
felt
the damn thing, and I was as fearful as he was.” His big hand touched his belt. “But the Dragon’s Gift here did it. I used that strength; pushed a rock the size of an oxwain, and the whole top of that peaklet, there, fell on the demon.”

Kavin looked from one to the other as he pulled himself into the saddle.

“I was ready to refuse your help,” he said.

Hugon swung into his own saddle. “Let’s ride, before the darkness comes,” he said. He glanced back. “I wonder what’s become of those others with your demon brother,
yonder?
”

Fraak, sailing overhead, cried out, “They fell down!”

Hugon looked up. “Scaly clown, come down here!” And as Fraak landed on his shoulder, “Fell down?
How?”

“They fell down, they don’t move,” Fraak said, settling down. “They are all dead.”

“They moved by his will,” Kavin said over his shoulder. “And he is gone.” His face suddenly changed, oddly, and his eyes widened. “Gone?” A shudder passed over him, and he closed his eyes for a moment; then opened them. “Yes, he has. I’m sure, now.”

After the sun had set, it became increasingly difficult to thread their way along the narrow trails. They had caught up with Thuramon and Gwynna by this time; Gwynna, turning to see them galloping after, uttered a low cry as she saw Hugon. Then, when he came nearer, she gave her firm opinion of fools who tried to get themselves killed for no very good reason that anybody could see. She continued on the subject for some time, while Hugon merely grinned quietly.

Now the sky was starlit, and the rocky path was utterly black. Thuramon would not stop, however. He manufactured an odd torch, out of materials he extracted from his leather bag; a stick that smoked and flared with an eye-hurting white light. Carrying this, Thuramon peered ahead, as his horse cautiously picked its way. Twice, a horse nearly fell; but at last the path broadened, and became easier.

“We are in the upper
pass
now,” Thuramon called out. “See, now that the moon’s rising, we’ll have enough light.”

“Great Snake, what’s that thing?” Zamor cried out, reining in. “A gallows for giants?”

Behind the gaunt framework, the moon rose, making the skeletal shapes resemble some cyclopean gallows.

Thuramon cried out, hoarsely triumphant.

“The Gate!”

The horses clattered down the long slope toward the tall framework. It was farther away than it had seemed, and much larger as well. Before they reached it, the moon was still higher in the sky, and the whole valley was bathed in silver light.

The valley was like a great bowl, with a level bottom; in the end nearest the riders, the framework stood, and not far away, an enormous building rose. The building was windowless, dark, and apparently a ruin; Hugon, gazing down at it, thought it was a miracle of ugliness. He wondered if men could build with such an apparently deliberate desire to offend the eye, as he studied its squat enormity.

“A Temple to Badness,” he said aloud, as they drew rein at the foot of the framework.

“What?” Kavin asked.

“That building,” Hugon told him. “If there were a special guild for the making of pure grim ugliness, they built that. What is that place, anyway?”

“The workshops of those others, the servants of the creature called Ess,” Kavin said. He stared at it, with dark eyes. “There I came, and met them… and met Ess, afterward. And there I stayed, gripped in some sort of magical sleep, for these long years.”

Thuramon had dismounted, and taken down his gear from the saddle. He was busy about the gigantic metal framework’s base; he knelt, examining something, and emitted a harsh laugh.

“They built well, those Lords of Death,” Thuramon said.

The others dismounted, too, and gathered around him. He had risen to his feet, and now he kicked a metal pillar with his foot, and chuckled.