The Last IceBreaker, Part IX
Harlios sat on his saddle blanket. He looked disconsolately at his last worldly possessions. His two-handed sword (straight!), five Yanafal Tar'nils ritual dueling markers set out in a ring. Inside the ring (so it would not get lost again) a bag of purified salt for use in the coming rituals. And a large, squat candle, made of the finest beeswax. It was red, dyed that way by the Danfive Xaron cult which had supplied it. He had never asked what sort of dye had been used. His first guess, blood, was discarded as too obvious, insufficiently gruesome.....
"Is this all?" he thought. "Here at the end of my
life, this is ll
that is left to me?" He thought wistfully of his iron scimitar, his wyvern's
claw. How
proud he had been of them. But he had barely touched
them, expt
for practice, for more than two years. Not since he had acquired Ichor,
his putrid blade. And now
they had been discarded, like so much dross.
"Who will mourn for me?" he thought. "Chiak and
Rhondar, Hwarin
and Allessa. Maybe. If they even remember me, now that my Callings
have been stolen. They
will go on and find a new master, or mistress.
Will
they settle down finally, or are they set in the wanedring sort of life
I have led? Will they have families? children?
I have three children,
and have never seen them."
He tried to picture the women who had born his seed. He remembered their names, but their faces were a blur. Willing young initiates, provided by the Empire. Ample bedmates, enthusiastic even. Honoredto bear a child to a man of proven superiority; let not that proven bloodline die! One after becoming a Priest of the Seven Mothers. One after becoming a Lord of Yanafal Tar'nils. And one during his stay at Glamour, while training as a Traveller and Journeyer. Two sons and a daughter, he had heard. But he had never seen.....
"What have I accomplished?" Harlios wondered.
"Other than to get
myself Doomed? Five broo here, a
vampire there, a #_at_$ shrine dedicated!
Two hundred
years from now, who will know? My name is written downin
records here and there, what of it? The Empire is a
great tent, held up
by many poles. And Argrath is slowly walking around the outside, kicking
them
down, one by one. There isn't going to _be_ an Empire
in two
hundred years! And nobody in the heartlands
seems to care!"
"Is this what Illumination does to you? I'm glad I
failed! Deeper
mystic insight, PHAUGH! Six times they
made me repeat that blastedriddle,
so that they could
figure out what was happening. 'Well, it seemsto be a
convulsion of the mind and spirit, as well as the body.'
'It drawyour
spirit back into your frame, even if projecting outwards in a ritual.'
'It appears to be
something you have done during one of your quests,
blocking you from moving in this direction....' For
_that_ I had needed
the advice of seven Illuminated
Masters?"
"Oh, what difference does it make? I am about to depart the cycles of life and death. And no one will ever know that I couldn't even die properly, with Inandana DaughtersBlood. I am going to vanish on this nameless, barren plain; never to be seen again. I will be forgotten; how can it be otherwise when Valind has stolen my Callings. Who will know? Who _can_ know?"
"Yanafal will know."
"The Seven Mothers will know!"
"VALIND WILL KNOW! He will remember the Last
IceBreaker!
Let him waste his breath cursing me
forever, uselessly!"
"My life is not wasted! Who cares if no one
remembers me in two
hundred years? I never sought
glory. I did what was right! Who cares
if I killed
five broo near Falling Waters? The people who dwell
there care!
Five broo that will not trouble them again,
killing the folk, breeding more
broo! I am a Provincial! I understand that the people of the Empire count!
In how many towns, in how many lands, is the world a
better place because
I have lived? That is enough! It
has always been enough!"
Harlios sat on the saddle blanket. His jaw was clenched so hard his teeth hurt. His eyes blazed like fire within his helm. His arm was outstretched, his fist closed tight around a faltering spirit. It was like no spirit he had ever seen before.
It was not like a Shade, the Color of Fear. It was not like a Lune, the Color of Madness. It was the Color of Despair.make sacrifice to Rashtingall? Offer up my most beloved possessions? I kept a respectfull distance! And this is my reward?"
"How dare you!" he roared. "How come you against me? Did I not
"Distance means nothing, if you will stay for any
length of time.
And what of your sacrifices? Did you
not call on the Power of Rashtingall?
To give thanks
for the strength you have called upon is only proper! This
is the Place of Challenge, did you think to evade
it?"
"Did you challenge Inandana?"
"She came forward of her own, late that night. She
passed her
challenge easily."
"And the Wolf Brother?"
"He faced his challenge long ago, as part of his
training. His old
master brought him here for that
express purpose."
"Rrrrrrrr. Drel?"
"I too...have been challenged...but in a more traditional way..."
Drel answered wearily.
"Drel! How badly are you hurt? How long will you
be recovering?"
"Half a day...to recover what I can... Some of my
hurts ae
lasting...."
"_at_#&%*$!!!"
Harlios mastered his temper, even as he squeezed
the writhing spirit
in his fist. Immaterial, it was
none the less caught between his fingers,
filled as they
were with his own aura, boiling in anger.
"We will fix this, Drel," he thought in an ugly
tone. "Come, join me
in a little ceremony, old and
familiar."
Yanafal, the captain wise
Did gather then his comrades 'round
The battle fought, and victory won
To share out the victor's bounty
His left foot burned, as if he had stepped in acid.
Always, it wa
the same. Deathday, sunrise to sunset. And whenever he performed a
Yanafali ritual.
Let each claim his rightfull due
A fair share of the spoils of war
Are we all not brothers here?
Equal members of this band?
Drel's voice joined him, raggedly at first. But
his tone steadied.
Power, raw magic, began to flow up
Harlios's arm. From out of the captured,
screaming
spirit, up his arm, and into Drel. Restoring Drel's
lost
strength, washing away all signs of weariness.
Drel stopped, and Harlios followed suit. "Is that all?" he asked.his fist. He released the pitifull fragment of Despair, which was all that was left of his challenger. Howling it fled back into the glow of Rashtingall. The Black Rock hummed; could it be, that the hum was slightly stronger now?"
"Yes," said Drel. "I am restored. No more is necessary."
"Drink your fill, as deeply as you desire."
"I have, now you drink."
They sang the final canticle, but Harlios did nothing, but to open
End of Glorantha Digest V4 #352
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