The Swordbearer Read Free Page A

"One of the Dead Captains," he murmured. His stomach did a flip.
    As if hearing him, the Toal halted, faced Kacalief. It stared at the fortress a long time, as if quietly amused by its audience. Its gaze swept across Gathrid. He felt as though an icicle had been driven into his brain. He shuddered. For a long moment he was frightened.
    "Aren't they gorgeous!" Anyeck bubbled. These easterners were richly and colorfully clad. Gathrid understood most brigades dressed more somberly.
    He turned to his sister, his upper lip rising in a half-sneer. Her greed blazed through her common sense. He wished she would outgrow having been spoiled. "They're dreadful," he said. "Look at the Dead Captain. Tell me he's glamorous."
    She gave him a nasty look.
    "He does fit the particulars of the husband you want."
    "Gathrid, don't take out your frustrations on me."
    "And you'll get a chance to meet one soon enough, I think."
    Their mother stepped between them. "They won't, Gathrid," she said. "The Alliance will stop them.
    Ah-lert won't risk the united wrath of the western kingdoms and the Brotherhood."
    Then Plauen was behind them, smiling a distant smile. "Don't blind yourself, My Lady. Ventimiglia is a dragon with one head. It speaks with one voice. It strikes with one sword. It marches to one will. This Alliance will be a beast of a hundred heads, every one trying to drag the body in a different direction. The Mindak will sneer at it. He'll spit on it. And he'll trample it into the dust."
    Gathrid stared at the Brother in disbelief. Never had he heard the man speak with such despair.
    "Plauen!"
    "I'm sorry. I forget myself. The rage of frustration seethes within me. I'm afraid it's too late.
    The Mindak has the scent of fell artifacts of which only a few Ma-gisters are aware. Had he been stopped farther east, he might never have learned that they had survived the Fall."
    The Safirina asked, "What are you talking about, Mi-kas?"
    The redness left the teacher's face. He seemed to fold into himself. "Nothing, My Lady. Unfounded speculations I shouldn't be discussing. Pay me no mind. I'm a long-winded fool."
    Gathrid stared. There was a look, in Plauen's eyes, when the man glanced at himself ot Anyeck, which turned his heart cold. And behind the look was a poorly controlled fear.
    It was a puzzle, the youth thought.

Chapter Two
    Ultimatum The armies of Ventimiglia halted just east of the Grev-ening border. Their encampments covered the countryside. Gathrid tried counting tents. He would get into the thousands and lose track. He gave up.
    Refugees poured into Gudermuth. They carried tales so cruel nobody believed them. They featured Nieroda and the Toal in such monstrous roles that Kacalief's people rejected the accusations.
    Nobody could be that bloody and black.
    The Easterners erected semipermanent fortifications and barracks throughout autumn. Their numbers diminished. Spies reported that many of the Mindak's soldiers had returned to their families for the winter.
    It was a small thing, but a human touch which offset the alleged brutality of that somber army.
    Gathrid's father continued to hope weakly for the Alliance. His mother was convinced the Mindak would not defy it.
    The battles with his father became more heated. The youth thought the threat justified his being trained. His father refused with increasing vehemence.
    Anyeck, too, knew her disappointments. The Safire refused to let anyone run to safety. "We're responsible for this corner of the March," he insisted. "Neither I nor any of mine will shirk. We have our duty. We stand here. We set no cowardly examples, come peace or come war." And that was the final word.
    Gathrid could not help but admire his father's stubbornness. It was the stubbornness of the heroes he worshiped.
    Winter came with its snows. The Ventimiglians remained out there, their nearest works just a mile away. Their presence became ever more grating, more fraying to the nerves. Each day one of the black-clad Toal