Alan Dean Foster - Krull

VIP免费
2024-12-24 0 0 257.52KB 80 页 5.9玖币
侵权投诉
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Krull.txt
Krull
The boy pulled the collar of his coat tighter against his neck. It was a damp, chilly
morning. The first suggestions of winter reached thin, icy fingers down from the North Country.
Soon the land would sleep beneath a thick mantle of white wet down.
Nearby the flock cropped methodically at the long grass. They would work their way to the
top of the gentle slope, perhaps, as far as the large boulder protruding like a giant's nose from
the hillside, before it was dark and time to herd them in. The boy thought hungrily of the
steaming stewpot that awaited him back in the village, of the hot tea that could drive out a day's
chill as it spread outward in a steadily warming circle from his belly.
Life was not easy, his father repeatedly told him, but with a little hard work it might be
made bearable. The sheep would provide meat for the coming year, their wool would give warmth, and
there should be enough of both left over to trade
for money in the marketplace. They might even make enough money to travel to his cousin's
hometown of Banbreak, where there was much talk of uniting all the towns and villages in the
region to form a kingdom. The boy's father was all for such unification. A single government could
provide strength and protection from which all might prosper. There was too much division and
argument among men, especially now, when they ought to join together against a common enemy.
The dominant ram let out a nervous baa and the boy stirred himself. It wouldn't do to be
caught daydreaming. Standing atop the little knoll he'd chosen for a resting place, he leaned on
his staff and carefully inspected the surrounding terrain. You never could tell what might be
lurking out there, crouched low among the bushes or in the rustling branches up a tree. He prided
himself on his watchfulness. Since the flock had been entrusted to his care, he'd lost not a
single sheep to marauders, no matter whether they approached on four legs or two or eight.
The ram let out a second bleat and there were echoes from others in the flock. They began
to mill together uncertainly, clustering around the mature rams and ignoring the grass. The boy's
fingers tightened on the staff as he turned a slow circle, trying to pinpoint the source of their
unease. He could see nothing. In the trees all that moved were wind-stirred leaves, on the ground
nothing but rippling grass and weeds. As if to worry him further a stiff breeze suddenly sprang to
life, bending the taller bushes and rattling the gravel underfoot.
Then it occurred to the boy that it had become preternaturally silent. There were no bird
sounds, no digger barks, not even the buzz of omnipresent insects from the small stream that
flowed nearby.
The wind intensified, swirling his cloak around him. It was rapidly growing darker. Storm
coming up, he thought. Probably from behind Ignatus Mountain. But that wasn't sufficient
to explain the flock's eerie behavior. They were all bleating now, crying out anxiously.
Still the source of their collective distress remained hidden from sight.
No matter. He did not have any more time to hunt for invisible threats. His job now was to
get the flock under cover before the storm broke. Still keeping a wary eye on the nearest clump of
cover, which might conceal a lurking predator, he hopped down from his perch and began shooing the
sheep back toward the village.
They refused to budge, clustering so tightly together they threatened to trample the
lambs. Now what the devil had got into those fool animals?
He turned his gaze upward, the better to gauge the speed and strength of the approaching
storm, and his jaw dropped.
The lowing sky was full of dark cumulus, but the largest cloud of all was not drifting
southward with its billowy companions. It was falling steadily earthward. Lights flickered along
its gray black sides and a dull hum came from somewhere within. The wind rose to a shriek as
displaced air sought escape.
The young shepherd stared, as paralyzed as his sheep. Now he understood the source of
their frozen panic, knew why they clustered helplessly together instead of trying to run to
safety. The cloud that wasn't a cloud covered most of the little valley and there was nowhere to
run to.
Trees snapped and popped like dead twigs as the Fortress of the Beast settled gently to
the ground, obliterating anything less resistant than granite beneath its great weight. Only one
had observed its unannounced arrival. Gradually the birds resumed their forays from those trees
that had been spared. Insects reemerged from their hiding places to restake their claim to the
world.
Of the shepherd and his flock there was only a memory. * * *
One by one the sun made silhouettes of the horsemen as they topped the narrow ridge. It
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Krull.txt (1 of 80) [1/16/03 7:08:48 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Krull.txt
was just after daybreak, but the horses heaved and their riders' legs ached as they clutched at
their mounts' flanks. Horses and men had been on the road since well before sunup.
Now they started down the steep grade, scrambling toward the next ridge. There were five,
lightly laden. On the long ride heavy armor would have been a hindrance.
The last of them seemed unsure of his seat, swaying forward and back as though drunk. The
swaying increased until the man's eyes closed and he tumbled from the saddle. As he rolled over
and over down the slope, he left a trail behind him, crimson spotting the rocks and brush with the
passing of his life.
One of the riders slowed, working hard to keep his mount from stumbling. The lead rider,
who'd been picking his way down the hillside with reckless skill, also reined in and turned to
look back to where their companion had come to rest against an outjutting rock.
"No, Masreck!" the leader shouted. "There's no time, and he's finished."
"But, Lord Colwyn, Eric's my cousin!"
"He was your cousin. Leave him where he's come to final rest or we're all done for. Too
many lost already to risk everything for one who can no longer help. Does he move?"
The soldier carrying the banner spoke through clenched teeth as he stared dully at the
motionless body. "No, m'lord. He lies still."
"Then save your regrets for later and pray for his soul as we ride. We all have regrets to
pay for this journey." He turned away and spurred his horse on, down the steep grade, over the
gully splitting the bottom, then up the opposite slope and into the dense forest beyond. Nearby
rode an old man
wearing the crown of a king, his regal garb now thick with road dirt and dried mud.
The men were tired but Colwyn dared not risk halting for a rest or a meal. The land was
full of the strange creatures men had come to call Slayers. Time enough to rest when the evil had
been purged from the land.
Soon they splashed into the River Eiritch, men and horses alike glad of the cold spray
many hooves kicked upward. Another month would see the river transformed into an impossible
torrent by Endsummer rains. But today it was fordable. Grime and filth was vanquished by the
cleansing spray and when they emerged on the far side, the light of Krull's twin suns quickly
commenced to dry the refreshed riders.
Before long they broke from the forest, climbing onto the High Plains. Snowcapped peaks
rose still higher in the distance.
Against the backdrop of gray stone and blue sky their destination stood stark and
beautiful, a cloud come to rest on the hard earth.
Colwyn stood in his stirrups and pointed. "There! The White Castle of Eirig."
"We're not there yet, m'lord," the warrior holding the standard reminded him.
"By the Shadows, we're near enough!" Colwyn looked back over his shoulder. "No sign of
Slayers. They have everything a good fighter should have save initiative, for which we can be
thankful."
"We're likely to find out soon enough, sir," said another of the soldiers.
"Aye," agreed a third.
Colwyn favored the old man breathing hard in the saddle alongside with a look of concern.
"Father? We could rest a moment here."
"Not on my account," King Turold snapped. He wiped
river water from his beard. "Slip easy from the saddle after a ride like ours, my son, and
you'll find it doubly hard to get going again. As you say, ahead waits the White Castle. Never did
I think to see the day when I'd be glad of the sight."
"Desperate times, Father, force desperate accommodations."
"Aye, so you've tried to tell me these past months. Well, we've argued over it long and
often, and this is no place for further debate." He urged his mount forward. Colwyn concealed a
smile as he followed.
The White Castle was not as old as some. Its walls showed little damage from war and
weather, the huge limestone blocks shining in the early morning light. Towers and battlements
soared cloudward, challenging the sky. It combined in its construction all the best that the
masons and architects of Krull could offer, providing a safe refuge in times of trouble and a
vision of pale magnificence in times of peace. Columns were fluted like cave flowstone while grand
archways provided entry to vast halls and a spacious, well-appointed courtyard. Those who had
raised it were proud of their handiwork, and justly so, for it put all the other castles and
fortresses of Krull to shame.
The woman who approached the parapet and placed delicate hands atop the white wall seemed
to step from the imagination of some supremely skilled sculptor. A floating cloud of wispy bright
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Krull.txt (2 of 80) [1/16/03 7:08:48 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Krull.txt
hair framed her face, adding to her ethereal beauty as she turned to inspect the wide plains below
the wall. Though her features were slight and her body slim, her resolve was manifest in both her
expression and the way she carried herself before commoners as well as kings. Even to casual
visitors it was clear there was something unique about Lyssa of Eirig.
Her father sensed it once again as he strode toward her. He tried to isolate that quality
that defined Lyssa's difference but, as always, it continued to escape him. It was frustrating
being
unable to understand one's own offspring, but that did not keep him from admiring her or
loving her.
He put a comforting hand around her waist and she smiled back at him for an instant before
returning her gaze to the uninformative horizon.
"Colwyn and his escort should have been here a week ago, Father."
"The passes are patrolled by the Slayers. They like to fall upon incautious travelers. He
may not have enough troops to break through."
"That would please you," she said dryly.
Eirig looked away from her. It was impossible to conceal one's true feelings from Lyssa.
More than the slyest diplomat at court, she had a way of knowing when falsehoods spilled from a
facile mouth. What an unreasonable and awkward talent for a daughter to possess!
"I sent men to help. Did I not send men to help? They were not requested, nor was I bound
to send them. I did so only at your urging."
"Twenty men?" The rebuke was no less effective for the gentleness with which it was
delivered.
"Our walls are thinly held. Most of the men are off to the east bringing in the harvest.
Would you have me leave the castle defenseless, your own kinfolk and subjects, to aid a stranger
who might well be beyond help? Have you now become a student of military matters as well as
philosophy? Perhaps I should make you a field general in my army." This tirade he ventured without
looking into her eyes.
"I sent what I could spare. These Slayers are everywhere. My first obligation is to
protect Eirig. I could not send more."
"Our walls are paper so long as the Slayers roam our world with impunity," she replied. "I
have read much history. Division and suspicion between kingdoms poison all of Krull.
They aid these Slayers as much as anything does. They are unlike any enemy we have fought.
For once we must put ancient jealousies aside. We must have this alliance. You know that all the
wise men are in favor of it."
"Old fools," Eirig whispered. The knowledge that she was right did nothing to soften his
heart. "Alliance with Turold, our ancient enemy! Marriage to his son. Nor is there any guarantee
this alliance is what we need to defeat these Slayers."
"No wise man gives guarantees, Father," she said consolingly. "That is one sign of
wisdom."
He turned away from her. "You spend too much time in books."
"Every day we hear of another village burned by the Slayers," she said. "We must do
something. This alliance can only strengthen us. I know it. All the signs say so."
"You and your damned signs," he muttered. Strange woman, he mused. Daughter and stranger
all at once.
"Father," she said calmly, "the past is a luxury, and past hatreds the most expendable
luxury of all. Now we have only one enemy we must concern ourselves with: these Slayers who are
enemy to us all. We must stop them somehow or they will make slaves of us all. 1 make this
alliance with Turold's son for all Krull, for all the people. The common folk must know that
against these invaders, the kingdoms stand united."
Eirig_ leaned on the cool stone, his fingers working against each other. "If only it were
anyone but Turold's son!"
"It must be Turold's son." There was no uncertainty in her voice. "It is right. You know
that this is so."
"Yes, yes, I know," Eirig rumbled. He'd given his approval to this match with the utmost
reluctance.
"It will work, Father. It has to work, for all our sakes. I do
not know what to expect from this marriage, but I will do what I must to make it work."
Seeing that her musings were having little effect on him, she added, "Colwyn is said to be
a great fighter."
"I worry for my daughter as well as for my people and for Krull," Eirig responded, a
little less testily. "I am allowed that much, surely."
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Krull.txt (3 of 80) [1/16/03 7:08:48 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Krull.txt
She smiled, put a hand on his arm. "Of course you are, Father, and I love you for that."
"Good fighters make bad husbands."
"I respect your opinion, Father." She moved to kiss him before he could move out of the
way. "But there is no need for you to worry for me on that account. 1 am quite capable of taking
care of myself."
"I hardly need to be reminded of that," he fondly muttered.
"Perhaps you are right. If so, then it will be I who owes you the apologies."
"I do not want your apologies," he said. "I want your happiness."
"There is but one way to know for certain if that is to be obtained." She returned to
scouring the plain beneath the castle walls, her eyes traveling as far as the marshland that
bordered the river.
"Perhaps," he admitted reluctantly. "In any case, there's no need to exhaust yourself with
these daily vigils. Go and rest; I will call you if by chance they should arrive this day."
"Now, that is the common sense King Eirig is famed for." She left him with a smile as she
strode from the wall.
Eirig followed her with his eyes. Strange girl. No, strange woman, he reminded himself.
Her mother would have been proud of her. She was cast from the same unswerving mold.
In spite of all the good reasons she'd advanced, in his heart he still opposed this
arranged marriage. But his mind concurred. His advisers were divided on the benefits the match
might bring, being their usual quarrelsome selves, more a hindrance to his decision-making
than a help. He'd been left to his own judgment. Heart say yea, mind say nay, and the two had
warred within him many times these past difficult months.
Eventually his mind had barely won out, though even at this late date there were moments
when he thought of calling the whole business off. He never reached that point. There was too much
sense in his daughter's words. With them clung the nagging suspicion that she might be just the
slightest bit smarter than her father.
The walls probed skyward above the exhausted horsemen as they urged their mounts over the
last hundred yards. It was difficult to tell whether rider or beast was the more fatigued.
Certainly both were in need of a long rest.
Colwyn leaned back in his saddle and shouted as they approached the parapet. "Mark the
gate! Let us in!"
"Let who in?" an argumentative voice from above demanded to know. Another quickly shouted
it down.
"By the serpents of the river, 'tis Prince Colwyn! And King Turold himself with him. Let
them in!"
The massive gate swung inward. Colwyn led his companions forward into the courtyard. Light
came from wall-mounted torches, adding to the haggard look presented by the riders. They were
mobbed by a cluster of anxious attendants and men-at-arms.
"All the way from Turold. .. How did you slip through the Slayers? Did you come all that
way, only the four of you... ?" The questions came too fast for ready reply, even had the riders
been inclined to answer them.
The soldiers moved aside as their own lord approached with his royal escort. They would
have to sit on their curiositv for a while lonser.
Turold dismounted, concealing from the party of newcomers the ache in his numbed legs.
Exhausted he might be, but he would not ask for assistance from his son's future father-in-law.
Colwyn remained on his horse, mindful of procedure, though he thought it foolish.
The two kings regarded each other without affection. Turold was in no mood to bandy
protocol. "We sent to you for help. More than one messenger departed and did not return with that
aid. Though we have arrived in good health, it is through no thanks to you."
Eirig did not back down, though his daughter's accusation stuck in the back of his mind.
"Your messengers never reached us. The Slayers spread a tight net, especially at night. Even so,
twenty men were dispatched in hopes they might find you."
"We lost three hundred reaching here!" Turold replied angrily. "One hopeless rearguard
action followed upon another so that we might make the 'safety' of these walls. The land between
here and Turold is marked by too many graves. And you sent twenty men to help us."
"The Slayers are everywhere and this time of year the army of Eirig is more fiction than
reality! Most of my fighting men are away bringing in the year's harvest, so that if the Slayers
attack they cannot starve us out. 1 have my own people within these walls to worry about. Women
and children. I did what I could." He took a belligerent step forward. "I did not choose this
marriage, Turold."
"Nor did I, Eirig."
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Krull.txt (4 of 80) [1/16/03 7:08:48 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Krull.txt
Colwyn had had about enough. Royal precedent be damned! He slid off his horse, stepped
between them.
"I chose it," he said quietly.
Colwyn was not a big man. He had cousins who stood taller, marshaled more raw strength.
But none were as quick. He had a tendency to brood, especially in the presence of
persistent stupidity. There were those at the Turoldian court who thought him reckless and
a bit too wild to wear the crown.
But none questioned his honesty or courage, and though no scholar, he had a way of
penetrating obfuscation that allowed him to go straight to the heart of a problem, a talent most
disconcerting to those schooled in the arts of argument and debate. Unlike his relatives, he
attracted no crowd of fawning sycophants. Put a query to Colwyn, it was said in Turold, and you
will have a straight answer right off, but for your sake it had best be a worthwhile question.
"Your daughter chose it," he went on, speaking to Eirig. He looked back to his own father,
then again at the king who had welcomed them with something less than open arms. "It will be done.
Argue all you wish, fight if it pleases you, but nothing will prevent this marriage. This alliance
must be made.
"Now if you will excuse me, I would like to greet my bride." He turned from them both and
inspected the courtyard. After a moment's study he started for the doorway leading into the keep,
walking as though the way were well known to him.
Eirig couid not find words to stop him, but neither was he willing to let a mere boy
depart their confrontation having the last word. He gestured back at Turold and the two surviving
members of the escort.
' 'And is this the great army you will join with Eirig to lead against the Slayers?"
Colwyn paused partway up the stairs. His voice was firm, assured as he replied. "Whatever
army I have I will lead against them. I brought two warriors with me. If Eirig can provide two as
good, then I will have an army of five.
"This I do know. I will not squat cowering behind castle walls, neither here nor in
Turold. and wait for the Slavers to
come for me the way a pig waits for its butcher. The Slayers are used to being the
attackers. Perhaps it will surprise them to be the defenders for a change, no matter what size the
force that goes against them. I will fight them, King Eirig, with whatever army I can raise from
your land and mine and whichever other might choose to join me." He resumed his climb, hesitating
again at the top of the staircase.
"I will fight them until I have won, or am dead." He disappeared into the castle.
Eirig stared after him, then turned back to his royal counterpart. "I do not know if he
has your skill at arms, Turold, but the boy surely has inherited your tongue."
Turold looked past his host, toward the portal that had swallowed up his son. "There is
more to the youth than that, Eirig. Sometimes I do not understand him. Sometimes 1 think he sees
with other than his eyes. Even the wise men of my court are in awe of him and not a few are
afraid. A most unusual son. On balance I know he is more blessing than curse, but there are
moments that give me pause. In truth, there are."
Eirig digested that, then frowned. It seemed to him that this was not the first time such
thoughts had been expressed with respect to a royal offspring.
I hate these damned great castles, Colwyn thought as he made his way into the central
hall. He slowed and thought to wipe some of the sweat and grime from his face. Around him brightly
colored banners and insignia of territory hung limp from the rafters. Torches flickered on mounted
armor. Eirig's kingdom was not particularly rich but it was extensive. Its people were not given
to ostentatious displays of wealth. In that respect they had much in common with Turold.
It was not money that he sought from the alliance, but brave men ready to fight for their
homes and their world. The
wise men at court had tried to show him that such an adventure was doomed from the start.
The depredations of the Slayers could not be prevented; even to think of doing so was foolishness.
It was best to accept one's fate, much as one did a harsh winter or summer flood.
Colwyn refused to accept the inevitability of disaster that some of the wise men had
forecast. There was no fear in him of the Black Fortress, nor of the shadowy master it was home
to. It did not terrify him that the Fortress apparently came from another world. Just because this
affliction was new and alien did not mean it couldn't be cured.
Slayers could be slain like any man, for all that they possessed horrible weapons and did
not fight like men. All that was required was the will to fight them, the will and an army of
dedicated warriors. Between them, Eirig and Turold might mount such an army.
He started forward again, stumbled over his own tired feet and caught himself. His gaze
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Krull.txt (5 of 80) [1/16/03 7:08:48 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Krull.txt
darted leftward. There had been
the briefest giggle.
His eyes stopped at a half-opened doorway. Even in the dimly lit hall it would have been
difficult to pass over that
flash of color.
Lyssa did not laugh again. She stepped out into the light Her dress was finely but not
elaborately embroidered and she was as clean as Colwyn was sweaty. Their eyes met and all such
simple thoughts were instantly put aside.
She's so slight, Colwyn mused. A strong breath could blow her away. Or could it? There was
something about her that suggested otherwise. A thin tree can have strong roots, he reminded
himself. Slim but strong, then, in mind as well as body. Such was the Lyssa he'd been led to
expect. She came
toward him.
"I have chosen well," she said softly, without guile.
It was there, he thought. The power he sensed deep within
her, the same power that had been in her letters. It was in her voice too, every syllable,
for all that they were softly uttered. He had thought to greet a much larger woman, but as he
continued to stare at her she expanded in his eyes.
"So have I," he thought to murmur.
"Handsome." Her inspection was direct. "I had not counted on that. It would not have made
a difference, but I suppose it's good that a wife should find her husband pleasant to look
upon."
"Life is long and full of mornings," he responded. "One should not be displeased by the
first face one sees every day." "You speak of days to come. I see by your appearance that the past
ones were not as promising. Your journey was as difficult as it was delayed?"
"But necessary. The land between Eirig and Turold is filled with the misery inflicted by
the Slayers. We left as many as we could lying in the fields they had destroyed." "You boast of
killing?"
"I never boast of killing. There is nothing praiseworthy in making murder."
She nodded slowly. "I was told that you were brave but until now did not know what my
advisers meant when they kept telling me you were not the usual sort of warrior. You are wise. And
handsome as well. A rare combination." She spread out the folds of her dress and did a little
pirouette for him. "Then, you do find me attractive?"
"These past months I've had to deal with innumerable idiotic questions at court. Do not
ask me more of the same." He grinned slightly.
"I think I like you, master of the indirect compliment." More seriously she inquired, "How
fares your homeland against the Slayers?"
"No worse than most and better than many. They seem to
be attacking the poorer kingdoms and smaller towns first. Our turn will surely come if
they are not stopped."
"You believe they can be stopped?"
"They can be killed, though they do not die like men. I do not side with those who believe
it is our fate to be overrun by them. I do not believe in inevitable happenings. If I did I would
not have made this marriage against my father's wishes."
"Nor I against mine."
"We shouldn't waste time. Will the ceremony be held here?" He indicated the vastness of
the great hall.
"No, there is a special place within the castle. Tonight, at moonrise, we will begin
according to the ancient rites. I have no love for ritual but my father has insisted. He desires
that you prove yourself."
"I don't doubt it." He went quiet, his thoughts momentarily elsewhere.
Say something, Lyssa told herself as the silence deepened between them. The man is
uncomfortable. Help him to relax. You are to be husband and wife, not business partners.
"My father says that good fighters make bad husbands."
"I too have heard that, only the other way round. What does your mother say?"
"My mother died when I was small. I scarcely remember her. No"—she put a hand to his lips
to restrain him from mouthing the usual condolences. "It is long done with and now is not the time
to look to the past." She smiled reassuringly at him. "Some say it depends on the husband. What
would you say?"
A woman as clever as she was beautiful, Colwyn mused. All that he had been told seemed
truth. There were many attractive damsels in both kingdoms, many princesses in kingdoms close by,
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Krull.txt (6 of 80) [1/16/03 7:08:48 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Krull.txt
but only one Lyssa of Eirig.
"I would say that peace and love, whether established
between nations or man and woman, depend not on believing old tales and superstitions but
rather on forging a relationship free of the meanderings of others."
Her smiled widened. "A good answer.. .Colwyn. I believe this match is well met." She
leaned forward and kissed him lightly. The brief touch reminded him of the hot breath from a
kitchen oven quickly opened and as quickly shut again. It was both welcoming and promising. They
separated with reluctance.
"Proprieties," she whispered, glancing past him to make certain the great hall was still
empty and that no one had observed. "We will marry only once, so we must take care to do it
properly. I am sure of you, but we must be certain of each other." Her hand brushed his cheek
lightly. Then she turned and retreated back through the door from which she'd emerged.
Colwyn stared until the door had closed behind her. His cheek burned where she'd touched
him. He was aware that his hands were still steepled together as if still holding hers, and that
he was holding his breath like a swimmer who'd just crossed a goodly distance underwater. He
exhaled slowly.
The Slayers had best beware. With such a woman at his side he felt there was nothing he
couldn't do.
No one could remember who had designed the nexus. The architect of the castle was little
more than an honored memo-ry and the plans he had drawn were buried somewhere in the royal
archives. The nexus was a special place, utilized only for the most profound ceremonies.
Nor was the reason for its design immediately apparent to the casual observer. An advanced
mathematician would have noted the schematic with a start of surprise, but there were no advanced
mathematicians in Eirig now.
Two corridors wound a strange course through the lower part of the white castle, twisting
and turning until they finally met at the nexus. A small altar and water basin that filled from a
stone spigot dominated the far end of the chamber.
Distant music penetrated the special place, but few of those participating in the ceremony
paid it much attention. Eirig and Lyssa approached down one corridor while from the end of the
other Colwyn and his father anxiously awaited the
bride's arrival. Colwyn was impatient for the proceedings to be over and done with, but he
did not try to hurry matters. He remembered what Lyssa had said about observing the proprieties.
The men-at-arms kept their eyes forward as the royal pair walked between their ranks,
though several could not keep themselves from stealing a look at the exquisitely beautiful Lyssa
as she passed them by. Everyone knew that she had turned down many suitors and each man privately
measured himself against this successful visitor, the solemn-faced Colwyn of Turold. There was
little envy in their thoughts, however. Most of all there was admiration mixed with hope. All knew
what benefits the alliance with their powerful neighbor to the west could bring.
As Lyssa's torch passed each opposing pair of soldiers, their own torches sprang to life.
Though they had been warned, the sudden combustion still came as a shock. It was this power of the
princess's that had put off more than one weak-spined suitor, the power that danced in her eyes
and could make the strongest man go queasy in the belly. That such an implied threat had not
dissuaded this Colwyn was the strongest point in his favor.
And as Colwyn's own torch had given light to the torches held by the men in the other
corridor, glances of approval had come from the men-at-arms. Here at last was a fit match for
their princess. Who could predict what good might come of such a union?
They met at last in the domed chamber that was the nexus, the ancient place of bringing-
together, the sanctuary where those of power might demonstrate secret truths to one another.
As was his right, Turold spoke first, his voice firm and unwavering. "From this day, my
kingdom is no more."
Colwyn removed his hand from the torch he held together with his father. His eyes were
half-closed and it almost looked as if he might be falling asleep. But he was more than
alert. The torch went out. He blinked and turned to face his bride.
"Nor is mine," Eirig said, assured at last that this Turoldian might be a fit match for
his daughter.
Lyssa let go. of their firebrand and the flame fled from the wood as quickly as it had
from its counterpart. Turold took a step forward, extended a hand, and placed it on King Eirig's
upper arm. Eirig reciprocated.
"A single kingdom under our children. From this day forward let no man speak for Turold or
for Eirig. Let our people mingle free and unafraid with each other and help one another in times
of prosperity as well as chaps. If any more blood is to be spilt in either land, let it be not the
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Krull.txt (7 of 80) [1/16/03 7:08:48 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Krull.txt
blood of brothers but of Slayers!" -
"Agreed," said Eirig quietly. The import of this moment had wiped out most of his
lingering doubts, and there was gruff friendship in Turold's tone. "Now to the great hall, that
the marriage ceremony may be properly concluded and the bond fastened."
Both pairs turned and started up the right-hand corridor. Colwyn and Lyssa marched side by
side behind their fathers, careful to keep their eyes from each other. The ponderousness of
ceremony weighed heavily on Colwyn and he was anxious to be done with speeches and invocations.
Lyssa's sideways glances counseled patience and she whispered without turning her head: "Gentle
go, husband-to-be. All this will be over and done with soon enough."
"I have no taste for these primitive rituals," he muttered back at her.
"They are necessary. The books say it is so."
"The books have been of little help to us in combating the Slayers. Why should I take
their advice where marriage is concerned?"
"Because I ask it of you, Colwyn."
He couldn't repress a grin. "Do I detect the sound of hands clapping?"
She fell a step off his pace. "Only if you cannot see that I follow you around."
Eirig looked back at them. They were starting up a circular staircase. "Quiet, the both of
you! Remember your positions."
"I will strive to do so, Father, when the proper time comes."
He made a face at her but said nothing. Perhaps it would not be such a hard thing, to give
away so impertinent a child.
The wedding party emerged from the stairwell and entered the great hall. At the far end,
to one side of the throne, was a font filled with freshly drawn springwater. The music which had
filled the castle all evening was drowned out by the sound of swords beating on shields as the
king's guard acknowledged the approach of the bridal couple.
Lyssa and Colwyn halted before the stone basin, their fathers looking on approvingly. A
single torch stood upright in a metal sconce nearby. Colwyn stepped forward and removed it from
its resting place. It burst into flame without so much as a glance. Murmurs of approval rose from
the watching ranks of soldiers. Here was a man they could follow. Yet the critical test was still
to come.
Colwyn composed himself. Again it seemed as if he were half-asleep as he spoke. No one
could tell for certain if he was addressing them all, his bride-to-be only, or the wood he held
tightly in his right hand.
"I give fire to water. It will not return to me except from the hand of the woman I choose
as my wife." Eirig in particular was watching closely as Colwyn recited. Were the old books right?
Was this the match they sometimes alluded to?
Colwyn held the flaming brand over the basin and let it fall. It dropped like a
fisherman's line and landed upright on
the bottom. Beneath the surface it continued to burn as brightly as ever. A great sigh
arose from the onlookers while King Turold looked proud.
The sentry who stood atop the gate cursed his rotten luck at pulling guard duty on this
night of all nights. Here he was, .stuck out in the damp and cold, while most of his brethern were
inside the keep, their armor polished and sparkling, enjoying the wedding ceremony.
Something broke his train of thought. He stopped and stared out into the night: black as a
lawyer's thoughts. But surely he'd heard something moving about.
There it was again. Rain, he decided. A late summer squall moving toward the castle. He
would get drenched. His more fortunate colleagues would tease him about his bad luck later that
night back in the barracks.
He strained to hear better: a mighty strong storm. He turned and called out. Several other
sentries came running from their stations to join him in staring out into the darkness. They
listened intently.
"That's not rain, I think," said one. "Surely those are hoofbeats?"
"Nay," another argued, " 'tis only rain, or the wind blowing out from the forest."
They bent toward the rising rush, trying to reach out into the blackness, wanting to be
certain before committing themselves. There was a royal wedding in progress and no man wanted to
raise the alarm falsely.
Lyssa stepped toward the font and studied the fire burning steadily beneath the water. She
did not close her eyes, nor did she look the least bit sleepy. Her movements and words were crisp,
businesslike. But she could not hide the slight trembling that afflicted her. She was shaking from
the effort
required to prepare. Nothing must go wrong. She'd waited too long for this moment.
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Krull.txt (8 of 80) [1/16/03 7:08:48 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Krull.txt
"I take fire from water. I give it only to the man whom I choose as my husband."
Fingers spread, she reached out and down, one tiny hand hovering an inch above the water.
For a long moment nothing happened. The torch continued its miraculous burn. Eirig held his
breath.
There was the faintest hiss, loud in the respectful silence, as she reached into the water
and removed her hand. She turned it palm-up and opened her fingers, showing flames dancing hotly
on pale skin. The air of expectancy in the hall was almost palpable.
She turned to extend her fiery palm to Colwyn. Her voice dropped to a whisper and her face
glowed as her entire being seemed suffused with the heat from the fire that flickered in her hand.
"Colwyn. Now is the time. Before my father and my people, before all of Krull. Before the
words that fill the old books. I ask thee most sweetly. Take the fire from my hand."
"Rain, you think?" The sentry was tired. "It sure sounds like rain coming. You're all of
you crazy if you think otherwise. I'm getting back to my post before the watch commander finds me
out of position." He hesitated, listened hard as he stared into the darkness. The thunder was
growing steadily louder, and there was an unnatural steadiness to it.
Then, as his stunned companions looked on, the skeptic toppled slowly backward off the
wall. Something bright and deadly had struck him in the chest.
The others scattered, frantically trying to sound the alarm. Their shouts were unnecessary
and unheard, as the sound of the explosion that blew apart the main gate aroused everyone in the
castle courtyard. Fragments of wood and stone flew in
all directions while thin shards of light and bursts of energy felled one soldier after
another.
The noise reached to the hall and broke the hopeful mood that had enveloped the ceremony.
Colwyn wavered slightly and Lyssa's eyes broke from his.
"Slayers! Inside the gate!" the words rang out. Wedding ceremony forgotten, soldiers
turned and rushed for the courtyard.
"Arm yourselves!" Turold roared to the gathering.
"But the ceremony!" Lyssa pleaded.
"No time for that now." Colwyn turned away from her, impatient to join the fight.
The moment had cracked. Time later to mend it. Lyssa's hand became a fist. When she opened
her hand again, the flame that had burned there so intensely had vanished. She hurried after
Colwyn, cursing the formal gown that hampered her movements.
"We'll fight them together," she shouted.
"No, not here."
"But the ceremony—"
"Can be completed later. For the moment my concern is for your safety, not our future."
"Colwyn, think a moment. Our safety lies in our future."
"Soon," he told her soothingly. "The mood is important." He turned, caught the attention
of a captain of the King's Guard. "Get her to a place of safety."
"My place is with my men, fighting," the captain replied.
"Your place is where I order you to be." The captain hesitated a moment. But he'd heard
the two kings join their kingdoms. He nodded tersely. "Get her away from this. We'll clear them
out and there'll be plenty left for you."
"My place is with you," Lyssa insisted. "I'll not be shipped about at anyone's whim, not
even vours."
Colwyn tried to divide his attention between his betrothed and the increasingly violent
sounds beyond the hall.
"Do you love me?"
"I am to be your wife. The alliance—"
"Darkness and the Long Night take the alliance!" he snarled. "Do you love me?"
"The declaration of unity, I... yes. Yes, I love you, Colwyn."
He nodded once, then smiled gently. "Then do this for me. Go with the captain. Lead him if
you cannot follow, but go."
She shook her head resignedly. "No time for wisdom, too much time for panic. I will do as
you ask, but it is unfair of you to use so strong a lever."
"I don't care if you think it unfair of me. I care only that you are safe." He looked over
at the captain. "Is there a safe way out of this castle?"
"An underground tunnel." Colwyn whirled, to find that it was Eirig, standing close by, who
had spoken. "Little used recently. It would be the best way." Eirig spoke to the captain: "Lord
Colwyn's orders are to be followed as though they were my own. Conduct the princess to Timrick
City. We will send word when the castle has been secured. Take a suitable escort."
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Krull.txt (9 of 80) [1/16/03 7:08:48 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Krull.txt
"Yes, sire." The captain turned away and began pulling soldiers from the ranks trying to
push their way outside.
Eirig embraced his daughter. "We've had our disagreements, you and I. I cannot count the
occasions when you made me angry enough to burst. Yet I think you have chosen your man well."
Colwyn tried to hide from the compliment. Compliments made him nervous. "Take care,
daughter." "I will, Father."
"Enough," Colwyn yelled. The sounds of fighting were coming closer. "Get her out of here!"
Eirig nodded sharply to the captain, who saluted smartly and extended a hand to the
princess. Lyssa accepted it, looking back over her shoulder as she departed.
"Come back to me, Colwyh!"
"It's not possible to conceive of anything else," he assured her. A hand came down on his
shoulder. He found himself staring into the face of his father-in-law.
"Now then, my boy, there's killing to be done. The Slayers are many more than I thought.
Never fear for your lady. She will get out safely." He cleared his throat self-consciously. "I
won't try to hide the fact that I expressed more than one reservation about this match. There were
many who agreed with me and argued about it. They sought to discredit you in my eyes. I see now
that they were wrong. As always, Lyssa's judgment is proven sound. Come and fight alongside me."
"I'll be honored," said Colwyn. Together they moved toward the courtyard and the battle
raging outside.
One of the guards cursed as he banged his head against a low beam. It was hard to see very
far ahead, and the men were nervous.
"Captain," one man complained, "is there much more of this?"
"It leads beneath the walls and emerges far out in the hills. Hold your patience that
long." He looked to his charge. "Is my lady all right?"
"I'm fine, Captain," Lyssa assured him, "but I don't like this place. I share your men's
unease. Maybe it would be better to retrace our path and find a less confining egress. I know of a
back window above the great hall. We could throw down a rope and escape by that route. Surely the
Slayers will not be watching so precipitous an exit."
"Risky. Though I think the idea has merit, the king himself instructed me to go this way,
and I have to follow his orders."
"I understand, Captain." Her eyes searched the corridor ahead, as if she could see farther
than her escort. "Still, I am uncomfortable here."
"Rest assured we will soon be out in the—"
The Slayers who dropped from above cut the captain off in mid-sentence. Others dropped
from rafters and beams behind, cutting off any retreat. In the narrow tunnel the sudden blasts of
energy from the Slayers' strange spears mixed with the screams of dying men to overpower the
senses. Those Slayers who fell perished with a single piercing, inhuman wail.
Lyssa picked up a knife and pressed her back against the corridor wall. Her retreat was
cut off, as was the way out.
As she watched, one of the Slayers disengaged himself from the battle and moved toward
her. She sliced at him with the knife, feinting as best she could before stabbing upward. She
wasn't quite quick enough.
The knife barely pricked the Slayer as he twisted to the side. A powerful hand reached out
to grasp her wrist. She tried to break free, trying not to stare into the empty holes in the
creature's head where a face should be.
Several more of the massive figures moved to help the first. The knife was wrenched from
her fingers. She felt herself rising in bloodless arms as she probed for her captor's eyes.
He did not have any.
Odd how they died, Colwyn thought as he swung the heavy sword in wide, sweeping arcs. It
didn't matter how you slew them; a throat-thrust, a stab to the chest, a blow to the skull; all
perished with the same unearthly scream before collapsing and disintegrating, save for the strange
length of flesh that emerged to vanish by itself into the ground. Even when they
dodged and stabbed, they seemed more dead than alive. They used no shouts, offered up no
cries of mutual support as men did. Yet they fought together, communicating in some voiceless,
cryptic fashion only another Slayer could comprehend.
And always there were more of them to cut down, as if the pattern from which they'd been
stamped could repeat itself endlessly. The soldiers fought hard and well, but there are limits to
what bravery and courage can accomplish. When a soldier fell, there was none to replace him. When
a Slayer dropped, it seemed two more appeared to take his place.
Why now, he wondered? Why tonight this unprecedented assault on the White Castle? It
seemed the fates intended the crudest of jokes, to turn what should have been his happiest of days
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Krull.txt (10 of 80) [1/16/03 7:08:48 PM]
摘要：

file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Krull.tx KrullTheboypulledthecollarofhiscoattighteragainsthisneck.Itwasadamp,chillymorning.Thefirstsuggestionsofwinterreachedthin,icyfingersdownfromtheNorthCountry.Soonthelandwouldsleepbeneathathickmantleofwhitewetdown.Nearbytheflock...

展开>> 收起<<
Alan Dean Foster - Krull.pdf

共80页,预览16页

还剩页未读， 继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

相关推荐

更多
立即下载
分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：80 页 大小：257.52KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-24

开通VIP享超值会员特权

  • 多端同步记录
  • 高速下载文档
  • 免费文档工具
  • 分享文档赚钱
  • 每日登录抽奖
  • 优质衍生服务

作者详情

相关内容

更多

热门标签

人际关系 动力学连接体 力的合成 配电装置 高考理综 全宋诗作者索引 公务员考试
/ 80
评分 收藏
分享
立即下载 VIP免费下载
客服
关注