Son of Thunder - Murray J. D. Leeder [48]
"Perhaps you should re-evaluate your relationship with magic. It seems to have been with your tribe from the very beginning. What do you say to that?"
Sungar kept his lips tight. In different words, this was the same argument put to him by the mage Arklow. Worse, Geildarr had a rather dramatic way of showing him up. Limp from weakness and chained to a chair, the only defiance he could manage was silence. Geildarr didn't seem disappointed.
"Mull it over some," he said. "We will speak again. There's no reason we can't be friends. We have much in common, as we are both leaders of men. Your stay in Llorkh needn't be unpleasant. You could have women, food, wine, and all the comforts available even to me. You could be a resident on this keep's highest floors instead of its lowest."
"You will die," said Sungar, though he simultaneously berated himself for playing Geildarr's game.
"Oh?" said Geildarr. "Who will kill me? You? Your people? You should stop thinking that way now-no good holding on to false hope. But you should know this: that axe of yours now resides in the hands of a hobgoblin-a dirty, smelly hobgoblin whose dim mind somehow recognized it as a weapon of legend better than you ever did. But it's far more than a weapon. If only you had realized, you could have kept it safe. Now my people carry it to the depths of the High Forest, where they will use it to rape the history of your tribe."
Geildarr leaned a trifle closer across the table. "And when they do," he said, "it will all be your fault."
* * * * *
In the dark woods of the High Forest's southern reaches, a series of low-slung tents stood pitched in a small clearing. The remnants of a small campfire smoldered in the dark, lighting the twisted trees that surrounded the camp. The Antiquarians felt uncomfortably close to the stands of white-barked trees that marked the edge of the Dire Wood like albino sentinels. That day they had seen an example of the "wizard weather" that sometimes roared out of Karse Butte-a fireball arching over the treetops before exploding into a rain of bloody snow. This part of the forest had obviously been scarred by such phenomena. The trees were tortured, screaming shapes, warped and ugly, and the fact that some of these trees might be sentient and keeping a close eye on them did nothing to help the group sleep better.
Late in the night, Gan stood watch at the camp's edge, clutching the greataxe tightly. He was so happy when Geildarr told him he could wield it again that he almost wept. "But I'm not worthy of it," said Gan. Geildarr told him that he was to wield it as an agent of Llorkh's mayor, and so when Gan held it, it was as if Geildarr carried it.
"Do you know what the axe is?" asked Ardeth. Gan was surprised; he hadn't known she was awake and now she was standing next to him.
"What do you mean?" asked the hobgoblin.
"Did no one tell you?" she asked. "It was once the weapon of a great leader and warrior who lived thousands of years ago. He died in a battle against a demon, giving his own life to save his people."
"Was he a human?" asked Gan.
Ardeth nodded.
"My kind have no such great leaders," Gan lamented. "Word came to us that a hobgoblin named Glargulnir wants to make himself a king of all our people, as Obould united the orcs of the Wall. But humans make the best rulers."
"Why do you have so little faith in your own people?" asked Ardeth. "This Glargulnir could prove a great ruler."
"As great as Geildarr?" asked Gan.
"Let me tell you about Geildarr," said Ardeth. "He may be a great man, but he is mayor of Llorkh only because more powerful men across the desert allow him to be. If they changed their minds, he would be gone in an instant."
Gan frowned. He had allowed himself to build Geildarr up into an authority beyond question. This he could not believe.
Ardeth pointed at the largest tent, from which they could hear Mythkar