The Sword of Morning Star Read Online Free Page B

contempt, but maybe with a bit of fear as well. “Rife with barbaric tribes, fierce and savage as the great wild cattle that they ride. Ignorant, cruel, and superstitious, children of darkness indeed, and their land well named.”
    “Yes, I know,” said Helmut. “They press always on our borders.”
    “Aye.” Sandivar’s hand slipped down to a broad gray band extending all across the continent. “The Empire of the Gray Lands.” In its center, one long, spatulate finger paused. “The Kingdom of Boorn. And here—” he made a great sweep, from one end of the Gray Lands to the other, “home also of the strongest of fighting men, the most accomplished of warriors… in the days of Sigrieth. But—” He dropped his hands farther, to lands illumined in bright yellow. “Here,” he said, “the Lands of Light. Unwarlike, true, but wondrous full of knowledge, and not the kind, either, that once destroyed the world, but a new understanding which, growing slowly and unfolding like a bud, may, when full-flowered, make of this world of ours something sweet and lovely as a ripened pomegranate. Yes, truly, this is a glorious knowledge that men of learning discover, grain by grain, in the Southern Reaches. Fully known, it may, someday, eliminate the need either for sorcerers or for war-captains. But in the meantime—”
    He turned away from the map. “In the meantime, only the Emperor of the Gray Lands stands between the barbarians and the New Learning. The sword of your father, Sigrieth, was the guardian of all this learning; and no barbarian dared test its edge. But Sigrieth is dead, and Gustav is only a boy who also will be dead before his time—”
    Helmut sprang to his feet. “Gustav?” he cried.
    Gravely, the bearded Sandivar nodded. “Aye. Nor is there ought can save him. Die he will, and soon; soon, indeed, as Albrecht can arrange the so convenient accident in manner which will not provoke those nobles loyal to Sigrieth’s son and full of contempt and disgust for the handsome Albrecht and his rank-smelling wolfmen. For he must not do that, you understand. He must have their good will, for a time at least. But… Helmut, the king’s bastard, is in exile. Gustav, the King’s son and King in his own turn, dies by unfortunate accident; then does not the Regent naturally take the throne?”
    “Vincio said all this—”
    “And was right. Wherefore he died. At the King’s command—and Albrecht’s poisonous urging—the palace guard went nearly all to Wolfsheim. Then, knowing your obedience, you were summoned in the night, when only a remnant of those who remained could be laid hands on. Thus defenseless, you and Vincio were easy geese for plucking; poor, fat-rumped Gustav shall be easier.”
    There was such authority in the old man’s voice that it was impossible to disbelieve him, and Helmut turned his face away.
    “Bitter news,” said Sandivar. “And bitterer still to come.”
    “Say,” managed Helmut after a moment.
    Back to the map went Sandivar, lynx eyes glowing. “For generations have the barbarians sought passage across the Gray Lands, to feast on the defenseless riches of the unwarlike South. And for generations have the Emperors of the Gray Lands staved them off, as I have said, while the New Learning bloomed in the Lands of Light. But suppose now that Boorn should have a king and the Gray Lands an emperor who would make common cause with the Dark tribes against the South. Then cataclysm truly is unloosed upon the world, and all light dies, pinched out by barbarism like a candle flame by rough fingers. All hope dies…”
    “Albrecht would not do that!” Helmut cried. “He would not admit barbarians to our borders! Nor would any king of Boorn.”
    One of Sandivar’s gray brows went up. “You think not?” Then he let out a gusty breath. “Aye, these developments we shall have to wait to see; perhaps my art is not so keen as I deem it.” He came to Helmut and put a big hand gently on the