Knight of Shadows

He was on me in an instant. I continued my retreat, backing past the big slab of ice from behind which he had appeared. I had no desire to stand and trade tecniques with him, especially now that I could see the speed of those attacks. Parrying them took a lot less effort while I was backing off: My blade did not feel quite right, however, and as I scanned it quickly I saw why. It was not my weapon.

In the glittering light from the trail, bounced off the ice, I saw the swirling inlay along part of the blade: There was only one weapon like this that I knew of, and I had only just seen it recently, in what might have been my father's hand. It was Grayswandir that moved before me. I felt myself smile at the irony. This was the weapon which had slain the real Lord Borel.

«You smile at your own cowardice?» he asked. «Stand and fight, bastard!»

As if in answer to his suggestion, I felt my rearward movement arrested. I was not run through when I ventured a quick downward glance, however, for I realized from his expression that something similar had happened to my attacker.

Our ankles had been seized by several of those hands which extended up through the ice, holding us firmly in place. And this made it Borel's turn to smile, for though he could not lunge, I could no longer retreat. Which meant-

His blade flashed forward, and I parried in quarte, attacked in sixte. He parried and feinted. Then quarte again, and the next attack. Riposte. Parry sixte- No, that was a feint. Catch him in four. Feint. Feint again. Hit-

Something white and hard passed over his shoulder and struck my forehead. I fell back, though the grasping hands kept me from collapsing completely. Good thing I sagged, actually, or his thrust might have punctured my liver. My reflexes or some touch of the magic I've heard may dwell in Grayswandir threw my arm forward as my knees buckled. I felt the blade strike something, though I was not even looking in that direction, and I heard Borel grunt surprisedly, then utter an oath. I heard Jurt mouthing an oath of his own about then, too. He was out of my line of sight.

Then came a bright flash, even as I flexed my legs, stabilizing, parried a head cut, and began rising. I saw then that I had succeeded in cutting Borel's forearm, and fire spurted fountainlike from the wound. His body began to glow, his lower outline to blur.

«It was by no skill you bested me!» he cried.

I shrugged.

«It isn't the Winter Olympics either,» I told him.

He changed his grip on his blade, drew back his arm, and hurled the weapon at me - right before he dissolved into a tower of sparks and was drawn upward and vanished above.

I parried the blade, and it passed me to the left, buried itself partway in the ice and stood vibrating there, like something in a Scandinavian's version of Arthurian legend. Jurt rushed toward me, kicked at the hands which held my ankles until they released me, and squinted at my brow.

I felt something fall upon me.

Sorry, boss. I hit around his knee, By the time I reached his throat he was already on fire, Frakir said.

All's well that ends well, I replied. You weren't singed, were you?

Didn't even feel the heat.

«Sorry I hit you with that piece of ice,» Jurt said. «I was aiming at Borel.»

I moved away from the plain of hands, heading toward the trail.

«Indirectly it helped,» I said, but I didn't feel like thanking him. How could I know where he'd really been, aiming? I glanced back once, and several of the hands Jurt had kicked were giving us the finger.

Why had I been wearing Grayswandir? Would another weapon have affected a Logrus-ghost as strongly? Had it really been my father, then, who had brought me here? And had he felt I might need the extra edge his weapon could provide? I wanted to think so, to believe that he had been more than a Pattern-ghost. And if he was, I wondered at his part in the entire affair. What might he know about all this? And which side might he be on?

The winds died down as we moved along the trail, and the only arms we saw extended above the ice bore torches which brightened our way for a great distance - to the foot of the far escarpment, actually. Nothing untoward occurred as we crossed that frozen place.

«From what you've told me and what I've seen,» Jurt said, «I get the impression it's the Pattern that's sponsoring this trip and the Logrus that's trying to punch your ticket.»

Just then the ice cracked in a numnber of places. Fracture lines rushed toward us from several directions, both sides. They slowed, however, as they neared our trail, causing me to notice for the first time that it had risen above the general level of the plain. We now occupied something of a causeway, and the ice shattered itself harmlessly along its sides.

«Like that,» Jurt observed with a gesture. «How'd you get into this mess anyway?»

«It all started on April thirtieth,» I began.

VII

Some of the arms seemed to be waving good-bye to us as we commenced our climb after reaching the wall. Jurt thumbed his nose at them.