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think
Why should I not slay you now, Gafard you who bow down to his kleesh of a king? Oh, yes,
Gafard, you know who I am. You have dreamed of this meeting. You save relics. You say there is a
matter between us. By Zair! There is a matter between us!
He gasped and tried to speak and his mouth merely opened and closed.
There is a matter! I want to know why you fawn on this foul object, and let him steal away my
daughter, Velia!
He did not fall. In truth, the shock of the meeting would have felled a lesser man with all the passionate
longings he had put into just such a confrontation. He wet his lips. The cords in his neck strained like
ropes in a hurricane. He croaked, and tried again, and, at last, he could say the words.
Pur Dray! Pur Dray Prescot! The Lord of Strombor! Krozair of Zy!
The king shrieked at this, and cowered away, his hands fumbling at his throat. Like a fool, I ignored him.
No, Gafard son-in-law! I am no longer a Krozair of Zy, for I am Apushniad. But yes, I am Dray
Prescot!
For a moment no one spoke. The moment was too heavy for mere words.
The king levered himself up. His anguished face bore the look of a madman. His hand fumbled at his
neck.
Dray Prescot! The Bane of Grodno! His hand whipped the cunning little throwing knife from the
sheath at his back. Then die, Dray Prescot, die!
Chapter Twenty
The Siege of Zandikar: IV.
Of partings and of meetings
Die, Dray Prescot, die!
The glittering throwing knife hurtled from the fingers of the king straight at my face.
And, in that selfsame instant, as though time shuttered through a macabre repetition, I caught a single
flashing glimpse over the side of the voller of a gorgeous scarlet and golden bird of prey in full diving
vicious attack upon a shining white dove.
The two scenes merged and melded in my eyes and became one.
The golden and scarlet raptor of the Star Lords, their spy and messenger, striking with black-taloned
claws at the white dove of the Savanti, and the glittering terchick, the Kregan throwing knife, hurled full at
my face, were one and the same. I saw the Savanti dove hesitate and swerve and the lancing blow of
scarlet and gold shriek past. The Genodder in my fist sprang up and twitched in the old cunning
Disciplines and the terchick rang like a gong-note of despair, clanging against the blade and springing in a
gleaming curve away into the vast reaches of the sky. The king s mouth slobbered wetly and he began to
claw out his Ghittawrer longsword.
He is a Krozair, Majister, said Gafard, staring at me with hunger and despair.
You call this object Majister, Gafard. Yet he stole my daughter away from you, and now she is dead.
You are a man. I know that. You prated on about the Lord of Strombor, and you emulated my deeds
and sought my renown. I would surrender all those deeds and give all that renown if my Velia were back
with me, alive!
He pushed himself up. He had stopped shaking. I, too, Pur Dray, would give everything I own,
everything I am
The girl was a fool, a shishi! shrieked Genod. I am the king. It is my right to take
Your rights will be allowed you when you are judged. For I take you back to Zandikar. There you will
be judged for murder.
Murder? Gafard s jaw muscles ridged. He stared at me. His eyes held a look no man should suffer
a look I had borne as I cradled my Velia in my arms and watched her die.
Aye, Gafard murder. This kleesh s fluttrell was wounded by Grogor s shot. The bird was falling.
Velia was callously thrown off by this kleesh to save himself.
It is a lie! Genod staggered up, distraught, panting, whooping great gulps of air. He had drawn his
Ghittawrer blade with the tawdry emblem of his Green Brotherhood upon it. A lie!
I never heard the Lord of Strombor was a Krozair who lied.
I speak the truth, Gafard. This kleesh whom you worship threw my daughter down to her death
threw down your wife!
Once the first stone is dislodged in a wall or a dam the final pressure mounts swiftly and more swiftly to
the point of breaking and utter collapse. This Gafard the King s Striker, Sea Zhantil, myson-in-law
had revered the genius king Genod, the king with the yrium, had worshiped my daughter Velia, and had
envied my reputation upon the Eye of the World and had attempted to emulate me. Zair knows, the poor
hulu was a tormented man. Struck and buffeted by passions and beliefs, by desires and duties, he had
been caught in a mind-shattering trap. Renegade, loyal Grodnim of Magdag, once a loyal Zairian, he now
faced the final collapse of everything in his life. He had been tortured in his ib by beliefs and truths beyond
the breaking of a mortal man. Even as King Genod, foaming, berserk, launched himself forward with the
Ghittawrer blade lifting, so Gafard bellowed and flung himself at the king.
King Genod!
Stand aside, Gafard, you rast, while I cut down this devil.
Genod murderer! Gafard s howl pricked the nape of the neck. I have served you faithfully. I
revered you past reason. You repay me by murdering my Velia, the only woman in the world
Lies! Lies!
They stood for perhaps a half dozen heartbeats, their chests laboring to draw breath as they shouted,
their faces demoniac with convulsive rage and revelation.
Then Genod lunged viciously forward, shrieking he would slay us both, and Gafard, with a snarl like a
wild beast dragged heels first from its lair into the hostile world, leaped on the king, one hand to his
throat, the other around his waist. So they struggled, bodies locked, animated with hatred and passion.
The rest of their contorted yells were lost as they struggled. The Ghittawrer blade slashed down and
Gafard ignored it and forced the king back. I jumped forward to separate them, for I wanted to take
Genod for trial I truly believe I wished this and the struggle carried them raving to the coaming of
the voller.
Without a pause in their struggle one with the other they toppled over the coaming and pitched out over
the side of the voller. I put my hand on the coaming and looked down.
Over and over they toppled, falling through the thin air as my Velia had fallen. They still fought as they
fell. I did not turn away with a shudder. I watched them as they dwindled and fell away and so I
remained, graven, watching as the king and Gafard, the King s Striker, smashed to red jelly in the central
square of Zandikar.
The single thought burning in my brain as I brought the voller to land was that Grogor must not be slain in
the coming battle, for Grogor would know where Didi, the daughter of Gafard and Velia, was kept
hidden. Somewhere in Magdag or on one of Gafard s estates; yes, Grogor would take me to my
granddaughter.
The kyro filled with a rushing clamor as the people and the soldiers ran. Life, which had for a moment
turned aside, now resumed the reins. Gafard was dead. There would be a proper time to mourn. I did
not forget that apocalyptic vision of the Gdoinye, the spy of the Star Lords, and its deliberate attack on
the white dove of the Savanti. I knew, with that special doom I feel is laid upon me, that the toils of
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