The Warlock of Rhada by Robert Cham Gilman Read Free Book Online Page A

in the Star in this?”
    Glamiss grinned ruefully. “I thought you would give the credit to the Adversaries.”
    “I’m not joking, Glamiss,” the Navigator said soberly. “You must be a chosen one. Though chosen for what, I cannot say.”
    Glamiss narrowed his eyes against the fading light and thought of his recurring dream. He said quietly, “In the night, sometimes, I see myself standing on an island between two rivers, Nav Emeric. In my hands are a flail and dagger. On my back a feathered cloak. And on my head a circlet of gold--” Emeric turned pale, but did not speak.
    Glamiss, unaware, went on in that strange, still voice. “There are starships in my dream, a sky filled with them. And behind me a warband--but a greater warband than I have ever seen--an army with strange banners.” He smiled slowly and turned to look at his friend. “What do you make of that, friend priest?”
    The Navigator was silent for what seemed a long time. He knew, without knowing why he knew it, that he must speak with great care and precision, for he was certain that the spirit of the Star was nearby.
    “Glamiss,” he said evenly, “what do you know of Nyor?”
    “The Queen City of the Stars? What everyone knows. That it does not exist. That it probably never existed. It is like Earth, a legend--no more. Or perhaps, less romantically, it was simply the capital of the lost Empire.”
    “Nyor exists, Glamiss Warleader. Nyor has always existed,” the Navigator said. “I have spoken with starship Navigators who have been there. It is far off across the Great Sky, and it lies in ruins now. But it once stood on an island between two rivers, Glamiss. The island is called Manhat, and the Galactons ruled from that place. They ruled for five thousand years, Glamiss, and their symbols were the flail, the dagger, and the feathered cape.”
    Glamiss stared at the priest with cold eyes; his face seemed suddenly to have been cut from stone. “Don’t joke with me, priest. We are friends, but don’t joke with me about this thing. It is not a matter to use lightly.”
    “As the Star is my witness, I speak the truth,” the Rhadan said.
    “How does it happen I have never heard of it?”
    “It is Navigators’ knowledge--not for the unconsecrated man.”
    “And yet you tell it to me?”
    The Navigator nodded slowly. “In violation of my vows, Glamiss. May the Star forgive me, but there are times when a priest is also a man. I told you I believe you are a chosen one. Perhaps it has been given to me to recognize you for what you will become. I know no reason I should be given such grace--I’m not a very good priest. I’m too proud by half, and far too worldly. I’ll never be a saint. But I know what I know. I can feel it, here, inside my guts. One day, you will wear the feathered cape, Glamiss. It will probably take your lifetime--and mine. But the time is right for a great conqueror. There’s been too long a night, my friend. And I believe you are the man. So I violate my vows. I should feel shame, perhaps, but I feel none.” He turned away and stood on the edge of the ridge, looking not down into the valley of Trama, but up at the sky where the light was slowly going, and where the sparse stars of the Vykan night would soon shine feebly through the thin clouds. “That is why I will serve you, Glamiss Warleader--down there in the valley tomorrow, or across the Great Sky when that time comes.”
    The Vykan grasped the Navigator’s shoulders and managed a half-smile. “We’re both mad, you know. It must be this place.”
    Emeric shook his head somberly. “I know one other thing. There will come a time when I must again choose between you and my Order. The choice I make then may not be the choice I make tonight. But that will be many years from now--in Nyor.”
     
    Vulk Asa huddled by one of the fires and turned his blind face toward the two figures conversing in the fading light. He heard one of the warmen laugh and speak to his