Gar stalked down that avenue, passed beneath the portcullis, out across the drawbridge, and was gone.
Madelon stared after him, eyes huge, huddled in on herself, forlorn.
Dirk saw, and the bile rose in his throat.
He rounded on Captain Domigny, demanding, “Will you do as he has done, Captain? Or will you stay here, to slave for the people you’ve freed, and be a second-class citizen?”
Captain Domigny turned slowly, looking Dirk full in the eye. “I’ll stay.”
Dirk’s mouth hooked down in contempt. “Is this what we’ve waited for, then? Why we’ve worked our whole lives, what we’ve given up house and home for—to be highly trained serfs? ‘Oh, surely, sir, we’ll set up industries for you! Certainly, madame, we’ll organize your commerce. Thank you, thank you kindly, for giving us the chance! Schools? Oh, delighted! We’ll start them right away—no problem at all. All the things you can’t do for yourself, we’ll be oh-so-glad to do for you. Just give us a pat on the head now and then, and maybe a bone, and we’re happy!’ Is this why we gave up our lives?”
Domigny reddened. “I’ve worked my whole life for the good of my people, Dulain—and I’ll keep doing it!”
Dirk stared at him.
Domigny turned his head from side to side. “No, Dirk Dulain. Do as you will; but for myself, I did not do what I did for gratitude or adulation—or for power! I did it because I believed it right—and whatever the consequences of that action, I accept them!” He turned to Lapin and called out, “I will stay here among you, Lapin, and gladly! The wealth and position you offer I accept, and will not seek voice in your affairs.”
“What will you do, then, among us?” she demanded.
“What you will. If you want schools, industry, commerce, I will build them for you—or whatever else the people want done. I will work for the good of the churls of this planet!”
A huge cheer exploded all about him, filling the courtyard. Dazed, the officers looked at one another; then they looked at their captain and began to grin.
Dirk turned away, sickened. He looked up at Lapin and Hugh, both smiling, satisfied; then his eyes dropped down to Madelon. She looked up, meeting his gaze with a long, pleading look. He turned his face away and looked at the Captain again. Then, as the cheers began to fade, he turned on his heel and stalked toward the gate.
The courtyard fell silent about him. Then he heard the quick patter of heels. He looked back as Madelon caught his sleeve, looking up at him breathlessly. “You will not go now! Stay here among us!”
Dirk looked down at her, his mouth twisting. “Why? Why should I?”
She looked up at him, her face grave. “Do I mean nothing to you?”
He looked into her eyes for a long, wordless moment. Then he leaned his weight on one hip, cocking his head to the side. “How is this? A moment ago, I saw your face filled with the tragedy of Gar’s leaving.”
“True,” she said gravely, “but when he said that the spirit of DeCade had left him, I began to remember what had happened, and to wonder why it had come about as it did—and it was you, all of it. It was you who paved the way for the churls in the arena to call him leader, you who prepared him to receive DeCade and guided the staff to his hand, you who guided him when his plans seemed to fall apart, you who guided his arm and called down the tall towers; and I think it is you, Dirk Dulain—you more than any other—who has brought us our freedom, as surely as though the Wizard’s spirit moved in you!”
“It is not true,” Dirk denied, “none of it. I was moved about like a chess piece on a board. How can you see it that way? Is it because, now that the giant has left, you must find reasons for turning to another?”
Madelon winced but retorted, “I say what I see. Like any man, you are too blind to see yourself truly!”
Dirk nodded, heavy with irony. “So now you want me.”
“Yes, I want you!” she hissed fiercely. “Can you blame me?”
“Yes,” he answered, “for if DeCade came alive again, you would turn from me in an instant.” He saw the sick, stricken acknowledgment of what he had said in her eyes and was instantly filled with remorse. He touched her face gently, spoke softly. “Forgive me—I’ve spoken too harshly. But you must see that I cannot accept being second choice.”
He held her eyes a moment longer, then turned and walked away.
The ranks of the churls parted for him, as they had for Gar, and the courtyard was silent as he marched down that long avenue, looking neither to the right nor the left. Memory hemmed him in on both sides, likeness of kind clung to him, but he strode through it as though it was a room full of cobwebs. Every face turned to him in silent respect; every eye followed him as he passed under the portcullis and was gone from their sight.
He strode across the drawbridge and out onto the barren hillside.
There he stopped and took a slow, deep breath. He let his shoulders slump and bowed his head, feeling the adrenaline ebb from his system.
There, far below him, lay the town, its lights warm and few amidst the darkness.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, composing himself. There was no time to let go now; there was a man he had to catch, and Dirk had a strangely certain idea of where that man would be. He turned away to find a horse.
He stepped under the stone archway and into the great cavern, his footsteps totally silent. It was the dark, chill hour before dawn; a few shafts of crystalline moonlight streaked down from the crevices high in the walls, bathing the great skeleton in frozen light.
A shadow bent over it—a tall, black-cloaked figure, gazing down at the silvered, almost-living skeleton. He stood that way a long time, unmoving, meditating; and Dirk knew enough not to make the slightest sound.
Then at last, the tall, black figure moved. Slowly, he drew two oaken sticks from beneath his cloak and laid them, gently, one on each side of the great skeleton. Then he stood back, head bowed; and Dirk saw the glint of light and shadow on the eagle face, silvered on the brow and nose, hollowed at the eyes and cheeks.
Gar sighed, lifting his head and squaring his shoulders, turned toward the archway—and saw Dirk.
Dirk braced himself.
Gar gazed at him, his face grave.
Then he stepped forward, grasping Dirk’s shoulder, and murmured, “Let us go out from this place; for I knew this man, and he is dead.”
Dirk turned with him; together, they passed under the archway and into the spiral.
As they came out into the lower cave, Dirk murmured, “That was not an easy thing to do.”
Gar nodded. “His staff is a thing of awesome strength, Dulain—it would magnify every power I have—a hundredfold. With it, I would be the mightiest psi in the galaxy.”
“Then why did you put it down?”
“Because it is not mine,” Gar said without hesitation. “It is DeCade’s; and while he is dead, it belongs to his people.” He lifted his head, gazing thoughtfully at the pale dawn-light in the cave mouth ahead. “Then, too, I think it would be an addictive thing. Holding power like that, I would use it and use it again till I could not bear not to use it. If it cried for blood, it would have it.”
They came out at the base of the hill, and Gar threw his shoulders back with a sigh, looking up at the moon, drifting palely in the sky of false dawn.
Dirk watched him, brooding. “Is that why you broke the staff?”
“No, not quite.” Gar frowned. “But like it. DeCade was a great man, but he was like his staff—he could never stop fighting. Even as it is, I have all his memories, the print of his personality—and I think I’ll always have to be on my guard for the rest of my days, to be sure that personality doesn’t overwhelm me. But with his staff whole, I wouldn’t’ve had a chance—it pumped power into him; it made him a superman.” He turned his head slowly, looking down at Dirk. “It was a great temptation to leave his staff whole, Dirk Dulain—but it would have destroyed me.”