Alan Foster - Krull

"Bold words, brave intentions, no forethought. It will do you no good to find the Fortress and the princess, only to die there instead of here. Do not be so reckless, Prince of Turold-Eirig. Planning can be as useful in battle as the sharpest sword. You must have help."

Colwyn turned away from him, his gaze peering beyond the shattered gate to the open plain beyond. The distances beckoned him.

"There is no help to be found here and I cannot spare the time to return to Turold."

"Granted this is so."

"Then I must find some men on the way."

"They had best be exceptional men, to follow even a king to the Black Fortress. You ask much of those you have not even met."

"I have no choice. I cannot imagine what lies in store for my Lyssa save that it is certain to be unpleasant in the extreme. I will not linger here while she remains in the hands of those who would do her ill. She would do the same for me were our situations reversed."

"Indeed? Are you then so sure of your bride-to-be, whom you have met only for the briefest of moments?"

"I am sure, old man. Never have I ever been so sure of anyone, not even my father."

There is still a chance, then, Ynyr thought gratefully. The bond has not been sealed, but at least the parts have been positioned. It is worth risking lives for.

"In the Fortress you will have to face more than the Slayers. You will face the Beast, who is their master. I have yet to meet the soldier ready to accept such a challenge. I expect it from a king-to-be, but not from any common man-at-arms."

"Then we will have to find uncommon men, won't we? As to the question of how we will deal with the Beast, leave me to worry on that. He lives, and anything that lives can die. I have studied much of statecraft and much of war, and have learned that there are no absolutes to either. He is not immortal. Strength does not mean invulnerability."

"Spoken like a king!" said Ynyr delightedly. Yes, the young prince was ready. Ynyr now gave himself wholeheartedly over to the dangerous enterprise.

"Perhaps he ran be slain, but no man has ever seen him and lived. You will need more power than lies in uncommon men or swords, more than even the combined armies of Eirig and Turold could provide… though it would be comforting to have an army with us. Still,"—he shrugged knowingly— "one fights with what weapons one can muster."

"I am willing to make use of any suggestions you might have, old man. What weapons do you speak of?"

Ynyr spoke complacently, as though by the mere act of doing so he could make the extraordinary sound commonplace.

"There is the original from which the symbol on your father's medallion derives."

Colwyn glanced reflexively down at the metal circlet. "The arms of the first kingdom of Turold?"

"No, Colwyn. Think on what I have just said."

He frowned, then a look of amazement came over his face. "What, the glaive? You are crazy, old man! Or a fool. Go back to your hut and do not toy with my anger. I will find the Black Fortress by myself and assail it as best I am able. I have some poor skills, but I strive not to include absurdity among them."

"But uncertainty remains. I see it in your face. Come with me, Prince of Krull, and we shall see who is the fool." He turned and picked his way across the graveyard, there to mount a riderless horse and send it trotting toward the gate.

Colwyn hesitated, then slipped the chain and medallion over his neck and hurried to find a mount with which to follow. Surely the old man was mad, but he had been well-thoought of by the scholors responsible for Colwyn's education. Mystery surrounded his name, but always accompanied by veneration.

Was it possible for wise men to venerate a fool? There was little time to wonder. With a curse he secured a horse and followed in Ynyr's wake. Even an old, foolish ally was better than none. Until better choices presented themselves, he could do worse than listen to the advice of the one man willing to aid him in his search. Whatever his other abilities, Colwyn had to admit that this Ynyr did not quake in terror at the mere mention of the Beast's name. That counted for something.

The mountains Ynyr led Colwyn into were strange to him, their composition different from those of Turold. From these granite blocks had been cut the foundation of the White Castle. He hoped they would be of more help than those easily breeched walls had been.

Here resided strange creatures that were only rumor in far-off Turold: trees that put their heads into the earth and thrust flailing roots at a yawning sky; little furry things with too many eyes; and hard-shelled monsters that disguised themselves with flowers and herbs.

Here also resided Ynyr, be he wise man or fool. At least he seemed to know where he was going. The winding course he chose was as good a road as any to Colwyn, so long as it led eventually to the Black Fortress and his beloved. The medallion bounced coldly against his chest.

He fingered it absently as he spoke. "The glaive is nothing but an ancient symbol. I was taught in school that symbols are distorted representations of half-remembered realities. It doesn't actually exist."

"Oh, it exists." Ynyr pointed toward a confluence of tall peaks. "Up there. You are partially right, though. It is ancient."

"I need weanons. not symbols." Colwvn directed his horse around a huge boulder, keeping his attention on the ground ahead. The rock here was broken and slippery. He would be glad when they came to firmer ground.

"Do not be so quick to disdain the use of symbols, my boy. They have their uses. Once, the glaive was more than a symbol. It was a powerful device, a great weapon. In the right hands it can be so again."

"In my hands?"

"I wish I knew for certain. I have studied long hours alone and have learned much from our history."

"Tell me."

"Not now. This is not the time or place. When it is time I will tell you. Before you can learn the secrets of the past, you must secure the future. For now it is enough for you to know that only a true prince of the mind can successfully make use of the glaive."

Colwyn frowned. "Prince of the mind? I'm not sure that I understand."

"Recall your marriage ceremony. Yes, I know it is painful, but recall. The passing of fire to water is proof that certain abilities have been inculcated in you, among them the ability to utilize your mind in ways alien to the average man."

"That's a prince's right."

"No, boy, it is not a prince's right! There's much more to it than that. Some day I hope to make you realize how much more." His attention turned from Colwyn to a saddle between two crags. "We are near."

"If you are so sensitive to such things, and to this glaive you insist is no fairy tale, and to the knowledge that surrounds it, why do you not wield it yourself against the Slayers?"

Ynyr smiled ruefully. "It is true I am master of much that would startle you. But it is equally true there are things I cannot do. Employing the glaive properly is among them. And there is still an additional restraint."

"What might that be?"

"I am old, Colwyn. Sad as it is, there are times when knowledge and talent must be supplemented with muscle. I might possibly have made use of the glaive many years ago, but no longer. And at that time Krull was at peace and there was no reason to wield it."

"Are you so sure that I am the right one?" Sudden responsibility weighed heavily on Colwyn. He was beginning to believe in this old man. "Maybe you are mistaken in choosing me for this task."

"Perhaps. Nothing is certain," Ynyr told him with unsettling candor. "We'll know soon enough." He reined in his horse and let Colwyn take the lead. The prince looked back.

"No, boy, I can't go with you. This far and no farther. I would endanger us both by accompanying you farther."