Part 21 (1/2)

”Good as new,” Bram Forest said. He was naked. He was tingling with health and well-being, as if he'd awakened from a long, health-giving sleep. He looked at Ylia, her skin glowing, her hair gleaming, her glorious body a s.h.i.+ning promise. Then he frowned. Byla.n.u.s' words took meaning. ”You want me to fight the Boar of the Kranuian Wood, is that it?”

”Yes,” Byla.n.u.s said.

Bram Forest shrugged. ”Coming here was not my idea, although Portox somehow realized it would be so.”

”Slay the Kranuian Boar, proving your ident.i.ty without question, and all the Golden Apes will be yours to command.”

”Yes, but did Portox really feel I must wreak upon Abaria and the Abarians the same destruction they brought to Ofridia? If I destroy Retoc the Abarian responsible for what happened a hundred years ago, wouldn't that be enough? I don't need the Golden Apes for that. I can do it myself. I must do it myself.”

”Tarth,” said Byla.n.u.s, ”is a world of warring nations. But here on the planet of two suns we live in peace. We are strong but know not the meaning of war. Is that what Portox-saviour wished for your people?”

”Perhaps,” Bram Forest said.

”Then,” Ylia told him, speaking for the first time, ”even if you slay Retoc, his legions will not willingly give up their arms.”

Bram Forest nodded slowly. The idea of a Tarth-wide holocaust did not appeal to him, but if all Tarth could be shown the folly of war when its most powerful army went down to defeat before the Golden Apes....

”Thank you,” Bram Forest said humbly to the Golden Ape. He had a vision--almost mystical--of a time in the future, perhaps the near future, when all Tarth knew nothing but the ways of peace. ”When we return on the River of Ice we want you to accompany us. I'm ready to meet your boar.”

Ylia held him. Tears glistened in her eyes. ”Bram Forest,” she said tremulously. ”Now that I've found you, I don't want you to be hurt--ever again.”

Bram Forest responded: ”Don't worry, Ylia. If Portox hadn't known I'd be more than a match for the boar, he never would have established its conquest as proof of my ident.i.ty.”

”But ... but don't you see, you've been regenerated, as Byla.n.u.s said.

You may not be as strong as you were.”

Bram Forest looked at Byla.n.u.s, who shrugged. Byla.n.u.s lifted them when Bram Forest nodded. The park-like terrain flashed by. A dark forest loomed. The Kranuian Wood....

Close at hand, an animal screamed.

”How do I look, Prokliam?” Volna asked her seneschal.

He bowed before her. ”You are lovely, O My Queen.”

Volna smiled. She wore the royal purple of Nadia in a gown which fell, clinging as if sentient and voluptuous, to the wonderful curves of her body. ”I'm not your Queen yet,” she said, laughing.

”A mere formality, My Queen.”

”I am Volna, Virgin Princess of Nadia, sister to Bontarc the King.”

”Huh!” snorted the old man. ”That is your official t.i.tle. But what do t.i.tles matter? When this day ends you will rule all Tarth side by side with Retoc the Abarian.”

Yes, Volna thought. With Retoc the Abarian. But how long would _that_ alliance last? Would either of them be content to share power with the other? Wouldn't there come a day when she would give the nod to Prokliam and the legions would march against those of Abaria chanting, ”All power to Volna! All power to Volna the Beautiful!” The thought of power, power over strong men, over leaders of nations, made her giddy with desire.

All the royal blood of Tarth was gathered in Nadia City now, for the funeral games. She knew Retoc's plan: her spies had confirmed it.

Retoc's legions would slay the rulers of the multiple nations and clans of Tarth and one by one, stunned, leaderless, the small nations would flock to the banners of Abaria and Nadia. If, then, Retoc had in mind to betray her and claim all power for himself, her own legions would be rested and ready. And Bontarc? she thought. What of Bontarc, her brother?