Swordmistress of Chaos by Robert Holdstock, Angus Wells Page B

the stinking taint of Kharwhan. He was set to lead those demons through the rock mouth, to slay us in our beds.’
    ‘I found him half-drowned on a sinking boat,’ grunted Lifebane. ‘Still spitting, but nearer the nether-world than Kharwhan.’
    ‘A trick! A trick, you hulking savage! They set him there to bait you, and you took it like a fish jumping to the net.’
    ‘And the girl?’ Gondar’s voice was harsh, his hackles rising at the mage’s insults. ‘Is she bait, too?’
    For the first time, Belthis turned his eyes to Raven, letting them linger on her figure. Then his head moved reluctantly from side to side, the corners of his thin mouth turning down.
    ‘No. Though I sense something about her that smacks of danger. She has an aura of power that I cannot understand.’
    ‘That she does,’ chuckled Gondar, and rubbed his loins suggestively. ‘One that I sense clearly enough.’
    ‘Fool,’ snarled Belthis. ‘You let your lust guide your senses. Keep the girl and kill the man. Now!’
    Gondar shook his head. ‘No. The man faced me bravely, and he speaks for the girl. If Raven wills his death, then so be it. Not otherwise.’
    ‘There is another way.’ Spellbinder’s voice startled the watching audience. ‘If the old one feels threatened, let him face me in a duel of magic. Yes!’ He turned his blue gaze on Lifebane, staring intently at the massive sea-wolf. ‘I know some tricks of the sorcerer’s art, though I bring no Kharwhan fleet to rieve you, nor seek to end your own raiding. I am no more than a lost traveller. If Belthis feels me such a threat, let him pit his powers against mine. Were he younger, I’d call for sword-settlement, but if he is the mage who guides your struggle against the Isle of Ghosts, then let him stand against me in magical combat.’
    ‘What say you, Belthis?’ Lifebane asked, intrigued. ‘Will you do this?’
    ‘Surely,’ snarled the old magician, ‘though if I lose, it is you, Gondar Lifebane, who will be sorry.’

    The holding was alive with gossip as the two prisoners were herded to Gondar’s hall. Feelings appeared mixed, there being those who saw them as enemies and consequently backed Belthis in his demands for Spellbinder’s death; and those who doubted the powers of the old mage, anticipating goodly sport in the magical combat.
    Gondar himself appeared indifferent, holding to a middle-line that offended neither side of the quarrel. Certainly, he housed them well enough, in a room apiece, each hung with rich furs against the cold, thick carpets taken from Saran and Vartha’anian ships over the boards of the floor. Water and perfumes were brought that they might cleanse themselves, and flasks of wine with platters of sweetmeats. All in all, it was as though they were honoured guests, rather than captives liable to die on a moment’s whim.
    It was agreed that both men should have one day in which to prepare for the contest, which Gondar proposed to hold in his war-hall the following nightfall. Spellbinder closeted himself in his room, leaving Raven to explore the holding under the admiring eyes of Lifebane. Even were she not guarded, there was little of chance of escape, for the settlement clung to the walls of the rock-bound bay as a limpet fastens to a steep-scarped sea stone. Its buildings were of weathered timber, guarded on the water’s edge by a high palisade, on all other sides by the cliffs. A single, narrow trail wound upwards from the beach to the high meadows, a watchtower standing at the crest, where a view of both sea and land was commanded by the permanent guards. There were, Gondar explained, other holdings on the island, and Kragg settlements farther afield still, all owing allegiance to him as High King. His pride in the place was obvious, and Raven found her liking for the blond giant growing.
    Night approached before he led her back to the great hall, where his people were already gathering in anticipation of the sorcerous