Read Online The Starfollowers of Coramonde by Brian Daley - Free Book Online

untenable so long as Shardishku-Salamá engages in
Fabian policies. I will do what I can for Katya and Reacher. I am taking the
contiguity device. I was separated from it once, to my sorrow. I won’t risk
leaving it here. But before we part, it’s only fair to offer you one last
opportunity to leave the Crescent Lands.”
    Van Duyn’s
machine was the only certain way back to their home Reality. The deCourteneys’
spells might suffice, but would be hazardous. Gil considered for a moment.
    “I can’t,
just now. I’ll have to take a raincheck.”
    “The choice
is yours.”
    “Thanks for
asking though. I remember, before I returned to Coramonde, I threw together the
stuff I was bringing here with me. My brother Ralph wandered in when I had it
all laid out, the traveling gear, guns and all. Right away he flashed on it
that I was heading ’way out into the tall timber someplace. I almost told him
how far short that fell, but he’d never have bought it. He knew me though; I
had nothing to keep me back there. Oh, I’ll go back one day, but there’s no
rush.”
    “I see. By
the way, you shouldn’t have gone off so quickly the other day. Not all
Reacher’s news was so unfortunate. He brought General Stuart back from Freegate
with him.”
    “Jeb?
Outstanding!” Jeb Stuart was the name Gil had given the war-horse assigned him
from the stables of Freegate. Jeb had borne up well under travails of the
thronal war.
    “The King
thought you’d want him. Now, I suggest we join the others.”
    They
assembled in Springbuck’s airy, high-windowed study, where long slants of
sunlight irradiated the stained-glass scenes and breathed life into the
tapestries and selected pieces of sculpture.
    Hightower and
the deCourteneys were present, with the Ku-Mor-Mai, Katya and Reacher.
Gil settled into a chair, making his shoulder comfortable, and Van Duyn sat and
fiddled with his glasses. The last participant arrived, Angorman,
Saint-Commander of the Order of the Axe.
    Gil had been
introduced to him earlier. The Order was one of two rival sects of
warrior-priests sworn in worship and errantry to the female deity called the
Bright Lady. The Brotherhood of the Bright Lady, the other sect, was an older
organization whose Divine Vicar Balagon was at odds with Angorman on a running
basis. Outright violence between the two groups was absolutely prohibited, and
so occurred only rarely. But there was an ongoing, pious antagonism.
    Angorman
greeted them all and eased himself with a grunt into the last vacant seat. He
was dressed in his usual brown forager’s cloak, an old man bald as an egg
except for thick, flaring white eyebrows. He retained his wide-brimmed slouch
hat with the brassard of the Order on its high crown, an axehead superimposed
on a crescent moon, worked in heavy silver. The Saint-Commander rested his
famous greataxe against his chair. Gil recalled its name, Red Pilgrim. Six feet
of wooden haft, braced with iron langets, held a double-flanged bit, gracefully
curved to lend cutting power and leverage.
    Springbuck
had shucked the hated robes of state. Barefoot among the furs and pelts, he
wore loose, soft trousers and sash, and a wraparound jacket. The hilt of the
Hibben bowie nosed from his waistband.
    Gabrielle sat
at the Ku-Mor-Mai’s right, in deep conversation with Andre. Seeing her,
Gil unconsciously put a finger to the chain around his neck. After the tarot
seance, she’d taken the Ace of Swords from the deck, put it on a fine chain and
given it to him, saying it was truly his. He’d accepted it reluctantly,
committing himself to something he didn’t understand. It was not made of paper
or parchment, but a flexible material he couldn’t identify.
    Andre was
sitting tailor-fashion on Springbuck’s tall writing table. Gil saw that the
protector-suzerain had been working again on The Antechamber Ballads, a
collection of poetry, essays and autobiographical writings.
    Angorman
spoke. “Blazetongue is our subject first, is it