The Return of Dargoll by Gardner F. Fox

Author:Gardner F. Fox
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Adventure Gaming 12-13
Published: 1982-11-27T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Three

Two days later, he walked through the gates of Marralene City with Sedron, his son and grandsons. Beside the roan, other horses bore the furs which were for sale. All his senses were alive to the sights and sounds and smells about him. Here, a man was opening the shutters of his store, a little beyond him a woman was hurrying along, holding a water jar on her head, even as two carts laden with vegetables freshly off a farm, came trundling. It was as if more little gates were opening in his head.

Faintly, he remembered scenes like this. From some other life? Grimm did not know, nor did he care; enough for him to be here catching a scent of newly baking bread, hearing a carpet-seller crying the excellence of his wares. He also saw men in black robes, here and there, with large earthenware pots standing before them into which passersby tossed coins.

"Temple beggars," Nestran informed him in a whisper. "Yukaghir informs the people that they are like prayers offered up to Minoton."

Grimm found himself walking with a faint swagger. This was his world, this Marralene City, in this land of Mirakol. It was here he had walked and ridden, long and long ago; here, he had led out his armies to their victories, here he had sat a golden throne to rule. Yukaghir was usurping what rightfully belonged to him—or to Dargoll.

Anger grew in him. What right had the high priest to claim dominion over what was his? His were the banners that had lead the armies to their victories, his the voice caroling out over the clash and clang of swordblades! His was the golden throne, and all it stood for!

Almost of itself, his right hand went to his sword-hilt, half drew the steel from out of the scabbard.

But—no! This was not the time, nor yet the place!

His hand fell away. He walked on, but always his eyes roved, feeding his memory, strengthening his resolve. Somewhere, Yukaghir waited, like a spider in its lair. It was up to him, to Dargoll the Mighty. There were things which had to be done before he could claim all Mirakol as his own.

As they came into the great marketplace, he said, "I leave you here to sell your furs. I am off to the temple, where Yukaghir worships Minoton."

Old Sedron eyed him worriedly. "So soon? And—alone?"

Grimm smiled, "I have a plan. A plan which may enable one man—and only one man!—to do what must be done."

They would have argued, having grown to like him, but he put them off gently, yet resolutely. "This is Dargoll's task. Mine alone. If I have a need for you, I will summon you. Until then, sell your hides as you have always done."

He walked away. Confidence was in his stride, for he knew this city, now. Beyond the market square was the palace with its ornate gardens—or had been, long ago—and on the other side of the palace was the Temple, a

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