The Daughter of Wrath

Hearken unto that which is told: In the lands of Midday there abode a maiden, a maiden of high blood, blood of the greatest of the great, the strongest of the strong, the most merciless of the merciless — Ilheg-khor the Destroyer, the Ruiner, the Bane. Dikhril was her name, Dew-in-the-Desert, for what is more precious than dawn’s dew upon the waste? And she had a brother, a twin brother, whom she loved more dearly than desert dwellers love dawn’s dew. And there came a day when a singer entered their hold, the Broken Tower, and sang the lays of yore: of the bygone glory of their house, of how luck perished together with Erleg the Unlucky and his ensorcelled blade with the green gem in its hilt. Then spake Dikhril's brother: "Have we not heard full measure of the lays of yore? Sing us new lays, O singer, if thou knowest such, and if not—begone! For we are weary of hearing what cannot be undone." And the singer sang a new lay: of the hermit of Gerkhan, that forsaken city in the waste where serpents and scorpions keep vigil. And of the ensorcelled blade with the green gem in its hilt, which the hermit beareth at his side. And that this sword was the very same that once belonged unto Erleg the Unlucky." And it entered into the heart of Dikhril's brother to regain that sword, to heal their misfortune, and restore the lost glory of their house. But his sister spake unto him, for she was full wise and of great understanding: "Do it not, O brother, most precious of all the waters of the world! For men say the hermit of Gerkhan is a mighty warlock and sorcerer, whom not only deer and fowl obey, but the very stones hearken unto! Go not unto him, nor seek thou to regain the sword of Erleg the Unlucky! For the ensorcelled blade with the green gem in its hilt was foredoomed from the first, and our forefather should ne’er have drawn it forth." But the brother heeded not Dikhril's words. He wended his way forth from the Broken Tower unto Gerkhan, that forsaken city in the waste where serpents and scorpions keep vigil. And for many a day the sister knew not what fate had befallen her brother, until a singer came to the Broken Tower and sang a dirge of a young warrior who fell in battle with the hermit of Gerkhan, striving to wrest from his grasp the ensorcelled blade with the green gem in its hilt. Nine days did the maiden mourn her brother, and at the eventide of the ninth day she arose and girt herself with a sword, for she was a maiden of high blood, blood of the greatest of the great, the strongest of the strong, the most merciless of the merciless — Ilheg-khor the Destroyer, the Ruiner, the Bane — and she had learned the dance of blades and the song of steel no less well than her fallen brother. And she set forth from the last hold of her house, the Broken Tower, and wended her way unto Gerkhan, that forsaken city where serpents and scorpions keep vigil, and came before the hermit who abode among the ruins, who needeth neither sustenance nor draught. "Who art thou, O maid, and wherefore doth thy right hand rest upon thy sword-hilt?" quoth the hermit. "I am," spake Dikhril, "a maiden of high blood, blood of the greatest of the great, the strongest of the strong, the most merciless of the merciless — Ilheg-khor the Destroyer, the Ruiner, the Bane. Thou didst slay my brother, and hither am I come to avenge him." "I shall not cross blades with thee," quoth the hermit, "for thou art a woman." "Thou shalt!" cried Dikhril. "For I have learned the dance of blades and the song of steel no less well than any man beneath the sun." "Again I tell thee: I shall not strive with a woman," quoth the hermit, "for such is no custom of my people!" "Nay, thou shalt fight, else will I cry thee craven from end to end of the earth beneath sun, moon, and stars!" spake Dikhril, and unsheathed her blade. And the hermit laughed: "Verily, I should yield thee my neck and let thee rend the breath from out my breast, to punish the hateful one who by guile drew thy kin hither, and many ere him. But my heart hath not the hardness to be so unto thee, O maid!" Then drew he from its sheath the ensorcelled blade wherein gleamed the green gem, and strife was kindled, and the hermit of Gerkhan prevailed over Dikhril, and smote away her sword-hand that held the weapon. "Lo, behold my mercy, behold my pity," quoth the hermit of Gerkhan. And he took Dikhril up in his arms and bare her unto the fire where her men-at-arms abode in wait for their lady. And at the sight of the hermit of Gerkhan their limbs waxed weak, and the hands that clave to their sword-hilts quailed: so great were his dread and his power. And he laid the maiden beside the fire, and her folk beheld that her sword-hand was cloven — but cunningly swathed, for the hermit of Gerkhan was master of all arts known among men. Then quoth the hermit unto the liegemen, saying: "Bear ye home Dikhril Dew-in-the-Desert, maiden of high blood, blood of the greatest of the great, the strongest of the strong, the most merciless of the merciless — Ilheg-khor the Destroyer, the Ruiner, the Bane. Deliver her unto her sire, to the last hold of her house, the Broken Tower. And bid her to seek no more vengeance, for the mountains shall fall and the earth shall be troubled ere such as she bringeth harm to such as I." And her liegemen did as they were bidden, and bare Dikhril unto the last abode of her house, the Broken Tower, to her sire, last of the line of the greatest of the great, the strongest of the strong, the most merciless of the merciless — Ilheg-khor the Destroyer, the Ruiner, the Bane. Many a day lay Dikhril upon her pallet of sorrow, and grievous were her torments, the pangs of soul and body alike. And she forespake a saying that is called the Prophecy of Dew-in-the-Desert: "Lo, there shall arise a lord of the blood of bygone kings: Come forth, take up the blade, great in the tale of the world, O forebear of progeny great in the tale of the world, purge this land of defilement, and bring unto it peace and justice." And none reckoned sunsets nor sunrises, but in the fullness of time came a prince unto the Broken Tower and he spake thus unto its master: "I am the richest of the rich, the noblest of the noble, the most glorious of the glorious. Boundless are my realms, countless are my warriors, peerless are my jewels. Yet thou hast two treasures: the blood that floweth in thy veins, blood of the greatest of the great, the strongest of the strong, the most merciless of the merciless — Ilheg-khor the Destroyer, the Ruiner, the Bane — and thy daughter Dikhril, who is called Dew-in-the-Desert, for what is more precious than dawn’s dew upon the waste? Yield me the second treasure, and the first shall remain thine." "Who art thou that darest..."