A cloud of dense smoke blew across the small lane where Dreamer walked. A burning timber crashed ahead of him and exploded in a shower of sparks whose light was smothered by the soot and darkness

He fought the smoke and, shielding his face against the heat, he stumbled through the hot mist. When Dreamer drew his arm back to breathe, the Prince of Mirrors stood directly in the burning way.

The Hater grinned and drew his sword.

XXIII

Materiality: A blessing all its own. Spirit-Demons play in fire hoping for cremation. In the terror of their immortality they envy dying men.

In the days prior to the Liberation, Dreamer would have been terrified by the leering Hater. Now he was amazed that the aggressor’s grin left him unafraid. The Hater’s sword was twice the size of his, but he drew his own blade and stepped the thirsty distance to his foe. The Hater swung. Then the smaller swordsman hurled his steel in a direct arc that would have hit the Hater’s armor. The sound of clanging steel resounded through the streets. Each stalked the other. Again their blades resounded as Dreamer slowly weakened.

Suddenly Ansond bolted through the smoke, calling to the Hater, “Come! Leave the Dreamer! Your wounded shoulder still seeps my grudge.”

“Not before I finish with this miner,” the Prince of Mirrors cried. He followed his defiance with a question, “Is Elan dead?”

“The planet’s dead!” cried Ansond, “and Elan with it. He fell in flame from a slaughtered Vollkon.”

“He died wearing my face,” mused the World Hater, “ …but no matter, I have his.”

“Terra died because it wore your face,” Ansond interrupted.

Gesturing to the flames the Hater cried, “Look, Ansond! I have laid to rest Earthmaker’s hope and smashed his finest work of art. Behold the power of hate!” He laughed.

Dreamer watched the unfolding conflict. Suddenly he was dazzled by blinding intensity. Light-Raider bolted through the wall of flame. Ashes formed whirlwinds beneath his hooves. The Singer came.

“It is your final moment!” called the Singer.

“Perhaps,” the Dark Prince said. “The planet burns and the flames spread. Perhaps the seas themselves shall erupt in flame,” he laughed.

“Indeed they will,” the Troubadour agreed. “Hate sometimes has a fiery end before it is absorbed in love.”

The old antagonists faced each other as the Troubadour continued. “My Father-Spirit loved this place and the men he made to live here. “Now …” He seemed choked by the declaration. “Now … both his world and men are gone.”

“I told you I would win,” sneered the World Hater. “I warned you at the wall. The fight was fair. Now see the ash can of your artistry.”

“You have not won … Look!” Ansond sent his mount through the wall of flame. The fire fell back. Low in the night sky flew Terra Two. It had grown since it floated upward from the saddle shelf a few hours earlier.