Swords: 08 - The Fifth Book Of Lost Swords - Coinspinner’s Story (3 page)

      
He followed the direction of her gaze, to a place of disturbed earth some forty or fifty meters away on the right side of the road.
      
“Yes, I see it.”

      
They walked on without trying to investigate more closely. Both young people had been made well aware by their Teacher of certain perils in the City that had to be avoided; structures within it whose mere entry would almost certainly be fatal; snares that had to be watched for, and modes of travel that within its shadowy boundaries had to be strictly prohibited for reasons of safety. Just as Trimbak Rao had taken care to caution his advanced students about all these dangers before they set out to take their test, he had also reassured them that he considered them capable of successfully avoiding all the hazards.

      
Ordinary human eyes, viewing the City of Wizards from within, would have had this much in common with the eyes of the most perceptive magicians—both would perceive their surroundings as a vast jumble of ruins and intact buildings, strangely lighted under a changeable and often fantastic sky. The City’s central region was streaked by open vistas of barren and abnormal earth, and marked by some grotesque and extravagant examples of whole architecture. Inside the City, or so Trimbak Rao had instructed his apprentices, sunrise and sunset were sometimes visible simultaneously, along opposite edges of the sky; and sometimes there were two moons in the sky at the same time, one full, one crescent, though otherwise looking identical to the familiar companion of Earth.

      
There were many viewpoints of the subject that might possibly be taken. Looking at the matter one way, the City of Wizards could scarcely be called a city at all—or, if the phenomenon was looked at in another way, it consisted of portions of several cities, and of portions of the rural world as well, normally separated in space and time, but here blended by conflicting and persistent magics into a confusing juxtaposition.

      
Generally, folk devoid of the skills of wizardry found it impossible to discover an entrance to the City at all—or to enter it even if they should manage to locate a threshold. People unskilled in magic might have journeyed all the continents of the mundane earth from north to south and east to west in search of the City and never have seen its gates. But to the skilled and properly initiated, many ports of entry were available.

      
Wizards of vastly different character and varying classes of ability came here to the City. So had they come from time immemorial, sometimes only to amuse themselves, sometimes to duel, sometimes to train their more promising apprentices. And here in the City, by the general agreement of their guilds, the more responsible among the workers in enchantment carried on many of their more dangerous experiments, researches that might otherwise do damage to some portion of the generally habitable world.

      
Sections and shards of the outside world, samples from a number of real cities and countrysides, had all been incorporated into the City from time to time. Houses and temples of every kind, even whole fortifications, had sometimes drifted or been hurled here, places wrenched out of their proper space-time locations by the contending or experimental forces of magic. Surprisingly, at least to Adrian, there had even been a substantial amount of original construction in the City over the centuries of its known existence, some of it carried out by human hands to the designs of human architects. But most of this deliberate building was badly designed. Much of it was never completed, and little of it endured for long.

      
As the Teacher had explained, both things and people judged unendurable by normal society were sometimes banished from the normal world, to end up here. Among the human inhabitants were the mad, the desperate, the fugitives, the utter outcasts of the world.

      
And also among the inhabitants were many who were not, and never had been, human.

Chapter Three

      
West of the city of Sarykam the sky grew clear before midday, and then promptly began to cloud again with a speed that suggested the possibility of some cause beyond mere nature. The sun had moved well past the zenith, and into a fresh onrush of gray scud lower than the nearby peaks, when the Culmian Crown Prince, now riding near the rear of his fast-moving cavalcade, halted his riding-beast and turned in his saddle to look back. From this position he was able to observe a great deal of the landscape, mostly a no-man’s-land of barren mountains with which his small force was surrounded. The domain of Tasavalta was physically small and narrow, and the border in this area was ill-defined. But the leader of the fleeing Culmians felt confident that he had already left it behind him.

      
Four or five of Crown Prince Murat’s comrades in arms, all of those who had been riding near him, now stopped as well, glad of the chance of at least a brief rest for their mounts. Farther inland, the bulk of the small Culmian force had already vanished behind jagged hills. At the moment, somewhere in that direction, another trusted officer was carrying the Sword of Love steadily toward Culm.

      
Another Sword, Coinspinner, that Murat had secretly brought with him to Tasavalta rode openly now at his belt. And up to this point, in the adventure of Sword-stealing, the Sword of Chance had performed flawlessly for the man who wore it.

      
So far, all was going according to plan. It was necessary to assume that by now the theft from the White Temple had been discovered, and a determined pursuit launched. But until now none of Murat’s people had actually seen anyone coming after them.

      
An hour ago Murat had detailed one scout to ride far in the rear for just that purpose. And he was pausing now to let that scout, Lieutenant Kebbi, catch up to report.

      
His timing seemed excellent. For even as the Crown Prince and his companions watched, a single rider appeared at a bend in the rearward trail, a couple of hundred meters back. The small figure in its orange-and-blue uniform waved its arm in a prearranged signal meaning that there was news to tell. Then the distant scout urged his mount forward at a good pace.

      
Murat, followed by the handful of people with him, spurred his own riding-beast forward along the narrow trail, and in a few moments met the scout. The lieutenant, reining in as he drew near his compatriots, reported in a somewhat breathless voice that the expected enemy pursuit had only just now come into sight.

      
“How far back?” the Crown Prince demanded.

      
“We’ve half an hour on them yet,” said Kebbi. Then the lieutenant had a question: “Sir, what do you think will be done with the Sword of Mercy after the Royal Consort has been healed?”

      
Murat, mildly surprised, blinked at his relative. “I don’t know,” he said. “Not our problem.” Then he paused. “I was quite sincere, you understand, cousin, when I pledged that Woundhealer would promptly be returned to Tasavalta.” The more Murat thought about it now, the more he wondered if the lovely Princess Kristin had been right, and Woundhealer would never be returned, would never have been returned in any case.

      
Kebbi persisted. “I understand, sir. But I thought that your pledge was made on the condition that the Sword should be loaned to us willingly, which it most certainly was not.”

      
“Well, as I say, it won’t be our problem to worry about.” The Crown Prince looked at his men gathered about him. “Ready to move on? Someone else can take a turn tail-ending.”

      
But Kebbi spoke up quickly. “Sir, let me ride back once more—I’ll be better able to judge if they’re truly gaining on us or not.”

      
“Very well, that’s a good point. If your mount is tired, pick a spare.” And one of the small group of riders was already leading a spare mount forward.

      
With several men to help, changing the lieutenant’s saddle and the rest of his equipment from one animal to the other was the work of only a moment.

      
Meanwhile there was more information to be gained. “Can you estimate how many there are in the pursuing force?”

      
“Haven’t got that good a look at them yet, sir. But I can let them get a little closer this time. That way I should be able to form an estimate.” On a fresh steed now, Kebbi looked boldly ready to take risks.

      
“Wait,” said Murat suddenly, and drew Coinspinner from its sheath at his belt. “This should go with the man in the position of greatest danger and greatest need.”

      
The lieutenant stared at him wordlessly for a moment, then nodded. “Thank you, sir.” In another moment, handling both the sharp blades gingerly, he and Murat had exchanged Kebbi’s mundane though well-forged sword for Coinspinner.

      
Wasting no time, Kebbi saluted sharply with his new weapon, and turned his mount away. He appeared to be on his way to drop back again and check on the enemy’s progress.

      
But once he had ridden away a few meters with Coinspinner still unsheathed in his grip, and had looked it over, as if he were making absolutely sure of what he had, he stopped his mount and turned back again, showing a broad grin.

      
Something in the posing attitude of his cousin sent the beginning of a foreboding chill down Murat’s spine.

      
In a voice considerably louder than would have been necessary to make himself heard, the Crown Prince called out: “What are you doing, Kebbi?”

      
The Sword-wielder, his every movement showing confidence, edged his riding-beast back a little toward the others, as if to make sure that what he said was heard distinctly. What he said was: “I’m looking out for myself. For my own future.”

      
“What?” demanded Murat—though in his heart he knew already. Already he understood the horror of what was happening. Certain episodes of Kebbi’s childhood were replaying themselves relentlessly in Murat’s memory.

      
His cousin smiled at him, almost benignly. “I think you understood me the first time, sir. You who have the disposal of such matters at court have pretty well arranged it that I won’t have much of a future unless I do take matters into my own hands.”

      
The little group of Murat’s countrymen who sat their steeds around him were muttering now. He yelled: “What are you talking about? Have you gone mad?”

      
“Not in the least mad, sir.” Kebbi shook his head. He had a clean-cut face, and a habitual expression that somehow managed to suggest he was supremely trustworthy. “There’s just no prospect of advancement for me in the normal course of events, that’s what I’m talking about. Yes,
now
I see that you look thoughtful.
Now,
with a little effort, you can remember how the case for my promotion went, when you sat on the board of review. I’m sure it was a mere detail to you, the career of a very junior officer. Oh, an extremely reliable junior officer, one who could be chosen to participate in a mission like this, and even entrusted with a Sword. But also one who could be passed over with impunity when it came time for promotions.

      
“No, I’m not the least bit crazy, cousin. In fact, if you stop to think about it, you’ll see that my behavior makes a lot of sense. I now have a matchless treasure in my hands.” He paused to swing the Sword, taking a cut or two at the air to try the balance—which was of course superb.

      
When the lieutenant spoke again his voice was changed, lower and calmer. “It is the real thing. We proved that beyond any doubt in the White Temple. And now that I’ve got this Sword in my hands, I simply prefer to keep it for myself—the matter is as uncomplicated as that.”

      
A moment later Lieutenant Kebbi had inserted Coinspinner into the sheath at his belt. He kept his right hand comfortably on the black hilt afterward.

      
Murat, sitting his mount helplessly, had the feeling that his own life, his career, his sanity, were all draining out somehow from the toes of his boots, through his stirrups, to the ground. Knowing it was useless, he still had to shout again.

      
“Kebbi, I warn you! If this is some joke, some stupid attempt to force me to admit that you are valuable—”

      
The younger man was shaking his head. “That would indeed be stupid, and I’m not stupid. That’s something you, dear royal cousin, are finally going to have to realize. No, no joking, cousin. I am now going to turn my steed and ride away—it would be stupid on your part to try to stop me, as I am sure you realize. Instead I would suggest that you catch up with those loyal people who are carrying the other Blade for you, and hurry home as fast as you can with that one. You can still be at least half a hero there, in royal eyes, if you arrive with a useful Sword to replace the one you’ve lost.”

      
“If you are serious—then what are you attempting to do?”

      
“My dear Crown Prince, I am not
attempting
to do anything, as you will have to admit sooner or later. What I’m doing is an accomplished fact. I’m taking this Sword away from you, just as we took the other one from the Tasavaltans.”

      
As Kebbi spoke, he continued to sit his mount facing the others from a distance of thirty meters or so. Now one of the Culmian sergeants, outraged beyond measure by the treachery in progress, spurred his own riding-beast forward to pass Lieutenant Kebbi, moving to cut off the unspeakable traitor’s line of retreat.

      
That, at least, must have been the tactic the sergeant had in mind. But he was never able to perform it. He passed within half a dozen strides of his target, turned, and was just beginning to raise a mace with which to threaten or to strike when the rear hooves of his mount slipped from the narrow trail. The cavalry beast, normally surefooted, screamed in an almost human-sounding noise before it fell. A moment later the sergeant’s mount had disappeared over the edge of a minor precipice.

      
The man himself managed to leap from his stirrups only just in time to keep from going with the animal. Instead he fell forward, awkwardly, and in landing struck his forehead on his own spiked mace. Once fallen, he lay facedown, without moving, except that the muscles of his back twitched convulsively.

      
“You see?” demanded Kebbi, who had been watching, as he turned back to face the others. There was a quiver of triumph in his voice. “You see? I am well protected.”

      
The Crown Prince had nothing to say. He could only hope that he might soon awaken from this hideous dream. The only comfort he could find in the situation was the knowledge that the main body of his small force, carrying with them the Sword of Mercy, were still moving away on the road to Culm, putting distance between them and their pursuers as rapidly as possible.

      
As long as the band of volunteers, no more than two dozen in all, had remained closely united on this mission, then the luck carried by one man might have served to protect them all. Now the luck of the Sword of Chance was gone from them. But with the start Coinspinner had afforded, the people who were carrying Woundhealer might still be able to get away to Culm. They had their orders, and no matter what happened to Murat and his rear guard of half a dozen, they would press on.

      
But what was he going to do about Kebbi? It was unthinkable that the young man could simply be allowed to ride away now that he had revealed his treachery. But what could be done against a Sword?

      
Another officer in the small group broke the brief silence. His voice, controlled with a great effort, still quivered with his helpless fury. “What will you do now, Kebbi? Where will you go? We’ll hunt you down, you know, sooner or later.”

      
The lieutenant made a gesture, shrugging with his arms spread slightly, as if to say:
if you would hunt me, here I am
. He did not appear to be in the least perturbed by the threat. “What will I do? Why, to begin with, I believe I’ll get myself out of your way here, and allow you to set up your rearguard defense—this looks like a good place to arrange an ambush. The Tasavaltans will certainly be here within half an hour. I suppose you still have some kind of a fighting chance against them, even without Coinspinner—a better chance than I had when I came up for promotion that last time.”

      
“Traitor! Vile traitor!”

      
The man who was now carrying the Sword of Chance ignored the denunciation. It appeared that he could well afford to do so. In no hurry to escape, he paused to look around at the configuration of the land. “Yes, cousin, you definitely have a chance, though they must know these mountains better than you do—farewell, then.” With that the treacherous lieutenant turned his mount and departed.

      
He was forty meters away, riding with his back to his former comrades, when one of the volunteer troopers, a dead shot with the longbow, gritting his teeth at seeing this scoundrel jog away unpunished, drew, aimed, and loosed a shaft aimed true at the center of the traitor’s spine. Just at the crucial moment the renegade, who never looked back, happened to bend aside to make some minor adjustment to his right stirrup strap. The arrow missed him by several centimeters. The man with the Sword continued to ride away, superbly unaware of death’s close passage. But of course the truth was that the arrow had put him in no danger of death at all.

* * *

      
At that same moment, no more than half a kilometer away in the direction of Tasavalta, General Rostov, having halted his advance for the moment, was grinding his teeth. All day long the General and his Tasavaltan cavalry had been suffering from bad luck, and it did not help that he knew the cause, and knew that matters were very unlikely to improve. Several landslides—none of them brought about by any sentient agency, Rostov was sure—had come down just in front of his troops, in places guaranteed to create maximum obstruction. Problems with broken harness had multiplied unbelievably for equipment that was well maintained, and a sudden attack of severe bellyache had felled one trooper who had to be left behind.