Swords: 10 - The Seventh Book Of Lost Swords - Wayfinder's Story (22 page)

      
With a move that appeared deliberate for all its speed, the beast reached up, with an impossible-looking extension of one of its almost leonine hind legs. The blow from the great claws caught Wayfinder cunningly, knocking the Sword of Wisdom neatly out of Valdemar’s hand.

      
Val uttered a hoarse cry of surprise and dismay. There was no use trying to grab for the Sword, it was already gone. In the next moment he saw the pursuing reptile catch the falling treasure in mid-flight, and with the gleaming blade between serrated teeth, go wheeling away on swift wings, carrying the prize.

      
At the moment of the Sword’s fall, as if a successful and unpunished act of rebellion had given it courage, the griffin became totally unmanageable.

      
Skimming low over forest and wasteland, it launched into a series of acrobatic moves, as if determined to dislodge at once its two uncongenial masters from its back. Val and Delia hung on all but helpless, shouting at the creature and at each other. Sky, wasteland, and patches of forest spun round them as the griffin looped. The couple clung desperately to saddle and basket.

      
Suddenly a blue-white wall of water loomed, a pond or miniature lake. Hardly had the body of water come into sight, when the crazed animal plunged straight into it, diving and swimming like a loon.

      
The water’s liquid resistance finally dislodged the humans. Valdemar, choking, almost drowning, felt a piece of basket rim break off in his hand. Swimming in water over his head, he fought his way to the surface, just in time to see his escaped means of transportation floundering ashore. From the wooded shoreline the griffin leapt into the air again, displaying magical celerity.

      
Where was Delia?

      
Treading water, turning this way and that, Val hoarsely called her name. A long moment passed before he saw her—floating face down.

      
Desperately he stroked to reach her, got the muddy bottom of the pond under his boots, and carried her ashore. By that time, to his great relief, she was coughing and moaning feebly. She spat out a mouthful of muddy water.

      
When he would have helped Delia to sit up on the bank, she cried out in pain. Her back had been somehow injured in the watery rough landing. She protested that she could not walk, could hardly move.

      
Standing now on the shoreline, with a chance to look around, Valdemar thought that this territory looked vaguely familiar. As far as he could tell, they had returned to a point at no very great distance from the place where a young woman named Tigris had kidnapped him, and their adventures with the griffin had begun.

* * *

      
The scouting reptiles informed the Ancient One that Tigris was not very many kilometers away.

      
A beastmaster relayed the information. “She is in worse shape than ever, Lord! The peasant who is traveling as her companion strips off her clothing, and uses her at will.”

      
Wood chuckled. For the moment he continued to be satisfied with the progress of his punishment.

      
“And we have taken their Sword from them!” the reporting human gloated.

      
The Ancient One’s demeanor changed. “I hope that none among you has dared to touch it?”

      
Hastily the subordinate explained. No one had disobeyed orders. One of the more simple-minded flying reptiles had caught the falling Sword Wayfinder in midair, and was bringing it in, flying slowly under the unaccustomed load.

      
Wood was not really surprised by the news regarding the Sword. He had been working for some time, and on several levels, to get Wayfinder away from Tigris and Valdemar, and into his own hands.

      
It had been part of his plan to obtain the Sword without letting any of his associates possessed of human intelligence, or greater, get it into their own hands even for an instant.

      
The task had been further complicated by the fact that Wayfinder itself had doubtless been employed to protect its possessors from him. But as matters had turned out, his plan succeeded anyway. Perhaps, he was tempted to believe, the Swords’ magic was not invariably supreme.

      
Soon the Sword itself was brought in. But, almost immediately after getting Wayfinder into his hands, Wood was distracted again from thoughts of pleasant vengeance by reports from both demons and reptiles, confirming that a force of about a hundred Tasavaltan riders was on its way south, heading almost directly toward his camp.

      
On hearing this, one of the Ancient One’s currently most favored human subordinates immediately suggested evoking a large force of demons, and dispatching them all against the hundred cavalry and their support people and creatures.

      
The proposed tactic would undoubtedly serve well to determine whether Mark was accompanying this main Tasavaltan force or not. But if Mark was indeed there, the discovery might cost the discoverer, Wood, a whole force of demons.

      
He decided prudently to begin by sending only one or two of the vile creatures. As for attacking Mark personally, he had other ideas about that.

      
Having been aware for some years of the presence of Shieldbreaker in the Tasavaltan arsenal, Wood assumed that the Prince would be coming against him armed with the Sword of Force. Shieldbreaker was undoubtedly the mightiest piece of armament in the world, capable of nullifying the power of any other weapon, even another Sword, that might be deployed against it.

      
With these facts in mind the Ancient One, pleased as he was to be finally holding Wayfinder, took it for granted from the start that any attempt to locate Mark directly by using the Sword of Wisdom was bound to fail.

      
So Wood, on first obtaining the Sword of Wisdom, made only a perfunctory attempt to locate Mark. When that was unsuccessful, he acted rather to locate the wizard Karel, or the Sword Sightblinder, on the assumption that Mark would be found very near that person or object.

* * *

      
When the Ancient One’s small squad of demonic skirmishers attempted to strike at the force from Tasavalta, they would encounter, in fat old Karel, a magician of sufficient stature to beat the attackers off—though not as quickly and effectively as Mark would have been able to repel them.

      
In Karel’s archives, as he was soon explaining to an anxious pair of military officers in his tent, were listed the locations of many demons’ lives. And the old magician gave assurance that he knew how to find out more such locations very quickly, if and when the need arose.

      
Besides, Karel had the power to make things unpleasant for a lot of demons whose lives he lacked the knowledge to terminate—so unpleasant that they would even prefer to incur Wood’s displeasure, rather than persist in this attack.

* * *

      
Wood, observing the fate of his demon skirmishers as closely as he could while still remaining at what he considered the best distance to exercise command, felt reasonably confident that Mark was no longer accompanying his cavalry and his chief magician.

      
Then where was the Prince of Tasavalta? Mark’s archenemy chewed a fingernail, heretofore well-kept, and pondered.

      
Wherever the Prince might be, Wood felt sure that he would be armed not only with the Sword of Force, but also with the Sword of Stealth. Such a combination would make a formidable antagonist out of the veriest weakling; in the hands of a warrior like Mark, the effect was bound to be overwhelming, against all but the strongest and most crafty defense.

      
Well, Wood considered that he was ready.

      
In less than a minute, before Wood’s demons could begin their serious attack, even before most of the Tasavaltan force had been made aware of the impending threat, Karel’s magic had slain or dispersed the handful of magical skirmishers.

      
But the confrontation, once begun, continued between Mark’s uncle and the Ancient One. The two commenced sparring at long range.

      
Wood had long wanted to test directly the occult strength of Kristin’s overweight uncle. Now, having at last made immediate contact, the Ancient One had grudgingly to admit that, although he felt confident of being able to wear this veteran adversary down in time, the struggle was bound to be a long and draining one. Wood did not choose to spare the time and effort to fight it to a conclusion now. He was going to need all his powers to deal with Mark, armed as the Prince must now be.

      
Not that Wood thought Mark was going to represent the ultimate test. The Ancient One had received certain magical indications that his own final success or failure, in his bid to dominate the world, was going to depend upon another confrontation, now still relatively remote.

      
Against the Dark King, and the horde of demons that one could call up? Wood considered it unlikely that his rival Vilkata had really been permanently removed from the scene. But no, not even the Dark King would represent the ultimate challenge.

      
Sooner or later, the Ancient One was thinking now, it would be necessary to concentrate his efforts with the Sword of Wisdom on locating the Emperor, in anticipation of a final combat with that man.

* * *

      
The Lady Yambu, lying on an ebon couch, covered with a white sheet, her head now pillowed on rich fabrics, was being more or less forcibly maintained by her newest captor in a state of responsive consciousness. Finding it necessary to converse with him whether she wanted to or not, she expressed to Wood her surprise that his first questions to the Sword of Wisdom did not seem to have been concerned with establishing his own safety.

      
She asked him the reasons for this lack of caution.

      
He assured the Silver Queen that he scorned to be so timid.

      
“You will understand that, I am sure, my lady. You yourself have never been accused of excessive caution.”

      
“No doubt that is intended as a compliment.”

      
“Of course. I have always regarded you with the greatest respect.” Wood paused, before adding in a low, convincing voice: “I would never have deserted you in your time of need.”

      
“Meaning that the Emperor, who was my husband, did?”

      
“You are the best judge of his behavior in that instance.” Without hesitating, the Ancient One continued: “Support me now, and I will give you real youth. Eternal youth and beauty, a far more lasting change than even Woundhealer will ever be able to provide.”

      
Her head turned on the brocaded pillow. “And Tigris? Did she have the same promise from you?”

      
“What has happened, is happening, to that woman is no secret. But dear lady, I made her no promises. I never found that woman half as interesting as I find you.”

      
“I have no interest in what is happening to her. Now will you let me rest?”

      
“Of course, dear lady. For a time.”

* * *

      
Walking alone, a few moments later, Wood developed a shrewd suspicion: this lady was really trying to find, to rejoin, her former husband. Though he thought it doubtful that the Silver Queen herself was fully aware of her own motivation.

      
Perhaps he, Wood, ought to announce his readiness to help her in this quest. Because he really wanted to find the Emperor too.

      
On an impulse drawing Wayfinder, Wood took time out from his immediate struggle to command that Sword to guide him to the Great Clown.

      
The Sword’s reaction was simply to point straight down to the spot of earth on which Wood was standing. He could readily find one interpretation of this answer: If he remained where he was, the Emperor would come to him.

      
Of course there were other possibilities. “Am I to dig into the earth? I hope not. Or do you simply mean that I must wait? Faugh! The secrets of the gods are welded into this bar of metal, and all I can do is ask questions like any other supplicant, and hope, and wait!”

      
Faced with this behavior by the Sword of Wisdom, the Ancient One began to wonder if his calculations regarding Mark’s behavior could have been wrong.

      
He wondered also whether it might be the Emperor, instead of Mark, who was now armed with Shieldbreaker.

      
When Wood tried to locate Mark directly, Wayfinder became as inert as any farmer’s knife.

* * *

      
Wood, who had also taken possession of Woundhealer on entering the camp, was considering that he might eventually want to trade that treasure for a Sword he wanted more—though he would dislike having to give up the Sword of Healing, having certain uses for it in mind.

      
He thought that the next time he talked with Yambu, he would elicit some comment from her on the subject of trading Woundhealer.

Chapter Fifteen

      
Mark in a grim mood kept riding forward. The country through which he traveled was largely desert, and for a time remained almost flat. The land got rougher as he drew closer to a river’s rocky gorge.

      
He had now been traveling alone, ahead of the advancing column of Tasavaltan cavalry, for more than a full day.

      
The Prince had had no conscious contact with anyone, friend or foe, since he had separated from his hundred picked troopers, from Karel, the assistant magicians, and the rest of the fast-moving force.

      
On parting from his friends, Mark had ridden for a short time without drawing either Sightblinder or Shieldbreaker. But rather soon the Prince decided that he had better not advance any farther without having in hand one of his two Swords—or, better, both of them.

      
Mark wanted to have the Sword of Stealth in hand before he was seen by the enemy’s reptile scouts.

      
And he wanted to draw Shieldbreaker before coming within range of any enemy weapons.

      
Since leaving Karel behind, the Prince had several times sensed the power of contending magical forces, and he realized that something might be happening to delay his uncle and the cavalry. But even with Sightblinder in hand to enhance his powers of observation, he had been unable to perceive the details of the magical combat between Karel and Wood, or of Karel and Wood’s demons.

      
Mark supposed that, barring such magical hindrance, his Tasavaltan escort ought to be not much more than a couple of hours behind him.

      
Carrying Sightblinder drawn for protection deprived Mark of information he might otherwise have received from scouting birds and made him unable to send winged couriers to his friends. Confronted by magic powerful enough to deceive humans, the birds, with their limited intelligence, could hardly be expected to disregard the visual image—they would either perceive Mark as some fearful presence, and refuse to approach him, or they would see him as some beloved object—another bird, he supposed, or a favorite handler—not the two-legged master for whom they had been trained to carry messages and fight.

      
Thus on occasion, when he saw a friendly messenger in the air, Mark risked sheathing Sightblinder again.

      
Under these conditions, the Prince had received indications that Wood himself was now somewhere in this general area. The most recent of these communications was a note from Ben, explaining that the Blue Temple force had been destroyed, and its camp taken over by an expedition under the command of Tigris.

* * *

      
Mark observed several flying reptiles at irregular intervals of time. Their paths in the sky converged at a place no very great distance ahead of him. This fact warned the Prince that he was almost certainly closely approaching some enemy; from this point on he rode with the two Swords continually drawn.

      
And now the subtle blending of their two powerful magics, Shieldbreaker in his right hand, Sightblinder in his left, both Swords more fully activated than when he had tried them in Karel’s presence, gave Mark strange, exotic feelings of power and glory. Wave after wave of giddiness threatened to unbalance him in his saddle. His uncle’s warnings clamored in his memory, but Mark forcibly put them from his mind—just now, both of his Swords were necessary.

      
Old Karel had more than once cautioned him that these, like other forms of power, could be addictive. Not that Mark had needed the warning; he had long been old enough to understand that for himself.

      
The Prince retained a firm faith that Shieldbreaker’s protection would hold absolutely against any spells or other attacks that Wood might launch personally, or might order to be made by others.

      
As Mark grew closer to the enemy, the powers slumbering in the Sword of Force awoke and made a tapping sound. He knew that this noise signaled a hostile presence, somewhere close enough to represent an immediate danger.

      
Now and again, as Mark moved forward, the dull sound arose, only to sink back almost to inaudibility. In the circumstances, knowing the power of this Sword, the Prince found the faint noise more comforting than alarming.

      
As when the duel commenced between Karel and Wood, Mark’s experienced senses provided him with a vague but disturbing warning of evil magic, strange presences, nearby. He could feel these groping in the air around him, and then withdrawing thwarted.

* * *

      
Wood, on taking over the camp established by Tigris, had quickly reorganized its layout and defenses.

      
The Ancient One now occupied a blue and silver pavilion in the center of an elaborate and heavily safeguarded bivouac.

      
The powers, human and inhuman, who had come here with the treacherous young enchantress had all by now been formally charged with incompetence or worse. Every one of them had now been taken away in chains, or the magical equivalent thereof.

      
Having, as he thought, magical capabilities to spare, and no real concern for problems of logistics, the Ancient One had also set out to make this facility luxurious.

      
In the few moments he thought he could spare from more immediate concerns, he studied the condition of his prisoner Yambu, and talked with her on several subjects.

      
The Ancient One, with the help of several subordinates, was also conducting, or preparing to conduct, experiments with some new magical techniques. He nursed at least feeble hopes that these would enable him to get around the defense posed by the Sword of Force.

      
But it did not take long to confirm his most gloomy auguries regarding the new methods. These were doomed to fail as absolutely as any other inferior magic ever set in opposition to a Sword.

      
He was angry, but he had really expected no other result.

      
“It is no use,” he admitted, his voice descending to a quiet rasp of rage. “Shieldbreaker’s protection remains absolute.”

      
These new techniques had required some human sacrifice, and the Director had been chosen. The Lady Yambu had asked whether she was being considered as a candidate, and Wood had looked pained at the suggestion.

      
The Ancient One did truly regret that Tigris was not currently available in his camp, so that she could do him a final service as the sacrifice.

      
It would be hard, he thought, to imagine anything more satisfactory than watching her be fed slowly to a demon—unless of course he should manage to lay his hands on Woundhealer and Tigris together. Then new possibilities would open. He would be able to treat her, after all, to that little vacation in one of his remote strongholds for which she had once so eagerly expressed a wish…

      
Yes, Wood already missed his little comrade, and he was going to miss her more. Oh, if only she had remained loyal to him a little longer! It was unsatisfying to have the decision on when to end a relationship taken out of one’s hands, so to speak.

* * *

      
Wood talked with Brod, and in the course of this discussion he formally enlisted the Sarge as one of his followers.

      
Brod groveled in gratitude.

      
“You may demonstrate your thankfulness by performing a certain mission for me. Do this job well, and I will give you something more important.”

      
“Anything my Master commands!”

      
“I want you to seek out a certain woman—you will be given her approximate location, and magical means by which you will be able to certainly identify her—and bring her back here, to me, for my personal attention. You need not be too concerned about her sensibilities while she is in your charge.”

      
“I take your meaning, Master.”

      
“I think I made it plain enough.”

* * *

      
Ben, forced to seek shelter almost continually, had been able to make little or no progress to the north. But he kept trying.

      
On rounding a bend in a path that wound its way through scrubby forest, he suddenly came upon a vision that stopped him in his tracks—he was confronting a young woman, tall and strong, with clear blue eyes and bright red hair, who stood regarding him steadily.

      
It was Ariane, his long-lost love.

      
Intellectually, Ben knew better. He realized almost at once that he had really encountered Mark, carrying the Sword Sightblinder, so that the Prince must appear to his old friend, as to anyone else he met, as some object of overwhelming love or fear.

      
Knowing well the powers of Sightblinder, and also that Mark would almost certainly have armed himself with the Sword of Stealth, Ben had braced himself mentally for such a moment. Still the shock was almost overwhelming.

* * *

      
Mark, on seeing his friend turn pale, and sit down as if his knees had betrayed him, sheathed Sightblinder, and advanced to offer words of greeting and reassurance.

      
In a minute Ben had pulled himself together, had given Mark the bad news about the loss of Zoltan and the Sword of Healing, and was ready for whatever had to be done next.

* * *

      
The Prince took a turn at walking, loaning weary Ben his riding-beast for an hour or two. In this manner the pair headed south again. Mark told Ben that he had been for some time reasonably certain that an enemy camp was not far, because he had observed the converging reptile flight-paths.

      
Ben confirmed that the lost Sword of Healing had been carried that way too.

      
At dusk, advancing cautiously, the two men observed sparks of firelight ahead, suggesting the presence of a camp.

      
Taking counsel together, the two experienced warriors decided that, armed as they were with Swords, they stood an excellent chance of being able to launch a successful raid without waiting for the arrival of the Tasavaltan troop and Karel.

      
Mark emphasized: “If Wood is indeed in this camp, I want to get my hands on him before he has a chance to fly off with the Sword I need.”

      
Ben raised a hand to silence him. Someone was approaching.

* * *

      
Valdemar had been forced to leave the injured Delia in an abandoned hut, which at least offered shelter against the intermittent cold rain, while he sought help.

      
Even in the gathering dusk, he quickly recognized Ben’s hulking figure.

      
But standing beside Ben … in that first moment … was an almost-forgotten horror out of Valdemar’s own childhood, a faceless figure of which he could be certain only that it was frightful.

      
And in the next moment, even as he recoiled in horror, the young giant beheld the image of horror replaced by one of his beautiful wife to be … and then that form faded too. Beside Ben there was only a tall man, sheathing what appeared to be a Sword.

      
In a few moments introductions had been made, and explanations begun. From Valdemar Mark soon heard, in a drastically condensed version, the story of how the woman who had been Tigris was now lying in an abandoned hut, reformed and injured, in dire need of help.

      
Valdemar in the course of this relation reported how Tigris had abducted him from this site, and mentioned the loss of Wayfinder.

      
Ben expressed his doubts. “You think she’s reformed, young one? Maybe her magic’s been taken away, but I’ll shed no tears for that. It’s some kind of trickery she’s worked upon you.”

      
“It’s not!”

      
Quickly and firmly the Prince squelched this argument. There was no time for quarreling now. Even if the situation was in fact just as Valdemar described it, he, Mark, could not, would not, go off on a tangent now to help some woman in distress, however deserving she might be.

      
And then the Prince made a plea of his own. “Help me now, Valdemar. Help Ben to guard me against attackers when we invade this camp, and I swear that I in turn will help you as soon as I can. With all the power of Tasavalta, and of the Swords, that I can bring to bear.”

      
The towering youth let out a sound of frustration, something between a sigh and a snort. “I must accept your offer, Prince. It seems I have no choice.”

      
Mark decided that they would not attack the camp till dawn, giving them all a chance to eat and rest. He shared out the food from his saddlebags. Before bedding down for the night, Mark and Ben discussed tactics with the inexperienced Valdemar. The two veterans made the point that the only enemy tactic they really had to worry about, whatever forces might oppose them here, was that of people deliberately disarming themselves and then hurling themselves on the Prince who carried Shieldbreaker.

      
Valdemar nodded; the theory of the situation was easy enough to comprehend. As for putting it into practice: “I will do the best I can.”

      
“Can’t ask for any more than that.”

* * *

      
In the first gray light of dawn, the three men soon came close enough to Wood’s encampment to hear the sounds of people stirring, and smell the smoke of campfires.