The Sword Bearer (6 page)

A sudden thought crossed his mind. Could he be in the woods he had dreamed about? It was a pleasing idea, and it injected hope into the situation. If he was in the woods he dreamed about, then he was the Sword Bearer. And if he was the Sword Bearer, something was certain to happen before long. He extended his left hand straight ahead into the darkness, groping to find what was ahead. Two more steps and his fingers brushed something solid. A tree trunk

A sudden stirring of the breeze brought to his ears the unmistakable sound of swaying branches and rusding leaves. He was in a forest But was it the forest of his dream? He caught his breath as yet another idea occurred to him. If he were in
that
forest, if he were the Sword Bearer,
then there would be a scabbard on his left side,
a scabbard into which he could insert the sword the Changer had given him.

For a moment he did nothing. For some reason he could not have explained, he wanted the scabbard to be there. But what if he was about to be disappointed?

He felt for his blazer, and his heart leapt as he discovered he was no longer wearing it. Instead of the familiar flannel, his fingers encountered the velvet Then as his downward-groping hand encountered the rough solidity of the scabbard, he gave a cry of delight Trembling, he lifted the sword and in the darkness both felt and heard it slide into the scabbard with a ringing
shish
and a click He was exultant He
was
in the same foresL And he was the Sword Bearer. Excitedly he fingered his velvet clothing. Once again his legs were bare except for the long crisscrossed thongs of his sandals.

Both his hands were now free. Holding them in front of him to protect his face from tree branches, he continued to make his way cautiously forward. A twig cracked loudly and he stopped. He glanced around, uncertain what to do. No twig had cracked under his own feet The sound had come from his right The wind had dropped and silence and blackness still wrapped him round. He could hear the air in his own nostrils.

Yet he knew he had heard the twig crack. What was it? He strained his ears and eyes. He thought he could make out the dim shape of trees, but he could not be sure.

"Hello! Is anyone there?" he said softly. There was no response. Gathering his courage he called out more firmly, "Hello! Hello there! Where are you?" But his words were swallowed by the oppressive stillness.

After a few seconds he groped his way forward again. From time to time the breeze stirred the leaves around him and he strained his ears to distinguish any other sounds of movement. Once he tripped over a root, stubbing his toe and narrowly avoided falling. Then suddenly he froze. He was sure this time. Something or someone
was
following him. A cold trickle of perspiration made its way slowly down his back

"I can hear you!" he called out loudly. "Who are you?"

For a moment nothing happened. Then his legs doubled from a hard blow to the backs of his knees. A heavy mass struck his chest and with a startled yell he crashed backward to the ground, the breath knocked out of him by his fall and by the ponderous weight on top of him. Hands seized his arms and legs, and course ropes bound them painfully together. He could hear the heavy breathing of more than one assailant and struggled fiercely at the feel of the ropes. But his struggles were useless. With surprising efficiency his captors quickly trussed him into helpless inactivity.

"Light the lamp!" a gruff voice ordered. There was the sharp sound of a flint being struck Then a second or two later the soft yellow light of an oil lantern lit the long beards and the rugged faces of two Matmon. They stared at him from above, John on his back, and the Matmon standing beside him, one of them holding the lamp high.

Bildreth knelt beside John, fumbling with John's belt and pulling belt, scabbard and sword from him. John's lips were pressed tightly together. He was both frightened and enraged. He never knew what made him say it, but suddenly the words came with surprising firmness and clarity, "The Sword Bearer and his sword cannot be separated for long. And those who try to separate them meet an ugly fate!"

Bildreth struck him sharply across the mouth, glaring hatred. Strange as it may seem, the blow drove John's fear away. Though he was bound and helpless, he felt a burning rage. He licked his lips, tasting blood that had already begun to trickle from the side of his mouth. Again he found himself talking, wondering where the impressive words came from. "He who strikes the Sword Bearer will encounter the wrath of the Changer."

Bildreth's arm shot skyward to strike him again, but before the blow could descend, the lantern bearer seized his wrist. "He is bound, Bildreth. And he is the Sword Bearer. Beware lest wrath overtake us. It is enough that we have bound him and taken his sword. Those were our orders. Beware that we meddle not with the great powers. The Lord Lunacy wishes only to speak with him."

Bildreth snatched his wrist from his companion. But he made no further attempt to strike John. Placing his fingers in his mouth, he whistled piercingly. "Folly!" he cried, "come hither!"

John stared at his captors. He could not remember seeing either of them in his dreams. The lamplight shone on their yellow leather jerkins and their bottle-green stockings. Their hair and beards were dark Bildreth was lean and his mouth, twisted and cruel. The lantern bearer was heavy, his stomach ballooning ahead of him. It was the lantern bearer's weight that had pinned John to the ground.

The sound of trotting hooves drew nearer and suddenly a donkey's gray muzzle loomed over John's head. The donkey eyed him with a mournful expression. "I must not presume to question the judgment of the Lord Gutreth," it said in deep and fruity tones, turning to the Matmon with the lantern, "but discretion—ah, I mean—ah—mistakes, as it were—if you take my meaning. No offense?"

"You do what we say and you ask no questions, King Folly," said Gutreth the lantern bearer with a smile. "Pick him up, Bildreth, and place him gently on Folly's back."

With surprising ease Bildreth lifted him, dumping him face downward across the donkey's back His face pressed on the buckle of one of the donkey's saddlebags. He felt both uncomfortable and desperately unsafe. It was hard to breathe and he had the sensation that he would slide to the ground any minute. It was frightening to have no hands with which to hold on.

The donkey repeated endlessly, "Quite so. Quite so. We must respect authority. I know that it is foolish of me even to mention the matter. But we must not put our heads into a noose, must we? Yes, yes, I know. Who am I to make suggestions? Ah, well. Such is life. Young heads on old shoulders. A stitch in time. It's an ill wind, etc., etc., etc."

At any other time John might have been amused by the donkey's endless patter. But at the moment he was more concerned about his extreme discomfort and the helpless sense of being about to tumble off the donkey's back.

By a miracle he did not slide off as they made their way by lantern light along the twisting pathway that led upward. Only Folly the donkey spoke, in a dreary muttered soliloquy which the Matmon ignored. "Matters too high for me, of course. Humpty Dumpty and all that. How great shall be the fall of it. Pride goeth—and so on. I was a fool to say anything ..

At length they stopped and Bildreth lifted John from Folly easily, propping him in a sitting position against a tree. He then began rummaging through the panniers at Folly's side. But a startled cry from Gutreth arrested his movements.

"Hsst!" he cried, pointing. "Is it another, or is it the same? What magic is this?" John followed the direction of the Matmon's finger and perceived in the dimness just beyond the sphere of the lantern light a flat rectangular object that stood alone and erect among the trees. Gutreth approached it cautiously, holding the lantern high. It was a flat gray door bearing the number 345. John could see it was a door because it bore a handle. No wall surrounded it
.
Nothing appeared to support it It led nowhere but stood erect like a sentry on duty.

"It is the same," Gutreth said, turning to John. "It bears the same numbers. What is it doing here?" He stared hard at John. "You drew it here by the power of the Changer, didn't you?" he said, his voice heavy with fear.

John said nothing. He had no idea what the door was, but he could tell that Gutreth was worried. "You came through that door—came through it from nowhere. What lies beyond it?"

So that was it Could it be? He had scarcely looked at the other side of the door through which he had passed and had never seen the outside of it.

"What lies beyond it Sword Bearer?"

John was about to reply, "The Changer is on the other side of that door"—but he changed his mind. "It would be simple enough to find out Why don't you open it?"

Even in the lantern light he could see the pallor on Gutreth's face. Still with his hands on the saddlebag Bildreth laughed. "Afraid, my friend?" he said, addressing Gutreth. Nothing was said for a moment Then slowly Bildreth withdrew his hands from the bag, flipped the leather cover into place and walked to the door.

He hesitated for a moment, then gripped the handle with both hands. At once he screamed and his hands flew into the air as he fell backward to writhe on the ground crying, "My hands! My hands! Oh, Mi-ka-ya! My hands!" But John was staring at the door. For a moment it seemed to wave like a curtain blowing in a breeze. Then it faded from view and disappeared. No sign of it remained.

Bildreth's hands were badly burned, and for several minutes Gutreth, still pale and shaken, anointed them with ointment binding them with linen bandages from one of Folly's saddlebags. Then taking an axe, he strode up an incline behind John. Bildreth followed him, cursing softly as he looked at his bandaged hands.

John stared at Folly. "Who are they?" he said, "And what do they want with me? Where are we, anyway?"

"Where are we? Of course. Exactly. We are—how shall I put it—in a wood, among trees, if you know what I mean—"

"Yes, but what place is this? Does it have a name?"

"Ah yes, a name, how stupid of me. My poor scattered brain. A name you say. The name is Anthropos. You have heard of Anthropos, no doubt?"

John shook his head. "No, but it doesn't matter. What are they going to do with me?"

The donkey rolled his eyes, waggled his ears and sighed. "Wheels within wheels. Plots and counterplots—if you follow me." (John didn't, but he said nothing, hoping that Folly would eventually get to the point.) "We are—how shall I put it—reverting back to Mi-ka-ya, the Changer. Bildreth and Gutreth are against the idea. The Lord Lunacy told them you were coming and told them to capture you, shut you in the cave just above us. They are to cover the mouth of the cave with branches to conceal it. Lord Lunacy wants to talk to you."

He rolled his eyes once more. "We're all kings, you know. I am King Folly, king of all donkeys. My stupidities entitle me to the high dignity. Bildreth and Gutreth are not of royal descent But they are—how shall I say it—entitled to their opinions. Don't you agree?"

John said nothing. After a moment Folly said quietly, "I will tell Vixenia and King Bjorn of your whereabouts. Have no fear. You will be rescued."

There was no time for further conversation for the Matmon returned. This time Gutreth lifted John and within two minutes he had been bundled into a rocky opening in the hillside. Both Matmon remained silent Gutreth released his bonds and the two withdrew, taking their lantern with them. A heavy boulder was rolled against the opening, and for a few minutes John could see chinks of light around it and hear the muffled sounds of the Matmon as they sought to disguise the cave mouth. Then came darkness and silence.

John scrambled to his feet, rubbing his wrists and ankles gently. He groped his way to the cave mouth, felt the coldness of the rock in the entrance and traced the outline of the huge boulder that was rolled against it. For a while he strained his ears for sounds of the Matmon and Folly. But he could hear nothing. Then straining his muscles to the utmost he pushed against the boulder. It rocked a little. Again he pushed and yet again. He began to perspire and breathe hard. Then grunting desperately he strained until his head and heart were pound-ing. But he could move it no farther. The task was beyond him.

Slowly he groped his way farther into the cave. In a few minutes he would explore it by feel. For the moment he would rest. He squatted on the dry sandy floor and leaned against a smooth wall. Curiously, he was not disheartened. His rage had subsided. Somehow Bildreth's injury at the mysterious door, coupled with Folly's remarks, had heartened him. He was not glad that Bildreth had been hurt, but encouraged to know the Changer's power was near. Warm memories of the Changer flooded his mind.

His old shoulder injury, the injury inflicted by Old Nick's crowbar, began to trouble him again. A throbbing ache grew in his shoulder until he winced with pain. Suddenly light danced faintly before his eyes. As he stared, it took shape, forming a tall column, then resolving itself into the giant robed figure of a hideously beautiful man. His deathly pallor iliuminated the floor and walls of the cave. He was exceedingly tall so that his feet rested below the floor, and his head and shoulders could be seen through the rock above the ceiling of the cave. "I am the Lord Lunacy, disturber of moonlight" The voice was cool and musical.

John said nothing. He could feel the slow thumping of his heart, another trickle of cold sweat down his back and the awful stabbing of pain in his left shoulder. He stared at the strange figure before him, wondering why it seemed as though life was being slowly pressed out of him. His mind began to freeze. A power greater than his own was taking control of his thoughts and feelings.

"I am indeed sorry about all that has happened to you," the cool voice continued. "You have had a difficult time—a
very
difficult time."

Suddenly as the words left the lips of the Lord Lunacy, John began to feel sorry for himself. Yes, he had indeed had a difficult time.

"It's such a pity about the Changer," Lord Lunacy went on.