Read Swords: 10 - The Seventh Book Of Lost Swords - Wayfinder's Story Online
Authors: Fred Saberhagen
Swords: 10 - The Seventh Book Of Lost Swords - Wayfinder's Story (25 page)
“Let me see,” said the Emperor. And he bowed to Delia slightly, as if asking her permission for what he was about to do. Then he took her by one hand and turned her, spun her gently, considerately, as if he were the skilled partner of the world’s most graceful dancer. “White? Perhaps white would be best. Why, I see nothing in the least wrong with what you are wearing now.” And with the spinning, in the time it took young legs to dance a step, her stained, frayed garments changed, became a dress, a gown, of purest ivory.
Val would have expected a White Temple priest presiding at a wedding to read from some kind of a book, but instead the Emperor—or Brother White—simply took each of the young people by the hand, held their hands clasped together in his own, and asked them questions about their commitment to each other.
The girl became very solemn for a time when this rather ordinary-looking man looked at her, and spoke to her and to Valdemar.
The setting was a pleasant place, and, true to the morning’s promise, for once it was not raining.
When the ceremony had been concluded, and Valdemar had kissed his bride, he turned to Brother White and said: “Sir, we are young and healthy. We intend to avoid war in the future—so we have no need of either of these Swords that we are carrying. Or, rather, others have greater need of them than we do. And we have had proof, more proof than we needed, that the possession of such treasure can bring disaster as well as healing. So—I want to give them to you.”
Brother White listened carefully, and nodded. “A noble gift, and I thank you. And I am proud to accept. Still, others have greater need than I. So my acceptance must have one condition.”
“Yes sir?”
“That you carry these Swords, which are now mine, with you a little longer. Hand them over to the next person you meet who appears to be in need of their powers.”
Valdemar and Delia nodded. The Emperor waved them on their way.
* * *
Very well pleased to be formally united as man and wife, Delia and Valdemar continued their progress homeward on Brod’s pair of riding-beasts—not hurrying now, but not wasting any time. She had noticed, with no great surprise, that as soon as she and her husband were alone again her wedding dress had turned into clothes very much resembling her own garments, but not worn or grimy.
They pressed on. At times when the way ahead still seemed long and difficult, Valdemar reminded his new bride and himself that he had come on foot, in no very great number of days, from his home to this region; and that they therefore ought to have no great trouble walking home again. Especially not with the Sword of Stealth to guard them on their way.
* * *
The land around them had become more hospitable, and there were increasing signs of human habitation, and Valdemar had begun to ride with Sightblinder sheathed instead of drawn. Perhaps he had also begun to lose a little of his alertness. He was halfway across a narrow bridge, spanning a small stream, when he raised his eyes to see Ben of Purkinje, armed and mounted, waiting for him on the west bank.
Val slowed his riding-beast, and put a hand to the black hilt at his side.
He hoped devoutly that Delia would know what to do—to stay in concealment where she was, back on the east bank. They had not yet entirely foresaken caution as they traveled.
The bridge was a single great log, carved flat on its upper surface. The brisk stream splashed and gurgled underneath. Speaking a little more loudly than was strictly necessary, Valdemar called out: “Ben. Surprised to meet you here.”
The ugly face smiled faintly. “Can’t say I’m that surprised to meet you. Matter of fact, a lot of us have been out looking for you—and for a couple of Swords—and for a certain woman—ever since we won the battle.”
“I was sure our side had it won. Else I would not have left.” Even as Valdemar spoke the words, he wondered if they were strictly true. Urging his mount slowly forward, he halted again when he came close to Ben, who with his riding-beast was almost blocking the west end of the span. Then Val looked around. “Are you alone?”
“I wanted to talk to you about that,” Ben said mildly, and reined his mount back slightly from the narrow path, giving Val plenty of room to pass. Val urged his own steed forward. A moment later, just as Val was passing, Ben seized him round the waist, and dragged him from the saddle, gripping him fiercely to keep him from drawing any weapon.
* * *
Delia came cantering briskly across the narrow bridge with Sightblinder raised to defend her husband.
At the sound of hoofbeats, Ben looked up; and what he saw momentarily paralyzed him.
Before he could recover, Val had knocked him out.
* * *
When Ben came to himself—with the feeling of just having made a magically quick and complete recovery—he found himself sitting beside the little path. Valdemar, a Sword in his huge right hand, was standing looking down at him.
Obviously the couple were packed up and in the act of moving on; the sound of a woman’s voice came from somewhere just out of Ben’s sight around the next bend of the path, as if she were gently fussing with a couple of riding-beasts.
Ben’s own mount was waiting patiently, just beside him.
“Where is she?” Ben leaped to his feet, looking around.
“Who?”
“Ariane. I saw her here…” His voice trailed off, as some version of the truth dawned on him.
Valdemar shook his huge head. He threw his weapon to the ground, where metal clashed on metal. “One of the two Swords that we are leaving you is Sightblinder.”
“That you are leaving me?” Ben inquired stupidly. Following Val’s gesture, he looked down uncomprehendingly. Two magnificent black-hilted blades lay crossed on the ground in front of him, waiting to be picked up.
“Yes,” said Valdemar. “We are leaving them with you. Chiefly because of a promise we have made. And one of these Swords, I repeat, is Sightblinder.”
“I ought to have expected that.”
“Yes … do you understand now? Whatever woman you thought you saw before I knocked you out was never actually here.”
“Ah.”
“Yes. The woman with me is my wife. And we’re leaving both Swords with you… does the Lady Yambu still live?”
“She does,” said Ben slowly. “And the Prince too.”
“Good. I hoped Mark was going to survive. Heal them, and heal Mark’s Princess.”
“I will,” said Ben, and let himself sit down again, heavily, in the grass. His legs, so recently touched by the Sword of Healing, were as strong and healthy as they were ever going to be, and yet his sitting down was a collapse. He was going to be all right. He was all right. But some losses even Woundhealer could not restore. Ariane was still gone. Gone forever.
At a little distance he could hear Valdemar mounting, and then the two animals moving away, accompanied by the voices of their riders. But for some considerable time Ben of Purkinje only sat where the givers of gifts had left him, staring at his magnificent paired Swords.
About The Author
Fred Saberhagen is widely published in many areas of speculative fiction. He is best known for his Berserker, Swords, and Dracula series. Less known are the myth based fantasies: Books of the Gods. Fred also authored a number of non-series fantasy and science fiction novels and a great number of short stories. For more information on Fred visit his website: www.fredsaberhagen.com
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