The Last Book Of Swords : Shieldbreaker’s Story (19 page)

* * *

      
In the hours since the first news of the disaster had reached the Prince and Princess, the couple had endeavored to keep up each other’s hopes regarding their younger son, still unaccounted for in Sarykam. Their best grounds for optimism lay in the facts that Stephen was more often than not level-headed and responsible for his age—and that he had been granted access to the Swords.

      
The mother and father of Prince Stephen, once more scanning the skies together waiting, hoping, for the next messenger-bird to appear in the sunset skies, repeatedly assured each other how good it was that they had given their young son that much of a chance.

* * *

      
Holding frequent, almost continuous consultation with his Princess, Mark, since the news had arrived, had been making plans—most of them, so far, necessarily only tentative. Which way would Vilkata move now? Was a fresh assault to be expected upon some other part of the realm?

      
He was also trying to lay the groundwork for effective countermeasures, as more reports about Vilkata’s assault, each in itself fragmentary, reached him. But there was as yet almost nothing he could do, beyond sending warning to everyone with whom he was able to communicate by messenger, that the Mindsword was in the city and the place must therefore be avoided.

      
Mark most especially wondered what had happened to the Swords in his armory.

      
It began to be possible for Mark to believe the rumor he had heard concerning the Mindsword. Though Skulltwister had undoubtedly been present last night in the capital, Vilkata was no longer pressing his attack with the enthusiasm that might have been expected had the Blade of Glory been still available. Of course, the Prince dared not disregard the possibility that the horror could be reimposed at any moment.

      
And Mark’s and Kristin’s worries continued unabated regarding Stephen, as well as Mark’s parents, Jord and Mala, who had been the only other members of his immediate family in Sarykam at the time of the latest attack.

Chapter Fifteen

      
Moments after Stephen had shouted his last order at them, Amintor and his search party had departed from the walled garden in the middle of the ravaged city, leaving the young Prince alone with the still-befuddled wizard, Karel.

      
Stephen, still enduring the renewed burden of a Sword in each hand, stood staring with perplexity at his Great-Uncle, who gazed back at him—rather, at a spot just over Stephen’s head—with all the solemnity of confident worship. The young Prince was about to appeal to Coinspinner for help in dealing with this problem when the Sword of Chance suddenly twitched of its own accord. Then it tugged again, the direction unmistakable. It was guiding Stephen to one of the side gates in the garden wall.

      
Both hands still filled with black-hilted magic, Stephen stepped unsteadily along the indicated course and leaned on the gate to open it. Looking out into an alley, he saw two people half a dozen meters away, both of them frozen in watchful attitudes. Their faces, turned toward him, were studies in controlled fear. Immediately Stephen recognized his cousin Zoltan, a sturdy, brown-haired young man of twenty-four, and the Lady Yambu, a gray but relatively youthful fifty-three. Both were armed and on foot, wearing common pilgrim gray.

      
Over the past several years Yambu and Zoltan had developed a relationship resembling that of mother and son. They had been out of Tasavalta a great deal, often traveling together on one pilgrimage or another. Meanwhile they had remained on close and friendly terms with Prince Mark and the rest of Mark’s family, and it was not surprising that both of them had been in the vicinity of Sarykam when Vilkata’s latest attack fell upon the city.

      
Karel, now doubly deluded, trying to be watchful and protective of his great Master, had followed Stephen to the gate, and was frowning out over his shoulder.

      
The four people held their tableau for a long, silent moment in which Sightblinder helped assure Stephen that neither his cousin nor the lady were Mindsword-converts. But the lad quickly realized that they might well be seeing him as Vilkata and trying to play the role of faithful slaves.

* * *

Actually Yambu’s first look at Stephen had shown her the image of the Emperor; but then that form shifted, back and forth, in swift alternation with Vilkata’s. At the same time, Sightblinder’s magic held her enthralled, prevented her from realizing the scope of its deception. Understanding little more than the fact that something magical and out of the ordinary was taking place, she glared back proudly at the latest image of the Emperor, and stubbornly refused to speak.

      
Zoltan was seeing the Dark King too, but interspersed with fleeting glimpses of a certain mermaid, a creature of importance in his past. Stephen’s cousin, quietly stunned, like Lady Yambu remained silent for the moment.

      
Stephen, naturally enough, was first to recover from his surprise. Fiercely he ordered Karel to go and stand guard at the other end of the garden, the far side of the grounds surrounding Ben’s ruined house—then the young Prince put aside Sightblinder long enough to joyfully disillusion his newly-arrived friends.

      
Before the three could do more than begin to exchange greetings, the elder wizard was coming back from the other end of the garden. Karel, obviously reluctant to leave his Master in what he perceived as a situation of potential danger, came near disobeying orders, and returned so swiftly that Stephen barely had time to grab up Sightblinder again.

      
As he rejoined the small group, Karel looked suspiciously and anxiously at Stephen’s companions, and to his Master openly expressed his doubts that these people were really true faithful converts like himself.

      
The young Prince hesitated. He did not dare reveal his true identity to Karel lest the old man try to kill him, as the armorer had done-and—Karel was vastly more formidable.

      
After some argument he persuaded the old man to move away again, long enough for a hasty, whispered conversation to take place concerning him. It was obvious that much craft and energy would have to go into the job of managing the old wizard until he recovered from the Mindsword’s lingering influence. There was no known way, as far as any of his three friends knew, to hasten the recovery.

      
It was Yambu who came up with what seemed a good suggestion. Stephen, speaking in Vilkata’s name, ordered Karel to mix himself a strong sleeping potion and drink it. “Something that will make you sleep for twenty-four hours.”

      
Karel, though frowning, was unable to resist obeying a direct and forceful command from his Great Lord. Stephen’s Great-Uncle mixed the potion as commanded, dutifully conjuring up the necessary materials, along with a crystal cup, apparently out of nothing.

      
Having quaffed the draught, the elder, his eyelids already sagging, was put to sleep in a sheltered place under one of the broken walls of Ben’s house, in what his friends hoped would be safety, until he should waken, they hoped, in his right mind.

      
“Will he be all right there?” Stephen asked, leaning against a half-ruined wall. He was feeling an immense relief at having someone he could talk to.

      
Yambu shrugged. “We can only hope so. What else could we do with him?”

* * * * * *

      
Half a minute later, Stephen, with a profound sigh of relief, gave his two Swords temporarily into the care of his two friends, and sat down to rest his psyche and his body alike.

      
There was no question in his mind about one thing: He had been simply unable to deal any longer with the pressure of carrying two Swords. If he hadn’t lost Shieldbreaker, he might have been forced to abandon it—to hide it on the slim chance he, or someone, could retrieve it before the Dark King’s magic succeeded in discovering the now-ownerless Sword.

      
Dusk was deepening, and the three were busy comparing notes on recent events, when there came another movement at the garden gate, a cautious opening. The young Prince grabbed up Sightblinder again, then relaxed when the massive figure of Ben of Purkinje came into view. Stephen realized that Coinspinner was still at work for him, bringing him further reinforcement.

      
Ben, cautiously entering the garden of his own ruined house and coming in sight of the occupants, stopped in his tracks as if he had sustained some heavy blow. He saw Stephen’s image transformed into that of a red-haired young woman, tall and strong, and for a soul-shaking moment it was possible for the huge man to believe that his long-lost Ariane was not dead after all.

      
It was not the first time that the Sword of Stealth had played him such a cruel trick, and in another moment or two he was able to greet his friends in a normal voice.

* * *

      
Karel had obeyed to the letter the command of his Master (as he thought) to put himself to sleep for a full day; but his need to protect and serve that Master actively soon brought the old man to his feet, sleepwalking. Unnoticed by his three friends, now deep in conversation at a little distance, the elder wizard, obviously in the grip of some purpose which transcended sleep, walked out of the garden by another exit, and away.

* * * * * *

      
Meanwhile, the young Prince was congratulating himself and entertaining his new gathering of friends with the story of how he had swindled Baron Amintor out of the Sword Coinspinner, and had effectively gotten rid of Amintor and his search party—at least for the time being.

      
Coinspinner had not failed to provide the little band with food. A root cellar under Ben’s house, and a small icehouse in his garden, had both been spared demonic vandalism.

      
But hours were passing and there was only limited time for self-congratulation. Stephen and his friends, finding themselves fortuitously armed with two Swords, now had to determine the best way to put Coinspinner and Sightblinder to work.

      
Zoltan opened the serious conference by suggesting that they carry the pair of god-forged weapons to Stephen’s royal parents as quickly and by as direct a route as possible—Ben ought to know where Mark and Kristin were most likely to be found.

      
But Ben was already shaking his head. He had ominous and urgent news to relate, eyewitness reports of Vilkata’s hostage-taking.

      
This seemed important enough to compel a change of plan.

* * *

      
Stephen and his friends, still benefitting from Coinspinner’s untiring influence, had not got much further with their talk when a messenger reached them from the Prince and Princess—a night-flying scout, a great owl dispatched from village headquarters, discovered their whereabouts in the city.

      
While the bird rested and ate, Ben took the opportunity to indite a short message laden with good news, written in code and addressed to Stephen’s parents. The note informed Kristin and Mark that their son had been located, that Sightblinder and Coinspinner were available, and that the destruction of the Mindsword had now been definitely confirmed.

      
Soon the messenger, somewhat rested, was urged on its way. Still, there could be no thought of merely waiting now for orders from Mark and Kristin. The need was urgent to do something about the hostage situation, and orders sent from headquarters might never get through.

      
But everyone in the garden needed a rest before undertaking any substantial tasks. Stephen in particular was grimy and bleary-eyed from digging in the ruins of his grandparents’ house and had suffered burned fingers on both hands in the effort to save their lives; his legs and ankles were scratched from climbing through the rubble, his right shoulder had been wrenched by last night’s Swordplay, and then Coinspinner, before coming into Stephen’s possession, had twisted his ankle, enough to keep him from walking easily or far.

      
The lad had put in rather more than a full day’s hard work in the armory even before the attack fell on the palace, and had enjoyed only brief periods of real rest since then.

      
Now and then pangs of guilt still assailed Stephen over the fact that he had lost one of the Swords, perhaps the most important, to the enemy. But each time he forced himself to try to think the matter through clearly and logically, telling himself that he had done the best he could manage at the time.

* * *

      
In the hours before dawn—the messenger had been perilously delayed en route-—Prince Mark and Princess Kristin received the happy news of Stephen’s safety and confirmation of the Mindsword’s destruction.

      
Prince and Princess happened to be awake when the good news arrived because people from an outlying farm had come to the village shouting, pleading, seeking Woundhealer’s blessing on a scalded child. This victim was no casualty of Vilkata’s attack, but only of domestic accident, a broken table-leg, a falling pot. Even in the midst of war, the other terrors of life went on.

      
While Mark and the cavalry remained suspiciously on guard against some trickery, Kristin drew the Sword of Love. As always with Woundhealer, the healing was swiftly and easily accomplished.

      
The child, relieved of pain, shock, and disfigurement, contentedly fell asleep. The grateful parents could not be as easily sent away. In fervent voices the man, named Bodker, and his wife Alta, praised and blessed the Prince and Princess, and the Sword the royal couple had brought among their people.

      
Kristin, more at ease than her husband in such situations, walked with the parents outside the cottage. Left alone again for the moment, Mark stared with a bitter smile at the Sword of Healing in his hand—one Sword which was never going to do the least harm to any of his enemies. Still, he had come to know the Sword of Love too well not to appreciate the ways in which it could be useful to the fighting man.

* * *

      
With enemy reptiles and demons tending to dominate the sky, flying messengers could now afford the Prince only an intermittent and indirect contact with his son. Messages could be exchanged, some co-ordinated plan of action could be at least outlined. A messenger approaching Stephen and his friends could be as confused by Sightblinder as any human or demonic enemy—but, of course, Coinspinner could help to straighten matters out.

* * *

      
Mark had to assume that Vilkata, with a thousand fanatically helpful converts to call upon, would soon learn to what village his archenemies, the Prince and Princess of Tasavalta, had gone, and when and why. Then—if the Mindsword still existed—the Dark King would soon be marching after them, doing his best to create an avalanche of new converts on the way.

      
But no such attack seemed to have been launched. Another indication, if any were still needed, that Skulltwister had actually been smashed.

      
Still, Mark and Kristin warily decided to continue moving their headquarters repeatedly, perhaps several times a day, keeping in touch with their key people by means of galloping couriers and a small band of flying messengers. Even now, in the village currently occupied by the royal couple, someone was getting the riding-beasts ready for the next relocation.

* * *

      
Meanwhile, with hard information gained, more orders could be dispatched to all the outlying districts of Tasavalta and to any reliable allies in the region. Mark’s new confidence that the Mindsword had been destroyed rendered a general assault with an army on Vilkata’s forces feasible again. Mark and his Princess were both busy, full time, sending reassurance to their people and marshalling troops.