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inventory of Swords. There was of course Soulcutter Murat experienced a faint internal shudder at the mere thought of that Sword, though he had never seen it in action, even from a safe distance. He'd heard that the Silver Queen, who'd used it once, had spent most of her years since then on one religious pilgrimage after another. Murat knew that Soulcutter had beaten the Mindsword at least once before. But on that occasion, an open confrontation between armies, the two Blades had never been brought into actual physical opposition. The Crown Prince had no idea which might prevail if that were to happen. And Coinspinner, which had so recently been his, might one day be his again. That Sword came and went as if by its own random preference, and no human being, it seemed, could do anything to keep it once it chose to leave. The Sword of Chance would probably provide anyone who held it with the good luck necessary to stay out of the Mindsword's sphere of influence; and Coinspinner was also capable of inflicting bad luck, sometimes disastrously bad, upon its owner's enemies. The Sword of Mercy could give protection against injury or death to anyone who held it. And it could heal even the wounds, otherwise practically incurable, inflicted by the Mindsword when it was used as a physical weapon. The last of the six Swords still somewhere out there in the world was Farslayer. Enough to say of the Sword of Vengeance that it could unerringly strike the Mindsword's holder, or any other target, when thrown from any distance. No defense was effective except of course that provided by Shieldbreaker. Neither Kristin not Murat could guess who now held Farslayer. Keeping an eye out for more Tasavaltan cavalry, Murat urged his steed to a faster pace. He and his followers still had a considerable distance to go to reach the boundaries of Culm. TEN PRINCE Mark and his single companion were still some hours' ride west of the Tasavaltan border when the small winged messenger from Sarykam, having located the Prince, came spiraling and crying down toward him, a tiny black omen falling out of a vast gray sky. file:///F|/rah/Fred%20Saberhagen/Saberhagen,%2...Lost%20Swords%206%20-%20Mindswords%20Story.txt (48 of 115) [2/4/03 9:54:51 PM] file:///F|/rah/Fred%20Saberhagen/Saberhagen,%20Fred%20-%20Lost%20Swords%206%20-%20Mindswords%20Story.txt The Prince reined in. "Ben!" he called in a cautious voice. At the same time he held out his left arm to make a perch for the small courier. The huge man who had been riding a few meters ahead of Mark along the narrow trail turned at the call, then tugged his own mount to a halt and watched the messenger descend. Of the two riders, both still under forty, the Prince was slightly younger, somewhat taller, and much less massive, though certainly robust enough by any ordinary standard. Both men had time to dismount before the spiraling, skittish messenger ceased to fly in circles and came to perch upon the Prince's wrist. Having alighted at last, the small feathered creature stuttered in its inhuman, birdlike voice that it was carrying a written communication to the Prince from the wizard Karel. "Mark, Mark, are you Mark?" it demanded boldly of the man who stroked its head, as if it might even now be able to withhold its burden from an impostor. "I am Mark you know it, wretched beast you must have seen me around the palace since you were a hatchling. Hold still and let me have the message!" And the Prince of Tasavalta reached for the tiny leather pouch and slipped its belt off over the creature's head. Ben made no comment, but lumbered closer, openly positioning himself to look over the Prince's shoulder and read the message as soon as it should be unfolded. The written words, in old Karel's familiar script, were few. Mark's magician-uncle urgently and tersely urged him to abandon all other projects, whatever they might be, and get home as soon as possible. The phrasing hinted at tragic happenings in Tasavalta, though clearly reassuring Mark that there had been no death in the royal family. What had actually gone wrong was not spelled out, against the possibility that the message might fall into the wrong hands. Ben, having read the message, grunted and said nothing. Mark made no comment either, but folded the paper briskly and stuck it in his pocket. Then he tossed the winged creature back into the air, calling after it: "Tell the old one I am coming, as quickly as I can." "Pardon, Prince, but I must rest!" the winged one squawked. "Come back and rest, then, on my saddle, or behind me if you can. It seems that I must ride." And Mark swung himself up into the saddle again. Moving homeward once more, no faster than before upon a mount already tired, he absently dug out food and water from his saddlebags for the messenger. Ben, silent and gloomy, was now riding close beside him once again. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |
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