The Seventh Book of Lost Swords : Wayfinder's Story Read online

  For a long moment all three remained silent.

  At last the young farmer—for so his clothing made him appear to be—said: “Greetings.” His voice was soft, but the pair who heard him got the impression that only a conscious effort made it so. “Greetings, in Ardneh’s name.” He was peering closely at the lady, and appeared to be trying to conceal growing disappointment and confusion.

  “And to you,” replied the lady. “May you find peace and truth.” Zoltan at her elbow murmured similar sentiments.

  “My object is entirely peaceful,” the other assured them, gesturing with an enormous hand. He seemed now to be recovering from his initial shock, whatever might have been its cause. He was a head taller than most men, and of massive build, his body carrying a minimum of fat. His clothing, particularly his boots, gave evidence of an extended journey. He carried pack and canteen, as any traveler most likely would. A long, plain, leather sheath belted at his waist, of a size to hold his Sword, looked vaguely as if it should belong to someone else.

  He added: “I am called Valdemar.”

  “I am Yambu,” the woman told him simply. “This is Zoltan, who has chosen to travel with me. We are both pilgrims, of a sort.”

  The young farmer nodded and smiled, acknowledging the information. His hair was dark and curly, his blue eyes mild, flanking an interestingly bent nose. The more one looked at him, the bigger and stronger he appeared.

  “Yambu,” he repeated. “Yes, ma’am.” His eyes moved on. “And you are Zoltan.” Then some memory visibly caught at Valdemar, so that his gaze went back to the silver-haired woman. “An unusual name, ma’am.” he remarked.

  “Mine? Oh yes. And an unusual weapon that you are carrying today, young sir.”

  Perhaps Valdemar flushed slightly; in his weathered face it was hard to be sure. “Lady, in my hands I hope this Sword is something other than a weapon. It has guided me here—to you. Your pardon, lady, if I aim the blade at you again; I promise you I mean no harm.”

  Taking care to remain at a distance well out of thrusting range, Valdemar lifted his Sword’s point again. All three could see distinctly how the fine blade quivered when it was leveled straight toward Yambu.

  The lady did not seem much surprised. “And what desire of yours,” she asked, “does Wayfinder expect me to satisfy?”

  This time there was no doubt that Valdemar was blushing. “I see you know this Sword’s name. So I suppose you know what it is. That should—that ought to—make it easier for me to explain. As I said, my goal is peaceful. I…”

  “Yes?”

  “I am a farmer, lady. Actually I have a vineyard, which I have left untended. And I am looking for a wife.”

  There was a pause.

  “Ah,” said Yambu at last. A thin smile curved her lips. “And you confided this wish to the Sword of Wisdom?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “And the Sword has brought you to me.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “And I am not quite the bride you have been imagining. Well, rest easy in your mind, young man. Were you to make me a proposal of marriage, I would not accept it.”

  “Yes ma’am,” repeated Valdemar. He looked partly relieved and partly chagrined.

  “We must discuss this,” said the lady, “but just now my companion and I face problems of greater urgency. Have you experienced any particular difficulty along the way, in the last day or two of your journey?”

  Valdemar blinked at her. “Difficulty? No. What sort of difficulty? Oh, do you mean bandits?” The young giant smiled faintly. “I never worry much about that sort of thing. And if there were any who saw me, no doubt they kept clear when they saw how I was armed.”

  Zoltan cleared his throat. “No trouble in finding your way through this forest, perhaps? Or in dealing with flying reptiles?”

  Valdemar looked up, concerned; at the moment the sky was free of drifting shadows. “No trouble finding my way; I simply walked the way Wayfinder told me to go. And no reptiles of any kind; I’ve never seen one that could fly.”

  “Any kind of trouble?”

  “None. Well, several times, for no good cause that I could see, the Sword counseled me to change direction. And once, when I saw no reason not to move on, it kept me walking in a tight circle for an hour, so in effect I was held in one location. But nothing that I would call trouble. Why?”

  “Then would you now ask your Sword,” put in Yambu gently, “to put aside for the moment the matter of your bride-to-be, and lead us all three safely out of this damned wildwood?”

  Openmouthed, Valdemar gazed at her for a long moment. Then he nodded.

  * * *

  Less than an hour later all three travelers were resting comfortably at the bottom of another ravine, where a spring of clear water bubbled gently out of a crevice between rocks, and the trees grew just closely enough together to keep all sizable airborne creatures at a safe distance. Yambu and Zoltan had already satisfied their thirst at the spring, and were now refilling their canteens. Valdemar meanwhile had sheathed his elegant weapon and was bringing out generous portions of dried meat and hard bread from his pack.

  Far upslope, too far to be of immediate concern, an ominous, silent shadow drifted overhead, above the canopy of leaves; drifted and came back and went away again, as if it were no longer certain of where its prey might be.

  “Those creatures hunt us, young man,” said Yambu, almost in a whisper. “Leather-wings—and sometimes worse than that. You say you have never seen them before?”

  “I know them only by reputation.” The youthful giant looked vaguely horrified, and at the same time fascinated. But not particularly afraid. “Why do they hunt you?”

  “I believe they are in the service of some much more formidable enemy. Serving as his scouts. Then, too, it is my belief that any of the Twelve Swords tends to draw trouble to itself. And that one you are carrying in particular.”

  “And yet I have asked this Sword only to help me find a bride. And now to guide all three of us to safety.” Valdemar seemed more disappointed, and gently puzzled, than alarmed by Yambu’s reading of their situation.

  “You’ve heard the Song of Swords? You remember how the verse about this one goes?” Zoltan asked him, and without waiting for an answer proceeded to recite in a low voice:

  “Who holds Wayfinder finds good roads

  Its master’s step is brisk.

  The Sword of Wisdom lightens loads—”

  “ ‘—but adds unto their risk,’ “ Valdemar concluded. “Yes, I’ve heard that song since I was a child. Never thinking…”

  The gigantic youth let the matter drop. Then he looked at the silver-haired woman again. His gaze was timid, but resolute. “I can remember hearing, long ago,” he remarked, “of a lady named Yambu, who was once known as the Silver Queen.”

  She who bore that name ignored the invitation to discuss her past. Having finished filling her canteen, she sat at ease on the mossy bank beside the spring.

  “Zoltan and I thank you for your help, young man,” she said graciously. “Where will you ask your Sword to point you next? And may I ask you just where and how Wayfinder came into your possession?”

  Valdemar looked up at the treetops. “I still seek a wife,” he declared stubbornly. “Why this Sword has led me to you, lady, I confess I do not understand.”

  “There may be an easy explanation. When the object sought is otherwise impossible, or very difficult, to obtain directly, Wayfinder leads its master first to the necessary means to bring the goal within reach. You may be sure the Sword of Wisdom is not suggesting that you propose marriage to me, who could be your grandmother. At least let us hope not. Sword or no, that would be far from wise. Besides, I have no wish to spend my last years growing grapes.”

  “Why, then, has Wayfinder brought me to you?”

  Yambu shook her head. “It would seem that, somehow—I do not know how—I can help you to achieve your goal.”

  Valdemar sighed. More to himself t
han to the others he murmured: “I will now repeat my first request. I want this Sword to lead me to the woman, of all the women on earth, who will be the perfect, the ideal wife for me. Nothing more and nothing less.”

  And he drew Wayfinder from its sheath and held it out again in his great hands.

  Once more the point reacted, quivering, only when it was aimed precisely at the lady.

  Without comment the young giant re-sheathed the Sword of Wisdom at his waist. Giving up the puzzle for the moment, he recounted to his new companions the story of his enigmatic visitor, seven days past.

  He concluded with a question. “Has either of you any idea who my strange caller might have been? It was someone who wore gray, even as you do. That’s all I could really see.”

  Zoltan and Yambu looked at each other. Zoltan shrugged. The lady said: “A number of ideas; but no reason to take any of them seriously.”

  Her young companion nodded. “Certainly it was neither of us, if you are thinking that. A week ago we were nowhere near the region where you say you live. As for wearing gray, uncountable thousands of folk do that. Your own garments have acquired something of that tinge from travel.”

  The bigger young man nodded ruefully. “Then can either of you guess why this Sword should have led me to you?”

  Zoltan only shook his head.

  “I think,” Yambu told Valdemar, “you will have to be patient if you want an answer to that question. It may be that the answer will never become clear, even if you do find your wife.”

  Valdemar took thought, running long fingers through his dark curly hair. A sparse beard was beginning to sprout on his youthful cheeks. Then almost shyly he inquired: “Might it have anything to do with the fact that…as I said before, a lady with your name was once the Silver Queen? But I had thought…”

  Yambu nodded impatiently. “Very well, my history is no great secret. That was once my title. But I don’t know why my past, good or bad, should have anything much to do with a young man who raises grapes and seeks a bride. You would have expected the Silver Queen to be a somewhat younger woman? Hold Soulcutter in your hands, my friend, throughout a day of battle, and you will be fortunate indeed if you do not look worse than I do.”

  Now young Valdemar indeed looked awed. “I apologize, my lady, for what must seem unwarranted curiosity.”

  “No apology is necessary.”

  The peasant-looking youth frowned for a while at the weapon hanging from his belt. Then he said: “Perhaps I must take the Sword’s bringing me to you to mean that I should stay with you until it tells me otherwise. Perhaps it even means that I should turn over Wayfinder and its powers to you.”

  Yambu was frowning too.

  Impulsively Valdemar said: “Let us try that!” In a moment he had unbelted his Sword, and was gallantly proffering the black hilt in her direction, the sheathed Blade balanced flat across his forearm.

  Quietly she responded: “I do not know that you have hit on the right interpretation, young man. But…on the other hand, why should I fear this Sword?”

  Her lips moved again, almost silently. Only Zoltan, who was close beside her, could hear her very low whisper: “Yet I do.”

  A moment later, she was reaching out to firmly grasp Wayfinder’s hilt.

  Having accepted the weapon, and drawn it from its sheath, Yambu stood up straight, her voice becoming a little louder. “It is a long time since I have felt the power of any Sword in my hands. Well, Sword of Wisdom, here you are, and here am I. If you can read my heart, show me the way which I must go to satisfy it.”

  The Silver Queen held out the blade in a strong two-handed grip, then swept it around the horizon, in unconscious imitation of Valdemar’s first gesticulation with the weapon, seven days ago.

  In her hands, Wayfinder’s keen point quivered at one point of the compass only—almost straight east.

  Yambu let the tip of the heavy blade sag to the earth. She said to Valdemar: “I am favored with a definite reply. Now, do you want me to give you this weapon back?”

  To the surprise of both the others, the giant youth put both his hands behind him, as if to make things difficult for anyone who meant to thrust the black hilt back into his possession. He said: “My lady, I wonder…”

  “Yes?”

  “Might the Sword’s response to me mean that I am to stay with you, at least for a time? Travel with you?”

  Yambu thought about it. “It brought you all this way to me. I suppose it might mean something of the sort,” she conceded at length, as if reluctantly.

  “And just now, in your hands, Wayfinder pointed east. Do you know what lies in that direction?”

  Yambu smiled. “Half of the world,” she said.

  Zoltan, with his head tipped back, was leaning alternately to right and left, trying to peer upward through the canopy of leaves. He said: “Some days ago, we two were discussing the question of our destination, the true object of our pilgrimage, in philosophical terms. Then we began to be hunted. Being hunted limits one’s time for philosophical discussion. In the process of trying to escape from the reptiles we became lost. Valdemar, you’ve helped us now to temporary safety. But as a practical matter, I must say that our next goal, whether east or west, ought to be some place of greater security. Somewhere completely out of the ken of those whose creatures stalk and harry us.”

  Valdemar looked from one to the other of his new companions, trying to assess the situation. There was no doubting the reality of those drifting shadows that kept reappearing no very great distance up the hill.

  “And who might your enemies be?” he asked with concern.

  “There are a number of possibilities,” said Yambu drily. Again she took up the Sword in both hands. “But let us not become obsessed with safety. We are going east.”

  Chapter Two

  “Hurled to the ends of the earth, you say. Astride a demon?” The speaker, a startlingly handsome and apparently very youthful man, gave every indication that he found the prospect hugely amusing.

  “Yes, to the ends of the earth, or farther for all I know. That was months ago, of course, and neither the Dark King nor his demonic steed have been heard from since.” The youthful-looking man’s informant, a short, blond woman or girl who appeared even younger than he, flashed a bright grin of her own. “Is it not entertaining, Master Wood?”

  The two who spoke with such apparent carelessness of sorcerer’s and demon’s fate were standing casually just outside the massive outer wall of the world headquarters of the Blue Temple. The man was actually leaning against the building’s stones. Squat granite columns, each thicker than the length of a man’s body, and broad stone steps leading up to doors worthy of a fortress made the establishment an archetype of the substantial, or perhaps even a parody of such. The two appeared to be waiting for something; but what that might be, or why they had chosen this spot to hold their talk, was not immediately obvious.

  The handsome young man nodded. His large, athletic- looking body was well dressed in tunic and cloak of rich fabric, though of no outstanding elegance. He might have been a prosperous merchant, or perhaps a physician. Surely not a warrior, for no trace of any material weapon was visible about his person.

  He said: “Entertaining, yes. The demon was hurled away, I suppose, by the Emperor’s name in the mouth of the Emperor’s bastard, and that poor pretender of a magician, who likes to ride on demons, was whisked away helplessly with his mount— ”

  The young man laughed again, louder than before, and this time his companion laughed with him. She was garbed in a tight-fitting outfit of silver and blue that showed off her fine figure to advantage; the clothing suggested an expensive courtesan. The heads of passers-by turned in their direction; such merriment was uncommon here in the Blue Temple precincts.

  Both parties to the conversation ignored the passers-by, even as they appeared to be ignoring the Blue Temple itself. But he who had been addressed as Master Wood soon sobered from his laughter. He stroked his chin in th
ought.

  Almost wistfully he said: “And yet, Tigris—an alliance with Vilkata might well have been to our benefit.”

  Tigris had already assumed a more thoughtful expression too. She responded: “He may be able to return, Master, sooner or later. Or, if he cannot come back unaided, we might help him. That may still be possible. Yet, I fear that the Dark King was—or is—something of a bungler. Considerable skill in handling demons, one must admit that.”

  “Considerable. But finally insufficient,” amended the other.

  “Yes, Master, as I say—finally insufficient.” The shapely young woman nodded soberly. “And one of the Swords went with Vilkata.”

  “Yes, Master. The Mindsword, as you well know.”

  Wood allowed his displeasure at that accident to show. He had particularly coveted that weapon for his own. Then he brightened slightly. “Well, none of that can be helped now. Today we face other problems, quite sufficient to claim our full attention for a tune.”

  “As you so accurately say, my lord.”

  In the bustle of the populous city, even a pair of such striking appearance did not draw a great deal of attention. Once or twice a beggar started to approach them, then, as if warned by some instinct, veered away.

  Once a sedan chair, guarded on both sides by a file of mounted men, passed very close to them, entering the Blue Temple headquarters through a nearby gate.

  The man called Wood appeared equally indifferent to potentate and mendicants. “So,” he mused, “our erstwhile rival Vilkata, the Dark King, is probably not going to be available in the foreseeable future to discuss alliances. Nor is the demon who bore him away into—ought we to say into eternity? Nor, I suppose, can we hope to recruit any other demons from the Dark King’s retinue.” Wood’s voice became abstracted. “That’s all right, though—I can summon powers enough of my own whenever there’s a need.”