The Seventh Book of Lost Swords : Wayfinder's Story Fred Saberhagen (phonics books txt) 📖

      The Director of Security, had by now risen and stretched and finally re-settled himself in a chair at a little distance, much chastened in his manner. Whether he was aware of what had just happened to him or not, he was evidently grimly determined to keep an eye on Wood as long as the intruder remained.

      Now the Director said: “Wayfinder’s vanishing, as you probably know, was utterly mysterious. The only report we have—admittedly unconfirmed—says that the Sword of Wisdom was stolen, by some unknown agent, from the belt of the God Hermes, after he had been struck down by Farslayer.”

      Everyone in the room was silent for a moment, no doubt meditating on that unlikely-sounding but undeniable event.

      “Yes. I know,” Wood answered patiently. Though he had not been personally present at the fall of Hermes, he stood ready to accept that story as confirmed.

      The slight jowls of the Chairman of the Blue Temple were quivering. “The treasure we lost at that time, including three Swords, has never been recovered.”

      “I know that too.” The handsome, youthful-looking Wood was now doing his best to soothe his hosts. Tigris looked sympathetic too. Wood continued: “How unjust, how odious, that the robbers should have been able to prosper as they have.”

      “Odious is an inadequate word,” said Hyrcanus fervently. “But let us get down to business.”

      Wood, with a smile and gesture, indicated that he was perfectly ready to do just that.

      The official inquired: “What exactly do you want from the Blue Temple, that you have taken these, uh, drastic steps to bring about this conference?”

      Wood smiled. His answer was straightforward, or at least it seemed to be: “I want no more than I have already indicated. A chance to use Wayfinder for my own purposes, which will in no way conflict with yours. A league of mutual assistance against Tasavalta. And against the Emperor.”

      Blank looks on the faces of the Blue Temple functionaries greeted Wood’s last assertion. He was silently contemptuous of their ignorance, but not really surprised. The Blue Temple evidently knew little about the Emperor, and seemed to care less. Or perhaps their lack of interest was only feigned. Like the Ancient One himself, they must be aware of certain recurrent rumors, concerning the enormous treasure that potentate was reported to have stashed away.

      But the problems posed by the Emperor could wait. Spelling out his proposal in a straightforward way, the wizard confirmed that he wanted to be informed as soon as any of the Blue Temple people had any knowledge, or even a clue, concerning the whereabouts of the Sword of Wisdom.

      “I am aware that you have had your people on the alert, everywhere around the world, or at least across this continent, for years now, for any evidence concerning that Sword. No matter what kind of defences you devise for your vast remaining treasure, Wayfinder can probably find a way to let another bold and clever robber in.”

      Hyrcanus groaned audibly.

* * *

      Less than half an hour later the meeting concluded, with Wood and Hyrcanus shaking hands, while their respective aides looked on watchfully. Both leaders pronounced their satisfaction with the agreement they had reached.

      Outside Blue Temple Headquarters again, their removal having been effected without the use of any mundane door, Wood and Tigris strolled the streets in silence, until they were rejoined by the demon Dactylartha.

      “Noble masters!” hissed the tiny voice, coming out of the barely visible disturbance in the air. “Was my performance satisfactory?”

      “At least you will not be punished for it.” Wood spoke abstractedly, his main thought already elsewhere.

      “Madam Tigris!” Dactylartha pleaded softly. “Did I not do well?”

      “As our Master has said,” she responded curtly. “Did your old rulers recognize you, do you suppose, Dactylartha?”

      This terrible creature, she remembered, had once been Blue Temple property, involved in the famous robbery, on which occasion the demon had failed as dismally as all the other layers of defense of the main hoard. That did not mean, of course, that Dactylartha was weak or ineffective. Against any one of the Swords, only failure could generally be expected—unless, of course, one was armed with another Sword.

      A dangerous being to recruit; Tigris, though her own skills in enchantment were great, was not sure she could have controlled the thing without her Master’s help.

      Wood, now giving the thing its new orders, curtly dismissed it, and in a moment it was gone.

      “What are you thinking about, my dear?” the Ancient One inquired. “You look pensive.”

      “About demons, Master.”

      “Ah yes—demons. Well, as a rule, one kills them, or has some firm means of control—or is as nice to them as possible. That is about all there is to know on the subject.” And Wood laughed, a hissing sound that might have come from the throat of one of the very creatures he was contemplating.

      Tigris changed the subject. “Which of the Twelve Swords would you most like to possess, Master?”

      “Ah. Now that—that—is indeed a question.” The Ancient One mused in silence for a few paces. Then he said to Tigris: “There’s Soulcutter, of course. I certainly wouldn’t want to draw that little toy with my own hands—having heard what has happened to others—the trick of course would be to get someone else to draw it, under the proper circumstances.”

      “I understand perfectly, my lord.”

      “Do you? Good. As for the Sword of Wisdom, I confess to you, my dear, that I nourish a certain hope—that on coming into possession of that weapon I will be able to use it to lead me to the Emperor.”

      Tigris wondered briefly whether she ought to pretend to be surprised. In the end she decided not to do so. She asked, instead: “What Swords does the Emperor have?”

      “None, that I can determine with any certainty.”

      Tigris, flattering: “Then of the two greatest magicians in the world, neither now has any Sword.”

      It was true that her Master, Wood, at the moment had not a single Sword to call his own—while Prince Mark of Tasavalta, gallingly, had no less