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

utterly alone, the young man could feel his cheeks warming. Frowning suddenly, he quickly amended: “Let all be done in accordance with the will of Ardneh.”

      Having concluded this awkward speech, Valdemar arose, gripping the black hilt firmly in both of his great hands, fingers overlapping. Tentatively he moved the great Blade in a horizontal circle. One direction alone, almost straight east, set the Sword’s tip quivering. At the surge of magic he cried out, wordlessly. For just a moment the movement had become so violent that the weapon had almost leaped free of his grip.

* * *

      On a warm spring afternoon, seven days after the day when Valdemar had unwrapped the Sword, and more than a hundred kilometers distant from his hut, two pilgrims were making their way across a heavily wooded hillside that formed one flank of a deep ravine.

      The first of these gray-clad travelers was a woman, apparently about sixty years of age, but still vigorous and hearty. There was nothing feeble in the way she moved across the steep slope, among the thickly-spaced, narrow trunks. Her silver hair was long, but bound up closely. The strains of a long life showed in the woman’s face, but no burden that seemed too much for her present determination. Like many other female pilgrims or travelers, she wore boots, trousers and a loose jacket, and was armed for self-defense with a short sword.

      The crowded tree trunks made it all but impossible for two to travel side by side. The woman’s companion, who walked three or four paces behind her and carried a similarly serviceable but somewhat more impressive weapon at his belt, was a man in his early twenties, sturdily built, of average size. The young man’s appearance, like the woman’s suggested both the weariness of long travel and a remaining capacity to deal with formidable difficulties.

      The woman halted suddenly. She frowned and squinted at the sun, which shone brightly from beyond the canopy of the tall trees’ small spring leaves. Then she inspected the terrain, as well as she could in the midst of a forest.

      “This hill curves round,” she announced to her fellow traveler at last. “And I see no end to the curve ahead. It carries us farther and farther to the east.”

      “And that, my lady, is not the direction in which we want to go,” the young man responded. “Well, then. Shall we try climbing to the top of the ridge again? Or going down into the ravine?”

      The lady sighed. “Zoltan, we are well and truly lost. No reason to think the bottom of this ravine will be more hospitable than any of the others we’ve struggled through during the past two days.” In those dark gorges, the ubiquitous thin-trunked trees had grown more closely and ever more closely together, until it became impossible for adult humans to force a passage anywhere between them. An army of men with axes would have earned their pay clearing a road.

      “And no reason either,” replied Zoltan, “to suppose that the leather-wings are going to let us alone this time if we come out of the trees up on the hilltop.” He rubbed at his left arm, which was still bandaged—though fortunately not disabled—from their last encounter with flying reptiles, two days ago.

      “I suppose we might risk trying the hilltop just before sunset,” the woman said thoughtfully. “If we were able to see far enough to get our bearing—” She broke off abruptly, holding herself motionless. Above the high canopy of leaves a silent, broad-winged form drifted; a half-intelligent enemy, cruel-clawed and implacably hostile.

      When the wind-borne reptile had drifted out of sight and hearing, Zoltan spoke again, his voice cautiously low. “Anyway, we’re soon going to need water.” Each was carrying a single small canteen. “We’ll have to go down into the ravines for that, of course. This one may be dry, but the next—” He fell silent at the woman’s imperious gesture. Her face had abruptly turned away from him, and she was listening intently for the repetition of a small sound just detected from ahead.

      In a moment Zoltan, looking over his companion’s shoulder, could see a tall human shape, garbed in dull colors, moving among the dun-colored trunks, still fifty meters off, approaching along the hillside.

      Both travelers watched in ready silence, hands on swordhilts. The single figure approaching seemed to be making no effort at stealth. The towering, broad-shouldered man was clad in what appeared to be a farmer’s rough shirt and trousers and woolen vest. In both hands he gripped a long-bladed sword with which he steadily swept the air before him. Zoltan, watching, felt the hair stir on the back of his neck. This could be a Sword indeed!

      The stranger continued moving along the slope directly toward the pilgrim pair, though as yet he had given no indication that he was aware of their presence.

      Zoltan, staring at the approaching figure with intense, frowning concentration, whispered: “Is that—?”

      “Shh. We’ll see.”

      Amid the dun trunks the seeker so superbly armed had approached within ten meters of the two motionless travelers in dull gray before he saw them. When he did, he stopped in his tracks, startled, continuing to hold the Sword leveled in their direction. Then, looking somewhat flustered, he grounded the bright point.

      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