The Fourth Book Of Lost Swords : Farslayer's Story (Saberhagen's Lost Swords 4) Fred Saberhagen (the unexpected everything txt) 📖

      Bonar and Zoltan both leaped up, leveling their weapons at the doorway. The door pushed open—

      Zoltan found himself confronting a tall and powerful man who gripped a drawn Sword in his right hand. In the firelight that flared in through the open window Zoltan had no trouble recognizing his uncle, Prince Mark of Tasavalta.

Chapter Nine

      Zoltan’s hands sagged holding the half-drawn bow, and the ready arrow fell from his fingers to the floor. For a moment he could only stare at this apparition blankly, and for that moment he was sure that it must be some kind of deception, that he was facing some image of sorcery, an effect of the Sword of Stealth or some other magical disguise and the apparition, if such it was, was lowering the Sword in its right hand.

      “No need to think you’re seeing visions, nephew,” said the tall man, having observed the two occupants of the room carefully for a moment He spoke in Prince Mark’s familiar voice. “I would have hailed you down on the hillside, but I couldn’t get close, and I didn’t want to yell your name at the top of my voice. You gave us the devil of a chase uphill from the river. After we followed you to this house, we decided we’d look in to make sure that you needed no help.” Now Mark sheathed his Sword.

      “We?” Zoltan could only repeat the word numbly.

      “Ben and I.”

      Behind Mark, entering from the hallway, appeared another big man. This one was indeed monstrously massive, though somewhat shorter than the prince and a few years older. Ben of Purkinje’s ugly face split in a reassuring smile at the sight of the bewildered Zoltan.

      And he, the prince’s nephew, shaking his head in wonder and relief, at last remembered the chief of the Clan Malolo. “Bonar, put down your sword. This man is my uncle Mark, the Prince of Tasavalta.”

      While Bonar was managing some kind of greeting, the Lady Yambu put in her appearance, to greet both Mark and Ben with great surprise and equally great relief.

* * *

      A couple of the more trustworthy servants were posted as lookouts, while a conference of explanations was conducted. Almost the first question the two newcomers were required to answer was how they had gained entrance to the house. Mark explained, and apologized, for the secret violence of their entry. The Sword he carried at his belt was Stonecutter, and he and Ben had used it to carve their way in through the solid stone wall of the manor, a process Stonecutter’s magic accomplished swiftly and almost silently.

      By now Rose and Violet, as well as Gesner, had joined the conference around the two newcomers, and were being introduced to them with a mixture of relief and apprehension.

      Fortunately it now appeared that the mercenaries’ assault, such as it had been, had abated at least for the time being.

      Ben, scowling out the window, muttered: “Maybe when the fire in back dies down they’ll try again.”

      “Maybe.” The prince nodded. “That means we should use our time meanwhile to good advantage.”

      And now for a time the conference adjourned to the great hall of the manor, where Mark and Ben were provided with food and drink. They found this welcome, having been through some hard traveling in the past few days.

      Their riding-beasts, as Ben explained, had been lost in some minor skirmish with unnamed foes “between here and the desert.” Ben waved a huge hand in a generally southeast direction. For the past three days they had been on foot.

      “But what brings you here?”

      In answer to that question Zoltan’s uncle Mark explained that he and Ben had been on their way back to Tasavalta after concluding a deal with the desert tribesman Prince al-Farabi, by which al-Farabi had been allowed to borrow the Sword Stonecutter for a time.

      With that transaction concluded, and after starting home with Stonecutter, Mark had received, by winged messenger, word from his father the Emperor. In a written message the Emperor informed his son Mark that important matters, requiring almost his full attention, were developing somewhere in the extreme south of the continent.

      The Emperor had warned Mark to prepare for urgent action, and to await another message which, Mark hoped, would spell out in some detail just what he was expected to do.

      “That still doesn’t explain how you and Ben come to be here. Did you mean to follow the river east, or—?”

      Mark shook his head. “There was another part to the message. It suggested rather strongly that we might want to locate you. You, Zoltan, and you, Lady Yambu.”

      The two pilgrims exchanged uncertain glances. “Did the message say why?” Yambu asked.

      “It did not. But it did say that a Sword was at stake here, and that Swords should not be allowed to fall into the wrong hands. So, we started for the valley of the Tungri as fast as we conveniently could. And here you are, and here we are.”

      Zoltan whistled his amazement softly. “My great-uncle is quite a magician.”

      Prince Mark sighed, but made no other comment.

      Ben shrugged. “I’ve seen enough, that when the Emperor suggests something I’m inclined to listen.”

      Yambu nodded her head. Meanwhile the folk native to the manor were watching and listening in silence, though Bonar once or twice seemed on the verge of breaking in with some sharp comment.

      “How did you recognize me in the dark?” Zoltan wanted to know. “I mean earlier tonight, on the hill down toward the river?”

      Huge Ben snorted gently. “Who else would be talking to a mermaid?”

      “Oh.” Zoltan wondered if everyone in Tasavalta knew of his obsession.

      Now Violet asked: “Excuse me—Your Grace? Your Majesty?—you say that the Emperor knew that your nephew and his friend were here? But how?”

      Mark only shrugged. The gesture seemed to say that he did not understand his father’s purposes or his father’s powers. But the prince’s continued smile indicated that