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

They were constitutionally wary of the unknown in all its aspects, and whatever knowledge they possessed about the Great Clown, beyond what ordinary people knew, they did not particularly fear him.

      Hyrcanus looked with interest at Yambu. “You know him, then?”

      “I am indeed the Silver Queen. I suppose I know him if anyone does. I have borne his child.”

      “If he is coming here now,” said the elderly Director after a time, “do you suppose he will be bringing his greatest treasure with him?”

      The Silver Queen said, “I do not know.”

      Hyrcanus, letting Wayfinder lie on the table but rubbing the hilt as if for luck, stood up, pushing back his chair as if he wished to stretch.

      He raised his eyes to find his male prisoner watching him intently. “Well, fellow? Had you any experience similar to this when Wayfinder was yours?”

      Valdemar nodded slowly. “I admit it puzzled me a time or two. If that is what you mean.”

      No one asked him to elaborate, and he did not try.

      Standing awkwardly beside him, Yambu was gradually growing more perturbed, as if she found the prospect of an Imperial visit somehow unsettling.

* * *

      Time passed, very slowly in Valdemar’s perception. Outside the pavilion, the Blue Temple’s military people were stolidly going about their routine business of guard duty and camp making. Nothing of consequence seemed to be happening.

      Not that the two high officials were going to be content simply to wait for the Emperor. No, people kept coming to the door of their tent with practical questions, matters that required answers. The commander of the cavalry, still awake himself though (as Valdemar thought) most of his troops—who had evidently ridden all night—were probably asleep, came in respectfully asking to be informed: Would they be breaking camp first thing the next morning? Would they spend the remainder of the day and night interrogating their fresh-caught prisoners?

      Hyrcanus had excused himself, Valdemar supposed probably for a latrine break, and the question was left to his second-in-command to answer.

“      Oh, I doubt that.” The Director, stretching, allowed himself a smothered yawn. “You might as well haul that stuff away and pack it up again.” He gestured toward the rear of the tent; and only now did Valdemar realize what the piled instruments of torture were, as a pair of soldiers packed them up again, and bore them out.

      When the Chairman returned, a few minutes later, rubbing his hands together, the Director questioned him about the prisoners too: Was there really any point in dragging the wretches all the way back to headquarters?

      “Perhaps, perhaps not. How can we know at this stage? Let us see if my question brings any result within the next few hours.”

      The morning hours dragged on. Hyrcanus and his Director were, as they thought, being their usual practical, businesslike selves when the clouded sky outside the tent seemed to split in half, and the gold and blue pavilion was torn away from above their heads.

      Valdemar closed his eyes and yelled, momentarily certain that the last instant of his life had come.

Chapter Ten

      It was still morning, on that cloudy, rainy day, when the young woman commonly known as Tigris, accompanied by ferocious (though not very numerous) supporting forces—including one demon of more than ordinary power—and riding her own griffin, came crashing in with a murderous assault upon the newly established Blue Temple camp.

      The Blue Temple griffins, being the cowardly creatures that they were, rose into the air, breaking their tethers, and took flight immediately. At the moment of the attack, Hyrcanus’s people were doing their best to be alert, but they were simply overmatched, and the attack was a complete success.

      Valdemar had never seen Tigris before, nor had he any means of identifying any of Wood’s other people or creatures. The result was that while the fighting raged around him the young man had not the faintest idea of the true nature of this fresh batch of invaders.

      On finding himself unhurt after the first few moments of the attack, Valdemar began to hope that he might after all be able to survive. By this time a heartening explanation had suggested itself, namely that these conquerors were the friendly Tasavaltans of whom he had heard so much from his traveling companions; Valdemar’s spirits rose sharply with the prospect.

      Had the youth been aware that a demon was among the attacking force, this would have dashed his risen hopes. But although the proximity of the foul thing soon began to make him physically ill, the young man was unable to either see or identify the source of his symptoms.

      Valdemar’s companion in captivity, the Silver Queen, was considerably more experienced and knowledgeable. Quickly recognizing the nature of the latest onslaught, Yambu felt her heart sink. Almost instantly she was able to recognize Tigris, and the presence of a demon as well.

      The Silver Queen would have made some effort to enlighten her fellow prisoner, but she could neither talk to him effectively nor help him at the moment.

* * *

      As had been the case in the previous assault, the struggle in magical and physical terms was intense but brief. Too late, one after another, the pair of high Blue Temple officials tried to grab up the Sword of Wisdom. But the neat tables full of paperwork had already been knocked over, and the top of the pavilion ripped away before either of the Executives could get his hands on Wayfinder. The Sword fell to the ground, and was covered in folds of collapsing fabric. The clerks ran in panic, or writhed in pain as enemy weapons struck them down.

      At this point the magical bonds constricting Valdemar’s movements began to slacken, and the youth enjoyed a few moments’ hope that he would be able to escape. As he looked, Hyrcanus himself was slain. Valdemar, watching, could not have named the cause of death; one moment the Chairman was grimacing in alarm, and the next he was slumping inertly to the earth.

      A moment later Valdemar himself was buried