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

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