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

thought about it. “It brought you all this way to me. I suppose it might mean something of the sort,” she conceded at length, as if reluctantly.

      “And just now, in your hands, Wayfinder pointed east. Do you know what lies in that direction?”

      Yambu smiled. “Half of the world,” she said.

      Zoltan, with his head tipped back, was leaning alternately to right and left, trying to peer upward through the canopy of leaves. He said: “Some days ago, we two were discussing the question of our destination, the true object of our pilgrimage, in philosophical terms. Then we began to be hunted. Being hunted limits one’s time for philosophical discussion. In the process of trying to escape from the reptiles we became lost. Valdemar, you’ve helped us now to temporary safety. But as a practical matter, I must say that our next goal, whether east or west, ought to be some place of greater security. Somewhere completely out of the ken of those whose creatures stalk and harry us.”

      Valdemar looked from one to the other of his new companions, trying to assess the situation. There was no doubting the reality of those drifting shadows that kept reappearing no very great distance up the hill.

      “And who might your enemies be?” he asked with concern.

      “There are a number of possibilities,” said Yambu drily. Again she took up the Sword in both hands. “But let us not become obsessed with safety. We are going east.”

Chapter Two

      “Hurled to the ends of the earth, you say. Astride a demon?” The speaker, a startlingly handsome and apparently very youthful man, gave every indication that he found the prospect hugely amusing.

      “Yes, to the ends of the earth, or farther for all I know. That was months ago, of course, and neither the Dark King nor his demonic steed have been heard from since.” The youthful-looking man’s informant, a short, blond woman or girl who appeared even younger than he, flashed a bright grin of her own. “Is it not entertaining, Master Wood?”

      The two who spoke with such apparent carelessness of sorcerer’s and demon’s fate were standing casually just outside the massive outer wall of the world headquarters of the Blue Temple. The man was actually leaning against the building’s stones. Squat granite columns, each thicker than the length of a man’s body, and broad stone steps leading up to doors worthy of a fortress made the establishment an archetype of the substantial, or perhaps even a parody of such. The two appeared to be waiting for something; but what that might be, or why they had chosen this spot to hold their talk, was not immediately obvious.

      The handsome young man nodded. His large, athletic- looking body was well dressed in tunic and cloak of rich fabric, though of no outstanding elegance. He might have been a prosperous merchant, or perhaps a physician. Surely not a warrior, for no trace of any material weapon was visible about his person.

      He said: “Entertaining, yes. The demon was hurled away, I suppose, by the Emperor’s name in the mouth of the Emperor’s bastard, and that poor pretender of a magician, who likes to ride on demons, was whisked away helplessly with his mount— ”

      The young man laughed again, louder than before, and this time his companion laughed with him. She was garbed in a tight-fitting outfit of silver and blue that showed off her fine figure to advantage; the clothing suggested an expensive courtesan. The heads of passers-by turned in their direction; such merriment was uncommon here in the Blue Temple precincts.

      Both parties to the conversation ignored the passers-by, even as they appeared to be ignoring the Blue Temple itself. But he who had been addressed as Master Wood soon sobered from his laughter. He stroked his chin in thought.

      Almost wistfully he said: “And yet, Tigris—an alliance with Vilkata might well have been to our benefit.”

      Tigris had already assumed a more thoughtful expression too. She responded: “He may be able to return, Master, sooner or later. Or, if he cannot come back unaided, we might help him. That may still be possible. Yet, I fear that the Dark King was—or is—something of a bungler. Considerable skill in handling demons, one must admit that.”

      “Considerable. But finally insufficient,” amended the other.

      “Yes, Master, as I say—finally insufficient.” The shapely young woman nodded soberly. “And one of the Swords went with Vilkata.”

      “Yes, Master. The Mindsword, as you well know.”

      Wood allowed his displeasure at that accident to show. He had particularly coveted that weapon for his own. Then he brightened slightly. “Well, none of that can be helped now. Today we face other problems, quite sufficient to claim our full attention for a tune.”

      “As you so accurately say, my lord.”

      In the bustle of the populous city, even a pair of such striking appearance did not draw a great deal of attention. Once or twice a beggar started to approach them, then, as if warned by some instinct, veered away.

      Once a sedan chair, guarded on both sides by a file of mounted men, passed very close to them, entering the Blue Temple headquarters through a nearby gate.

      The man called Wood appeared equally indifferent to potentate and mendicants. “So,” he mused, “our erstwhile rival Vilkata, the Dark King, is probably not going to be available in the foreseeable future to discuss alliances. Nor is the demon who bore him away into—ought we to say into eternity? Nor, I suppose, can we hope to recruit any other demons from the Dark King’s retinue.” Wood’s voice became abstracted. “That’s all right, though—I can summon powers enough of my own whenever there’s a need.”

      “Yes, Master, certainly you can.” Impish little Tigris nodded violently.

      Squinting at her, her master thought to himself that she was almost certain to prove something of a distraction in the staid Blue Temple offices, into which he planned to bring her very soon. Very likely, Wood considered, he would have to dismiss Tigris—or else effect a drastic though temporary change in her appearance—before the conference got very