The Seventh Book of Lost Swords : Wayfinder's Story by Fred Saberhagen (best books for 7th graders TXT) 📗

terms of military orders, which made the pill somewhat easier to swallow.

      When Stephen choked on another protest, his father ordered briskly: “Get control of yourself and speak coherently.”

      “Yes, Father.” And the boy managed. He was learning.

      “Now. This is an order…”

      With Stephen under control, for the time being at least, the Prince’s next impulse was to rush to Kristin with the good news.

      But then on thinking the matter over, he was not sure how much he ought to tell his wife.

      Catching sight of a junior officer going about some other errand, Mark hailed the man and dispatched him to find General Rostov.

      Proceeding in the direction of his wife’s room, Mark encountered the chief physician of the Palace, a tall woman with a dark, forbidding, ageless face and kindly voice.

      This lady inquired: “Good news, Highness?”

      “Yes. Or the possibility of good news, at least. I will be making an announcement presently.” Yet Mark hesitated; it would be terrible, he thought again, to raise hopes that might in a few days be dashed.

      Since Kristin’s fall, neither physicians nor wizards had ever been sanguine about her prospects for recovery. None of the experts saw any real hope, unless the Sword of Healing could somehow be obtained.

      The physician said: “I have just come from Her Highness’s room.”

      “What word today?”

      She bowed slightly. “Your Highness, I have no good words to say to you.”

      Mark interrupted the doctor at that point, and dispatched Stephen to look for Uncle Karel. “And when you have found him, I expect it will be time you are about your regular morning tasks.”

      “Yes, Father.”

      When Prince and physician were alone, the healer went on gloomily to explain that she had quietly alerted the attendants to maintain a watch against a possible suicide attempt on the part of the long-suffering patient.

      “As bad as that.” Mark was not really surprised; but no mental preparation could shield him from the chill brought by those words.

      “I fear so, Prince.”

      “Well, well.” He could still force his voice to be calm. “Carry on. We will do what we can.”

      The doctor bowed again, and moved away.

      Mark had not progressed a dozen paces farther in the direction of his wife’s room before he encountered General Rostov, who seemed already to have learned somehow that important matters were to be decided.

      Rostov was as tall as Mark, but the general’s barrel-chested frame was even broader. He had black skin, with an old scar on the right cheek. His curly hair had once been black, but was now almost entirely gray.

      Drawing Rostov aside, Mark quietly outlined for him the expedition he wanted to lead out to gain possession of both Swords.

      “Karel will be going with you?” Rostov asked.

      “He will.” Mark considered that Kristin’s uncle, the chief wizard of the royal family and of the nation, would be indispensable on such an expedition. “Therefore you will be left in charge here at the Palace.”

      After providing the Prince with requested advice on several points, and receiving a few detailed orders, Rostov saluted and moved away, going about his business with his usual efficiency.

      The Prince at last reached his wife’s room and entered.

      The Princess was occupying the same chamber as before her injury, though now the room was even more brightly decorated. Cheerful paintings, some of Kristin’s favorites in her days of health, hung on the walls, and her favorite flowers stood in vases, or grew in pots. Everything about the place was joyous, airy, lightsome, and pleasant—everything except for its occupant, who lay garbed in a plain white gown, her countenance like a mask of clay.

      Originally the nurses and other attendants assigned to care for the crippled Princess had been chosen as much for their cheerful attitude as for their professional ability.

      But those people had been replaced, when Kristin, complaining bitterly to her husband, had said she could not stand having such laughing fools around her.

      This morning Kristin was in her bed as usual. She was capable of leaving it only seldom and briefly. Her body, always slender, was twisted now by broken bones that had healed only poorly, and by spasmed muscles. Her face, once beautiful, had been eroded from within by pain and loss of weight. Indoor pallor had replaced her tan.

      Other than to utter an occasional grim comment on her own future, or lack of one, Kristin now rarely spoke.

      Pulling a chair close to the bed, Mark sat down and gave his wife a partial report on the information that had just arrived by courier. Mark said only that there was new hope now, and that he would soon be leaving town in search of Woundhealer.

      The Prince took this precaution against raising hopes that might be dashed, though in the bleak silence of his own thoughts he felt sure that the problem with Kristin was really the absence of any hope at all.

      Mark took his wife’s hand, but then let it go when the touch seemed to cause her some new discomfort.

      Kristin appeared to listen to what her husband had to say, but she made no comment. Obviously her attitude regarding the news was one of bitter pessimism.

      Her husband was saddened but not surprised by this reaction. That, he had learned, was consistently the disposition of his wife’s mind whatever news he brought, or when, as was more usual, he had none to bring.

* * *

      After leaving the sickroom, Mark found the old wizard Karel waiting for him, a fat old man with puffing breath and a rich, soft voice.

      Karel, on learning of the morning’s message, was in a hopeful mood.

      “I might suggest, Prince, that you send a strong flying squadron to pick up the prize and carry it back to us, as we ride south. If this plan is successful, it would speed up your gaining possession of the Sword by a day or two at least.”

      Mark was impressed favorably by the old man’s suggestion, but he postponed making a final decision on it. If he were eventually to decide in favor of such a maneuver, there would be no need to