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

tell Ben about it in advance. So the Prince omitted any mention of the scheme in the message he now began drafting to be carried back to Ben.

      As Mark considered it, strong arguments took shape in his mind against sending such a flying squad. Chief among these was the fact that any such half-intelligent flying force would run the risk of being detected, and then ambushed, by enemy magic, flying reptiles, or griffins. No birds were strong enough to stand against such an attack.

      Wood himself, who Mark loathed as one of his great antagonists, was known to travel airborne on a griffin, or sometimes even on a demon’s back.

      The danger presented by the possibility of ambush eventually came to seem too great. By the time he had dispatched the message to Ben, Mark had all but finally decided not to take the risk.

* * *

      Shortly after sunset the Lady Yambu, her new reserves of energy not fully depleted by a long day’s hike, was pacing restlessly about the simple camp she shared with her three companions. The conversation that had begun a quarter of an hour ago had gradually died out, and the three were now all watching her in vague apprehension.

      Suddenly she stopped her pacing, and declared: “I think I must consult our Sword again. I grow doubtful that the road I must follow to the truth lies through Tasavalta.”

      Ben looked at her, grunted, then wordlessly detached Wayfinder in its sheath from his belt, and held the weapon out to her.

      Valdemar’s expression suggested that he was surprised. He said to Yambu: “If you are having doubts, then I must have doubts also.”

      For several days now, the four had been slogging steadily northeast, in the general direction of Tasavalta. The land through which they traveled had gradually grown more rugged, and their progress had become correspondingly slower.

      Now and then the Sword they followed decreed some slight variation in their course toward Sarykam. When this happened, the four travelers sometimes speculated about the possible cause of this deflection. But none of the three who had considerable experience with the awesome power of Swords suggested doing anything but going along with Wayfinder. And the detours, whatever their cause, had proven short. At the moment the four were once more, as nearly as they could estimate in this almost roadless waste, on or near a straight-line path toward the Tasavaltan capital.

      Over the last few days and hours, Yambu had started several tunes to ask Ben more about what the Emperor had said to him regarding Ariane. But Ben, who had suggested such a conversation, no longer seemed to know what else he wanted to say, or hear, on that subject.

      The lady was about to raise the matter with Ben again. But before she could do so, the travelers were excited by the arrival of a winged messenger.

      Eagerly Ben unfastened the pouch from the great bird, and fumbled it open. Intently he scanned the note inside.

      Zoltan read it over his shoulder. “Nothing of importance,” the young man complained.

      “Better than it looks,” Ben assured him. “There are a couple of code words. First, congratulations—that’ll be for our getting Woundhealer. And second, help is on the way.”

      Their spirits considerably lightened, the four pushed on.

      Within an hour, they became aware that someone was following them, maintaining a careful distance.

      “Your old friend Brod,” Zoltan decided, squinting at the distant, barely visible man who doubtless thought himself adequately concealed. “We should have finished him when we had the chance. I suppose he went off in the little boat just to be deceptive.”

      “Why should he be following us?” Valdemar wondered.

      Ben shrugged. “His gang’s been wiped out, and he’s going to have to find some other way to make a living.”

      The Silver Queen had no comment; her thoughts were evidently elsewhere.

      That evening, she spoke confidingly to her old friends Ben and Zoltan, and her new follower Valdemar.

      “I am almost a girl again … no, I don’t mean that. What foolishness! I am fifty-one years old, and healing will not turn back the years; age in itself is not an illness or an injury. But in a way I feel like a girl. The horrible burden that Soulcutter put on me so many years ago has at last been lifted. Can you understand what that means? No, there is no way you could understand.”

      And in her emotion the lady laughed and cried, in a mixture of joy and confusion; the emotional reaction which had come upon her when she was healed was now repeated, even more strongly than before.

      “Can you understand? I can no longer be certain what my purpose in life is, or ought to be.”

      “I think I can understand, my lady.” Ben’s large hand pulled the Sword she had given them out of its sheath; he held the black hilt out toward her.

      Zoltan nodded; it was a slow, uncertain gesture, as if he had trouble comprehending the Lady’s difficulty, but considered that Wayfinder’s powerful medicine ought to be worth a try in any case.

      Once more gripping Wayfinder, Lady Yambu posed a new question.

      “Blade, once more I seek your guidance. Was I speaking only foolishness when I asked you to find eternal truth for me? You answered me, I know, but … I am no longer sure what I was thinking two days ago. It is almost as if I have been reborn.”

      The Sword of Wisdom hung inert in her grasp. Of course. The question she had just asked, as Yambu understood full well, was not the kind Wayfinder could be expected to answer.

      “Take your time, my lady.” Ben was respectfully concerned.

      The trouble, Yambu was discovering, was that she now found herself unable to formulate any inquiry to her own satisfaction. Indecisively she raised the Sword, and lowered it, and raised it up again.

      At last, words burst forth: “Was my healing the only truth I needed? I have been granted the touch of the Sword of Mercy … but again, that is not the kind of question any Sword can answer