The Fourth Book Of Lost Swords : Farslayer's Story (Saberhagen's Lost Swords 4) by Fred Saberhagen (most inspirational books txt) 📗

was augmented by the presence at the prince’s side of Ben, who when he chose to do so could look as formidable as a whole squad of mercenaries.

      Bonar in fact was overwhelmed by his new allies. He pined in silence to possess the Sword again for himself, but somehow when he opened his mouth he found himself agreeing to the terms which the prince outlined for him—in return for giving up all Malolo claims upon the Sword of Vengeance, he and the remainder of his clan would receive (at some future time) wealth, prestige in the association of his house with that of Tasavalta, and perhaps, at a later date, some military aid as well.

      The deal had been effectively concluded on shore some time ago, but still it rankled. Sitting in the boat Bonar took courage and began to murmur: “Still all that may be very well, but still I think that my family and I ought to rightfully be able to retain some rights in that Sword for ourselves. Even if we allow it to go with you for now. When we have succeeded in finding it, that is.”

      Prince Mark only looked at him. But Zoltan was ready to argue the point, and at the same time he was curious.

      “Sir—Chief Bonar—when your family had that Sword in their hands before, the result to them, I would say, could hardly be counted as a great benefit. What would you do with Farslayer if you had it in your hands at this moment?”

      Bonar frowned at the question. Then his frown cleared up. “You mean what target would I choose? I’ve thought about that, this past month. I’d pick that cowardly skunk Hissarlik, beyond a doubt. We’ve heard that he survived the night of killing, and I have no doubt that he’s now become the clan chief of the Senones dogs. And I have no doubt that he’s killed several of our people. He’s probably killed more of us than anyone else who still survives over there.”

      “How do you know how many of your people he may have killed, sir? Forgive me, but I’m curious. You mean you have some way of telling, somehow…?”

      Bonar was scowling at Zoltan petulantly. “Well, if Hissarlik hasn’t killed very many of us yet, he’s certainly getting ready to do so. He’s a Senones, isn’t he?”

      Mark was shaking his head lightly at Zoltan, but Zoltan wasn’t ready to give up the argument. “All right. Say you did have Farslayer in your hands this very moment, and you killed Hissarlik with it. Zip. Like that. What’s the next thing that would happen?”

      “The next thing?”

      “Well. I mean, someone over there will see Hissarlik fall, or find him dead, and then immediately pick the Sword up and kill you with it. Isn’t that the way things went a month ago?”

      Bonar’s eyes lighted up, the eyes of a man who at last understands a line of questioning, and has an answer ready. “Ah! Yes, you see, that’s where we made our mistake before. My sisters and I have talked about that. Next time we’ll manage things the clever way. First decide on a specific target, and then wait for that target to be in the proper position, or lure him into it if necessary. By proper position I mean somewhere where we can get the Sword back quickly after we use it. It means being patient. Perhaps it means setting ambushes, which is always difficult. But you’re perfectly right, there’s no use in making your enemy the gift of such a weapon to use against you. Not if you can help it.”

      Mark smiled faintly. And now Zoltan did give up, at least for the time being.

      But his questioning had prompted Bonar to ask a question of his own, addressed to Mark.

      “Your Majesty—uh, sir…”

      “Just call me Mark. ‘Prince’ will do if you really want to use a title.”

      “Ah, thank you, ah Mark. If you had the Sword in your hands at this moment, what target would you pick? This wizard Wood you keep warning us about, I suppose. But am I not correct? Wouldn’t you try to arrange some kind of ambush first, get the Sword back to use again?”

      Mark, shaking his head again, took thought. Then he answered seriously and courteously. “I certainly wouldn’t hurl any weapon at Wood just now. He is still in possession of Shieldbreaker, so Farslayer would probably be destroyed. One way to get rid of the damned thing, I suppose. But certainly it would fail to kill him, as long as he holds the Sword of Force.”

      “Is getting rid of Swords such a problem, then?” Now Bonar was enviously eyeing Stonecutter, which Mark wore at his side.

      “Believe me, there are times when it seems like a good idea to destroy one, or all of them. Though it’s almost impossible. Perhaps that’s what your cousin Cosmo had in mind when he rode off with Farslayer.”

      “Do you think so?” the Chief asked doubtfully. He appeared to be having a hard time digesting that idea.

      Mark turned to Zoltan and said: “I mean to have a talk with that hermit you mentioned. We’ll take our search for your mermaid out to the islands first if necessary, and then—”

      One of the fishermen, rowing industriously, muttered something. From under frowning, shaggy brows he looked up and around the sky.

      “What did you say, man?” Mark asked him sharply. “Something about demons?”

      The shaggy brows contracted further. “Aye, sir. I’m saying they have been seen in the valley. And that there’s a smell in the air just now, this moment, that I don’t like.”

      Bonar started to ask: “Does the Sword you wear, Prince, give you some protection against—”

      “Wait!” Mark gestured sharply for silence. Now he too was frowning up at the cloudless sky.

      The other men in the boat looked at one another. To all of them, a pall of night and gloom and sickness seemed to be descending upon the sunlit water in the middle of the day.

      None of the five men spoke. There was