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

resolute. “I can remember hearing, long ago,” he remarked, “of a lady named Yambu, who was once known as the Silver Queen.”

      She who bore that name ignored the invitation to discuss her past. Having finished filling her canteen, she sat at ease on the mossy bank beside the spring.

      “Zoltan and I thank you for your help, young man,” she said graciously. “Where will you ask your Sword to point you next? And may I ask you just where and how Wayfinder came into your possession?”

      Valdemar looked up at the treetops. “I still seek a wife,” he declared stubbornly. “Why this Sword has led me to you, lady, I confess I do not understand.”

      “There may be an easy explanation. When the object sought is otherwise impossible, or very difficult, to obtain directly, Wayfinder leads its master first to the necessary means to bring the goal within reach. You may be sure the Sword of Wisdom is not suggesting that you propose marriage to me, who could be your grandmother. At least let us hope not. Sword or no, that would be far from wise. Besides, I have no wish to spend my last years growing grapes.”

      “Why, then, has Wayfinder brought me to you?”

      Yambu shook her head. “It would seem that, somehow—I do not know how—I can help you to achieve your goal.”

      Valdemar sighed. More to himself than to the others he murmured: “I will now repeat my first request. I want this Sword to lead me to the woman, of all the women on earth, who will be the perfect, the ideal wife for me. Nothing more and nothing less.”

      And he drew Wayfinder from its sheath and held it out again in his great hands.

      Once more the point reacted, quivering, only when it was aimed precisely at the lady.

      Without comment the young giant re-sheathed the Sword of Wisdom at his waist. Giving up the puzzle for the moment, he recounted to his new companions the story of his enigmatic visitor, seven days past.

      He concluded with a question. “Has either of you any idea who my strange caller might have been? It was someone who wore gray, even as you do. That’s all I could really see.”

      Zoltan and Yambu looked at each other. Zoltan shrugged. The lady said: “A number of ideas; but no reason to take any of them seriously.”

      Her young companion nodded. “Certainly it was neither of us, if you are thinking that. A week ago we were nowhere near the region where you say you live. As for wearing gray, uncountable thousands of folk do that. Your own garments have acquired something of that tinge from travel.”

      The bigger young man nodded ruefully. “Then can either of you guess why this Sword should have led me to you?”

      Zoltan only shook his head.

      “I think,” Yambu told Valdemar, “you will have to be patient if you want an answer to that question. It may be that the answer will never become clear, even if you do find your wife.”

      Valdemar took thought, running long fingers through his dark curly hair. A sparse beard was beginning to sprout on his youthful cheeks. Then almost shyly he inquired: “Might it have anything to do with the fact that…as I said before, a lady with your name was once the Silver Queen? But I had thought…”

      Yambu nodded impatiently. “Very well, my history is no great secret. That was once my title. But I don’t know why my past, good or bad, should have anything much to do with a young man who raises grapes and seeks a bride. You would have expected the Silver Queen to be a somewhat younger woman? Hold Soulcutter in your hands, my friend, throughout a day of battle, and you will be fortunate indeed if you do not look worse than I do.”

      Now young Valdemar indeed looked awed. “I apologize, my lady, for what must seem unwarranted curiosity.”

      “No apology is necessary.”

      The peasant-looking youth frowned for a while at the weapon hanging from his belt. Then he said: “Perhaps I must take the Sword’s bringing me to you to mean that I should stay with you until it tells me otherwise. Perhaps it even means that I should turn over Wayfinder and its powers to you.”

      Yambu was frowning too.

      Impulsively Valdemar said: “Let us try that!” In a moment he had unbelted his Sword, and was gallantly proffering the black hilt in her direction, the sheathed Blade balanced flat across his forearm.

      Quietly she responded: “I do not know that you have hit on the right interpretation, young man. But…on the other hand, why should I fear this Sword?”

      Her lips moved again, almost silently. Only Zoltan, who was close beside her, could hear her very low whisper: “Yet I do.”

      A moment later, she was reaching out to firmly grasp Wayfinder’s hilt.

      Having accepted the weapon, and drawn it from its sheath, Yambu stood up straight, her voice becoming a little louder. “It is a long time since I have felt the power of any Sword in my hands. Well, Sword of Wisdom, here you are, and here am I. If you can read my heart, show me the way which I must go to satisfy it.”

      The Silver Queen held out the blade in a strong two-handed grip, then swept it around the horizon, in unconscious imitation of Valdemar’s first gesticulation with the weapon, seven days ago.

      In her hands, Wayfinder’s keen point quivered at one point of the compass only—almost straight east.

      Yambu let the tip of the heavy blade sag to the earth. She said to Valdemar: “I am favored with a definite reply. Now, do you want me to give you this weapon back?”

      To the surprise of both the others, the giant youth put both his hands behind him, as if to make things difficult for anyone who meant to thrust the black hilt back into his possession. He said: “My lady, I wonder…”

      “Yes?”

      “Might the Sword’s response to me mean that I am to stay with you, at least for a time? Travel with you?”

      Yambu