The Seventh Book of Lost Swords : Wayfinder's Story by Fred Saberhagen (motivational books for women txt) 📕

Temple troops, magicians, and inhuman creatures. A few reptiles had already come down out of the clouded, slowly brightening sky. Larger forms were looming there.

      Even as he watched, a pair of the giant wings he had earlier sensed overhead came closer. A creature landed. Valdemar, harking back to stories heard in childhood, realized that it must be a griffin. He could only gaze in wonder.

      This was a large creature, much bigger than a riding-beast, with eagle’s head and beak and wings, and legs and talons of a gigantic lion. Across its back was strapped a kind of saddle, flanked on each side by a kind of hanging woven basket, a sidecar or howdah. One or two men—Valdemar could not get a clear look at first—were riding on the beast. There would have been room for three, with a driver in the central saddle.

      On the ground, the four-legged monster knelt, then crouched. The first of the passengers to disembark was a well-dressed man, short, redfaced and bald, who made an awkward dismount from one of the sidecars.

      Moments later, a second elderly Blue Temple official came into Valdemar’s field of vision. He was older and less ruddy of countenance than the first. Valdemar could not be sure whether this man had disembarked from the same mount, or from a slightly smaller griffin which had landed close behind the first.

      It was soon evident that the attacking force was commanded by the rather short, red-faced man. Valdemar now heard this individual addressed as Chairman Hyrcanus. The elder, obviously second in importance, was called the Director.

      Valdemar, with some difficulty raising his head a little farther against the bonds of magic that still held him down, was able to watch and listen as the Chairman expressed his satisfaction at having the solid ground under his feet again.

      Now from among the mixed group of Blue Temple military and irregulars who had gathered there emerged a face, and a voice, that Valdemar to his surprise could recognize. Chairman Hyrcanus was greeted by Sergeant Brod, who came pushing forward from amidst the latest detachment of cavalry to reach the scene.

      At least the Sarge, having somehow attached himself to the attackers, made an attempt to offer the Chairman such a greeting.

      But the official, scowling at this interloper, would not listen. “Who’re you?” Hyrcanus demanded; and then, before the man could possibly have answered, turned irritably to his cavalry officer. “Who’s this?”

      The officer seemed to shrink under his leader’s glare. “The man is a local guide we have signed on, Your Opulence. He’s been useful—”

      “Another expense, I suppose.” The Chairman turned away with an impatient gesture. “Get my pavilion up.”

      Thus brusquely rebuffed, Brod looked about. Catching sight of Valdemar and Lady Yambu, he came to stand over them, an expression of satisfaction gradually replacing the scowl on his ugly face.

      “Reckon I’ve met you folks before. Good mornin’ to ye.”

      “Good morning,” said Valdemar, thinking he had nothing to lose thereby. Yambu did not answer; the Lady’s eyes were closed, her face relaxed as if in sleep.

      While Brod hovered nearby, evidently wondering what to do next, Valdemar saw and heard the officer in command of the small Blue Temple cavalry force, standing at attention before Hyrcanus, respectfully ask the Chairman if there were any further orders? If not, his men had been riding all night and were in need of rest.

      Hyrcanus, abstractedly seeing to the careful unloading of a trunk from one of the griffins’ cargo baskets, gave the troops permission to rest, once camp was properly established and a guard posted.

      Then Hyrcanus, stretching and twisting his body as if he might be cramped from a long ride, exchanged some words with his Director of Security. Both men complained about the weariness and nervous strain brought on by this regrettably necessary means of travel.

      The Chairman also congratulated his Director of Security on the fact that that gentleman’s wits, such as they were, seemed to have been fully restored.

      The Director chuckled, dutifully and drily, at the little joke—if such it was.

      Then both of the Blue Temple executives, the Chairman in the lead, came to gaze sourly at their prisoners.

      Staring at the supine youth, Hyrcanus demanded: “Who are you, fellow?”

      “My name is Valdemar.”

      “That means nothing to me.”

      “You—are Chairman of the whole Blue Temple?” Valdemar didn’t know much about how such great organizations were managed, or, really, what he would have expected their managers to be like—but certainly he would have anticipated someone more impressive than this dumpy, commonplace figure.

      Brod, evidently still determined to gain points with the greatest celebrity he had probably ever encountered, had edged his way forward, and now took the opportunity to kick Valdemar energetically in the ribs.

      “Show some respect to Chairman Hyrcanus!” the Sarge barked.

      Someone else, in the middle distance, called: “We have the property ready for your inspection, sir.”

      Hyrcanus, readily allowing both kicker and victim to drop below the horizon of his attention, turned away. Valdemar got the impression that this man cared little for anyone’s respect; the property, whatever that might be, was of much greater interest.

      Valdemar supposed that the interesting property ready for inspection was the Sword of Wisdom. He stretched his neck, but couldn’t quite make out the object on the ground that Hyrcanus and the others gathered round to look at.

      Whatever it was, after a short conference, Hyrcanus was back, looming over Valdemar.

      “Fellow, they tell me that you were standing watch, sentry duty, at the time of our arrival.” The Chairman had the look of a man who was perpetually suspicious.

      “Yes, I was.” Valdemar’s bitterness at having failed in that duty came through. “What of it?”

      Brod, having moved into the background again, was not in sight at the moment. It was an ordinary soldier who kicked Valdemar this time, though Valdemar really hadn’t been trying to be insolent. These people, he thought, were really difficult to deal with.

      Hyrcanus asked him impatiently: “And you were holding the Sword called Wayfinder as you stood guard?”

      The youth saw no reason not to admit that fact.

      The red-faced man nodded. “No