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

      The Director, to no one’s surprise, expressed agreement.

      Now a long strongbox was carried into the tent by a couple of soldiers in blue and gold, who handled the prize warily. After depositing the strongbox at the Chairman’s feet, they opened it, lifted out the Sword of Wisdom, and placed it carefully in front of Hyrcanus upon the table, after a blue satin cloth had been meticulously folded and positioned for a cushion.

      One of the clerks, moving fussily and nervously, slightly adjusted the Old World lights to provide Hyrcanus with the best illumination.

      Only at this point was Valdemar struck by the conspicuous absence of the Sword of Mercy. Since he had been taken prisoner, no one in his hearing had even mentioned Woundhealer—that could only mean, he thought, that either Ben or Zoltan had managed to get away with the Sword of Healing.

      At this thought, Valdemar shot the Lady Yambu a sharp glance. And she, as if she somehow knew just what idea had just occurred to him, responded with a glance urging caution.

      Yes, Valdemar thought, it must be true. Hyrcanus and his people gave no indication of realizing how close they had come to capturing the Sword of Healing. Had they been aware of how narrowly that prize had just escaped them, they would already have launched an intensive search for it, and not be dawdling through this leisurely preparation for an interrogation.

      Of course Wayfinder by itself was treasure indeed. Treasure enough, as Valdemar was beginning to realize, to dazzle at least slightly even the Chairman of the Blue Temple himself. When the soldiers put the Sword of Wisdom down in front of Hyrcanus, his eyes came alight. He touched the black hilt with a tentative forefinger, then stroked it greedily.

      Confronted with the reality of Wayfinder, Chairman and Director both appeared to speedily lose interest in their prisoners. Evidently any serious questioning would be allowed to wait.

      The Director of Security rubbed his bald head nervously as he stared at the Sword. He said: “Sir, we must get this property to a place of safety as soon as possible.”

      “Of course.” Hyrcanus leaned forward on the table. “But surely we would be at fault, derelict in our duty to the Temple Stockholders, if we did not find one other duty even more pressing, and perform that one first?”

      “Sir?”

      “We must delay carrying this treasure away to safety, just long enough to make our first use of it.”

      The Director hesitated. “May I ask what use Your Opulence has in mind?”

      “You may ask. Though I suppose it should be obvious.” The Chairman, his face displaying a look of satisfaction, paused as if for emphasis. “I intend to require this Sword to indicate to us the location of the greatest treasure in the world.”

      For a moment there was silence in the pavilion.

      Valdemar was suddenly struck by what he considered an ominous indication. Neither Chairman nor Director was displaying the least concern about the fact that their prisoners were listening to this discussion. It was, the young man thought, as if the Blue Temple officials considered their captives already dead.

      At last Hyrcanus, standing up, moving carefully, drew Wayfinder from its sheath. The blade caught bright gleams from the Old World lights as the Chairman gripped the hilt in his two soft hands, making the Sword’s powers for the moment his own.

      “Now, how shall I phrase this request exactly?” This preliminary question seemed to be addressed more to himself than to anyone else, or to the Sword itself.

      The worried Director answered with a murmured suggestion that the first care be for safety.

      But Hyrcanus stubbornly shook his head. “We have,” he said, “had direct assurances regarding our present security from our cavalry commander, and also from your powers, magician. True?”

      “True, Your Opulence, but—”

      “Tell me, do you believe that our encampment here is now secure, or is it not?”

      “At the moment, sir, it is secure enough,” the other murmured unhappily.

      “Then there you are. Would breaking camp right now make the Sword any safer? Besides, our men and beasts are tired. They are all in need of rest before we undertake another march.”

      “True enough, Your Opulence.”

      “While they rest, we at the executive level can best make use of our time by pursuing our further duties to the stockholders.”

      Now for the first time Hyrcanus addressed the Sword directly. In his dry voice he phrased a simple demand: “Where is the greatest treasure in the world?”

      Valdemar, watching with a dozen others, thought that the Sword did not react; or it reacted only slightly, and in an uncertain way.

      “What in the world now?” the Chairman demanded, suddenly querulous. Obviously he had been expecting a more dramatic response of some kind. Letting the Blade rest on the table, he rubbed his left hand, the one free of the Sword’s hilt, over his bald head.

      After a little silence, the Director cleared his throat. “Do you think, Chairman, there might possibly have been some ambiguity in your phrasing of the question?”

      “Ambiguity? You mean, some uncertainty as to which of the world’s treasures is actually the greatest? Ah, the question of determining the best measure of determined value. Authorities do disagree on that, it’s true.” Hyrcanus cleared his throat again. “Perhaps I should rephrase my inquiry.”

      Valdemar hoped that if Hyrcanus did receive from the Sword a plain unequivocal answer to any of his urgent questions regarding treasure, the Chairman would not feel it necessary to break camp at once, tired men and beasts or not, and follow the direction indicated.

      Because what might he do with his prisoners then?

      Hyrcanus was now interrupting himself to raise another point: “I wonder whether we ought not to approach Prince Mark—or any successful monarch might do, I suppose—with the idea of making some kind of trade for this lovely piece of magic, or offering it for sale—after, of course, we have used it to the best advantage for the Temple.”

      “Prince Mark,” mused the Director, in a non-committal tone.

      “I am assuming Mark