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

      Under these conditions, the Prince had received indications that Wood himself was now somewhere in this general area. The most recent of these communications was a note from Ben, explaining that the Blue Temple force had been destroyed, and its camp taken over by an expedition under the command of Tigris.

* * *

      Mark observed several flying reptiles at irregular intervals of time. Their paths in the sky converged at a place no very great distance ahead of him. This fact warned the Prince that he was almost certainly closely approaching some enemy; from this point on he rode with the two Swords continually drawn.

      And now the subtle blending of their two powerful magics, Shieldbreaker in his right hand, Sightblinder in his left, both Swords more fully activated than when he had tried them in Karel’s presence, gave Mark strange, exotic feelings of power and glory. Wave after wave of giddiness threatened to unbalance him in his saddle. His uncle’s warnings clamored in his memory, but Mark forcibly put them from his mind—just now, both of his Swords were necessary.

      Old Karel had more than once cautioned him that these, like other forms of power, could be addictive. Not that Mark had needed the warning; he had long been old enough to understand that for himself.

      The Prince retained a firm faith that Shieldbreaker’s protection would hold absolutely against any spells or other attacks that Wood might launch personally, or might order to be made by others.

      As Mark grew closer to the enemy, the powers slumbering in the Sword of Force awoke and made a tapping sound. He knew that this noise signaled a hostile presence, somewhere close enough to represent an immediate danger.

      Now and again, as Mark moved forward, the dull sound arose, only to sink back almost to inaudibility. In the circumstances, knowing the power of this Sword, the Prince found the faint noise more comforting than alarming.

      As when the duel commenced between Karel and Wood, Mark’s experienced senses provided him with a vague but disturbing warning of evil magic, strange presences, nearby. He could feel these groping in the air around him, and then withdrawing thwarted.

* * *

      Wood, on taking over the camp established by Tigris, had quickly reorganized its layout and defenses.

      The Ancient One now occupied a blue and silver pavilion in the center of an elaborate and heavily safeguarded bivouac.

      The powers, human and inhuman, who had come here with the treacherous young enchantress had all by now been formally charged with incompetence or worse. Every one of them had now been taken away in chains, or the magical equivalent thereof.

      Having, as he thought, magical capabilities to spare, and no real concern for problems of logistics, the Ancient One had also set out to make this facility luxurious.

      In the few moments he thought he could spare from more immediate concerns, he studied the condition of his prisoner Yambu, and talked with her on several subjects.

      The Ancient One, with the help of several subordinates, was also conducting, or preparing to conduct, experiments with some new magical techniques. He nursed at least feeble hopes that these would enable him to get around the defense posed by the Sword of Force.

      But it did not take long to confirm his most gloomy auguries regarding the new methods. These were doomed to fail as absolutely as any other inferior magic ever set in opposition to a Sword.

      He was angry, but he had really expected no other result.

      “It is no use,” he admitted, his voice descending to a quiet rasp of rage. “Shieldbreaker’s protection remains absolute.”

      These new techniques had required some human sacrifice, and the Director had been chosen. The Lady Yambu had asked whether she was being considered as a candidate, and Wood had looked pained at the suggestion.

      The Ancient One did truly regret that Tigris was not currently available in his camp, so that she could do him a final service as the sacrifice.

      It would be hard, he thought, to imagine anything more satisfactory than watching her be fed slowly to a demon—unless of course he should manage to lay his hands on Woundhealer and Tigris together. Then new possibilities would open. He would be able to treat her, after all, to that little vacation in one of his remote strongholds for which she had once so eagerly expressed a wish…

      Yes, Wood already missed his little comrade, and he was going to miss her more. Oh, if only she had remained loyal to him a little longer! It was unsatisfying to have the decision on when to end a relationship taken out of one’s hands, so to speak.

* * *

      Wood talked with Brod, and in the course of this discussion he formally enlisted the Sarge as one of his followers.

      Brod groveled in gratitude.

      “You may demonstrate your thankfulness by performing a certain mission for me. Do this job well, and I will give you something more important.”

      “Anything my Master commands!”

      “I want you to seek out a certain woman—you will be given her approximate location, and magical means by which you will be able to certainly identify her—and bring her back here, to me, for my personal attention. You need not be too concerned about her sensibilities while she is in your charge.”

      “I take your meaning, Master.”

      “I think I made it plain enough.”

* * *

      Ben, forced to seek shelter almost continually, had been able to make little or no progress to the north. But he kept trying.

      On rounding a bend in a path that wound its way through scrubby forest, he suddenly came upon a vision that stopped him in his tracks—he was confronting a young woman, tall and strong, with clear blue eyes and bright red hair, who stood regarding him steadily.

      It was Ariane, his long-lost love.

      Intellectually, Ben knew better. He realized almost at once that he had really encountered Mark, carrying the Sword Sightblinder, so that the Prince must appear to his old friend, as to anyone else he met, as some object