The Last Book Of Swords : Shieldbreaker’s Story (15 page)

      
Granted this seeming encouragement, trying to put thoughts of Skulltwister out of his mind, Amintor began to use his bulk to work his way in that direction.

      
Meanwhile Vilkata, even as he stood looking out over the adoring throng, found himself obsessed by the idea that every one of these folk now offering him such frenzied adoration would very shortly be starting to come out of the Mindsword-fog. A few of them—and the thought was enough to give him chills—might be already faking their devotion. The very first defections, he surmised, had occurred already. They would have begun within a few hours of Skulltwister’s smashing, an event now some eight hours in the past.

      
Perhaps the most urgent problem that he faced was that there were very few humans whom he could even begin to trust on any basis other than enslavement—and, at the moment, none of those people were within a hundred kilometers. Demons were useful in many ways, sometimes invaluable, but that race certainly had its limitations.

* * *

      
The Baron, having managed to consult his own Sword once again as he kept pushing his way through the crowd—his actions with that formidable weapon earned him a few suspicious looks from people around him—persevered in his bold effort to approach the Dark King.

      
The closer Amintor got to the balcony, the more his progress was disputed. Trying to elbow one’s way through a throng of jealous worshippers was inherently dangerous. A murmur went up, then an outcry, at last enough of a disturbance to attract the attention of the Eyeless One upon his balcony. The Baron gestured with his free hand, and called out. A guardian demon, watchful, came buzzing overhead.

      
Vilkata’s demonic vision was evidently acute, for a moment later he had recognized Amintor and was shouting orders for the crowd to make way; and once the Master’s will was made known to the crowd, they instantly complied. Very quickly the Baron was pushed and drawn into the palace, then, after some further delay marked by arguments among converts, he was conducted to Vilkata’s side.

* * *

      
It was unnecessary for Amintor to climb all the way to the balcony, for Vilkata in his eagerness had come down from it to meet him in an intermediate room. On first coming into each other’s presence, the two men hailed and greeted each other warily, though with considerable show of good fellowship and enthusiasm.

      
Vilkata at once felt confident that Amintor was not under the Mindsword’s influence; certainly the Baron’s manner, while respectful, was vastly different from the adoring attitude of those by whom the two men were surrounded.

      
The Baron, as if he could deduce what thoughts were running through the Dark King’s mind, stated the fact explicitly. “I am here by my own decision, Majesty.”

      
“I am glad to hear it … some years have passed since we have seen each other. You look healthy and prosperous.”

      
“Indeed, too many years, Your Majesty.”

      
Vilkata’s eyeless gaze fell to the black hilt at the other’s side, which Amintor was making no effort to conceal. “What brings you to Tasavalta, and to this city, Baron, at this auspicious time?”

      
“With your permission?” Amintor—taking care to move his hand very slowly and cautiously—drew Coinspinner, just enough to let the Eyeless One have a good look at the hilt.

      
The pale brows above the empty sockets rose. “Aha! So the Sword of Chance has counseled you to come this way—I take it that your arrival in the city was quite recent?”

      
“Shortly before dawn, Majesty.” Amintor was wincing involuntarily, making a not entirely successful effort to ignore the close proximity of the Dark King’s demons.

      
The Dark King smiled in amusement, then scowled fiercely. “Do they bother you, my little pets? Hey there, Arridu, Pitmedden—all the rest of you—stand back a little! Give this, my partner, room to breathe.”

      
At once the noisome cloud of demons, their looming presence, became, gratefully, less obtrusive.

      
Amintor raised a not completely steady hand to wipe his forehead. “My thanks,” he said sincerely, “and my apologies for any inconvenience. But such creatures inevitably make me feel a little sickish.” He did not mention the other side of his concern, which was not directly for his own personal welfare, rather that one of the pets out of sheer exuberant malignity would attempt to play some prank upon him, and Coinspinner, active at his side, would somehow blot the foul thing out of existence in a twinkling. Which would not endear the Baron to the Dark King.

      
Vilkata shrugged, dismissing the subject of his pets and guardians. He stood waiting, evidently considering something very thoughtfully.

      
The Baron seized what seemed to be an opportunity. “Your Majesty, I have never been one to hide my intentions in clouds of rhetoric. With all respect, I propose that you and I form a partnership—you, of course, to be the senior.”

      
The Dark King did not appear to be at all surprised by the offer. Better, from Amintor’s point of view, he was immediately receptive to the plan, spreading his arms wide in a slow gesture, as if to say: It is accomplished! Not bothering with any coy pretense of reluctance. He confessed that he stood in need of relatively trustworthy human assistance.

      
Not that the Dark King gave the impression of begging for help. Far from it. Vilkata’s willingness to take a partner was surely the confident seizing of an opportunity, not an act of desperation. A sixth sense warned Amintor that something in the situation remained unexplained. “But, Majesty, if you have the Mindsword, surely recruiting people to serve you is no problem?”

      
All human onlookers, prodded by demons, had withdrawn to a distance of a room or two. Vilkata, taking the Baron by the arm familiarly, began to stroll with him along a marble hallway. Their boots clopped almost in unison, drawing rich echoes from the stone.

      
The Dark King said quietly: “Since we are partners now, I’ll keep no secrets from you. Alas, I have it no longer.”

      
“The Mindsword? Ah!” Amintor stopped in his tracks.

      
“The fact is that no one does.” And Vilkata related in a few terse words the basic facts of his skirmish in the armory—leaving out, of course, the great fact of the abject terror he had experienced.

      
He concluded: “At this moment I am in possession of perhaps a thousand enthusiastic human converts, for a few days more—perhaps for no longer than a few hours, in some cases. You know, Baron, how these things work.”

      
“Indeed, I have some passing acquaintance with the effects of all the Swords. And your demons? To what degree, if I may ask, will your control of them be altered?”

      
The Dark King shrugged, then explained that it was not the fact that his demons would soon be free of Skulltwister’s spells that worried him the most. Vilkata had been dealing with demons almost all of his long life, and he considered himself magician enough to handle his present crew, even without the Mindsword in hand to set the ultimate seal on his authority.

      
But controlling people was in many ways more difficult.

      
Amintor nodded. Then he asked: “If Skulltwister has been smashed, Your Majesty, then what Sword is it that you now wear at your side?”

      
Vilkata smiled faintly. “Another reason we may hope for ultimate success.” And he allowed the Baron to see the small white hammer on the hilt, and gave some indication of how he had so recently come into possession of Shieldbreaker.

      
Now Amintor could understand the confidence.

      
When some minor details of the partnership had been concluded by mutual agreement, the Dark King—naturally confirmed in his expectation to be senior partner—now in effect getting his hands on Coinspinner, began to consider out loud whether it might be better to smash it right away.

      
When the suggestion was made, Amintor was horrified.

      
The Dark King yielded the point. He admitted that it seemed preferable, almost essential, at this stage of affairs, to get all the help the Sword of Chance was capable of giving. For one thing, it could be an invaluable help in finding the other Swords and eventually getting them all out of circulation. Not to mention Coinspinner’s usefulness for other purposes as well—for example, in finally disposing of Prince Mark.

      
The partners quickly agreed that Coinspinner’s first assigned task ought to be tracking down Prince Stephen—or whoever else the lonely warrior in the armory might possibly have been.

      
Amintor, struck by what he considered inspiration, drew a deep breath and announced that he was presenting Coinspinner freely to his new senior partner as a gift. With a dramatic gesture he actually unbuckled the swordbelt and held it out.

      
Vilkata was immediately wary of such generosity; the hideously smooth, pale face, eyeless but very far from blind, pressed a silent and suspicious query.

      
The Baron was smoothly reassuring, and disarmingly frank. “In the first place, Your Majesty, I could not, even supposing that I wanted to, use this weapon against you, armed as you now are. And in the second place, the Sword of Chance has been with me now for many months; as you know at least as well as I, there’s no telling when it might fly away of its own accord. Therefore it seems to me that the best use I can make of it right now is to cement our bargain.” And he handed over the sheathed weapon.

      
He was right, suspicion had not been allayed. Vilkata, reaching out as if to accept the great gift, gave it only a symbolic touch, then pushed the Sword of Chance right back to the giver.

* * *

      
Both partners considered themselves to be in a position of great strength, armed with Shieldbreaker and soon to have available Amintor’s army, which was still offstage—now Amintor had to tell his new partner about that asset as well.

      
Just like the old days, Vilkata commented, smiling. Amintor agreed. The old days when they had sometimes worked together.

      
Neither man chose to remind the other that in the old days the relationship had sometimes been far from smooth.

Chapter Twelve

      
The partnership agreement was soon concluded with a formal oath, a vow of mutual loyalty rather hastily and mechanically recited by both parties, and solemnized by the sacrifice of the small child of a servant, willingly donated by its convert parent. The formalities being thus concluded, the Dark King called his new colleague into a private conference, inviting him to breakfast on the least damaged of the palace’s rooftop terraces. The Baron, still faintly belching the street vendor’s fried bread and broiled fish, accepted automatically.

      
No more than half an hour after Amintor had entered the palace, the two men, quite alone except for the ubiquitous demon Pitmedden, were comfortably seated under a summery arbor of grapevines, on an architectural elevation which gave them a view of the ocean beyond the red rooftops of Sarykam. It seemed plain now that the surrounding city was not going to burn after all, in any wholesale way, though here and there a diminishing column of smoke still rose from among the roofs.

      
The Dark King gave orders to his guardian demons, and to his new human aides, that he and his new colleague were not to be disturbed at their conference, save for the most serious emergency.

      
Vilkata had also seen to it that the convert servants waiting on table were magically rendered deaf, in a selective fashion, that they might hear table orders and yet learn nothing of importance—just in case they survived long enough to be deconverted.

      
These details out of the way, Vilkata settled himself in his chair at the head of the table. “Now, Baron. Tell me about this army you claim to have. Where is it now, and how strong?”

      
“No mere claim, Majesty.” Amintor began to explain in circumstantial detail about the current disposition of his forces, just where and how his people were encamped, in certain well-watered meadows not far outside the borders of Tasavalta. There were some five thousand fighting men, plus auxiliary magicians, and several hundred flying reptiles of diverse sizes and subspecies.

      
Vilkata did not appear to be entirely convinced. Amintor was aware that his former associate cultivated an attitude of rarely approving anything enthusiastically, of never really trusting anything that he was told. The Dark King said: “Such a force must have been difficult for any individual, no matter how wealthy and talented, to raise—and it must be hard to maintain in the field.”

      
“Oh, quite impossible, Your Majesty—except for this.” And the Baron tapped the black hilt of Coinspinner, now so luckily restored to his side.

      
“Of course.” The Dark King went on to wax somewhat enthusiastic about all he was going to be able to achieve, in the way of further conquests, with a reasonably reliable army at his disposal. “With Shieldbreaker here, and Coinspinner now as well, I think we may say conservatively that we have good grounds for optimism.”

      
“Indeed we do.” And Amintor raised his fruit juice in something like a toast. Suddenly he had to struggle to keep from yawning. He had spent a long night in the saddle, and was now well into what promised to be a long and busy day.

* * *

      
Not that Vilkata was openly discussing all his assets. He continued to keep secret one he considered among the most important—the Old World spacecraft he had ridden from the Moon and now had stowed and waiting in a certain cave little more than an hour’s ride south from Sarykam along the coast.

      
Amintor, of course, did not suspect anything of the kind. But in the privacy of his own thoughts he was congratulating himself on his success in keeping a certain secret of his own.

* * * * * *

      
Having indulged briefly in mutual congratulations, the partners turned urgently to planning.

      
Vilkata seemed to consider seriously the possibility of leaving Amintor in charge in the city while he himself took personal command of the pursuit of Mark’s young cub, Prince Stephen. It was important that the enemy not be allowed to retain Sightblinder.

      
His junior partner inquired: “This lone opponent you faced down in the armory—that must have been Mark’s offspring Stephen, hey?”

      
“So it seems.”

      
The two men were casting back in their respective memories, calculating how old Mark’s younger son must be by now. The result was not complimentary to the Dark King’s image as a conqueror. “A mere stripling-you are sure that he’s the one?”

      
All the evidence pointed that way. Karel, still trembling with a convert’s emotions, almost weeping, was called in to testify again about the current whereabouts, as far as they were known, of the members of the Tasavaltan royal family. Yes, all the available evidence indicated that the Dark King’s anonymous opponent in the armory must have been young Prince Stephen.

      
Arridu—who was still safely under the Mindsword’s influence, the Dark King was sure—was also called in for consultation. This time, on joining the two men, the demon took for himself the image of an elderly and grave enchantress.

      
Arridu stoutly denied that anyone answering the description of young Prince Stephen had been near when the demon picked up Shieldbreaker. There had been only a few inconsequential citizens of the neighborhood—“and, of course, the person of Your Glorious Majesty.”

      
There was a little silence before the Dark King reacted.
“You thought I was there? I assure you I was not.”

      
A complete explanation of the powers of Sightblinder, followed by lengthy persuasion, was needed to convince Arridu that his glorious Master had certainly not been on the scene when the Sword of Force was captured.

      
The Dark King rubbed his temples, and said for the fourth time: “I tell you, you did not see me—you saw an image cast by the Sword of Stealth.”

      
Amintor interrupted to point out that, whatever images had been seen, Stephen’s presence at the demolished house of his grandparents seemed to be confirmed by the fact that the demon’s banishment had been effected at that place—only the Emperor’s children, and, apparently, grandchildren, could hurl away demons with such authority. And it appeared highly unlikely that Mark himself had been there.

* * *

      
Another problem loomed, seeming at least equally as pressing as the search for Sightblinder. Within twenty-four hours Amintor, assuming he was still present, would be the only human being within a hundred kilometers who was not the Dark King’s bitter enemy.

      
Vilkata, toying with the black hilt of Shieldbreaker at his side, cast a sardonic eye at the figure of the elder convert standing patiently beside the table. “How soon will you become my enemy again, old Karel? Another three or four hours perhaps, before your faith begins to weaken? Another entire day, before you are completely apostate?”

      
The stout old man was shaken, hurt, insulted. “Never, Master! I had rather die first. And I refuse to believe that our people will turn on you, now that it has finally been given to them to know the truth.”

      
“Your confidence is touching,” the Dark King remarked drily. “See that you do die before you waver—I will make sure of that—but it occurs to me that I will have another mission for you to accomplish before your loyalty begins to flag.”

* * * * * *

      
In fact, as Amintor now remarked, the two of them and Vilkata’s thousand or so converts were already surrounded by swarming enemies—all of Tasavalta who had managed to remain out of the Mindsword’s range before that weapon was destroyed. These people would soon recover from the effects of the lightning attack and begin again to be effectively organized. Moreover, the great majority of the converts, however fanatical in the Dark King’s cause they might be at this moment, were, within a matter of a day or so, going to become his bitterest enemies of all.

      
After brief discussion King and Baron had to agree that Amintor would almost certainly find it impossible to hold the city without Coinspinner. The Baron’s army was still more than a hundred kilometers away and could not possibly arrive in Sarykam before the majority of the converts relapsed. Add to this the difficulty that Amintor had no skill in the control of demons. If the Dark King were to proclaim this man his regent in command of Sarykam, surely what remained of the city’s population, hostages or not, would revolt and murder him long before Amintor’s own force could reach the city.

      
On the other hand, if Amintor were allowed to keep Coinspinner, he would probably succeed at holding the city or at practically any other task—the Sword of Chance could work miracles of good luck. But then Coinspinner would not be available to help run down the escaping Prince.

      
Arridu or other demons could not very well be sent in pursuit of Stephen, because Stephen had already demonstrated his power of exiling their kind. Of course, if Arridu were given the loan of Coinspinner for the task, then unlucky things might be expected to start happening to Stephen at once, to arrest his flight or at least slow him down.

* * *

      
Vilkata soon came to one firm decision: that he himself had better stay in Sarykam. With Shieldbreaker in hand, and his demons and a large number of hostages all at his disposal, he felt confident of being able to maintain his grip upon the capital. Baron Amintor would be allowed to retain the Sword of Chance, and to him would go the job of running down the Princeling.

      
Amintor agreed that this was probably the best way to manage things. Privately he was well pleased with this arrangement, because it allowed him to keep the Sword of Chance. His intention, as soon as he should be alone again, was to consult Coinspinner once more, with an exclusive view to his own self-interest.

* * *

      
Still mulling over the problem of how best to achieve his own advantage, the Dark King nibbled absently at his elaborate breakfast while he continued his conference with the Baron. Meanwhile the selectively deafened palace servants, naturally all converts desperate to please, plied their god and his new second-in-command with hot tea, fruit juices, and the finest viands from the palace cellars. There was also some fine wine on the table, but both men sipped it only sparingly.

      
When the Baron got to his feet to stretch and stroll about the vine-shaded terrace, he found himself overlooking one of the palace courtyards into which the thousand or more hostages had been crammed. The murmurous voices of these victims rose; Amintor could hear some of them still singing the hymn to their new god. Well, in a day or two, that at least was going to change rather drastically.

      
All exits from these courtyards had been blocked off—some magical provision for sanitation had probably been made—and above each of the enclosed spaces a minor demon crouched like a stone gargoyle, sleepy-eyed but watchful.

      
Staring at the table before him, Vilkata remarked almost wistfully that this would probably be the last peaceful meal either of them would be able to enjoy for a while. The burdens of leadership were immense.

      
“Immense!” Amintor agreed, matching his senior partner’s mood.

      
They toasted each other and their joint enterprise, sipping some of Prince Mark’s fine wine.

      
During this time old Karel was kept in silent attendance, like one of the table-servants—except that his hearing was left intact.

      
“What are we to do with this one?” the Baron asked, after a while.

      
The Eyeless One smiled faintly. “Something special, I think—there’s no great hurry, we have many hours yet before his faith could possibly begin to waver. Perhaps he should go with you on your search. With Coinspinner at your side, that should not take you many hours.”

      
Amintor nodded. And yawned. He had been in the saddle all night, and his first breakfast had not entirely agreed with him. He fought against yawning and remarked that he wanted to get a couple of hours’ sleep before setting out to hunt the enemy who seemed still to be equipped with Sightblinder. He was far too experienced a campaigner not to prepare methodically, even when time was pressing.

      
“Anyway, there’s no great hurry. He’ll not be making very good time out of the city.”

      
The Dark King looked a question.

      
Amintor smiled faintly and tapped the dark hilt of the Sword of Chance.

      
“Oh. But of course.”

      
When Vilkata, a moment later, wanted to know whether the Baron had yet formed any plans for the search, Amintor pushed back his chair from the table and drew and consulted his Sword. Coinspinner gave him a northwesterly direction in which to begin his search for Sightblinder and the youth who was presumably still carrying it.

      
Amintor would have liked to consult the Sword on another matter—what direction his army should take, on its forthcoming march to Sarykam—but could not think of a way to frame the question so Coinspinner would answer it.

      
Vilkata, when informed of this difficulty, only shrugged. “Actually there are several questions I would like to put to the Sword, but I cannot think of any way to do so.” Of course, it was hopeless to try to obtain guidance, beyond the indication of some physical direction, from the Sword of Chance. In that respect the weapon shared largely the same virtues and limitations as its fellow Sword, the late lamented Wayfinder.