Swords: 08 - The Fifth Book Of Lost Swords - Coinspinner’s Story Read Free

then—Kristin was awakened, to be informed by an ashen-faced aide that the Sword of Healing had been stolen from its place in the White Temple at some time during the night.
           The Princess sat up swiftly, pulling a robe around her shoulders. “Stolen! By whom?” Though it seemed to her that the answer was already plain in her mind.
           Awkwardly the messenger framed her own version of an answer. “No thief has been arrested, ma’am. The delegation from Culm reportedly departed about two hours ago. And there are witnesses who accuse them of the theft.”
           By this time Kristin was out of bed, fastening her robe, her arms in its sleeves. “Has Rostov been aroused? Have any steps been taken to organize a pursuit?”
           “The General is being notified now, my lady, and I am sure we may rely on him to waste no time.”
           “Let us hope that very little time has been wasted already. If Rostov or one of his officers comes looking for me, tell them I have gone to the White Temple to see for myself whatever there may be to see.”
           Only a very few minutes later she was striding into the Temple, entering a scene swarming with soldiers and priests, and aglow with torches. With slight relief she saw that her chief wizard, Karel, who was also her mother’s brother, was already on hand and had taken charge for the moment.
           Karel was very old—exactly how old was difficult to determine, as was often the case with wizards of great power, though in this case the figure could hardly run into centuries. He was also fat, spoke in a rich, soft voice, and puffed whenever he had to move more than a few steps consecutively. This last characteristic, thought Kristin, had to be more the result of habit—or of sheer laziness, perhaps—than of disease. For Karel, like the more mundane citizens of the realm, had had the benefits of Woundhealer available to him for the past several years.
           Karel reported succinctly and with deference. After a few words the Princess was in possession of the basic, frightening facts. Last night, as usual, the Temple had been closed for a few hours, beginning at about midnight. Ordinarily a priest or two remained in the building while it was closed, ready to produce the Sword should some emergency require its healing powers; but last night, through a series of misunderstandings, none of the white-robes had been on duty.
           An hour or so past midnight, the chance passage of a brief summer rainstorm had kept off the streets most of the relatively few citizens who might normally have been abroad at such a time. And so, incredible as it seemed to Kristin, apparently no one outside the Temple had witnessed the assault, or raid.
           Kristin at first had real difficulty in believing this. There was always someone in that square. “And what of the guards inside the Temple?” she demanded. “Where were they? Where are they now?”
           The old man sighed, and gave such explanation as he could. Inasmuch as White Temple people were notoriously poor at guarding such material treasures as came into their hands from time to time, the rulers of Tasavalta had never trusted the white-robed priests to guard the Sword. Instead, a detail of men from an elite army regiment protected Woundhealer.
           At least two of these soldiers were always on duty inside the Temple’s supposedly secure walls and doors. But last night, at the crucial hour, one guard of the minimal pair, though a young man, had collapsed without warning, clutching his chest in pain, and died almost at once. A few moments later the victim’s partner, reaching into a dark niche to grasp the bell rope that would summon help, had been bitten on the hand by a poisonous snake, and paralyzed almost instantly. The soldier’s life was still in danger. The snake was of a species not native to these parts, and so far no one had been able to