Swords: 10 - The Seventh Book Of Lost Swords - Wayfinder's Story Read Free Page A

along the way, in the last day or two of your journey?”
           Valdemar blinked at her. “Difficulty? No. What sort of difficulty? Oh, do you mean bandits?” The young giant smiled faintly. “I never worry much about that sort of thing. And if there were any who saw me, no doubt they kept clear when they saw how I was armed.”
           Zoltan cleared his throat. “No trouble in finding your way through this forest, perhaps? Or in dealing with flying reptiles?”
           Valdemar looked up, concerned; at the moment the sky was free of drifting shadows. “No trouble finding my way; I simply walked the way Wayfinder told me to go. And no reptiles of any kind; I’ve never seen one that could fly.”
           “ Any kind of trouble?”
           “None. Well, several times, for no good cause that I could see, the Sword counseled me to change direction. And once, when I saw no reason not to move on, it kept me walking in a tight circle for an hour, so in effect I was held in one location. But nothing that I would call trouble. Why?”
           “Then would you now ask your Sword,” put in Yambu gently, “to put aside for the moment the matter of your bride-to-be, and lead us all three safely out of this damned wildwood?”
           Openmouthed, Valdemar gazed at her for a long moment. Then he nodded.
     
    * * *
     
           Less than an hour later all three travelers were resting comfortably at the bottom of another ravine, where a spring of clear water bubbled gently out of a crevice between rocks, and the trees grew just closely enough together to keep all sizable airborne creatures at a safe distance. Yambu and Zoltan had already satisfied their thirst at the spring, and were now refilling their canteens. Valdemar meanwhile had sheathed his elegant weapon and was bringing out generous portions of dried meat and hard bread from his pack.
           Far upslope, too far to be of immediate concern, an ominous, silent shadow drifted overhead, above the canopy of leaves; drifted and came back and went away again, as if it were no longer certain of where its prey might be.
           “Those creatures hunt us, young man,” said Yambu, almost in a whisper. “Leather-wings—and sometimes worse than that. You say you have never seen them before?”
           “I know them only by reputation.” The youthful giant looked vaguely horrified, and at the same time fascinated. But not particularly afraid. “Why do they hunt you?”
           “I believe they are in the service of some much more formidable enemy. Serving as his scouts. Then, too, it is my belief that any of the Twelve Swords tends to draw trouble to itself. And that one you are carrying in particular.”
           “And yet I have asked this Sword only to help me find a bride. And now to guide all three of us to safety.” Valdemar seemed more disappointed, and gently puzzled, than alarmed by Yambu’s reading of their situation.
           “You’ve heard the Song of Swords? You remember how the verse about this one goes?” Zoltan asked him, and without waiting for an answer proceeded to recite in a low voice:
     
    “Who holds Wayfinder finds good roads
    Its master’s step is brisk.
    The Sword of Wisdom lightens loads—”
     
    “ ‘—but adds unto their risk,’ “ Valdemar concluded. “Yes, I’ve heard that song since I was a child. Never thinking…”
           The gigantic youth let the matter drop. Then he looked at the silver-haired woman again. His gaze was timid, but resolute. “I can remember hearing, long ago,” he remarked, “of a lady named Yambu, who was once known as the Silver Queen.”
           She who bore that name ignored the invitation to discuss her past. Having finished filling her canteen, she sat at ease on the mossy bank beside the spring.
           “Zoltan and I thank you for your help, young man,” she said graciously. “Where will you