The First Book of Lost Swords - Woundhealer's Story Read Free

ivory shoulders reminded him at once, and irresistibly, of a little girl he had known, years previously, when he had been but a small child himself. Zoltan had loved her, in the way of one child for another, though until this moment he had not thought of her for years. Somehow his first look at this older girl in the sunlight brought back the vision of the child. And the suspicion, the hope, began to grow in him that this was she.
           With a start Zoltan became aware of the fact that Elinor was calling his name in a frantic whisper, that she must have been calling it for some time. He turned his head to look helplessly at his sister.
           “He’s getting worse!” The words were uttered under her breath, but fiercely.
           And indeed, the child’s fit was now certainly the worst that Zoltan had ever seen him undergo. Zoltan got to his feet, the girl outside temporarily forgotten.
           There was a lull outside, a certain lightening of the shadow.
           And then, suddenly, a confused uproar. Whatever was happening out there, the noise it made was for the moment impossible to interpret.
           Then Zoltan understood. With a rush, new hoof beats and new voices made themselves heard in the distance. As if blown off by a sharp breeze, the sickness faded from the air, the darkness lifted totally. Abruptly there began the sounds of a sharp fight immediately outside the cave, the honest sound of blades that clashed on other blades and shields. To Zoltan’s ears it sounded like the soldiers’ practice field, but in his mind and in his stomach he knew that this was more than practice.
           Now one man’s voice in particular, shouting powerfully outside the cave, was recognizable to them all. Zoltan’s knees, which until now had stayed reliable, went suddenly shaky with relief. “Uncle Mark,” he gasped.
           Elinor looked back at him. “Uncle Mark,” she echoed, prayerfully.
           Adrian, twisting his body and pulling with both hands, somehow tore his face free of her grip. “Father!” he cried out loudly, once, and fell into a faint.
     
     

 
    Chapter Two
     
           On the night following their temporary entrapment in the cave, Zoltan and Elinor slept soundly at High Manor, in their own beds. In contrast, it was well after midnight before the Princes Adrian and Stephen, and their playmate Bern, were returned to their homes in Sarykam, the capital city of Tasavalta. When Prince Adrian was put to bed in his own room in the Palace, the fit was still on him, though the fierceness of it had diminished.
           Prince Mark, Adrian’s father, had brought his family home himself because there had seemed to be little or nothing more that he could accomplish personally at High Manor in the aftermath of the attack. Next morning’s sun was well up before he roused from his own uneasy and sporadic slumber.
           He was alone on waking, but felt no surprise at the fact. He assumed that his wife had remained all night at the child’s bedside, getting such sleep as she was able in a chair. She had done the same thing often enough before; and Mark himself was no stranger to such vigils either.
           Presently Prince Mark walked out onto the balcony that opened from his and the Princess’s bedroom. Squinting into sunlight, he looked about him over the city and the sea. The far horizon, which had once seemed to promise infinite possibilities, was beginning to look and feel to him like the high wall of a prison.
     
    * * *
     
           Having filled his lungs with sea air and his eyes with sunlight, and convinced himself that at least most of the world was still in place, he came back indoors to join his wife in the child’s room. It was a small chamber that adjoined their own. Kristin, looking tired, was standing beside the small bed and listening to the Chief Physician of the Royal Household. There was visible in her