Fred Saberhagen - Lost Swords 05 - Coinspinners Story

VIP免费

2024-12-14 0 0 331.82KB 126 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

Kebbi, feeling an intoxication much more of impending triumph than of drink, faced

his single opponent across the blanket-covered table. The tall man's shadowy companion,

as if she meant to protect his back, moved up close behind him, where she remained

standing.

And now, moving slowly, the hand of the unknown brought forth from somewhere inside

his cape a truly magnificent jewel, holding it up for all to see. The stone was the

shape of a teardrop, the color of a sapphire's blood. His large, strong fingers held it

up, turning it in the lamplight for Kebbi to see and admire. Still, the man's attention

was entirely concentrated upon Kebbi, as if he were totally indifferent as to anything

that other folk might see or do.

Unhurriedly the tall man said: "I will stake this gem against the Sword you wear."

Tor books by Fred Saberhagen

A Century of Progress

Coils (with Roger Zelazny)

Dominion

The Dracula Tape

Earth Descended

The Holmes-Dracula File

The Mask of the Sun

A Matter of Taste

An Old Friend of the Family

Specimens

Thorn

The Veils of Azlaroc

The Water of Thought

THE BERSERKER SERIES

The Berserker Wars

The Berserker Throne

Berserker Base (with Poul Anderson, Ed Bryant,

Stephen Donaldson, Larry Niven, Connie Willis,

and Roger Zelazny)

Berserker: Blue Death

THE BOOKS OF SWORDS

The First Book of Swords

The Second Book of Swords

The Third Book of Swords

THE BOOKS OF LOST SWORDS

The First Book of Lost Swords: Woundhealer's Story

The Second Book of Lost Swords: Sightblinder's Story

The Third Book of Lost Swords: Stonecutter's Story

The Fourth Book of Lost Swords: Farslayer's Story

The Fifth Book of Lost Swords: Coinspinner's Story

The Sixth Book of Lost Swords: Mindsword's Story*

*forthcoming

THE

FIFTH BOOK

OF LOST SWORDS

COINSPINNER'S

STORY

FRED SABERHAGEN

TOR

fantasy

A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK NEW YORK

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book

are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

THE FIFTH BOOK OF LOST SWORDS

thereof, in any form.

A TOR Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.

49 West 24th Street

New York, N.Y. 10010

Cover art by Jim Warren Cover design by Carol Russo

ISBN: 0-812-55286-5

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 89-39878

First edition: December 1989

First mass market edition: September 1990

Printed in the United States of America 098765432

ONE

I swear to you, most royal and excellent lady," declared the handsome and

distinguished visitor, "I solemnly pledge, most lovely and farseeing Princess, that if

you can save the life of my Queen's consort and end his suffering, her royal gratitude

and his-not to mention my own-will know no bounds."

Princess Kristin sighed. Over the course of the past two days, she had already

heard the same statement a score of times from the same man, sometimes in very nearly the

same words, sometimes in speech less flowery. Now once more she forced herself to attend

with courtesy and patience to the representative of Culm.

As soon as the distinguished and handsome visitor had concluded his latest version

of his plea, she turned half away from him, trying to frame her answer. Over the past

two days she had endeavored to give the same reply in different ways. This time the

Princess began her response in silence, with a gesture indicating the view beneath the

balcony on which they stood.

Below the Palace, sloping away toward the sea, rank on rank of the neatly tiled,

multicolored roofs of Sarykam gleamed in the bright sun of summer afternoon. Halfway

between the Palace and the harbor, the mass of crowded buildings was interrupted by a

tree-lined square of generous size, which held at its center the chief White Temple of

the city. This structure, a pyramid of stark design and chalky whiteness, contained

among other things two shrines, those of the gods Ardneh and Draffut.

Of greater practical importance to most people was the fact that the pyramid also

contained, within a special coffer, the Sword called Woundhealer.

Today, as on almost every day, a line of people seeking the Sword's help had begun

to form before dawn in the Temple square. Now in the middle of the afternoon that line,

easily visible from the Palace balcony, was still threading its way into the eastern

entrance on the harbor side of the white pyramid. The line was still long, and new

arrivals kept it at an almost constant length. The people who made up the line were

suffering from disease or injury of one kind or another. They were the ill, the

crippled, the blind or mad or wounded, many of them needing the help of nurses or close

companions simply to be here and join the line. Some of the sufferers had come from a

great distance to seek Woundhealer's aid.

Even as the Princess gestured in the direction of the white pyramid, a pair of

stretcher-bearers, lugging between them an ominously inert human form, were being ushered

by white-robed priests toward the front of that distant queue. The priests of Ardneh who

served this particular Temple were accustomed to making such decisions about priorities,

thus assuming momentarily the role of gods. From the balcony there was no telling

whether the body on the stretcher was that of a man, woman, or child. The Princess

thought that no more than a minimum of protest would be heard from those whose turns were

being thus preempted; she could see that today's line was, as usual, moving briskly, and

no one in it should have to wait for very long.

Meanwhile, the most recent beneficiaries of the power of the Sword of Healing, many

of them accompanied by their relieved nurses and companions, were emerging in a steady

trickle from the Temple's western door. People who only moments ago had been severely

injured or seriously ill, some even at the point of death, were walking out healthy and

whole. From experience Kristin knew that their bandages and splints would have been left

in the Temple, or were now being removed and thrown away. Stretchers and crutches,

indispensable a few minutes earlier, were now being cast aside by vigorous hands. Only a

few of those who had just been healed still needed help in walking, and to them strength

would return in time.

For the Sword of Mercy to fail to heal was practically unheard of. As a rule every

supplicant who limped or staggered or was carried into the eastern entrance of this White

Temple soon came walking out, with a firm step, from the western exit. Today, as usual,

some of the cured were waving their arms and shouting prayers of gratitude audible even

to the two watchers on the distant balcony.

The Crown Prince Murat, tall emissary from the land of Culm, having gazed dutifully

upon the distant scene as he was bidden, chose to ignore whatever inferences the Princess

had meant him to draw from the sight. Instead he promptly resumed his arguments. "If,

dear princess, it is a matter of some necessary payment-"

"It is not that," said Princess Kristin quickly, turning back to face her visitor

fully. Kristin was about the same age as the Crown Prince, in her early thirties and the

mother of two half-grown sons. But she looked a few years younger, with her fair hair,

blue-green eyes, and fine features.

She said to her eminent guest: "When you paid your own formal visit to the White

Temple yesterday, Prince Murat, no doubt you noted that most of those who benefit from

Woundhealer's power do make some payment in the form of offerings. These funds are used

to maintain the Temple and to pay its priests and guards. Others who benefit from the

Sword are unable to pay; and a very few refuse to do so. But none are denied treatment

on that account. If your

Queen's unfortunate consort can travel here to Tasavalta, the powers of the Sword

of Healing will be made available to him under the same conditions."

"Regrettably that is not possible, Princess." In the course of his brief visit

Murat had already offered this explanation at least a hundred times, or so it seemed to

both of them, and now it was his turn to repeat a statement slowly and patiently. "A

condition of nearly total paralysis afflicts the royal consort, combined with the most

fearful arthritic pain, so that even the movement required to go from one bed or one room

to another is a severe ordeal for him. An overland journey of more than a thousand

kilometers, only half of it on roads, is, as you can appreciate, quite out of the

question. Ten kilometers would be impossible."

"Then I am truly sorry for him. And sorry for your Queen, and for all her realm."

And it seemed that the Princess was speaking her true feelings. "But I am afraid that

the Sword stays here, in Tasavalta. That is my final word."

A silence fell, broken only by the occasional noise, a rumbling cart or a raised

voice, rising from the thronged city below. Kristin half expected her visitor to raise

yet again the point that sometimes the Sword was taken out of the city of Sarykam, and

carried on tour in a heavily guarded caravan that visited the outlying portions of the

realm, bringing healing to those unable to reach the capital. If he did choose to raise

that point again, she had her previous answer ready: Woundhealer was never allowed to go

outside the borders of the realm. Her patience held; she could sympathize with Murat,

though she would not yield to him.

But the persistence of the Crown Prince, not yet exhausted, this time took a

different tack. He said: "Still, the journey to Culm and back with the borrowed Sword

could be quickly accomplished by my troop - accompanied, of course, by any number of

representatives you might choose to send with us. Our mounts are very swift, and we are

now familiar with the way. My master's healing once accomplished, the Sword could be on

its way back here the very same day. Within the hour. I would be willing to pledge my

honor to you on that."

The soft urgency of his voice was unexpectedly hard to resist. But Kristin still

said what she had to say. "I understand your arguments, Prince. I am willing to believe

that you mean your pledge, and I respect it. But once your realm found itself in

possession of such a treasure as Woundhealer, convincing arguments would soon be found as

to why the Sword should stay there, as a policy of national health insurance."

"No, Princess, I must-"

"No, Crown Prince Murat, your request is quite impossible to meet. The Sword of

Love stays here."

Before the Crown Prince could devise yet another argument, the conversation was

interrupted. The door leading to the balcony, which had been standing ajar, burst open

violently, and a small form came running out.

Startled and angry, the Princess turned to find herself confronting the younger of

her two sons, who at ten was certainly old enough to know better than to behave in such a

way.

"Well, Stephen? I hope you have some just cause for this interruption?"

The boy, as sturdy as his father had been at the same age, though somewhat darker,

was flushed and scowling, evidently even angrier than his mother. But now he drew

himself up, making a great effort at self-control. "Mother, you once said that I should

tell you at once if I knew of anyone practicing intrigue within the Palace."

"And I suppose you have just now discovered something of the kind?" It was easy to

see that the Princess was not inclined to accept the alarming implication at face value.

"Yes, Mother."

"Well?"

Stephen drew a deep breath. His anger was cooling, and now he seemed reluctant to

go on.

"Well?"

Another deep breath. "It's my tutor, Mother. I believe he is about to come to you

with false stories concerning my behavior."

And indeed the Princess, raising her gaze slightly, discovered that very gentleman

now hovering inside the balcony door, irresolute as to whether he should match his

pupil's daring and interrupt what looked like a state conference, simply to defend

himself.

Sternly Kristin ordered her younger son to go to his room and wait there for her.

The command was delivered in an incisive tone that allowed no immediate argument; it was

obeyed reluctantly, in gloomy silence.

Then the Princess silently waved the tutor away, and turned to apologize to the

ambassador for the interruption.

The tall man smiled faintly. "I have two children of my own at home. Youth needs

no apology. And a fiery spirit may be an advantage to one who is born to rule. Indeed I

suppose it must be considered a necessity."

"As are self-control, and courtesy; and those virtues my son has yet to learn."

"I'm sure he will acquire them."

"You are kind and diplomatic, Murat." The Princess sighed again, quite openly this

time, and spoke for once unguardedly. "I wish his father were here."

There was a pause. It was common knowledge that Prince Mark had spent no more than

ten days at home during the last half year, and that the timing and duration of his next

visit home were problematical.

Murat bowed slightly. "I too wish that. I had looked forward to meeting Prince

Mark. His name is known and respected even in our far corner of the world."

"Not that my husband would give you any different answer than I have given, on the

subject of loaning out the Sword of Healing."

The visitor bowed again. "I must still be allowed to hope that the answer will

change."

"It will not change." After a pause, the Princess added: "If you are wondering

about my husband's absence, know that he is in the service of the Emperor; he is the

Emperor's son, you know." In the minds of many, the Emperor was a half-mythological

figure; and that a prince should believe he owed this legend service was an idea

sometimes hard for outsiders to grasp.

And sometimes even the Princess, who had never seen her mysterious father-in-law,

found the situation hard to understand as well.

The Crown Prince said: "I was aware of Prince Mark's parentage."

Suddenly Kristin heard herself blurting out a question. "You don't-I don't suppose

that any news has come to you recently regarding his whereabouts?" A month had now gone

by in which no winged messenger had brought her news of her husband. Unhappily, this was

not the first time such a period had elapsed, but repetition made the stress no easier to

bear.

"I regret, Princess, that I have heard nothing." Murat paused, then made an evident

effort to turn the conversation to some less difficult subject. "Young Prince Stephen

has an older brother, I understand."

"Yes. Prince Adrian is twelve. He's currently away from home, attending school."

Again there came interruption, this time more sedately, and welcome to both

parties. It took the form of a servant, announcing the arrival of the other members of

the Culm delegation. These folk had been sight-seeing in the streets of Sarykam this

afternoon, and some of them had visited the White Temple down the hill.

And now good manners required that the Princess and her companion come in from the

balcony, to join the Culmian visitors and other folk inside the Palace.

One of the junior members of the Culmian delegation was Lieutenant Kebbi. This was

Murat's cousin, a redheaded, bold-looking, and yet unfailingly courteous youth, who now

showed his disappointment openly, when he heard that the Princess was standing fast in

her refusal to loan out the Sword.

Lieutenant Kebbi looked as if he might want to raise an argument of his own on

behalf of the Culmian cause. But Kristin turned away, not wanting to give the impetuous

youth a chance. None of the arguments that she had heard so far, and none that she could

imagine, were going to sway her, sympathetic as she was.

Others still importuned her. At last, beginning to show her impatience with her

guests' pleading, Kristin demanded of them: "How many of my own people would die, while

the Sword was absent from us?"

For that there was no answer. Even the eyes of the bold young lieutenant fell in

confusion before the Princess's gaze when she turned back to him.

Once more she faced the delegation's leader. "Come, good Murat, can you number

them, or tell me their names?"

The tall man only bowed in silence.

One of the several diplomats on hand quickly managed to change the subject, and

talk went on until eventually the delegation from Culm withdrew to their assigned

quarters. In there, servants reported, they were conversing seriously and guardedly

among themselves.

In the evening, when the sun had set behind the inland mountains, the visitors from

afar were once more entertained with Tasavaltan hospitality. There was music, acrobats,

and dancers. To Kristin's relief the subject of the Sword had been laid to rest. This

was now the third day of the Culmians' stay, and they expressed a unanimous desire to

depart early in the morning.

During the evening, more than one Tasavaltan remarked to the Princess that the

guests from Culm seemed to be taking their refusal as well as could be expected.

Certainly they had now said and done everything they honorably could to persuade Princess

Kristin to change her mind.

With some of the guests pleading weariness, and with the necessity for an early

start hanging over them all, the party broke up relatively early. Before midnight the

silence of the night had claimed the entire Palace, as well as most of the surrounding

city.

At about dawn on the following morning-and, through a strange combination of

unlucky chances, not before 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

explain its presence in the Temple.

Scarcely had Kristin finished listening to this most unlikely story when more news

came, a fresh discovery almost as difficult to believe. A lock on one of the Temple's

doors had accidentally jammed last night when the door was closed, effectively preventing

the door from being secured in the usual way. The defect was a peculiar one-highly

improbable, as the locksmith kept insisting- and it must have seemed to the woman who had

turned the key at the hour of sunset that the door was securely locked as usual.

Karel gave a slight shrug of his heavy shoulders. "The theft was accomplished by

means of magic, Princess," he said in his soft voice. "There's no doubt of that."

"And a very powerful magic it must have been." After a momentary hesitation, she

asked: "A Sword?" Already she thought she knew the answer; and it would not be hard, she

thought, to guess which Sword had been employed.

"Very likely a Sword." The old man nodded grimly. "I feel sure that Coinspinner

has been used against us."

Once more their talk was interrupted. Now at last a witness had been discovered,

one besides the poisoned guard who could give direct testimony. A shabby figure was

hustled before the Princess. One of Sarykam's rare beggars, who had spent most of the

night huddled in a doorway on the far side of the square, and who now swore that at the

height of the rainstorm he had seen a man wearing the blue-and-orange uniform of Culm

carrying a bright Sword -it had certainly been no ordinary blade-carrying it drawn and

raised, into the White Temple. Meanwhile, the beggar related, others in the same livery

had stood by outside with weapons drawn.

"This man you saw was carrying a Sword into the Temple, and not out of it? Are you

quite sure?"

"Oh, oh, yes, I'm quite sure, Princess. If I'd seen a foreigner taking something

out, I would've raised an alarm.

Thought of doing so anyway, but-you see-I'd had a bit too much-my legs weren't

working all that well-"

"Never mind that. Did you see him come out of the Temple again?"

"Yes, ma'am, I did. And then he had two Swords. I tried to raise an alarm, ma'am,

like I said, but somehow- somehow-" The ragged man began to blubber.

After hearing this testimony of the sole witness, Kristin made her way into the

inner sanctuary, and carried out her own belated inspection of the actual scene of the

crime. There, on the very altar of Ardneh, she beheld the crystal repository in which

the Sword of Healing had been kept, a fragile vault now standing broken and empty under

the blank-eyed marble images of Draffut-doglike, but standing tall on his hind legs-and

Ardneh, an incomprehensible jumble of sharp-edged, machinelike shapes.

The actual breaking of the crystal vault and carrying away of the Sword would have

been simple, and staring at this minor wreckage told her nothing.

Leaving the Temple now, the Princess went to survey the status of the Swords still

kept in the royal armory, beside the Palace and only a short walk distant.

If the Princess and her people were able to speak of Coinspinner with a certain

familiarity, it was because the Sword of Chance had reposed for some time within the

stone walls of the armory's heavily guarded rooms. But about seven years ago that Sword

had vanished from the deepest and best-watched vault, vanished suddenly and without

explanation. Under the circumstances of that disappearance there had been no need to

look for thieves. One of the known attributes of the Sword of Chance was its penchant

for taking itself spontaneously and unpredictably from one place to another. Forged by

the great god Vulcan, like all its fellow Swords, Coinspinner scorned all obstacles that

ordinary human beings might place in opposition to its powers. Coinspinner was subject

to no confinement, and to no rules but its own, and exactly what those rules were no one

knew. By what progression, during the last seven years, the Sword of Chance had passed

from the Tasavaltan armory to somewhere in Culm would probably be impossible to

determine, and would be almost certainly irrelevant to the current problem.

Deep in the vaults Kristin encountered the senior General of her armed forces.

Rostov was a tall and powerful man in his late fifties, whose curly hair had now turned

almost completely from black to gray. The black curve of his right cheek was scarred by

an old sword-cut, which his perpetual steel-gray stubble did little to conceal.

Rostov was taking the theft personally; he was here in the armory looking for

weapons of particular power to take with him in his pursuit of the thieves, who had

several hours' start. A number of people could testify to that. Everyone in Sarykam had

been expecting the delegation from Culm to leave this morning anyway, so no one had

thought much of their moving up their departure time by a few hours. It had seemed only

natural that after their unsuccessful pleading they would want to avoid anything in the

nature of a protracted farewell.

Now, as Kristin ascertained with a few quick questions, three squadrons of cavalry

were being made ready to take up the pursuit, which Rostov intended to lead in person.

As far as she could tell, her military people were moving with methodical swiftness.

The Princess informed her General that Karel the wizard planned to accompany him;

the old man had told her as much when she spoke to him in the Temple.

"Very well. If the old man is swift enough to keep up. If his wheezing as we ride

do not alert the enemy." Rostov was staring at the three other Swords kept in the royal

armory, and his expression showed a definite relief that these at least were still in

place. Dragonslicer would probably be useless in the kind of pursuit he was about to

undertake, but he now asked permission of the Princess to bring Stonecutter, and thought

he would probably want Sightblinder as well.

Kristin, after granting the General her blessing to take whatever he wanted, and

leaving him to his preparations, returned to the Palace. There she gave orders for

several flying messengers to be dispatched from the high eyries atop the towers. The

winged, half-intelligent creatures would be sent to seek out the absent Prince Mark and

bear him the grim news of Woundhealer's vanishment.

By the time she had returned to the Palace, the sun was well up, but veiled in

clouds. She could wish that the day were brighter. Then it would have been possible to

signal ahead by heliograph, and there might have been a good chance of intercepting the

fleeing Culmians at the border. But the clouds that had brought rain last night

persisted, and if Coinspinner was arrayed against the realm of Tasavalta, today was not

the day to expect good luck in any form.

At about this time, staring at the gray and mottled sky, Kristin began to be

tormented by a truly disturbing thought: Was it possible that Murat's whole story

regarding a crippled consort had been a ruse, and that the Sword was really now bound for

the hands of some of Mark's deadly enemies?

The Princess's only comfort was that no evidence existed to support this theory.

The fact that no attempt had been made to steal Dragonslicer, Stonecutter, and

Sightblinder, or do any other damage to the realm, argued against it. Apparently the

Culmian marauders had been truly interested only in obtaining the Healer.

The rain was still falling when the pursuit was launched, a swift but unhurried

movement of well-trained cavalry, flowing out through the main gate of the city, every

man saluting his Princess as he passed. A beast master with his little train of load

beasts, carrying roosts and cages for winged fighters and messengers, brought up the rear

of the procession. General Rostov and the wizard Karel rode together at its head.

TWO

At midday, under a partly cloudy sky and far from home, Prince Adrian, the twelve-

year-old heir to the throne of Tasavalta, was standing at the top of a truncated

stairway, a broken stone construction that curved up the outside of an ancient, half-

ruined, and long-abandoned tower. A brisk wind blowing from the far reaches of the rocky

and desolate landscape ruffled Adrian's blond hair. He carried a small pack on his back,

and wore a canteen and a hunting knife at his belt. His slim body, arched slightly

forward, wiry muscles tense, leaned out from the upper end of the stairs over the broken

stones meters below.

The boy, tall for the age of twelve, was gazing intently, with senses far more

discerning than those most folk would ever be able to call into use, across a threshold

so subtle that it was all but invisible even to him. He was trying to see into the City

of Wizards, inspecting the way ahead as carefully as possible before advancing any

farther.

The curving stairs on which Adrian was standing came to an abrupt end halfway up

the side of the moss-grown and abandoned tower. Once the steps had gone up farther, but

not now. They terminated at this point in abject ruin, giving no hint to ordinary eyes

of any reasonable or even visible goal that they might once have had. An observer

equipped with no more than the usual complement of senses, and standing in Prince

Adrian's position, would have seen nothing ahead but a bone-breaking drop to the nearest

portion of the forbidding landscape.

In fact, the only other human observer on the scene had perceptions that also went

beyond those of ordinary human senses-though not so far beyond as Adrian's.

Trilby, the Princeling's companion and fellow student in the arts of magic, was

only two years older than he, but physically she was much more mature. With a pack on

her back and a wooden staff in hand, she now came climbing the curved stairs to join him.

Reaching the top step, Trilby stood beside Adrian in momentary silence, gazing

ahead to see if she could determine exactly what it was he found so fascinating; she knew

that his extraordinary vision was almost always able to see more than hers. Having now

shared approximately a year of study and occasional rivalry under the tutelage of old

Trimbak Rao, the two young people had reached a plateau of mutual respect.

Trilby was coffee brown of skin, with straight black hair, full lips, and dark eyes

that displayed a perpetually dreamy look, belying her often acutely practical turn of

mind. Her shapely and rather stocky body, dressed now like Adrian's in practical

traveler's clothing-loose shirt, boots, and trousers-was physically strong. A more

experienced student, she was still marginally superior to Adrian in one or two aspects of

magic, though after a year of cooperation and competition she suspected that he had the

potential to be ultimately and overall the greatest wizard in the world.

"What d'ye see?" she asked him presently.

"Nothing special." The Prince almost whispered his reply. Then he withdrew his

gaze from the distance, relaxed his pose somewhat, and spoke in a normal voice. "Just

wanted to check everything out as well as I could, before we go in."

Trilby took a long look for herself. Then she said: "The road is there, am I

right? Just about at the level of our feet?"

"Right." Adrian sounded confident. "As far as I can tell, it starts here, right at

the place where we'll be standing when we step through to it from the top of this stairs.

Then it runs in a kind of zigzag way, but free of obstacles, for a couple of kilometers,

until it gets close to the tall buildings."

"That agrees with what I see." The girl paused for another careful look before

continuing. "The next question is, do we go in immediately, or take a break first?" They

had already hiked for half a day since leaving the studio of Trimbak Rao, early in the

morning.

Adrian hesitated, not wanting to appear reluctant to get on with the test they

faced. But it was uncertain what problems they might encounter immediately on entering

the City, and Trilby's suggestion of stopping for food and rest soon won out in his mind.

Both of the young people were carrying canteens, as well as a modest supply of

food. And each of them, if pressed, would have been able to create food by magical

means. But that kind of magic was costly in time and energy; it would be much wiser to

conserve both of those resources against a possible later need.

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

Kebbi,feelinganintoxicationmuchmoreofimpendingtriumphthanofdrink,facedhissingleopponentacrosstheblanket-coveredtable.Thetallman'sshadowycompanion,asifshemeanttoprotecthisback,movedupclosebehindhim,wheresheremainedstanding.Andnow,movingslowly,thehandoftheunknownbroughtforthfromsomewhereinsidehiscapea...

展开>> 收起<<

Fred Saberhagen - Lost Swords 05 - Coinspinners Story.pdf

共126页,预览26页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

Fred Saberhagen - Lost Swords 05 - Coinspinners Story

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: