Fred Saberhagen - Lost Swords 01 - Woundhealers Story

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"Mixes science and folklore very well... .Keep in mind two things about

Saberhagen's books: they are terrific to read, and he is a romantic who loves

happy endings. Read this book and enjoy it."

BESTSELLERS

THE

FIRST BOOK

OF LOST SWORDS

Woundhealer's Story

Tor books by Fred Saberhagen

THE BERSERKER SERIES

The Berserker Wars Berserker Base (with Poul Anderson, Ed Bryant, Stephen

Donaldson, Larry Niven, Connie Willis, and Roger Zelazny) Berserker: Blue

Death The Berserker Throne Berserker's Planet Berserker Lies Berserker Man

THE DRACULA SERIES

The Dracula Tapes The Holmes-Dracula Files An Old Friend of the Family Thorn

Dominion A Matter of Taste

THE SWORDS SERIES The First Book of Swords The Second Book of Swords The Third

Book of 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

OTHER BOOKS

A Century of Progress Coils (with Roger Zelazny) Earth Descended The Mask of

the Sun A Question of Time Specimens The Veils of Azlaroc The Water of Thought

THE

FIRST BOOK

LOST SWORDS

WOUNDHEALER'S STORY

FRED SABERHAGEN

TOR

A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK

NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this

book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the

publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment

for this "stripped book."

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.

Saberhagen

thereof, in any form.

A Tor Book Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc. 49 West 24th Street New

York, N.Y. 10010

Tor* is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.

ISBN: 0-812-52058-0

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 86-50319

First edition: October 1986

First mass market printing: January 1988

Printed in the United States of America 0987654

For Joan As are all the others, whether labeled so or not.

CHAPTER 1

HERE in the green half-darkness an endless melody of water ran, a soft flow

that played lightly and moodily over rock. The surrounding walls of dark rock

oozed water like the Earth's blood, three clear rivulets that worked to fill a

black pool no bigger than a royal bath.

At the single outlet of the pool a stream was born, to gurgle from the vessel

of its birth across a rocky floor toward the distant sunlight. What little

light inhabited the cave, a dim, tunneled, gray-green, water-dappled

illumination, came in through the small air space above the tumbling surface

of the small out flowing stream.

Now multiple moving shadows were entering from the sunlight, distorting the

gray-green light within the cave. Bold, purposeful splashings altered the

endless murmur of the water. Rocks in the streambed were kicked and tossed

aside, with hollow echoing sounds. The voices of children, pitched to quiet

excitement, entered the cave too.

There were three of the visitors. Two of them, a girl and boy in their middle

teens, were sturdy waders who supported and guided between them a smaller and

much more fragile-looking figure. All three had rolled their trousers above

their knees for wading; a useless precaution, for all three were dripping wet

from feet to hair. It had been necessary to crawl, half in the cold splashing

flow of water, to get in under the low rock at the very entrance.

"We're in a cave now, Adrian," the girl announced with enthusiasm, bending

over her small charge. She was perhaps fourteen, her brown hair hanging over

her face in long, damp ringlets. Her face was attractive in its youth and

health, though it gave no promise of ever being known for its great beauty.

The little boy to whom she spoke said nothing. He was no more than seven

years old, with long, fair hair falling damply around a thin, sharp-featured

face. His mouth was open just now, and working slightly, the lips rounded by

some inner tension into a silent cry. His eyes, remarkably wide and blue,

were sightless but active, sending their blind gaze wavering across the rough

and shadowed ceiling of the cave.

Now he pulled free his right hand, which the older boy had been holding, and

used it to grope in the empty air in front of him.

"A cave, Adrian." The sturdy youth, in a voice that was just starting to

deepen, repeated what the girl had said. Then, when the child did not

respond, he shrugged his shoulders slightly. He was somewhat bigger than the

girl and looked a little older. His hair was of the same medium brown as hers

and showed something of the same tendency to curl; and his face resembled hers

enough that no one had trouble in taking them for brother and sister.

The girl was carrying three pairs of shoes tied at her belt. All three of the

children were plainly dressed in rough shirts and trousers. Here and there,

at throat or wrist, an ornament of gold or amber indicated that the choice of

plain clothing had not been dictated by poverty.

The explorers had all waded out of the ankle-deep stream now and were standing

on the flat sandy floor of the cave. The girl halted after a couple of steps

on dry sand, studying the surprisingly large room around her. She frowned

into the dark shadows ahead, from whence the sounds of running water had their

deepest origin.

She asked: "Zoltan, is this place safe?"

Her brother frowned into the deeper shadows too. Self-consciously he felt for

the dagger sheathed at his belt. Then he dropped into a crouch, the better to

scan the cave floor in the half light.

"No droppings," he muttered. "No gnawed bones. I don't even see any tracks."

He brushed his strong, square fingers at sand and rock. "Ought to be safe. I

don't think that anything large can be living in here. Besides, the wizards

checked out this whole area this morning."

"Then we can hide in here." The girl's voice returned to the conspiratorial

tones of gaming, and she stroked the small child's hair protectively,

encouragingly. "We'll hide in here, Adrian; and Stephen and Beth will never

find us."

Adrian displayed no interest in the question of whether they would ever be

found or not. "Elinor," he said, in a high, clear voice. The name sounded as

if he were pronouncing it very thoughtfully and carefully. At the same time

he reached his groping hand toward the girl and touched her clothing.

"Yes, it's me. I've been with you all the morning, remember? So has Zoltan."

She spoke patiently and encouragingly, as if to a child much younger than

seven.

Now Adrian seemed to be giving her last statement his deepest thought. He had

turned his head a little on one side. His round mouth worked, his blind eyes

flickered.

Zoltan, standing by with folded arms and watching, shook his head. "I don't

think he even understands we're playing hide-and-seek," he remarked sadly. In

relation to his young cousin, the Prince Zoltan stood more in the role of

companion and bodyguard than that of playmate, though at fifteen he was not

too old to slide from one character to the other as conditions seemed to

require.

"I think he does," Elinor said reproachfully. "Something's bothering him,

though."

"Something's always bothering him-poor little bugger."

"Hush. He can understand what you're saying." Kneeling in dry sand, she

patted the cheek of their young charge soothingly. The Princeling slowly

patted her hand in return.

Elinor persisted with her cheerful encouragement. "Beth and Stephen are 'it'

this turn, Adrian, remember? But we've got a great place to hide now.

They're never going to be able to find us, here in a cave. Can you tell we're

in a cave, by the way things sound? I bet there are a lot of blind people who

could do that. Isn't it fun, playing hide-and-seek?"

The small boy turned his head this way and that. Now it was as if he were

tired of listening to Elinor, thought her brother, who couldn't blame him if

he were.

"Water," Adrian whispered thoughtfully. It did not sound like a request, but

a musing comment.

The girl was pleased. "That's right, we had to wade through the water to get

in here. I was afraid the rocks would bother your feet, but I guess they

didn't. Now you're out of the water, you're sitting on a dry rock." She

raised her head. "Zolty, will we be able to hear Beth calling if they decide

they want to give up?"

"Dunno," her brother answered abstractedly. He had turned his back on the

others and was facing the cave's single entrance, his eyes and ears intently

focused in that direction. "I thought I heard something," he added.

"Beth and Stephen?"

"No. Not a voice. More like a riding-beast. Something with hooves, anyway,

clopping around out there in the stream."

"Probably some of the soldiers," Elinor offered. There had been a small

patrol sent out from High Manor, in advance of the children's outing. Not

that the adults of the royal family, as far as she knew, were particularly

worried about anything. It had been purely a routine precaution.

"No." Her brother shook his head. "They're supposed to be patrolling a kind

of perimeter. They wouldn't be riding through here now. Unless ..."

"What?"

Zoltan, without taking his eyes off the entrance, made an abrupt silencing

motion with his hand.

His sister was not going to let him get away with becoming dramatic. She

began to speak, then broke the words off with a hushed cry: "Adrian!"

The child's eyes were only half open, and only the whites of them were

showing. A faint gasping noise came from his throat. He had been sitting

bolt upright where Elinor had placed him, but now his thin body was starting

to topple slowly from the rock.

Zoltan turned to see his sister catch the child and lower him into the soft

sand. But then just as quickly he turned back the other way. Something was

now outside the cave that could shadow the whole entrance. The darkness

within had deepened suddenly and evenly.

Elinor was curled on the sand, lying there beside the child, and when Zoltan

took another quick glance at her he could see that she was frightened. Adrian

was starting to have a real seizure, what looked to Zoltan like a bad one.

The Princeling's little body was stiffening, then bending, then straightening

out again. Elinor had stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth to keep him from

biting his tongue-her eyes looking back at her brother were full of fear. Not

of the fit; she had seen and dealt with those before. The nameless presence

outside the cave was something else again.

Then suddenly the shadow outside was gone.

Only a cloud shadow? As far as Zoltan's eyes alone could tell, it might have

been nothing more than that. But he didn't think so. He waited. Something

...

And now, from out there in the renewed sunlight, in anticlimax, came childish

voices calling; shouting imperiously, and not in fear. Calling the names, one

after another, of the three who waited in the cave.

Then silence, stretching on, one heartbeat after another.

Zoltan had a strong impulse to return the call. But somehow his throat was

misbehaving, clogged with relief and lingering fear, and at first no sound

would come out.

But no answer was necessary. Their trail must have been plainer than he had

thought. Again the entrance of the cave dimmed slightly, with small, wavering

shadows. Two more children entered, splashing.

"We found you!" It was a cry of triumph. Beth, as usual, had no trouble

finding her voice or using it, and there was no indication that she had

encountered anything in the least unusual on her way to the finding. She was

a stout ten-year-old, inclined to try to be the boss of everyone in sight,

whether or not they might be older than she, or related by blood to the rulers

of the land while she was not.

Clamped firmly in the grip of one of her stout fists was the small arm of

Stephen, Adrian's younger brother.

Adrian and Stephen shared a certain similarity in face and coloring. But with

that, even the physical resemblance ended. Already Stephen, no more than

five, was pulling his arm fiercely out of Beth's grip and beginning to

complain that their three rivals in the game had cheated by coming into the

cave to hide.

Zoltan grabbed small Stephen suddenly and clamped a hand across his chattering

little mouth, enforcing silence.

Whatever had shaded the cave mouth before was coming back, just as silently as

before, and more intensely. The shadow that now lay across the sunlight

seemed deeper and darker than any natural shadow had the right to be.

Now even Zoltan's eyesight assured him that this must be more than just a

cloud.

Stephen, awed by the strange darkness and by the seriousness of the grip that

held him, fell silent and stood still.

Presently Zoltan let him go, and drew his dagger from its sheath.

Now Adrian, with a grunt and a spasmodic movement, reared himself almost to

his feet, then fell back on the sand. Elinor lunged after him, but one loud

shrill cry had escaped the boy before she could cover his mouth with her hand.

An echo of that cry, in a different voice, deep and alien and perhaps inhuman,

hideously frightening, came from outside.

And with that echo came a noise that sounded like a large number of riding-

beasts splashing in the stream outside. Stones were being kicked carelessly

about out there, and there were men's voices, rough and urgent, speaking to

each other in unfamiliar accents, not those of the Tasavaltan Palace Guard.

Zoltan could not make out words, but he was sure that the men were confused,

upset, arguing about something.

Now waves of sickness, almost palpable, came and went through the atmosphere

inside the cave. The children stared at each other with ghastly faces, pale

in the deep gloom. Zoltan had the feeling that the floor was tilting crazily

under his feet, though his eyes assured him that the stream was undisturbed in

its burbling course. The child in Elinor's arms emitted another pitiful cry;

she clamped her hand over his mouth more fiercely than ever.

Beth was standing stock still. Her eyes met Zoltan's, and hers were wide as

they could be. But she was biting her lip and he thought there was no sign

that she was going to yell.

There was now almost no light left in the cave, and it was difficult to see

anything at all, though by now his eyes had had time to adapt. Shadow,

imitating rock, bulged and curled where once the entering sunlight had been

strongest.

Something, thought Zoltan, is trying to force its way in here. Into the cave.

To us.

And he had the inescapable feeling that something else was keeping the shadow,

whatever the shadow represented, from forcing its way in.

How long the indescribable ordeal lasted he could never afterward be sure, nor

could Elinor. Nor were any of the younger children able to give consistent

estimates. But eventually, with renewed kicking of rocks and splashing by

their mounts, the riders outside withdrew. The shadow moderated. But no

component of the threat retreated very far. >From time to time Zoltan could

still hear a word or two of the riders' talk or the sharp sound of a shod hoof

above the constant murmur of the stream.

Beth moved. Almost calmly, though timidly, one quiet step after another, she

went to Elinor's side, where she sat down in the sand. Stephen continued to

stand rigid, his eyes moving from Zoltan's face down to the useless dagger in

Zoltan's hand, and back again.

And once more the sickness came, like an evil smell. It seemed to burrow in

and grip, somewhere even deeper than the belly and the bones. A sudden

realization crossed Zoltan's mind: This must be the sensation that people

describe, that they have when a demon comes too near them. Quite likely we

are all going to die.

But once more the sickness in the air abated.

Adrian's seizure was growing more intense, but so far Elinor was coping with

it somehow. She and Zoltan had both seen some of his fits before that were as

bad as this, or almost as bad.

Now a new feeling, curiosity, grew in Zoltan, until it was almost as strong as

the fear he felt. Dagger still in hand, he got down slowly on all fours in

the sand until he could peer out all the way into the restored sunshine

outside the cave.

In the distance, slightly downhill from Zoltan and far enough away so that he

could see only her head and pale, bare shoulders above a rock, there was a

girl. Black-haired and comely, perhaps his own age or a little older, she

appeared to be sitting or kneeling or crouching right beside the stream.

What caught Zoltan's attention most powerfully was that the girl was looking

straight at him. He was sure of it. Despite the distance, some thirty or

forty meters, he thought that he could see her gray eyes clearly, and he was

certain about the finger she had lifted to her smiling lips. It was as if she

were trying to convey a message: Say nothing now. In good time. You and I

will share great secrets, in good time.

The way her black hair fell round her 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 2

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 me 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 bearing a certain aristocratic poise that her husband

permanently lacked. Her hair was blond, her face as fine-featured as that of

her older son, and her eyes blue-green, with something in them of the sea,

whose sharp horizon came in at every eastern window of these high Palace

rooms.

The current Chief Physician-there had been several holders of the office

during the seven years since Adrian was born-was a gray-haired, white-robed

woman named Ramgarh. She had been in attendance on the Princess and her elder

son since their return to the Palace in the middle of the night.

As Mark entered, the doctor was saying, in her calm, soothing voice: "The

child is breathing steadily now, and his pulse is within the range where there

is no cause for concern. If the history of recovery from past seizures holds

for this one, he will probably sleep through most of the day."

It was only what the father had expected to hear. In the past seven years he

had endured more of his firstborn's fits and seizures than he could begin to

count. But still he put back the curtain from the bed to see for himself.

There was Adrian, asleep, looking as if nothing in the world were wrong with

him.

Mark, Prince Consort of Tasavalta, was a tall man of thirty. His hair had

once been as fair as that of his sons'; but age had darkened Mark's hair into

a medium brown, though hair and beard still tended to bleach light in the sun.

This morning Mark's face wore a tired, drawn look, and the lines at the

corners of his mouth were a shade deeper than they had been the night before.

Princess Kristin had come silently to stand beside her husband, and he put an

arm around her. Their pose held more than a suggestion that they were leaning

together for mutual support.

The physician, after dispensing a few more soothing words for both the

parents, departed to get some rest. Mark scarcely heard the doctor's parting

words. They were almost always essentially the same: an exhortation to hope,

a reminder that things could be worse. For about two years now there had been

no more promises that new kinds of treatment would be tried. The catalogue of

treatments that the doctors were ready and willing to attempt had been

exhausted.

When the door had closed behind the physician, the Prince and Princess looked

at each other, and then both turned their eyes back to the small form in the

bed.

She said: "He will be all right now, I think."

Mark's voice was flat and heavy. "You mean he will be no worse off than

before."

Before the Princess could answer there was an interruption. A nursemaid had

just entered the room, leading their second child, who had just awakened, his

usual healthy self. Stephen was carrying, rolled up in one hand, the hand-

lettered storybook that had been with him all during the long ride from High

Manor.

Stephen was obviously still somewhat fogged with sleep, but he brought with

him an image of hearty normality. Though almost two years younger than his

brother, he was the sturdier. And now, in the way that Stephen looked at his

sleeping brother, there was a suggestion of his resentment, that Adrian should

be getting so much attention just because he had had another fit.

But Stephen, aware that parental eyes were on him, tucked the colored scroll

of the book in at the edge of Adrian's bed, a voluntary and more-or-less

willing sharing. Then he tugged at his father's trouser leg. "Can we go back

to High Manor again today? I want to watch the soldiers."

His father smiled down at him wanly. "Didn't you have enough excitement there

yesterday?"

"I want to go back."

"You'll be a warrior." Mark's big hand brushed the small blond head.

The mother stood by, saying nothing, not smiling.

The nursemaid returned to take the energetic child away for breakfast.

Driven by the need to do something, Mark strode out upon a balcony, where he

drew a deep breath and looked out over the tile rooftops of the city well

below him. From the outer wall of the Palace, Sarykam spread downhill to the

sea, which here made first a neatly sheltered bay, then endless blue beyond a

thin, curving peninsula of docks and lighthouses and fortifications.

A favorable combination of warm latitude and cool ocean currents made Sarykam

a place of near-perpetual spring. Behind the Palace and the western fringe of

the city, the mountains rose up, rank on rank, and topped with wild forests of

pine. The trees upon the eastern side of the crest, toward the city and the

sea, were warped by almost everlasting winds, fierce at that altitude but

usually much milder down here near sea level. Six hours' ride inland, beyond

those mountains, lay High Manor, which, among its other functions, served

sometimes as a summer home for royalty. And only a couple of kilometers from

the Manor was the cave where yesterday's mysterious kidnapping attempt-Mark

had to interpret the violent incident as such-had been thwarted.

There was much about that attempt that the Prince still found mysterious.

Naturally investigations on both the military and the magical level had been

set in motion last night-as soon as the fighting stopped-and were going

forward.

Even now Mark could see a winged messenger coming from inland, perhaps bearing

news of some results. There, halfway between the highest tower of the Palace

and the crest of the mountains, were a pair of small, fine wings beating

swiftly. He could hope that the courier was bringing word of some success by

the searching cavalry.

Had the attempt been only the impulsive gamble of some bandit chief, reckless

enough to accept the risks in return for the chance of a fat ransom? The

Prince thought not, for several reasons.

The enemy had come with powerful magical assistance. The small detachment of

the Palace Guard that had been stationed, as a matter of routine protection,

in the area where the children were playing had been surprised and wiped out

ruthlessly. The children had been tracked to the cave where they were hiding.

And then, just when the greatest tragedy should have been inevitable, came

inexplicable good fortune. The enemy, for all the competence and

determination they had displayed up to that point, had been unable to

determine that the children were actually in the cave. Or-and this

alternative seemed even more unlikely-the enemy had known they were there, but

had simply been unable to get at them. Either explanation seemed quite

incredible under the circumstances. It was true that Elinor and Zoltan had

both reported the subjective feeling of some protective power at hand, but in

Mark's experience such feelings had little to do with the real world.

Of course in this case the feelings could have had some basis in fact. Karel,

who was Princess Kristin's uncle as well as her chief wizard, had divined from

his workroom in Sarykam that something was wrong out near High Manor and had

done what he could do at a distance. Meanwhile one of the winged messengers

employed by the military had fortunately witnessed the wiping-out of the Guard

detachment and had darted back to its roost at High Manor to report the

attack. Mark, who was at the Manor, had hastily gathered a force and ridden

out at once. The children had been completely unprotected in the presence of

the enemy for only a few minutes.

Mark and his swordsmen had surprised the attackers-who to all appearances were

no more than a group of bandits-at the very mouth of the cave in which the

children were sheltering. Fortunately it had been possible to drive off the

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