Sightblinder's Story

by Fred Saberhagen

  “We have not met before, my lord. I am Zoltan, nephew of Prince Mark of Tasavalta.”

  “Ah.” Draffut now squatted in the shallows, bringing his head down closer to the level of the man’s. “And where is the Prince himself tonight?”

  Zoltan turned briefly and raised a hand toward the torch-sparked castle and its reflection in the lake. “In there, somewhere, I am afraid. If he is still alive.”

  “Ah. And was it he who sent the little flying dragon to find me, bearing the only message that it could, that my help was needed?”

  “Lady Yambu did that,” said Zoltan, feeling suddenly guilty for his past suspicions. Then he hesitated. “Did she know, when she sent the dragon, that it would bring you?”

  “Doubtless she at least hoped that it would. Fortunately I was already traveling this way when the message reached me, on my way to Tasavalta from the far south. I bear grim news, and the Prince is one of the people that I meant to see—but that can wait. How strongly is the castle defended?”

  “I have heard an eyewitness account of the arrival of about two hundred troops.” And Zoltan explained what little he and Ben had been able to learn on the subject.

  Draffut was just about to respond to this information when he suddenly raised his head, gazing up into the night sky. Zoltan, looking up also, saw that one of the small flying scouts from the castle had discovered them in the moonlight and was circling overhead.

  As soon as the flyer began to clamor its discovery, Draffut emitted a startlingly shrill cry from his own huge throat. It sounded like the flyer’s own primitive form of speech, and it had an immediate effect.

  Draffut had called the creature, and it came spiraling down to him and he caught it gently as it came down, much as a man whose hands were quick enough might have snatched a small bird on the wing.

  Then for several minutes the Beastlord held conversation with the little flyer, while it remained perched on one of his fingers. Draffut managed to match the sounds of its voice so perfectly that Zoltan, looking on in awe, was often unable to tell which shrill tone proceeded from which throat.

  Then suddenly the conversation was over, and Draffut tossed the flyer lightly back into the air. The small winged thing silently flew up and away, headed now for the dark shoreline in the opposite direction from the castle.

  “Now it will no longer serve our enemies,” said Draffut. He went on to explain that since his arrival in the vicinity of the lake he had already persuaded a number of nonhuman creatures to abandon their service to the new ruler of Honan-Fu’s domain. He had convinced them that they would be better off to desert that unnatural cause, allied with demons as it was, and adopt a way of life more in keeping with their own true natures.

  Then he shook his huge head, as if at some unpleasant memory. “I regret to say that some of them would not listen to me.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I wrung their necks—that, you understand, is an option I do not have with humans who are determined to persist in evil. My own nature forbids that I should harm any human.”

  Zoltan looked back toward the tipped boat. Other craft, with torches, had come from the castle and were now approaching the scene of the disaster to find out what had happened and rescue those still in the water.

  Draffut was smiling. “I wanted to ask questions of a soldier. Or better yet, ask them of the soldiers’ prisoner, once I saw that they had such a person in their boat. But before I tipped the boat I had first to make sure that the water there was shallow enough for the men aboard to stand in. Some of them might have been poor swimmers.”

  The young man shook his head impatiently. “I was beginning to hope that you could even force your way into the castle, and its dungeons. My uncle Mark is there.”

  Draffut shook his head in turn. He drew back his lips in what might have been a smile, displaying carnivorous-looking fangs that would have served a dragon. “If there are human defenders on the walls, as I am sure there must be, I cannot attack them. Nor could I do much damage to the demons who would be called up to help those men, though in the case of demons it would not be for want of trying.”

  “Ben and I are both determined to get into the castle.” Zoltan thought of trying to explain his own reason. But then he just left it at that. He gestured toward the town. “I don’t know if Ben’s still living either.”

  The Lord of Beasts gazed at him in silence for a moment. Then Draffut said: “I can probably create enough of a distraction for you to get into that castle, if that is what you really want. But before you do, you ought to know what kind of an enemy you are going to face there.”

  “I’m sure he’s formidable. And whatever he is, he now also has Shieldbreaker in his hand—but still I must go.”

  “I understand that men are sometimes willing to go to almost certain death, and that Ben of Purkinje would feel so. The Prince has saved his life more than once.”

  “And my uncle has saved mine also.”

  “Very well. But even if the one who rules in the castle now did not have Shieldbreaker—you should know something of his nature before you go to face him.”

  “Is he called the Ancient One? If so, I have seen him once before.” And Zoltan shivered. The night was wearing on and growing colder.

  “That is the name by which he is called now,” said Draffut quietly. He drew a deep breath into the cavern of his chest and let it out again. “Thousands of years ago, when Ardneh was alive upon the earth, this same man walked the earth as a servant of the evil emperor John Ominor. He was named Wood, then-—that at least was his public name—and his body was more fully human then than it is now. You said that you have seen him?”

  “Yes. About two years ago.” And Zoltan shivered again.

  “Then there is much that I need not try to explain. In olden times his mind and soul were more fully human too, though nonetheless evil, I suppose. For about two years now he has been here, active in our world. How he can have survived until now I do not know, except that he must have made a pact with some unknown evil that allowed him to traverse the ages swiftly, or lie dormant through them. And the pact has changed him for the worse…. I was certain that Orcus, the grandfather of all demons, had slain him, even before Ardneh died.”

  All this was beside the point as far as Zoltan could see. He quickly brought the discussion back to present problems.

  “Lord Draffut, what can you do to help Prince Mark? And our companion, Ben of Purkinje. It would be a great help to me to know whether he’s still alive or not.”

  “I am going to do what I can to help the Prince. First we must be absolutely sure that you are still determined to get into the castle where he is.”

  “I am determined,” said Zoltan.

  And he thought that with those words he had spoken his own doom.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The young lady who confronted Ben under the glowing lanterns of the autumnal summerhouse was of slender build and considerable beauty. The soft appearance of her hands, the length of her well-cared-for fingernails, the royal elegance of her clothing, all indicated that she had led a sheltered and wealthy life. But despite the sophistication of her manner and her clothing, Ben judged that she was really no older than Zoltan.

  There was a certain natural alarm in her eyes —along with other things less easy to read—as she gazed at this giant and uncouth intruder. But there was less alarm than Ben would have expected; certainly there appeared to be very little chance that this particular lady was going to scream or run away in panic.

  Still Ben moved very slowly, doing his best not to alarm her any further. Shuffling a step or two closer to the pavilion, nodding and smiling subserviently as he moved, he allowed her to see him plainly in the lantern light.

  He topped the performance with a little touch of his forelock. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, I don’t mean any harm, I’m sure. They were after me with dogs and such out there—don’t know why, I’m sure.” And he went through the humble little
routine of bowing and nodding and smiling again.

  The girl, still seated but now holding herself very erect, was swiftly becoming even more judgmental and less alarmed. “Who are you?” she demanded. The question was deeply suspicious, and she was looking down at him like a magistrate from the slight elevation of her chair on the raised floor of the arbor.

  “Name’s Maxim, ma’am.” Inspiration had come seemingly from nowhere. Some of the best ideas, Ben had noticed, arrived in such a way. “They call me Maxim the Strong. I’m with the show, ma’am. Magnificent Show of Ensor. We’ll be coming to Triplicane again soon for a performance, and they just sent me on ahead. To put up a few posters, like, ma’am, and just kind of look things over in the town.”

  “Ah!” the lady exclaimed, as if his answer had enlightened her on some subject of great importance. “The show!” And it was as if the mention of the Show of Ensor had given her, or at least suggested to her, some profound idea.

  “Yes’m, that’s it. The show.” Ben bowed again.

  She relaxed a little, leaning back in her cushioned chair. He still had not been able to think of any good reason for this attractive young girl to be sitting alone in this chill place in the middle of the night. Unless it had something to do with magic.

  Meanwhile she went on: “And you have come to Triplicane to put up posters—tell me, Maxim the Strong, have you been to visit the castle yet? Out on the island?”

  “Oh, I know where the castle is, ma’am. But, no, ma’am, I haven’t been out there yet. Not this trip.”

  “But you are going out there.” It was an eager assumption.

  Ben took the cue. “Yes, my lady, I expect so. We’ve always been welcome at the castle in the past.”

  “True. True. My father”—and here the young lady’s eyes blazed for an instant with some inward fire—“always enjoyed your shows.” This time the last word held unveiled contempt. One of her small hands, resting on the table before her, clenched itself into a white fist.

  “Very true, my lady.” Ben decided to risk dropping some of the peasant speech and mannerisms. They had been natural to him at one time early in his life, but he was no longer sure he could maintain them steadily.

  At the same time, after hearing that “My father” he was wondering if this could be the reclusive daughter of Honan-Fu. The evidence of wealth tended to confirm the suspicion. If so, he supposed she might be expected to welcome and help any enemy of the new regime. But Ben prudently withheld any announcements along that line until he could be sure.

  The lady gave no sign of noticing any alteration in his speech. “So you do intend to go out to the castle? How?”

  “I—don’t know, precisely, ma’am. I was noticing that boats do seem hard to come by in the town.”

  “A boat can be arranged.” Again she leaned forward, and this time lowered her voice. “But you must take me with you. And we should go now. Tonight. At once.”

  Ben opened his mouth, then closed it again.

  His grand hostess, who Ben now thought must be even younger than Zoltan, stood up with a graceful and decisive movement. “There is someone out there whom I must see. And—they don’t call you Maxim the Strong for nothing, do they? How are you at fighting, Maxim?”

  “Fighting, ma’am? Can’t say I care for it at all. But I can do it when I must.”

  “Yes, you look like you can. There might be one or two people here at the dock who wouldn’t want us to take a boat. But you can deal with them, can’t you? Especially if I can bring them to you one at a time, and unsuspecting.” Her gaze ran appraisingly over Ben’s shoulders and down his arms.

  Ben was thinking furiously—or at least he was furiously trying to think, despite a feeling that his tired brain was getting nowhere in the attempt. “I—I—I’ll do the best I can, my lady, of course. But—”

  “Excellent!” The young lady’s eyes flashed again, appraising him. “Maxim the Strong—yes, excellent. Yes, I am guarded, Maxim. But I’ll have a gold piece for you if you can row me out to the island at once. The boats are just outside that gate back there.” And with a motion of her head she indicated a direction in the darkness.

  In a moment she had left the arbor and the lantern light and was walking with deliberate, regal speed in that direction. Ben hastened to follow, keeping a couple of paces behind her in the darkness, his feet moving through well-kept grass that was wet with the recent rain. Apparently the young lady had eyes like a cat. Ben couldn’t see much of anything for forty paces or so, but then a high stone surface loomed ahead of them again, and presently they stood facing a small closed wooden gate that pierced the outer wall of the manor grounds.

  The lady wasted no time. With word and gesture, she made Ben flatten himself against the wall, where he would be within reach of the gate, yet almost out of sight to anyone looking in. Then she rapped sharply on the wooden portal, using the massive rings on her soft hand, and called in an imperious voice.

  Presently a small grating high in the gate, something like the spy hole in a prison cell, slid open, and a man’s voice outside mumbled something.

  “What do you think I want?” the lady shrilled. “I want you to open up this gate, you fool! I cannot speak to you like this.”

  There was another mumble, sounding disgruntled. But a moment later there was a rattling sound, as of bars being taken down. The gate opened and a guard, wearing the gray and red of the castle soldiers, stuck his head in.

  “I want a boat,” the mistress of the manor demanded sharply of the sentry. “I want it now.”

  “Oh, yeah? Really?” The man, with an insolence that Ben found utterly surprising, started to look around. “Is that all you made me open the gate for, to start that again? Because if—”

  Ben had not lied about his dislike of fighting, but he had long ago trained himself not to be not in the least squeamish when violence became essential. In a brief flash of his mind’s eye, even as his hands reached out for the man’s neck, he saw a poor fisherman’s house, dark and quiet in the early dawn.

  “Very good, Maxim!” the lady exulted almost silently, but with high good humor like a schoolgirl on some lark. “Oh, you are marvelously quick and efficient!” At her feet the uniformed body twitched once more and then was still, and Ben thought for a moment she was about to give it an exuberant kick.

  But instead she went to peer cautiously out through the opened gate. Ben could see now that it had been strongly barred on the outside, as if to prevent a determined effort at escape, with less concern for entry. She said: “Evidently there was only one on guard tonight, I see no one else around. They’ve been so busy—come along, now we can get a boat.”

  Then she turned back, gazing down at the dead man. “Bring him out, Maxim. We’ll stuff a rock into his jerkin; that’ll make him sink.”

  That sounded like a practical idea to Ben; and he had known too many ladies, young and old, of high rank, to be surprised that one of them should demonstrate ruthlessness and efficiency. He scooped the body up.

  The small docks that served the manor directly were just outside the gate. In the distance the castle on its island was speckled gaily with flecks of torchlight. The lady moved with Ben, guiding him through the darkness toward the little boathouse. Her clothing, a long, delicate-looking dress and frivolous shoes, wasn’t what he would have recommended for a night row across the lake, but this girl, whoever she was, was apparently as ready to ruin her finery as she was to kill, and Ben wasn’t going to be the one to bring the subject up.

  The dead guard, duly weighted, went off the dock into what was probably reasonably deep water with only a small splash. They might think, when they found him, that he had broken his neck accidentally. Ben supposed they would have to be pretty stupid to think that, but the possibility couldn’t be ruled out.

  There were two small rowboats waiting at the docks. Ben found a pair of oars just where his guide said they would be, inside the little boathouse, and started to put them into one of the boats.
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br />   His hostess meanwhile stood idle, waiting like a true lady to be helped into the boat when the time came. But before Ben could get to that, there were voices coming through the night across the water, and the sound of more than one pair of oars in locks.

  She was as fiercely alert as he. “They’re coming right from the castle. Quick, Maxim, back inside!”

  Muttering powerful but silent curses, Ben got back through the gate with his new young mistress, and pulled it shut and latched it on the inside. The real bar, the one that had been on the outside, of course could not be replaced. The implications of that were not too good. In a minute or two, boats, more than just a couple of them by the sound of it, began to arrive out there. So far there were no sounds of alarm, and Ben could begin to hope that he and the lady had not been seen out on the dock. Quite possibly the boathouse had screened them from the approaching craft while they were disposing of the sentry.

  But that the men outside would not even notice the absence of their sentry was too much to expect. Soon there came a hearty pounding on the gate, and soldiers’ voices murmuring questions to each other. Ben waited, looking to his hostess; it was up to her now to come up with some cleverness. But she continued silent and passive; then she turned her head back toward the manor house, and there were small sparks as of torches reflected in her eyes.

  A man, by the look of him a steward or something of the kind, was hurrying out from the house. He was being lighted on his way by torches in the hands of a couple of lesser servants.

  When the steward came close enough to get a look at Ben he stared at the big man uncomprehendingly, even fearfully; but he asked no question and made no comment. It was as if he feared to question any presence that the lady obviously accepted. A moment later he had shifted his hopeless gaze toward the gate, where the soldiers’ knocking continued with grim patience.

  “Never mind that noise,” the lady snapped at him. “What have you come out here for?”

  “There has been—an arrival at the front gate, my lady.”