The Silver Queen had followed Ben out of the cave and stood beside him.
Only briefly were the two humans allowed to hope that Vilkata, in his haste to leave, might have decided to ignore them. Scarcely had they time to draw a deep breath before the demon who had been appointed their executioner was with them, making its presence known in the form of a vague, half-human shape.
But before the demon could begin to toy with its all-but-helpless victims, the whispering sound of the spacecraft’s passage through the lower air, which had faded only moments earlier, returned. Ben, looking up, saw that the near-spherical shape had reappeared in the sky and was descending rapidly.
Silently and swiftly, emitting no great glare of light, this vehicle approached the upper entrance to the cave, where the two people and the demon who confronted it were standing.
The spacecraft, hard metal scrunching solidly on rock, touched down very near them.
The onlooking demon gaped, as surprised as Ben and Yambu, and perhaps almost as frightened. The clear, glassy surfaces of the Old World vehicle had been turned opaque, and no one could see into it from outside.
The lights inside it dimmed or went out, and a hatch opened.
The head emerging was certainly not Vilkata’s. Nor was it even human—or demonic.
The three onlookers watched with utter astonishment as the rest of the emerging form came into view—a figure, despite its size, speedily, gracefully unfolding through the open hatchway, then elongating to its full height of some six meters. A body standing on two almost man-like legs, all clad in glowing fur, a face and body neither quite human or quite animal in aspect, though obviously male.
“Hail, Lord Draffut!” Ben breathed fervently. The utterance sounded like a prayer.
Yambu and the demon were equally quick to recognize Draffut, the famous Beastlord, a being everywhere believed by common folk to belong to the pantheon of gods. What stunned Ben even more than the fact of Draffut’s arrival was that of his god-like size and evident power. Ben had heard the appearance of the Lord of Beasts, in recent years, very differently described.
Draffut had no sooner unlimbered his gigantic form from the spacecraft than he growled out a challenge to the stunned demon watching.
Whatever followed between the two beings on the level of magic, in the way of an exchange of threats, even of direct blows, Ben failed to perceive the interaction at all. All he could be sure of was that a moment after the Lord of Beasts confronted the demon, Vilkata’s creature had fled, or had been driven from the field.
Now that an oasis of safety had been established, at least temporarily, Draffut greeted Yambu and Ben as old acquaintances, even as friends.
Ben was just starting to reply, when, to his surprise, the throbbing which had been put inside his head by Coinspinner’s dying blast rose up and wiped away the world.
* * *
When the huge man recovered his wits, he found himself being held, supported like a baby in Draffut’s gigantic hands, while Lady Yambu stared at him with concern. Brusquely Ben asserted a warrior’s contempt for his own wounds, announced that he was fine, and climbed out of the Beastlord’s grip to stand, somewhat shakily, on his own two feet. Blood from his scalp injury was still coming down his face in an occasional thin trickle, and he brushed at it impatiently.
“A long time since we’ve met, Master Draffut.” Ben was too knowledgeable to speak to this creature before him as to a god.
“Many years, Ben of Purkinje.” Draffut was half-kneeling now, a position which brought his huge head closer to a level with those of his companions. The great voice was as soft as it was deep.
Ben, his head suddenly once more awhirl, spoke again before he’d taken careful measure of his words. “I remember that we were in a battle together, you and I and a thousand others, and you…”
The vast eyes, of shifting colors, stared at him. He thought the inner radiance of the white fur dimmed momentarily. Draffut said: “I killed a man that day. The act was unintentional, but yes, I killed.”
That hadn’t been Ben’s key memory of Draffut’s part in the battle, but he couldn’t deny that it had happened. Ben did his best to reassure the luminous giant. “Killing is a part of any war.”
Draffut only shook his head.
“I had heard…” The huge man began, then hesitated.
The Beastlord nodded. “That I had changed. Had been diminished, as a result of what happened to me on that day of war.”
“Yes.”
“And what you heard was true, for I was changed indeed. Once more, as in my early youth, I ran about the world on four legs, and was content to be again a dog, the form in which I was created. But I have a friend who was not content that I should remain so.”
It was Yambu who brought the discussion back to a practical level: “We owe you our lives, Master Draffut. Where have you come from in that Old World device, and why are you here now?”
“I have been sent here, from the Moon, with instructions to bring two people back.”
* * *
Yambu had never been timid, and now, at her time of life and with her experience, there were very few things that really frightened her. Still she felt a qualm at the thought of embarking upon the shuttle-voyage Draffut was proposing.
Coinspinner was no longer available to provide guidance, but her doubts were thrust aside when Draffut promised the Silver Queen that he could bring her face to face with the Emperor at last.
“You hesitate, great lady. But you are wanted there.” And Draffut looked up into the sky—to human eyes the Moon, today risen in early daylight, was now, near midday, quite invisible.
She could not doubt that this gigantic being was telling her the truth. “He himself has said this to you? He mentioned me?”
“Indeed, great lady, the chief reason I am here is that the Emperor has asked me to bring you to him.”
* * * * * *
Young Prince Stephen, halfway through a journey to the village where he thought his parents most likely to be found, had taken shelter in a small shady grove, trying to keep out of sight of patrolling reptiles in the sky.
Stephen, who had closed his eyes in weariness, was almost entirely sure that he was dreaming when he opened them at a small sound, to behold his famous grandfather, now sitting quite near him on a fallen tree, and nodding to him in familiar greeting. Stephen recognized the Emperor at once, despite the fact that the Emperor now looked a little younger than his son Prince Mark.
Today Stephen’s grandfather, a surprisingly ordinary-looking man clad all in gray, had not chosen to put on one of his famous masks, or play the clown. Instead he appeared in the boy’s dream—if dream it was—as armed with many Swords. The familiar figure was carrying them all glittering and gleaming, the bright Blades clashing together harmlessly, in a kind of crude gardener’s bag. He opened that container to let the young lad look inside.
But soon the Emperor covered up the Swords again and put aside the bag.
Then he said, as if this were his point in making the display: “They’re not really all that important, you know.”
“What’s more important than Swords, Grandfather?”
“A number of things—for example, that you and I have a talk every now and then.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Oh, yes. And now seemed like a good time.”
Stephen sat up, shifting his position. He now had the feeling that he was wide awake. “I’m trying to find my parents.”
His companion nodded. “I know you are. I expect you’ll manage to locate them all right. Tell your father that he and I must have a talk again sometime.”
“I’ll tell him.” Stephen blinked. “And I know he wants to talk to you. He spends a lot of time trying to find you.”
“Your father worries a great deal, unnecessarily. You might tell him I said that.”
They chatted for a few minutes more—about nothing out of the ordinary, as Stephen remembered later—before the Emperor
got to his feet and slung his bag—had it really contained Swords?—over his shoulder.
Taking these actions as signals of departure, Stephen said politely: “Good luck, Grandfather, safe journeying—Ardneh be with you.”
“Thank you.” The man’s reply was solemn. “And with you as well.”
“I’ll see you again, won’t I?”
“Oh yes. It might be a while, but we’ll meet again. Never worry about that.”
* * *
Ben and the Lady Yambu, standing with Draffut just outside the seaside cave, looked at each other. Both of the humans at the moment were feeling sharply the lack of the Sword of Chance. But Coinspinner was gone, and that was that.
Following the guidance of the revitalized Draffut, the two humans boarded the Old World spacecraft without argument or serious hesitation, despite the utter strangeness of the device.
Draffut communicated in some way with the machinery. Moments later, the craft and its three occupants were being borne upward at a speed achievable only by Old World technology.
For the first hour or so of the flight, Ben lay on one of the strange beds and briefly slept. When he awoke, the bleeding from his head wound had entirely stopped, but he still felt pain and occasional disorientation. As their hours in space lengthened into a full day, the two human passengers occupied themselves alternately resting and moving about inside the glass-and-metal vehicle, watching the Earth recede and the Moon grow ever larger. It was indeed a mind-bending experience.
Not counting small latrine-bathrooms and a galley, there were three habitable chambers inside the shuttle, which was easily the size of a small house—the largest cabin was capacious enough to house without undue hardship the six-meter length of Draffut as well as the two humans. Particularly as Draffut soon manifested the ability to double his body into a relatively small space with no apparent lack of comfort. The humans now discovered that the movable interior partitions of the craft could be repositioned to provide one long, narrow chamber in which the Beastlord was able to accommodate himself at full length.
The passengers experienced no fierce acceleration even though the Earth seemed to be falling away at breathtaking speed; and the human passengers speculated as to whether the speed and ease of the journey were due to magic or technology. “Up” and “down” remained, respectively, the directions of the shuttle’s overhead and of its deck; but the sky outside, and the Earth visibly embedded in it, assumed alarming and upsetting positions.
Ben’s wounds, though bandaged by the Silver Queen with Old World medical materials on board, still bothered him, and her own minor injuries still pained. Draffut several times administered such healing as he was able to perform by the laying on of his huge hands, and Yambu was greatly helped. Each treatment made Ben feel a little better, though the benefit was only temporary. The Beastlord grumbled that his healing power was not what it once had been, and solemnly promised a more efficacious therapy once they reached the Moon.
Ben dozed repeatedly and dreamed. The cumulative weariness of a hard life seemed to have caught up with him, and he welcomed the chance afforded by these comfortable quarters to catch up on sleep, and also on food, which proved to be plentifully available in several acceptable forms. Draffut showed both human passengers how to control the Old World equipment concerned with health, safety, and comfort.
* * *
There was talk of Swords, and of the prospects in the war now raging, among the three now traveling so swiftly together to the Moon.
For their own satisfaction—Ben’s in particular—they brought up to date the inventory of Swords as well as they were able.
Yambu had for some years been making an effort to keep track of the Twelve Swords—Draffut announced that he had been doing so too, and now gave his companions his current reckoning in the matter.
After Coinspinner’s recent ruining, only Farslayer, Soulcutter, Shieldbreaker, and Woundhealer still survived—and Draffut was not at all sure about the first of those. One by one, over the past forty years or so, all the rest of the output of Vulcan’s forge had been reduced to bits of black wood and dull metal, the nothingness of dissipated magic.
The Sword of Despair, said Draffut, was really the one to worry about. The Emperor had told him that.
It was Yambu who theorized that a few of the Swords, including Soulcutter, had shared an interesting property—the Tyrant’s Blade never discriminated among individuals. In effect, Soulcutter didn’t care who anyone was.
Neither did Woundhealer.
Nor had the Mindsword, before it was destroyed, ever distinguished one person from another—apart from singling out its current owner as the supreme object of devotion.
* * *
Back on Earth, Stephen had not traveled far from the grove in which he met the Emperor when, to his great joy, he encountered a recovered Karel, whose own magical search had led him to the young Prince. From that point on, under the great wizard’s protection, Stephen had nothing to fear from flying reptiles, nor could his reunion with his parents be delayed much longer.
* * *
Woundhealer had restored Mark to full health almost instantly upon its application, and now only a nearly-invisible white scar marked the place where Farslayer had come ravening into his flesh.
Prince and Princess together had continued their advance upon Sarykam, recruiting more armed troops readily from the villages, where a number of trained militia were available. Scouts reported that what had been Baron Amintor’s army, now commanded by a woman named Amalthea, was trying to reverse course and withdraw from Tasavalta.
And with the loss of Coinspinner’s luck, the army gave signs that, lacking some triumphant stroke by the Dark King personally, it would soon break up in internal conflicts.
* * *
Coming out from the capital to join Prince Mark were a number of de-converted soldiers, along with the bulk of the general population. With every passing hour, more converts now recovered spontaneously from the Mindsword’s hideous spell.
With these and other forces rapidly becoming available, the country moving toward full mobilization, the Prince acted swiftly to harry and punish the force of mercenaries as it strove to withdraw from Tasavalta. General Rostov, and the local leaders elsewhere, had not waited for Mark’s direct leadership before organizing and taking action.
The mercenary force was in retreat, threatened with disintegration, united now only for self-defense.
* * *
Less than two days after departing the coast of Tasavalta, the three passengers in the space shuttle were preparing for a landing on the Moon.
The lifeless-looking desert globe first became frighteningly large, then ceased to be an object in the sky at all, and was transformed into a world reassuringly below their feet. Draffut, the experienced traveler, meanwhile pointed out certain sights of interest—including the place from which Vilkata had rescued the demons—as they approached, and indicated at least roughly what territory lay definitely within the Emperor’s domain.
Yambu gritted her teeth, doing what she could to get ready for a confrontation with that impossible man, who had once been her husband.
The Beastlord also explained, to a pair of human beings too awed and bewildered to understand him very well, how he himself had come to be restored to power and majesty by immersion in what he called the Lake of Life—that had been the Emperor’s doing, of course. Draffut told his questioners that he expected they would have the chance to see the Lake of Life for themselves.
Yambu and Ben had both heard of the ancient, legendary Lake of Life, which supposedly had existed at some unknown location on the Earth.
Draffut assured his human listeners that the lunar Lake was a duplicate of the legendary one.
Below the travelers, a smooth area of the Moon’s surface that looked like pavement grew and grew.
Ben, long past astonishment, observed some kind of giant hatch or window in that surface yawn open to receive their vehicle.
; And then, fairly abruptly and without fanfare, the voyage ended in an intact base or spaceport built securely under the lunar surface.
* * *
Back on Earth, at about the same time that their friends’ spacecraft reached the Moon, Prince Mark and Princess Kristin were joyfully reunited with their son and the old wizard who was Kristin’s uncle.
Moments later, while Stephen enjoyed the benefits of Woundhealer, he passed on to Kristin and Mark the most recent intelligence regarding the conditions in Sarykam, and what had happened to him in the course of his journey since leaving the city. Naturally the youth included his most recent information about Ben and Yambu—and Zoltan.
As a kind of afterthought, Stephen told his parents about his encounter with the Emperor—adding his continued uncertainty as to whether that meeting might have happened only in a dream.
Mark acknowledged his son’s information about that talk with a nod, but made almost no comment on the matter. Everyone, it seemed, got to talk to the Emperor sooner or later—everyone but him, the Emperor’s son. And what good did it all do, anyway, all these vague signs of encouragement and advice from the imperial Great Clown?
No one at the royal headquarters as yet had any certain knowledge of Coinspinner’s destruction, or Farslayer’s. Through Karel’s art the Prince was soon given warning that the Dark King was coming back with Soulcutter and more demons from the Moon.
Chapter Nineteen
When Ben’s mind grew clear again, he found himself standing, leaning against the wall, in a long hallway with several distant branches and many doors. The passage was three or four meters broad and considerably higher, smoothly carved from rock, and lighted by peculiar Old World lamps—a strange place, a very strange place indeed.
He was unarmed and still wearing the clothes in which he’d come from Earth.
Shieldbreaker's Story Page 22