The Sword Bearer

by John White

  By now the drifting coracle was less than a yard from them. "Sword Bearer! Draw your sword and save him!" Vixenia called to John.

  Poison hissed. "Stay where you are, majesty! Folly, now let us see your boasted courage at work! Into the coracle with you! Defend the magician!"

  Folly brayed loudly and leaped wildly forward. But he leaped too far. His forelegs landed in the water beyond the boat while his hind hoofs caught the far side of it. rocking the coracle and Slapfoot more wildly than ever. Folly disappeared into the dark water with a huge splash.

  Then John did kick Poison, as well as you can kick anything that is already sitting on your feel. Two years had added to his height and weight, and terrified or not, he plucked the sword from its scabbard He never noticed the blue light that throbbed from its blade but jumped immediately for the coraele.

  By a miracle he landed in it without either turning it over completely or putting at least one foot through the leather. Feet widely spaced and sword held high, he stood rocking unsteadily and breathing heavily, face to face with Nicholas Slapfoot Old Nick's arms were raised high above his head. In what seemed to John like slow motion, the goblin swung the iron hook up intending to bring it down on John's skull. "I said I'd get you, young John," he spat at the boy, his black eyes flaming hatred.

  But John was quicker. Ignoring the agonizing pain in his shoulder, he swung his sword in an arc at the hand that held the hook, and before he knew what had happened the blade had sliced through Old Nick's wrist with a sickening crunch. The hand fell into the water, slowly releasing its useless weapon as it did so.

  With a scream of pain and rage the creature leaped at him. But from behind John came the sharp crack of blue lightning that struck the Goblin Prince in the chest with power, hurtling him into the water. John turned to see the prophet standing behind him, his staff held high.

  "Did you do that?" he asked breathlessly.

  Mab nodded. "Look over there!" He pointed with the staff.

  John looked and saw the head of Nicholas Slapfoot rise above the waving black and red surface. He waved his mutilated stump at John and screamed again. "I'm coming back for you, young john. I'm coming back!"

  Again the blue lightning streaked from the prophet's staff, and again the Goblin Prince disappeared beneath the water. They waited a full minute, but there was no further sign. "He will not return for a little while," Mab said with grim assurance.

  John's knees gave way and he sat down in the coracle. "I think I'm going to be sick," he said. He was still gripping the pulsating sword, but his body was shaking. Gently the wizard pulled him to his feet. The coracle was bumping against the wharf. "Come," he said, "you'll feel better presently."

  Vixenia was staring at them both. "The bag of stones," she said. "What happened to it?"

  The strap around Mab's shoulder had been broken and the leather pouch no longer hung from it Vixenia peered into the coracle. "There," she said, "—down beside that rib ..."

  John stepped shakily onto the wharf as Mab reached for the bag and tossed it on the wharf. Three perfecdy round stones that glimmered like opals scattered across the rocky surface. The seer collected them carefully and replaced them in the bag, but continued to grope around the wharf for the fourth.

  John sat down and Poison leaned her heavy body against him. "You are a tremendous swordsman," she purred. "But look at that idiot, Folly!"

  John looked. He had forgotten all about the donkey, who had swum to the far side of the tiny cavern and was scrabbling with his forehoofs on the rock wall opposite. "He-haw, he-haw! Oh, dear, dear, dear, dear! Help! Help! Where there's a will, there's no way out! Oh, what a fool I am! A fool and his money will both likewise perish—oh dear, as a fool I will die! Help! Help! Where has everyone gone?"

  John scrambled to his feet, suddenly ashamed both of his weakness and his previous irritation with Folly. "Over this way!" he shouted. "Turn around, Folly! Turn the other way! You can get out over here!"

  He had to repeat his instructions several times, but at last the bewildered donkey turned and swam toward them. Vixenia had her eyes fixed on the bottom of the coracle, and Mab was still groping on the wharf for the missing stone. "Perhaps it has lodged itself somewhere in your robe," she suggested. But all his further searches produced no result.

  "Five, then four, then three," Vixie muttered endlessly. "Perhaps that was the meaning of the numbers on the door to Mi-ka-ya."

  Meanwhile Folly was scrambling frantically out of the cold water and onto the wharf.

  For a moment Folly stood shivering, saying, "Thankyou, oh thankyou, thankyou, Lord John—King John—Sir John. Oh, that I had such wisdom! A word fitly spoken is like a pearl in the snout of swine!" Then he shook himself like a dog, dousing John and Poison with cold water. John gasped and the cat, to his immense relief, leaped away hissing and spitting at the donkey and arching her great back

  The seer took hold of John's elbow again. "Well, we have three of them," he said quietly. "Let us be on our way."

  John still felt sick. "What about his hand?" he asked guiltily. "Will it get better?"

  The seer smiled "First blood?" he asked. "Have no fear about what you did. He has power to regrow that hand. He will live to attempt your life again."

  They turned to make their way up the wide stairway. Into John's mind flashed the memory of a crowbar that had flown toward him to crash against the wall of the scrapyard. It had not really occurred to him at that time that Old Nick had been trying to kill him. But he could see it now. "He ... he doesn't seem to like me very much," he said.

  They had emerged into the sunlight again. "You'd better clean your sword," Mab said. John stared at the naked blade in horror.

  "The green stuff,..." he murmured. Oily green fluid was dripping from it.

  "Goblin blood," Vixenia and Mab said simultaneously.

  "Just plunge it into the ground, and it will come up clean. Here let me show you." The prophet pulled the sword from John's hand and stabbed it down into the turf as far as the hilt, and then pulled it up again. It emerged shining brilliantly, and John replaced it cautiously into the scabbard.

  Mab placed his hands on John's shoulders and looked searchingly into his eyes. "You may not like the idea very much," he said, "but remember—one day with that same sword you will kill the Goblin Prince. He is the source of every evil within you. He is the prince of fear and doubt In killing him you will know freedom."

  20

  * * *

  Descent of the

  Four Winds

  As darkness fell they held a council meeting on the grass lawn of the courtyard. The moon would rise an hour after midnight. If any action were to be taken to defend the castle it would have to be taken before the moon appeared.

  Tension gripped the company. News of the pross stones and of the attack by the Goblin Prince had spread rapidly among them. Even Grunt was half awake. And though Itch shivered, he seemed too excited to remember to scratch. Bjorn and Bjornsluv sat on their dark oak chairs whispering solemnly to each other. Bjorn's beard rested on his lap.

  The Matmon sat around them on the softly cushioned turf. John was happy to be again with the seer, grateful that the old man had survived both the fever and his perilous journey. He gave John the reassuring feeling of security that only someone who knows what he is doing can give. Vixenia, in spite of her courage, had never given him that feeling.

  He wondered what Oso and Aguila were thinking. They watched Mab and Vixenia through curious eyes. Rathson snuggled against his grandmother's chair. The dim light could not conceal the glitter of a gold chain round his neck, a gold chain that was smaller and thinner but of the same pattern as the one worn by his grandfather King Bjorn.

  John stared at the chain unthinkingly for several moments. Then, like being knocked on the head with a soccer ball, it hit him that not only was this the chain Rathson and Goldson quarreled about endlessly in his dreams, but this was the first time John had actually seen Rathson wear it For two years J
ohn had put the dream out of his mind, but seeing the chain around Rathson's neck awakened his fears again. Did dreams come true? Was a murder going to take place? Was there something he could do to stop it? Was he supposed to? Or was the whole thing nonsense?

  Folly had settled next to Rathson. Poison sat scornful and erect nearby. Only Goldson was missing. Vixenia, who as the founder of the company was to preside over the meeting, was waiting for him before she opened it. When Goldson finally arrived he pushed himself haughtily between Rathson and Queen Bjornsluv. John stared with fear and dislike at his cruel face. He often marveled that Goldson had not, like his followers, exposed himself to the Mystery and died with them.

  The sun had left a few of its delicate colors to linger in the western sky, but very slowly it was drawing them below the horizon. Numa the north star, sovereign of the night sky, shed her rays imperiously down on the island. But the quiet beauty of the evening did nothing to alleviate the tensions in the group.

  Vixenia began to talk as soon as Rathson and Goldson were settled. "Your majesties, fellow members of the company: welcome. Some of us once questioned the value of John the Sword Bearer to our cause. Yet as all of you know, his valiant action this day saved three of the pross stones and possibly the life of Mab the seer. He also wounded the Goblin Prince, the same Goblin Prince who killed my mate and cubs. I believe the Goblin Prince must be that invisible presence whose slapping feet haunt the wharf below the castle from time to time. He is known to John by the name of Nicholas Slapfoot. What you may not know is that this Nicholas Slapfoot, invisible haunter and Goblin Prince, tried to kill John in a previous encounter."

  She turned to John and laid a delicate paw on his knee, crying, "I hereby name you John-of-the-Swift-Sword!"

  There were murmurs of approval and John blushed and wriggled uncomfortably. Itch was heard to murmur, "Yes. The goblin who makes himself invisible! It was he who touched me!"

  Bjorn, without rising from his seat, gave John a very different look from the kind he had given him two years before at his trial in the forest glade. Embarrassed, John was not sure how to behave. Hoping he was doing the right thing, he scrambled to his feet, bowed awkwardly to Vixenia and said in a nervous, unsteady voice, "Thank you, Vixenia, and thank you all." Then he sat down again.

  Vixenia condnued. "Mab the seer's courage has brought us three stones, proseo comai stones as he calls them. As you know, tonight the moon will be full. And that being so, the Mystery of Abomination may return. I wish to know your counsel about how best the power of the stones may be used. But first I have asked the seer to explain the nature of the pross stones."

  Mab, shivering a little for the evening became cooler, remained sitting. He looked frail, hugging his velvet robe about him for warmth. The sky was by now curtained with its own dark velvet, and through it shy stars peeped one by one. Only the barest trace of rose lingered on the horizon.

  Mab cleared his throat "The stones themselves have no power," he said, pausing a moment to catch his breath. "They can put us in touch with the power of the Changer. We are encouraged to express our distresses to him by means of them. His power is capable of anything. But there are some things he will change and others he will not"

  "If the stones have no power," Vixenia replied quickly, "what power brought you back safely?"

  "The power of the Changer," the seer replied.

  "And what is the power that comes from your staff?" she asked.

  "It is the power of the Changer."

  "But is it not you who use the power?" She seemed to be coaching the seer for the benefit of all of them.

  "That is true," the seer said slowly. "I raise my staff when the Changer instructs me to. And when I raise it his power does its work."

  "And if you were to raise it when he did not instruct you to? Have you never done that?"

  Mab hesitated. "Yes, I confess I have used my staff in ways he never instructed me to. Sorcerers and magicians do so all the time. To them the power itself is important Yet for nearly seven hundred years whenever I have used the Changer's power wrongly, however great the demonstration of power may have been, it brought no lasting good. I once breached a castle wall with it, but the castle was never taken. I dried an unfordable river with it, but the army was defeated after crossing it. My staff was given me to accomplish the Changer's purposes, and only when it is so used does lasting good come. You will find the same is true of the proseo comai stones."

  Vixenia stared at him. She did not seem to care for his answer. "We will see," was all she said. Then turning to the rest of the circle she asked, "In what ways can we stop the Mystery? What can be done tonight? Time is passing."

  Folly scrambled awkwardly to his shaky feet "I have been— I know you all think I'm foolish and you are right—but I have been thinking.. ."

  "Thinking? What, you ? You can't. You never have," Poison mewed venomously, her voice like squealing chalk on a black-board. Her tone changed, and she hissed, "You're nothing but a fool!"

  "... about clouds." Folly was trembling as he often did, but he had not even paused during Poison's interruption. Words exploded from him in bursts like bullets from a machine gun. "The Mystery of Abom—er, of Abom—er, the Mystery of Andcipation—please don't laugh" (a titter floated lighdy over the group) "—he who laughs last bring joy to his mother's apron strings—but as I was saying, the Mystery approached us in the form of a cloud. And I thought, that is, I remembered that clouds are blown by wind—"

  Again came the sound like squealing chalk, "Oh, the intelligence!"

  "Go on, Folly!" Vixenia said encouragingly.

  "Well, I thought that if we could arrange a wind to blow it back—a powerful wind, a really strong wind, then . . . It's just an idea. I mean, it's an ill wind that blows things to kingdom come." He paused. "Perhaps it's a stupid idea after all. I just thought. . ." Suddenly the machine-gun bursts of words were over. He hung his head and flopped down in clumsy embarrassment, muttering, "Shouldn't have opened my silly mouth."

  Goldson hooted derision, but Vixenia persisted. "Where would the strong wind come from?"

  "From the stone!" Folly brayed eagerly. "You could ask Mi-ka-ya to arrange four winds to blow permanently away from the island, one from the north, another from the south, another from the east and one from the west. It's an ill wind. . . no, I've said that already. Then the Mystery couldn't approach us from any direction. I know it sounds silly. But where there's a will there's a silver lining!"

  There was a pause. Then Poison said, "No clouds, no rain. No rain, no water. Do we want to live on a desert island?"

  A long and heated discussion followed about rainwater, the height of rain clouds compared with the height of the cloud of the Mystery, about lake water, wells, pumps and other technical matters. Folly took little part in it. He was staring at the ground muttering, "Why am I so stupid? Rain? I never thought of rain clouds. Oh, dear. It never rains but the cows come home."

  But the idea of the winds gained ground steadily, until Rathson said, "How about fire? Fire burns evil things. Fire purifies. Why can't we have some sort of magic fire that springs up from the water whenever something evil approaches?"

  "The Goblin Prince swims under the water," Goldson sneered.

  "Then we could have a curtain of fire going both above and below the water every time evil approached," his cousin countered.

  "And boil all the fish in the lake?"

  It was too dark to see the flush of anger on Rathson's face as he muttered, "Magic fire doesn't have to boil anything." And once more a discussion broke out. It was clear that the magical possibilities of the pross stones aroused excitement and new hope in the little company.

  King Bjorn was convinced that iron was the key to their safety. "For weeks we have been building an iron gate to protect the entrance to the tunnel from the lake," he said. "We now have it suspended in a slotted recess above the entrance from the lake. Everyone knows that iron repels evil. We could leave it down to block the entrance on
ly to be raised by magic words known just to us."

  Vixenia was not convinced. "The darkness does not come through the tunnel, your majesty," she said.

  "Possibly not, my dear Vixie," he replied. "But the only true entrance, the magic entrance to the tower, is the one at the head of the narrow staircase leading up from the wharf. We did not build that staircase. It was built by the word of Mi-ka-ya. If we can protect the entrance from the lake, no evil will ever enter the tower."

  To John all the suggestions sounded exciting—winds to blow from every quarter of the island, walls of fire to rise above and descend below the water, an iron gate that only the right magic words would raise. But as the discussion grew ever more com-plex and agitated and confused, he found it hard to follow. The arguments seemed endless. Eventually he dred of them.

  By now the sky was a velvet black. No longer shy, the stars shone with startling brilliance, stars he could not recognize, stars clearer and brighter than any he had ever known, hovering in silent, effortless formation above him. But there was as yet no sign of the moon.

  Vixenia's voice rose above the rest, "It lacks but an hour to moonrise. You have mentioned three principle plans, and each has something to commend it. Mab the seer has written the name of each on pieces of parchment and King Bjorn has sealed each parchment with his seal. I shall choose one parchment and whichever is chosen will be the plan we request from Mi-ka-ya tonight" Her voice sounded tight and strained.

  Mab rose unsteadily to his feet. John could not see his face, but there was something about him that seemed troubled. "I do not wish to discourage you," he said. "The Changer may grant you your request or he may not But even if he does, it is far from certain that we will be safe. Remember what I told you about my staff. There have been times when its power has worked, but the power did no good. Sometimes it even caused harm. We may inflict on the island useless powers that will act unpredictably for generations yet to come. Strange tales will surround the powers, but they will achieve little of true value."