Shieldbreaker's Story

by Fred Saberhagen

* * *

  Both partners considered themselves to be in a position of great strength, armed with Shieldbreaker and soon to have available Amintor’s army, which was still offstage—now Amintor had to tell his new partner about that asset as well.

  Just like the old days, Vilkata commented, smiling. Amintor agreed. The old days when they had sometimes worked together.

  Neither man chose to remind the other that in the old days the relationship had sometimes been far from smooth.

  Chapter Twelve

  The partnership agreement was soon concluded with a formal oath, a vow of mutual loyalty rather hastily and mechanically recited by both parties, and solemnized by the sacrifice of the small child of a servant, willingly donated by its convert parent. The formalities being thus concluded, the Dark King called his new colleague into a private conference, inviting him to breakfast on the least damaged of the palace’s rooftop terraces. The Baron, still faintly belching the street vendor’s fried bread and broiled fish, accepted automatically.

  No more than half an hour after Amintor had entered the palace, the two men, quite alone except for the ubiquitous demon Pitmedden, were comfortably seated under a summery arbor of grapevines, on an architectural elevation which gave them a view of the ocean beyond the red rooftops of Sarykam. It seemed plain now that the surrounding city was not going to burn after all, in any wholesale way, though here and there a diminishing column of smoke still rose from among the roofs.

  The Dark King gave orders to his guardian demons, and to his new human aides, that he and his new colleague were not to be disturbed at their conference, save for the most serious emergency.

  Vilkata had also seen to it that the convert servants waiting on table were magically rendered deaf, in a selective fashion, that they might hear table orders and yet learn nothing of importance—just in case they survived long enough to be deconverted.

  These details out of the way, Vilkata settled himself in his chair at the head of the table. “Now, Baron. Tell me about this army you claim to have. Where is it now, and how strong?”

  “No mere claim, Majesty.” Amintor began to explain in circumstantial detail about the current disposition of his forces, just where and how his people were encamped, in certain well-watered meadows not far outside the borders of Tasavalta. There were some five thousand fighting men, plus auxiliary magicians, and several hundred flying reptiles of diverse sizes and subspecies.

  Vilkata did not appear to be entirely convinced. Amintor was aware that his former associate cultivated an attitude of rarely approving anything enthusiastically, of never really trusting anything that he was told. The Dark King said: “Such a force must have been difficult for any individual, no matter how wealthy and talented, to raise—and it must be hard to maintain in the field.”

  “Oh, quite impossible, Your Majesty—except for this.” And the Baron tapped the black hilt of Coinspinner, now so luckily restored to his side.

  “Of course.” The Dark King went on to wax somewhat enthusiastic about all he was going to be able to achieve, in the way of further conquests, with a reasonably reliable army at his disposal. “With Shieldbreaker here, and Coinspinner now as well, I think we may say conservatively that we have good grounds for optimism.”

  “Indeed we do.” And Amintor raised his fruit juice in something like a toast. Suddenly he had to struggle to keep from yawning. He had spent a long night in the saddle, and was now well into what promised to be a long and busy day.

  * * *

  Not that Vilkata was openly discussing all his assets. He continued to keep secret one he considered among the most important—the Old World spacecraft he had ridden from the Moon and now had stowed and waiting in a certain cave little more than an hour’s ride south from Sarykam along the coast.

  Amintor, of course, did not suspect anything of the kind. But in the privacy of his own thoughts he was congratulating himself on his success in keeping a certain secret of his own.

  * * * * * *

  Having indulged briefly in mutual congratulations, the partners turned urgently to planning.

  Vilkata seemed to consider seriously the possibility of leaving Amintor in charge in the city while he himself took personal command of the pursuit of Mark’s young cub, Prince Stephen. It was important that the enemy not be allowed to retain Sightblinder.

  His junior partner inquired: “This lone opponent you faced down in the armory—that must have been Mark’s offspring Stephen, hey?”

  “So it seems.”

  The two men were casting back in their respective memories, calculating how old Mark’s younger son must be by now. The result was not complimentary to the Dark King’s image as a conqueror. “A mere stripling-you are sure that he’s the one?”

  All the evidence pointed that way. Karel, still trembling with a convert’s emotions, almost weeping, was called in to testify again about the current whereabouts, as far as they were known, of the members of the Tasavaltan royal family. Yes, all the available evidence indicated that the Dark King’s anonymous opponent in the armory must have been young Prince Stephen.

  Arridu—who was still safely under the Mindsword’s influence, the Dark King was sure—was also called in for consultation. This time, on joining the two men, the demon took for himself the image of an elderly and grave enchantress.

  Arridu stoutly denied that anyone answering the description of young Prince Stephen had been near when the demon picked up Shieldbreaker. There had been only a few inconsequential citizens of the neighborhood—“and, of course, the person of Your Glorious Majesty.”

  There was a little silence before the Dark King reacted. “You thought I was there? I assure you I was not.”

  A complete explanation of the powers of Sightblinder, followed by lengthy persuasion, was needed to convince Arridu that his glorious Master had certainly not been on the scene when the Sword of Force was captured.

  The Dark King rubbed his temples, and said for the fourth time: “I tell you, you did not see me—you saw an image cast by the Sword of Stealth.”

  Amintor interrupted to point out that, whatever images had been seen, Stephen’s presence at the demolished house of his grandparents seemed to be confirmed by the fact that the demon’s banishment had been effected at that place—only the Emperor’s children, and, apparently, grandchildren, could hurl away demons with such authority. And it appeared highly unlikely that Mark himself had been there.

  * * *

  Another problem loomed, seeming at least equally as pressing as the search for Sightblinder. Within twenty-four hours Amintor, assuming he was still present, would be the only human being within a hundred kilometers who was not the Dark King’s bitter enemy.

  Vilkata, toying with the black hilt of Shieldbreaker at his side, cast a sardonic eye at the figure of the elder convert standing patiently beside the table. “How soon will you become my enemy again, old Karel? Another three or four hours perhaps, before your faith begins to weaken? Another entire day, before you are completely apostate?”

  The stout old man was shaken, hurt, insulted. “Never, Master! I had rather die first. And I refuse to believe that our people will turn on you, now that it has finally been given to them to know the truth.”

  “Your confidence is touching,” the Dark King remarked drily. “See that you do die before you waver—I will make sure of that—but it occurs to me that I will have another mission for you to accomplish before your loyalty begins to flag.”

  * * * * * *

  In fact, as Amintor now remarked, the two of them and Vilkata’s thousand or so converts were already surrounded by swarming enemies—all of Tasavalta who had managed to remain out of the Mindsword’s range before that weapon was destroyed. These people would soon recover from the effects of the lightning attack and begin again to be effectively organized. Moreover, the great majority of the converts, however fanatical in the Dark King’s cause they might be at this moment, were, within a matter of a day or so, going to become his bitter
est enemies of all.

  After brief discussion King and Baron had to agree that Amintor would almost certainly find it impossible to hold the city without Coinspinner. The Baron’s army was still more than a hundred kilometers away and could not possibly arrive in Sarykam before the majority of the converts relapsed. Add to this the difficulty that Amintor had no skill in the control of demons. If the Dark King were to proclaim this man his regent in command of Sarykam, surely what remained of the city’s population, hostages or not, would revolt and murder him long before Amintor’s own force could reach the city.

  On the other hand, if Amintor were allowed to keep Coinspinner, he would probably succeed at holding the city or at practically any other task—the Sword of Chance could work miracles of good luck. But then Coinspinner would not be available to help run down the escaping Prince.

  Arridu or other demons could not very well be sent in pursuit of Stephen, because Stephen had already demonstrated his power of exiling their kind. Of course, if Arridu were given the loan of Coinspinner for the task, then unlucky things might be expected to start happening to Stephen at once, to arrest his flight or at least slow him down.

  * * *

  Vilkata soon came to one firm decision: that he himself had better stay in Sarykam. With Shieldbreaker in hand, and his demons and a large number of hostages all at his disposal, he felt confident of being able to maintain his grip upon the capital. Baron Amintor would be allowed to retain the Sword of Chance, and to him would go the job of running down the Princeling.

  Amintor agreed that this was probably the best way to manage things. Privately he was well pleased with this arrangement, because it allowed him to keep the Sword of Chance. His intention, as soon as he should be alone again, was to consult Coinspinner once more, with an exclusive view to his own self-interest.

  * * *

  Still mulling over the problem of how best to achieve his own advantage, the Dark King nibbled absently at his elaborate breakfast while he continued his conference with the Baron. Meanwhile the selectively deafened palace servants, naturally all converts desperate to please, plied their god and his new second-in-command with hot tea, fruit juices, and the finest viands from the palace cellars. There was also some fine wine on the table, but both men sipped it only sparingly.

  When the Baron got to his feet to stretch and stroll about the vine-shaded terrace, he found himself overlooking one of the palace courtyards into which the thousand or more hostages had been crammed. The murmurous voices of these victims rose; Amintor could hear some of them still singing the hymn to their new god. Well, in a day or two, that at least was going to change rather drastically.

  All exits from these courtyards had been blocked off—some magical provision for sanitation had probably been made—and above each of the enclosed spaces a minor demon crouched like a stone gargoyle, sleepy-eyed but watchful.

  Staring at the table before him, Vilkata remarked almost wistfully that this would probably be the last peaceful meal either of them would be able to enjoy for a while. The burdens of leadership were immense.

  “Immense!” Amintor agreed, matching his senior partner’s mood.

  They toasted each other and their joint enterprise, sipping some of Prince Mark’s fine wine.

  During this time old Karel was kept in silent attendance, like one of the table-servants—except that his hearing was left intact.

  “What are we to do with this one?” the Baron asked, after a while.

  The Eyeless One smiled faintly. “Something special, I think—there’s no great hurry, we have many hours yet before his faith could possibly begin to waver. Perhaps he should go with you on your search. With Coinspinner at your side, that should not take you many hours.”

  Amintor nodded. And yawned. He had been in the saddle all night, and his first breakfast had not entirely agreed with him. He fought against yawning and remarked that he wanted to get a couple of hours’ sleep before setting out to hunt the enemy who seemed still to be equipped with Sightblinder. He was far too experienced a campaigner not to prepare methodically, even when time was pressing.

  “Anyway, there’s no great hurry. He’ll not be making very good time out of the city.”

  The Dark King looked a question.

  Amintor smiled faintly and tapped the dark hilt of the Sword of Chance.

  “Oh. But of course.”

  When Vilkata, a moment later, wanted to know whether the Baron had yet formed any plans for the search, Amintor pushed back his chair from the table and drew and consulted his Sword. Coinspinner gave him a northwesterly direction in which to begin his search for Sightblinder and the youth who was presumably still carrying it.

  Amintor would have liked to consult the Sword on another matter—what direction his army should take, on its forthcoming march to Sarykam—but could not think of a way to frame the question so Coinspinner would answer it.

  Vilkata, when informed of this difficulty, only shrugged. “Actually there are several questions I would like to put to the Sword, but I cannot think of any way to do so.” Of course, it was hopeless to try to obtain guidance, beyond the indication of some physical direction, from the Sword of Chance. In that respect the weapon shared largely the same virtues and limitations as its fellow Sword, the late lamented Wayfinder.

  * * *

  The Dark King frowned when Amintor, now yawning helplessly, repeated his suggestion that he really ought to get some rest before starting after Stephen. Still, the fact that Amintor, no longer young, had been up all night could not be ignored.

  “I have a better idea,” his senior partner stated.

  He, Vilkata, would treat his junior partner to a magical stimulus; privately Vilkata thought that the spell would probably wear the old man out in a few days, but ought to spur his aging body to two or three days of quasi-youthful vigor.

  The administration of a powerful wake-up spell was simple as child’s play for a magician of the Dark King’s caliber. The business was conducted with little ceremony, and with no need for additional sacrifice, right at the breakfast table. Vilkata gave his subject no information about possible long-term effects, but Amintor wondered privately if this stimulation was good for his no-longer- youthful heart.

  * * *

  While the conqueror of Sarykam and his new partner continued their business on the palace roof, Prince Stephen was awakening—the feeling was more like that of regaining consciousness after an injury—under a hedge in the garden of Ben of Purkinje’s house, the heat of midday sunlight on his back. He had not rolled over, indeed he had hardly moved a muscle, in the course of his badly-needed sleep.

  Now, slowly, he did turn over, and presently sat up. Stretching stiffened joints and muscles, he looked for, and soon found, some water to drink—there was a garden fountain still burbling merrily, as if the peaceful world had not turned upside down.

  Close around him birds sang, and a squirrel climbed a tree in summer foliage. Although this grander house, like his grandparents’ cottage, had been smashed, the world was still here, it still had peaceful parts, and he was in it. Remembering last night’s events, Stephen felt confident that the Mindsword must have been truly destroyed. And as for Shieldbreaker, perhaps the enemy really did not have it yet. Maybe in his swelling anger he’d hurled that demon to a year’s distance, or two years’, as his father had. That would at least give people who were demons’ enemies time to prepare.

  Casting an eye at the elevation of the sun behind a barrier of leaves, the young Prince knew a lesser twinge of guilt for having slept so long, and determined that if possible he would not rest again until he had reached his parents.

  Also, he was ravenously hungry. He realized now that he hadn’t even eaten very much yesterday, during his long work session in the armory.

  Stephen understood it would be necessary to provide himself with transportation before he went outside the city walls, and also to acquire some provisions for the journey.

  Trusting in Sightblinder’
s power, knowing that unless he should run directly into Shieldbreaker in the enemy’s hands he had little to worry about, the young Prince had no difficulty in moving freely about the streets to obtain what he needed.

  Back in the street, he appropriated a fine riding-beast from a joy-screaming convert who could not get himself out of the saddle quickly enough once Stephen, no doubt perceived as the great Dark King himself, had indicated an interest in the animal.

  After this acquisition—while the former owner accommodatingly held his new mount for him in the street—Stephen entered shops untended in the city’s chaos, where he helped himself to some food and a water-skin. He felt in his pocket for coins to leave in payment, realized he had no money, and decided that in the circumstances it did not matter. Coming out of the last shop, he filled the skin with water at a public fountain.

  Meanwhile he continued to observe the condition of the city around him, and his mind raced in an effort to assess the situation clearly. Though still nagged by the minor physical injuries he had sustained in his first skirmish with a demon, the young Prince had been recovering mentally ever since he had been separated from Shieldbreaker.

  Stephen remembered from his father’s teaching that the effect of the Mindsword dissipated only gradually. The young Prince realized that, even if his belief that the Mindsword had been demolished was correct, all of the humans recently brought under its influence would probably remain in that hideous condition for at least a day, more likely several days to come. In some cases, where the person was naturally susceptible, the madness might persist much longer or even become permanent.

  Remembering last night’s confrontation in the armory, he felt sure now that at least no one need ever again fear falling under the Mindsword’s control. He was sure now that Skulltwister was gone; and whatever else might happen, he would feel proud to the end of his days that his hand had dealt the blow of its destruction.