The Sword of Aradel

by Alexander Key

  Brian looked doubtful. “This doesn’t seem to me like a city that cared much for poetry. As for minstrels and troubadours …”

  He stopped suddenly and peered around. “What’s happened to Tancred?”

  “Don’t worry about him. He flew up when we fell, and he’s off somewhere looking things over. Oh—here he comes!”

  The nightingale appeared as she spoke and settled again on her shoulder, making harsh little twitterings as if he did not care for what he had seen. At the same moment a group of oddly dressed youths in sleeveless brown jackets drifted around the corner at the edge of the crowd. There was the hint of a swagger in their movements, but they proceeded warily, their restless eyes seemingly taking in everything around them. Brian, ever watchful, caught sight of them first. Uneasiness shot through him as one of the youths paused abruptly and pointed at Merra.

  “Hey, dig the chick wit’ th’ boid!”

  Instantly the group crowded close, staring at Tancred while one of them asked questions in a sharp, nasal voice. “What kinda boid’s that? You got ’im trained, huh?”

  “Phooey, I don’t dig feathers,” said another. “Lookit the sword this fancy cat’s wearing! It’s got rocks on it!”

  “Yeah? An’ who says they’re for real?”

  “They’re real enough, Dippy. That thing’s worth bread!”

  “Well, whaddaya know!” said the lean one called Dippy. He jabbed a finger at Brian. “Take it off, you! Give!”

  Brian stared at him, only half comprehending. Another brown-jacketed youth said, “Wake up, fancy boy! When Dippy says give, you better give, and fast. You dig?”

  Brian shook his head, more in confusion than understanding, and was rewarded by a vicious slap followed by the prick of a knife at his throat. It astounded him to realize that he and Merra were actually being attacked by thieves on a busy street, in plain view of scores of people who were passing only a few feet away. No one paid any attention to what was happening; or, if they saw it, they preferred to turn their heads and hurry on.

  Even so, his astonishment did not delay his almost instant response to the prick of the knife. He had been drilled in it so many times by Brother Benedict that his reaction was automatic. His head jerked back and to the left as his left hand shot up to knock the weapon aside. At the same moment he kicked his opponent in the stomach with all his strength. Dippy and the knife were propelled backward into the crowd. In perfect timing with the kick, his right hand reached for his sword.

  These swift and practiced motions gave him all the room he needed to draw his sword and use it. But just before his fingers touched the hilt, some instinct made him stop. One of the youths abruptly cried, “Here comes a pig!” and the brown jackets scattered and melted away in the crowd.

  Now Brian glimpsed a heavily built man in a visored cap who had just come around the corner. An official or a guard, he guessed, noting the club at the man’s belt and the badge on the blue jacket. Was he looking for the thieves who had just disappeared?

  Apparently he was, for he stopped and stood scowling at the packed crowd moving past. Finally he shrugged and turned. Merra met his suddenly surprised stare with one of her elfin smiles.

  The man grinned. “All dolled up for a party, eh? Some outfits!” Then his eyes widened at the sight of Tancred. “A pet bird! What is he? Some kind of a thrush?”

  Brian nodded, mainly to avoid having to speak. He had already decided that the language here was a peculiar form of English. The brown jackets had been almost impossible to understand, but the guard—which he surely must be—was far easier to make out. He wished, though, that the man would go on and not ask questions. Questions could be dangerous.

  “A pet thrush!” the guard exclaimed. “Does he sing?”

  When she nodded, he asked, “And where would the two of you be going with a pet thrush?”

  “To—to the mouseion, good sir,” she replied, in her English of another age.

  “Eh? What did you say?”

  “Mouseion. Canst thou direct us whither it lieth?”

  “Huh? You must be Quakers. And this mu-mu—Oh, you must mean museum! Sure, the Tate Museum is down that way, just across the park.” He jerked his thumb toward the intersection across the street. “Better be careful in the park. Stay on the main walk. It’s patrolled.”

  Merra thanked him with a nod and a smile, then gave Brian’s sleeve a quick tug and whispered, “Let us go! The light is green.”

  He had no idea what she meant and immediately balked when she started across the broad street directly in front of the things on wheels. “It is safe to walk on green,” she explained hurriedly. “Haven’t you been watching the lights at the corners?”

  He muttered that there were too many lights, and that thousands of them were constantly changing color. But he had to admire her for her quick thinking, and for noticing what he had missed.

  “That place he called a museum,” he said, after they had safely reached the far corner and could see trees in the distance. “It couldn’t possibly be Cerid’s mouseion, could it?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll just have to find it and see. Everything is so strange here. And time has turned the English we know into something that hardly makes sense. Anyway, I’m just as certain as I can be that Cerid came in this direction.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Oh, fiddle, you ought to know by now that none of the Dryads would have stayed an instant longer than necessary on that horrid street behind us. If she arrived here in daylight, she would have been able to see the park first thing—and that’s where she would go. To be among trees.”

  “Of course! That makes sense. Do you think she might have hidden the sword in the park?”

  “I—I cannot tell yet, Sir Brian. But of this I am sure: Cerid would never, never leave the true sword of Aradel in a place where harm could come to it. It was much too precious to her. Wherever she hid it, it would be in a safe spot.”

  At the end of their narrow street they waited uneasily for the green light to show, then raced across a busy avenue to the edge of the park. Here a wide graveled path stretched away under the trees. Since it was the only one in sight, and well lighted with the curious globes that seemed to glow as magically as the interior of Nysa’s oak, they followed it.

  They were not alone, for groups of young people were continually passing them, hurrying toward some unknown attraction ahead. The attraction soon came into view as their path merged with other paths, and suddenly opened upon a brightly lighted area of low buildings beside a small lake. A blare of raucous music drew their attention to an odd, shell-shaped structure at the edge of the trees far to the left. It was filled with musicians. The young people were converging on it, and hundreds more were sprawled on the grass near it.

  Brian paused beside the first low building, listening to the weird, tuneless beat of the music. An enticing smell of food came from an open window near him, and through the glass sides of the building he could see people of all ages sitting at tables, eating, and others standing before a counter being served. The unexpected smell and sight of food brought back an appetite that had failed him earlier, but he instantly forgot it as Merra clutched his arm and pointed.

  In the distance across the lake, aglow with light, was a beautiful building unlike anything he had seen in the city. It reminded him of a drawing of a Roman temple Brother Benedict had shown him once in the abbey.

  “That’s it!” Merra whispered. “That’s where Cerid hid the sword. I’m sure of it!”

  “How can you be so sure? We haven’t been in the place yet. We don’t even know what it is.”

  “I don’t have to know. I feel it. I am Cerid’s daughter, and I know how she felt and thought about everything. The Dryads are that way. The moment she saw that building—”

  “You think she knew it was the sort of place she was looking for?”

  “Of course! It is a temple of some kind, and a fitting place to hide the sword.”

&nb
sp; “Then—then let’s get over there and have a look at it. If luck is with us …”

  “We will need luck,” she said uneasily, giving his sleeve a tug. “Something tells me we’d better hurry.”

  It took them much longer than Brian had thought to go around the end of the lake, and then cross another avenue that lay between the park and their destination.

  The temple—for he could not help thinking of it as such—was larger than it had seemed from a distance, and it was reached by a broad series of steps that led to the great marble columns at the entrance. As they started hastily up the steps, a few people were coming down and getting into sleek, wheeled machines at the curb. They were dressed much better than anyone Brian had seen earlier, but he hardly glanced at them. For suddenly the lights behind the columns dimmed, and he realized the place must be closing.

  They raced on to the entrance.

  Between the columns at the top, two uniformed guards were busy rolling up a long strip of red carpet. Another guard, whose jacket was covered with gold braid, stood haughtily by the door.

  Gold Braid looked down his nose at Brian, and said coldly, “The lecture is over.”

  “But, good sir, cannot we—”

  “Visiting hours for the general public are from nine to five. You will have to come back in the morning.”

  Brian turned slowly away. He mumbled to Merra, and they started to go back down the steps, then he noticed a marble bench over in the shadow of the balustrade. He drew her to it, and they sat down wearily.

  For a while neither spoke. “Oh, fiddle!” Merra said finally. “Those wretched guards act as if they own the temple! But if we are forced to wait, then wait we will.” She opened the pouch at her belt and took out her bread and cheese, which Nysa had wrapped neatly in a bit of linen.

  Seeing her do this, Brian found his own food and started to unwrap it. “How much time do we have before—before your birthday?”

  “Thirty-four hours and nearly thirty minutes,” she replied instantly. “Do not worry. There is time enough for—”

  She was interrupted by a quick little cry from Tancred. Her hand, raising the bread and cheese to her mouth, suddenly froze. Her eyes widened in disbelief. “No!” she gasped. “No! It cannot be!”

  Brian looked down the long series of steps in the direction she was staring. On the edge of the sidewalk, peering up at the temple, stood a towering figure in a black robe. The face was lost in the shadow of the hood that covered the head, but even without the features there was no mistaking the menacing stance of the figure, the taloned hook of the long hands as if they belonged to some malignant bird of the nether world, or the curiously shaped cross that hung from the golden chain about the waist. By that headless cross alone, shining brightly in the glow of the streetlights, Brian would have known he was looking once more at Albericus.

  For long seconds shock held him incapable of movement. How had Albericus managed to get here? How had he learned where the true sword was hidden? As he realized the probable answers—and the awful consequences—his shock changed to a rising fury. Suddenly he sprang to his feet and drew his sword.

  But before he could take a step, Merra had leaped in front of him. “No!” she cried. “Leave him alone! You cannot afford—”

  “Let me at him!” he said hoarsely. “He’s got to die to save Aradel! Better it happen here—”

  “No! No! No!” She fought against him fiercely, holding him back. “You are babbling like an idiot! That creature is a sorcerer—he has powers you know nothing of. Not only that, but he is a great swordsman, second only to my uncle. Has no one told you?”

  “I don’t care what he is! I—”

  She shook him. “Listen to me! Can you not see that he wears a sword under that black robe? Without the true sword, he is bound to cut you down. Then where will Aradel be?”

  Reluctantly he slid his sword back into his scabbard: When he looked down again at the spot where Albericus had been standing, he was shaken to discover that the black-robed monk had vanished.

  “What happened to him?” he asked uneasily. “Where did he go?”

  She scanned the street. “I don’t know. He’s nowhere in sight now. He must—” She broke off with a little cry of dismay.

  Brian turned and gaped. A big gray dog was hastily gobbling up the last of their bread and cheese. The dog was on a long leash, the other end of which was dragging, but he was obviously in the charge of a temple guard, who was approaching rapidly.

  “Get along, you two!” the guard ordered sharply, as he caught up the end of the leash. “Can’t you read signs? You’ve no business up here after dark! Get along!”

  “A murrain seize thee, and a plague of warts!” Merra cried angrily. “Thy greedy beast hath stolen our food!”

  Before the astonished guard could find his wits, she caught Brian’s hand and they hurried down the steps, then raced across the avenue, which was blessedly without traffic at the moment.

  In the park they slowed, and when she spoke again she seemed on the verge of tears. “That horrible dog! And I was practically starving! What are we going to do?”

  “Buy our supper at that place around the lake. You forget I have the coins Nysa gave me with my clothes.”

  “Of course! Let us go at once—but I will send Tancred ahead to keep watch for that fiend Albericus. I don’t know whether he saw us or not, but I don’t want to risk meeting him.”

  “If he saw us, he’ll know he’s come to the right place. I’m sure he found Cerid’s notes and deciphered them. But even with the formula, how did he manage to use it?”

  “I told you he has powers.”

  At the place where food was sold, Tancred was left outside to keep watch. The enticing smell of food sent Brian’s appetite soaring; but inside, standing in line waiting to be served at the counter, his confidence momentarily deserted him. One chose the food one wanted, he quickly learned, from a row of incredibly realistic pictures on the wall. A burger, he soon decided, was some kind of meat in a bun, but what were chips, fries, cokes, shakes, coffee, and some of the other offerings?

  By listening carefully to those ahead of him, he was able to place an understandable order for burgers, fries, and shakes, but ran into trouble when he tried to pay for it all with one of Nysa’s coins.

  The worldly young woman behind the counter glanced once at his offering and thrust it back. “You trying to be funny, buster? You owe four forty-seven with the tax. Either you fork it over, or—”

  “But—but I have given thee gold!” Brian protested. “Dost thou not know the value of gold?”

  “Gold, my eye! I know a brass slug when I see it. Whaddaya trying to pull? Charlie, come over here and do something about this kook!”

  She was replaced by a bland young man with a heavy mustache who looked at Brian and the coin with raised eyebrows. He shook his head. “If this is supposed to be a real gold coin, it’s a fake. If you haven’t any folding money to pay for your order, you’d better scram.”

  By this time a small crowd had collected at the counter. Suddenly a lean, bald-headed man pressed close and picked up the coin. He studied it with narrowed eyes, then said quietly, “I’ll give you twenty dollars for it, son.”

  Brian had no idea what twenty dollars amounted to, but at a quick nod from Merra the transaction was made. He paid for their order with five of the pieces of paper, received some inferior coins in change, and was given two bags containing their food. It had been his intention to eat at a table, but Merra tugged urgently at his sleeve and he followed her outside.

  “We must get away from here, Sir Brian,” she said in a rush. “It isn’t just the man who bought the gold—he knows it’s worth many times what he paid, and he’s planning to follow us in the hope of buying more—but it’s the others. I can pick up their thoughts. Tancred tells me two of the thieves who tried to take your sword came in behind us to buy food. I did not see them, but Tancred did, and he says they are coming out now to watch where we go. We
’d better run!”

  They ran. Brian led on a twisting course that took them away from the lighted paths and into the shadows under the trees. Long later, when he was sure no one was close enough to see them, they crept behind a mass of shrubbery and slumped to the grass, breathless and exhausted. The burgers were no longer hot, nor were the shakes very cold, but it hardly mattered. Ambrosia could not have tasted better, and they consumed every scrap.

  Merra sighed wearily when she had finished. “I—I didn’t know I was so tired. I’m afraid if I close my eyes …”

  “Go ahead and close them,” he told her. “It’s time you rested, for you didn’t get much sleep before we came here. Tancred and I will keep watch.”

  She curled up on the grass and was sound asleep almost on the instant. Brian had every intention of remaining awake, but he did not realize how badly he needed rest himself. When his head began to nod he fought to stay awake. The food he had eaten made it difficult. Finally he made the mistake of closing his eyes.

  He was abruptly wakened by the frantic beating of Tancred’s wings against his face. Because of the hard and uncertain life he had been forced to lead, he was wide awake and on his feet in seconds, standing at a crouch while his eyes raked the gloom. It took only seconds more to spot the dim figures closing in upon him, and to plan a defense against three knives and a club, and something small in the hand of one that might or might not be a weapon. Then he drew a deep breath, whipped out his sword, and charged.

  The whirling blade caught the attacking figures by surprise. There were sudden screams of pain and fright. The knives and the club went flying. A fury of cursing was followed by quick explosions, and something stung his upper arm. Then he saw the cause of it, the last thief on his feet, and he quickly cut him down.

  Brian paused, then froze at the sharp sound of whistles. He heard shouts, followed by the pound of approaching feet. Were more thieves coming to help those he’d bested? Now he felt the first stab of fear. But he had Merra to protect, and he clenched his teeth and prepared to charge the new group.