Valdemar was in a mood to insist on a ceremony.
“Otherwise it would be shameful to continue to take advantage of you in this way.”
“Is that what you call it? ‘Take advantage’? Come, take advantage of me again!”
* * *
On the next morning the couple awakened to idyllic sunshine. From the state of the morning sky it seemed likely that, for a change, a whole day might be going to pass without rain.
“Delia?”
“Yes?”
“I think perhaps the most proper thing for us to do is to perform some kind of wedding ceremony ourselves.”
Chewing on a grass blade, the young woman thought over this idea. “Yes, we can do that if you like.”
Having won his point, the youth still felt it necessary to explain his thoughts and feelings. “Otherwise the difficulty, as I see it, is going to be in finding someone qualified to marry us.
“Even when we get back to my vineyard, there’ll really be no one. The nearest village is about a day’s walk distant. And I don’t know if there’s anyone in that village I’d want to perform my wedding ceremony.”
“That’s too bad.” But in fact Delia did not seem very much upset.
Val continued: “A White Temple priest or priestess would be the best, I think. Maybe someday we can get to a White Temple somewhere. I pray to Ardneh sometimes. Actually I pray to Ardneh a great deal. He’s not dead like the other gods.”
Delia was now listening carefully, wide-eyed and nodding. As far as her companion could tell, she was accepting everything he said as truth. That made him feel the importance of weighing his words carefully.
He added moodily: “I could almost wish that we still had the other Sword. Wayfinder would show us where to find the right priest or official.”
“Is it that important to you, finding someone to say words over us? We could pretend we still have the Finding-Sword.”
Half in jest, half seriously, Valdemar closed his eyes, held out his hands gripping an invisible hilt, imagining or pretending that he still had the Sword of Wisdom.
He said: “Sword, if you can do so without keeping me longer from my vineyard, or putting us in danger—show me the way to someone who could marry us.”
Of course there was really no weight tugging at his hands, no bright metal to point and give him a direction.
But Delia’s fingers were pulling at his sleeve. Opening his eyes, Valdemar discovered that they were no longer alone.
Standing on the other side of the little clearing, regarding them in a friendly way, was a middle-sized, dark-haired, thirtyish man wearing boots and practical trousers of pilgrim gray, his upper body covered by a short white robe which made him look like a White Temple priest on pilgrimage. He appeared to be unarmed.
Valdemar scrambled to his feet. “Greetings to you, sir. I am Valdemar, and this is Delia.”
The man nodded his head briskly. His eyes were faintly merry. “And greetings to you, in Ardneh’s name. I am … the man you see before you.”
“Sir?”
“The truth is that I have taken a certain vow. For a time I may not speak my real name.”
Delia appeared to find this interesting. “A vow to a god? Which one?”
The other shrugged slightly, a deprecating gesture. “A vow to myself, that’s all. You might call me Brother White, if it is easier for you to call me something.”
“Brother White—” Valdemar was suddenly anxious. “Are you a priest of the White Temple, as your robe suggests?”
The newcomer nodded in acknowledgement. “I am. Among other things.”
“Then … Reverend Brother? Would you be willing to perform a certain ceremony for us, sir?”
“That is what you both want?”
Delia and Val looked at each other, then said together: “It is.”
“Then it would please me to be your witness, if you will perform the ceremony for yourselves.”
Valdemar looked again at Delia, then agreed. He was beginning to have the distinct impression that he had known this man somewhere before, but he could not recall where or when.
And then, abruptly, a hint of insight came to Valdemar. He asked: “Sir, do you know the Lady Yambu?”
“I do.”
“Then—sir, are you, possibly, he who is called the Emperor? She spoke to me once of such a man, who was once her husband.”
“Indeed I am.” The answer was very matter-of-fact, neither a boast nor an apology.
Val didn’t know exactly what to say next. At last he announced: “Sir—the Blue Temple covets your treasure.”
“I’m sure they do.” The Emperor smiled, then looked almost wistful for a moment. “But I doubt they know how to get at it.”
Delia’s thoughts were elsewhere. “If we are to be married,” she murmured thoughtfully, “I wish I had a new dress to wear.” There had been nothing of the kind in Brod’s saddlebags.
“Let me see,” said the Emperor. And he bowed to Delia slightly, as if asking her permission for what he was about to do. Then he took her by one hand and turned her, spun her gently, considerately, as if he were the skilled partner of the world’s most graceful dancer. “White? Perhaps white would be best. Why, I see nothing in the least wrong with what you are wearing now.” And with the spinning, in the time it took young legs to dance a step, her stained, frayed garments changed, became a dress, a gown, of purest ivory.
Val would have expected a White Temple priest presiding at a wedding to read from some kind of a book, but instead the Emperor—or Brother White—simply took each of the young people by the hand, held their hands clasped together in his own, and asked them questions about their commitment to each other.
The girl became very solemn for a time when this rather ordinary-looking man looked at her, and spoke to her and to Valdemar.
The setting was a pleasant place, and, true to the morning’s promise, for once it was not raining.
When the ceremony had been concluded, and Valdemar had kissed his bride, he turned to Brother White and said: “Sir, we are young and healthy. We intend to avoid war in the future—so we have no need of either of these Swords that we are carrying. Or, rather, others have greater need of them than we do. And we have had proof, more proof than we needed, that the possession of such treasure can bring disaster as well as healing. So—I want to give them to you.”
Brother White listened carefully, and nodded. “A noble gift, and I thank you. And I am proud to accept. Still, others have greater need than I. So my acceptance must have one condition.”
“Yes sir?”
“That you carry these Swords, which are now mine, with you a little longer. Hand them over to the next person you meet who appears to be in need of their powers.”
Valdemar and Delia nodded. The Emperor waved them on their way.
* * *
Very well pleased to be formally united as man and wife, Delia and Valdemar continued their progress homeward on Brod’s pair of riding-beasts—not hurrying now, but not wasting any time. She had noticed, with no great surprise, that as soon as she and her husband were alone again her wedding dress had turned into clothes very much resembling her own garments, but not worn or grimy.
They pressed on. At times when the way ahead still seemed long and difficult, Valdemar reminded his new bride and himself that he had come on foot, in no very great number of days, from his home to this region; and that they therefore ought to have no great trouble walking home again. Especially not with the Sword of Stealth to guard them on their way.
* * *
The land around them had become more hospitable, and there were increasing signs of human habitation, and Valdemar had begun to ride with Sightblinder sheathed instead of drawn. Perhaps he had also begun to lose a little of his alertness. He was halfway across a narrow bridge, spanning a small stream, when he raised his eyes to see Ben of Purkinje, armed and mounted, waiting for him on the west bank.
Val slowed his riding-beast, and pu
t a hand to the black hilt at his side.
He hoped devoutly that Delia would know what to do—to stay in concealment where she was, back on the east bank. They had not yet entirely foresaken caution as they traveled.
The bridge was a single great log, carved flat on its upper surface. The brisk stream splashed and gurgled underneath. Speaking a little more loudly than was strictly necessary, Valdemar called out: “Ben. Surprised to meet you here.”
The ugly face smiled faintly. “Can’t say I’m that surprised to meet you. Matter of fact, a lot of us have been out looking for you—and for a couple of Swords—and for a certain woman—ever since we won the battle.”
“I was sure our side had it won. Else I would not have left.” Even as Valdemar spoke the words, he wondered if they were strictly true. Urging his mount slowly forward, he halted again when he came close to Ben, who with his riding-beast was almost blocking the west end of the span. Then Val looked around. “Are you alone?”
“I wanted to talk to you about that,” Ben said mildly, and reined his mount back slightly from the narrow path, giving Val plenty of room to pass. Val urged his own steed forward. A moment later, just as Val was passing, Ben seized him round the waist, and dragged him from the saddle, gripping him fiercely to keep him from drawing any weapon.
* * *
Delia came cantering briskly across the narrow bridge with Sightblinder raised to defend her husband.
At the sound of hoofbeats, Ben looked up; and what he saw momentarily paralyzed him.
Before he could recover, Val had knocked him out.
* * *
When Ben came to himself—with the feeling of just having made a magically quick and complete recovery—he found himself sitting beside the little path. Valdemar, a Sword in his huge right hand, was standing looking down at him.
Obviously the couple were packed up and in the act of moving on; the sound of a woman’s voice came from somewhere just out of Ben’s sight around the next bend of the path, as if she were gently fussing with a couple of riding-beasts.
Ben’s own mount was waiting patiently, just beside him.
“Where is she?” Ben leaped to his feet, looking around.
“Who?”
“Ariane. I saw her here…” His voice trailed off, as some version of the truth dawned on him.
Valdemar shook his huge head. He threw his weapon to the ground, where metal clashed on metal. “One of the two Swords that we are leaving you is Sightblinder.”
“That you are leaving me?” Ben inquired stupidly. Following Val’s gesture, he looked down uncomprehendingly. Two magnificent black-hilted blades lay crossed on the ground in front of him, waiting to be picked up.
“Yes,” said Valdemar. “We are leaving them with you. Chiefly because of a promise we have made. And one of these Swords, I repeat, is Sightblinder.”
“I ought to have expected that.”
“Yes … do you understand now? Whatever woman you thought you saw before I knocked you out was never actually here.”
“Ah.”
“Yes. The woman with me is my wife. And we’re leaving both Swords with you… does the Lady Yambu still live?”
“She does,” said Ben slowly. “And the Prince too.”
“Good. I hoped Mark was going to survive. Heal them, and heal Mark’s Princess.”
“I will,” said Ben, and let himself sit down again, heavily, in the grass. His legs, so recently touched by the Sword of Healing, were as strong and healthy as they were ever going to be, and yet his sitting down was a collapse. He was going to be all right. He was all right. But some losses even Woundhealer could not restore. Ariane was still gone. Gone forever.
At a little distance he could hear Valdemar mounting, and then the two animals moving away, accompanied by the voices of their riders. But for some considerable time Ben of Purkinje only sat where the givers of gifts had left him, staring at his magnificent paired Swords.
About The Author
Fred Saberhagen is widely published in many areas of speculative fiction. He is best known for his Berserker, Swords, and Dracula series. Less known are the myth based fantasies: Books of the Gods. Fred also authored a number of non-series fantasy and science fiction novels and a great number of short stories. For more information on Fred visit his website: www.fredsaberhagen.com
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Table of Contents
Copyright Page
The Ardneh Sequence
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
About The Author
Wayfinder's Story Page 23
