Swords: 10 - The Seventh Book Of Lost Swords - Wayfinder's Story (13 page)

      
In the background, two or three meters behind and above the droning clerks, a small window high in the rear wall of the pavilion afforded Valdemar an occasional sight of one of the griffins, or perhaps two—he could not be sure whether it was really the same huge, nightmarish head and neck that now and then loomed up in the morning’s gloom, as if the beast were curious about what was happening inside the tent. The griffin, or griffins, had evidently been tethered close behind the pavilion.

      
The griffin or griffins, Valdemar realized at a second look, were eating something out there. Lion-jaws dripped with a dark liquid in the uncertain, cloudy light. Suddenly he had the horrible feeling that the creatures were tearing some animal—or human—body to pieces for a snack.

      
The Chairman coughed drily. But then, just when Valdemar thought Hyrcanus might at last be ready to get down to business, the Chairman delayed again, turning to his Director of Security to lament the cost to the Temple in time and money of this journey. He had spent some days in getting here, traveling from the unnamed city of his headquarters, and he considered the expense of shipping his necessary equipment to have been almost ruinous.

      
Talking to his Director of Headquarters Security, upon whose bald head the Old World light gleamed brightly—and who, here in the bright light, looked even older than he had outside—now and then looking up to glare at his new prisoner or prisoners as if he considered them to blame—the Chairman deigned to give them all several reasons why he had felt it necessary to take charge personally of this expedition:

      
“One, because I feared that Master Wood, on once getting the Sword of Wisdom into his hands, would never relinquish it.” Hyrcanus paused thoughtfully. “Of course I suppose Woundhealer is one Sword Wood might be induced to give up—for a price.”

      
The Director, to no one’s surprise, expressed agreement.

      
Now a long strongbox was carried into the tent by a couple of soldiers in blue and gold, who handled the prize warily. After depositing the strongbox at the Chairman’s feet, they opened it, lifted out the Sword of Wisdom, and placed it carefully in front of Hyrcanus upon the table, after a blue satin cloth had been meticulously folded and positioned for a cushion.

      
One of the clerks, moving fussily and nervously, slightly adjusted the Old World lights to provide Hyrcanus with the best illumination.

      
Only at this point was Valdemar struck by the conspicuous absence of the Sword of Mercy. Since he had been taken prisoner, no one in his hearing had even mentioned Woundhealer—that could only mean, he thought, that either Ben or Zoltan had managed to get away with the Sword of Healing.

      
At this thought, Valdemar shot the Lady Yambu a sharp glance. And she, as if she somehow knew just what idea had just occurred to him, responded with a glance urging caution.

      
Yes, Valdemar thought, it must be true. Hyrcanus and his people gave no indication of realizing how close they had come to capturing the Sword of Healing. Had they been aware of how narrowly that prize had just escaped them, they would already have launched an intensive search for it, and not be dawdling through this leisurely preparation for an interrogation.

      
Of course Wayfinder by itself was treasure indeed. Treasure enough, as Valdemar was beginning to realize, to dazzle at least slightly even the Chairman of the Blue Temple himself. When the soldiers put the Sword of Wisdom down in front of Hyrcanus, his eyes came alight. He touched the black hilt with a tentative forefinger, then stroked it greedily.

      
Confronted with the reality of Wayfinder, Chairman and Director both appeared to speedily lose interest in their prisoners. Evidently any serious questioning would be allowed to wait.

      
The Director of Security rubbed his bald head nervously as he stared at the Sword. He said: “Sir, we must get this property to a place of safety as soon as possible.”

      
“Of course.” Hyrcanus leaned forward on the table. “But surely we would be at fault, derelict in our duty to the Temple Stockholders, if we did not find one other duty even more pressing, and perform that one first?”

      
“Sir?”

      
“We must delay carrying this treasure away to safety, just long enough to make our first use of it.”

      
The Director hesitated. “May I ask what use Your Opulence has in mind?”

      
“You may ask. Though I suppose it should be obvious.” The Chairman, his face displaying a look of satisfaction, paused as if for emphasis. “I intend to require this Sword to indicate to us the location of the greatest treasure in the world.”

      
For a moment there was silence in the pavilion.

      
Valdemar was suddenly struck by what he considered an ominous indication. Neither Chairman nor Director was displaying the least concern about the fact that their prisoners were listening to this discussion. It was, the young man thought, as if the Blue Temple officials considered their captives already dead.

      
At last Hyrcanus, standing up, moving carefully, drew Wayfinder from its sheath. The blade caught bright gleams from the Old World lights as the Chairman gripped the hilt in his two soft hands, making the Sword’s powers for the moment his own.

      
“Now, how shall I phrase this request exactly?” This preliminary question seemed to be addressed more to himself than to anyone else, or to the Sword itself.

      
The worried Director answered with a murmured suggestion that the first care be for safety.

      
But Hyrcanus stubbornly shook his head. “We have,” he said, “had direct assurances regarding our present security from our cavalry commander, and also from your powers, magician. True?”

      
“True, Your Opulence, but—”

      
“Tell me, do you believe that our encampment here is now secure, or is it not?”

      
“At the moment, sir, it is secure enough,” the other murmured unhappily.

      
“Then there you are. Would breaking camp right now make the Sword any safer? Besides, our men and beasts are tired. They are all in need of rest before we undertake another march.”

      
“True enough, Your Opulence.”

      
“While they rest, we at the executive level can best make use of our time by pursuing our further duties to the stockholders.”

      
Now for the first time Hyrcanus addressed the Sword directly. In his dry voice he phrased a simple demand: “Where is the greatest treasure in the world?”

      
Valdemar, watching with a dozen others, thought that the Sword did not react; or it reacted only slightly, and in an uncertain way.

      
“What in the world now?” the Chairman demanded, suddenly querulous. Obviously he had been expecting a more dramatic response of some kind. Letting the Blade rest on the table, he rubbed his left hand, the one free of the Sword’s hilt, over his bald head.

      
After a little silence, the Director cleared his throat. “Do you think, Chairman, there might possibly have been some ambiguity in your phrasing of the question?”

      
“Ambiguity? You mean, some uncertainty as to which of the world’s treasures is actually the greatest? Ah, the question of determining the best measure of determined value. Authorities do disagree on that, it’s true.” Hyrcanus cleared his throat again. “Perhaps I should rephrase my inquiry.”

      
Valdemar hoped that if Hyrcanus did receive from the Sword a plain unequivocal answer to any of his urgent questions regarding treasure, the Chairman would not feel it necessary to break camp at once, tired men and beasts or not, and follow the direction indicated.

      
Because what might he do with his prisoners then?

      
Hyrcanus was now interrupting himself to raise another point: “I wonder whether we ought not to approach Prince Mark—or any successful monarch might do, I suppose—with the idea of making some kind of trade for this lovely piece of magic, or offering it for sale—
after
, of course, we have used it to the best advantage for the Temple.”

      
“Prince Mark,” mused the Director, in a non-committal tone.

      
“I am assuming Mark can raise sufficient treasure to make such a purchase—indeed such a powerful Prince ought to be able to do so.”

      
A brief debate on this point followed, between Hyrcanus and his Director of Security. Finally the latter brought the discussion back to considerations of safety.

      
Valdemar, listening attentively, gathered that neither the Chairman nor the Director believed Mark had been able to retain any appreciable amount of booty from the fabulous, infamous Great Raid. Both officials seemed to be saying that comparatively little Blue Temple wealth had actually been lost on that occasion.

      
But neither of the Blue Temple leaders seemed able to believe that Mark had not spent his years in power in Tasavalta amassing more wealth for himself.

      
Eventually they came back to the business at hand—getting the best possible quick advantage from Wayfinder.

      
“The more I think about it, Director, the more it seems to me that you are right. To assure that we obtain an unequivocal, useful answer, we must be clear in our own minds about the nature of the specific treasure we are seeking.” Hyrcanus toyed meditatively with the Sword.

      
The Director said: “I should think, Your Opulence, that the most likely site for a truly unsurpassable treasure might well be in one of the Blue Temple’s own vaults.”

      
“What do you say?”

      
“I wonder, sir, if we will know whether this Sword is pointing at our own gold. Do you, personally, know the locations, and certified values, of each and every one of our own hoards? Their bearings from this spot?”

      
Hyrcanus hesitated fractionally before insisting: “Of course I do! Don’t you?”

      
“Of course—sir.”

      
Valdemar, listening, marveled at the indications suggesting that neither of these men was really sure of the matter.

      
The young man could see the fires of cupidity beginning to burn out of control in the eyes of the new masters of the Sword of Wisdom, as they huddled close over their prize. It looked as if the Director was beginning to be won over from his concerns of safety by his master’s all-powerful greed. They were both staring at Wayfinder obsessively now. Perhaps, Valdemar thought, they were coming to terms with the condition all users of this weapon had to face—that the so-called Sword of Wisdom would never tell anyone Why, or What, or How, or When—or Whether—regarding any thing—but only, with seeming infallibility, exactly Where.

      
Hyrcanus murmured: “You are right. If our own treasure be not the greatest—then whose?”

      
Hyrcanus’s chief aide said to him: “Possibly some Old World trove that for all our searching we have never been able to discover?”

      
“Possibly.” The Chairman sank back into his chair. “Or possibly it is some property of the Emperor’s, to which access is restricted by some tremendous enchantment?”

      
The Director, who had risen when his leader did, was not really listening. Instead he now waved his arms in the excitement of an inspiration of his own. “Wait! I have it! The Sword’s answer to your original question was hard to interpret, ambiguous, for a very good reason—because it was self-referential!”

      
“Aha!”

      
“Yes, Your Opulence, the Swords themselves are the world’s greatest treasure. And this Sword in particular must be valued above all the others—
Wayfinder itself may be—no, must be—the greatest treasure in the world! And why? Because it is the key to all the rest!”

      
“Ahh.” Hyrcanus, his eyes suddenly gone wide, let out a breath of satisfaction.

      
He had no need to ponder the Director’s claim for very long before giving it his approval. “This very weapon before us, my good Director. Yes, what could be more valuable? I will see to it that you receive a bonus of shares. Perhaps even—a seat on the Board.”

      
Valdemar was thinking that it made sense. Very possibly they were right—from their point of view the Sword of Wisdom had a transcendent value, because it was capable of leading them to all the other Swords, or to any other treasure that they cared to specify.

      
“Having made that identification,” the Director remarked, “are we any further in deciding how best to use our greatest treasure?”

      
“I think,” said the Chairman, “that we must be somewhat more specific, and somewhat more modest, in our next inquiry.”

      
“Indeed. Yes.”

      
“Very well then.” He addressed Wayfinder again. “Sword, I adjure you to show us … to show me … the way to the Emperor’s most magnificent treasure.” Hyrcanus hesitated, then gave a little nod of satisfaction and plunged on. “I mean, to that thing, or collection of things, that
I
would consider most magnificent were I to see them all.”

      
Valdemar, and Yambu standing beside him, watched and listened, the young man at least hardly daring to breathe. But he was somewhat puzzled. The Emperor? The name evoked only the vague image of a hapless clown, of a legendary figure out of childhood fables, who, even if he really lived, would be far less real and less important than any of the now-vanished gods.