The Sword of Aradel (4 page)

“Fie on you!” Merra cried. “You babble like an idiot! And that is no way to talk to Nysa. You are a guest in her home—and you have her to thank for the very clothes you are wearing!”

Brian swallowed again. He suddenly felt like an unmannered oaf. “I—I'm sorry,” he pleaded. “I didn't mean it the way it sounded. But you see, no one at the abbey—except Brother Benedict—believes in much of anything, and they laugh at anyone who does. But I'm learning. After all I've seen today …”

“I understand,” said Nysa. “Laughter is a terrible weapon. It destroys all belief. Not many believe in us now, and when all people cease to believe, we will cease to exist. Even our sacred groves will be gone …” There was a sigh of sadness, then she asked, “How do your new clothes feel?”

“Oh, wonderful! I do thank you for them.”

“I pray you will live to see better. But they are the best my friends and I could get together on such short notice. Here—I'll get rid of those old things.”

His sodden rags, which he had been holding all the time, were suddenly taken from his hand. He saw them drift away and vanish through a small doorway he had not noticed before.

“Now let me see your sword,” she said.

As he held it out, there was a shimmering in front of him, and a slender girl in a flowing dress that seemed to be made of petals took form. She might have been Merra's older sister. But her eyes were gray instead of green, and there was no hint of mischief in them.

“I—I see you!” he exclaimed.

“I wanted you to,” she told him. “But I haven't the power of Cerid, Merra's mother. She could remain visible for days. With me it's just minutes—but that should be enough to convince you I'm as real as anyone.”

She took the sword, studied it curiously, then gave it back. “Beautiful!” she said softly. “It must have cost Albericus much gold, for it had to fool so many people.”

Brian's eyes widened. “You mean it's not the true sword of Aradel?”

“Of course not, or you might never have defeated Rupert. Or have you guessed that?”

“I did wonder,” he admitted. “But what happened to the true sword?”

“Merra's mother hid it to keep Albericus from getting it. Now the time has come to find it.”

Puzzled, Brian glanced from Merra to her aunt. “I don't understand. If Merra's mother hid it, why can't she—”

“Cerid is no longer with us,” came the sad reply. “When her husband died, she renounced everything and went to join him. Only you and Merra, using your abilities and working together, can find the sword and bring it back.”

“But—but where is it hidden?”

“In the future,” Nysa said quietly.

“The
future!
”

“Yes. She hid it a thousand years in the future.”

Brian could only stare at her blankly. What she had told him made no sense whatever. Finally he managed to repeat,
“A thousand years in the future?”

“Yes. Something like that. The exact number of years is unimportant. The sword will remain where she put it until you arrive to claim it. But let us not discuss it now. You are tired and hungry. Later, after you have had food and rest, we will talk it over and decide what to do.”

They ate at a small table hidden in an alcove he had not noticed before. The place opened into a passageway that seemed to curve into the rocky hill behind the great tree. Brian wondered what mystery lay at the passageway's other end, then forgot it as he helped himself to the generous slices of black bread and cheese. It was a simple meal, spliced out with wild greens and heaping bowls of Merra's strawberries, but it was better than anything he had ever had at the abbey. Not that good food wasn't served there, only that precious little of it ever reached the stable area.

Presently, as the storm outside slackened, Nysa faded and vanished, then her voice was heard coming from the narrow stairway. “Merra, how is Grinder doing now?”

Merra closed her eyes a moment, then suddenly burst out laughing. “Grinder is having the time of his life! He has a big pack with him; they've driven off the dogs, and now they're after the men. Oh, it's a terrible mess, what with the storm and the horses scared out of their wits, and the men soaked through and frightened. The only one not afraid is Albericus. He's in a black fury!”

“That is nothing to laugh about,” Nysa's voice reminded her. “If Albericus even suspected the Dryads were helping Brian, he would never rest till he had destroyed every tree in this grove.”

“Oh dear! Couldn't we stop him somehow?”

“I'm not sure. That creature has powers of his own.”

“The true sword would stop him!”

“Of course,” said Nysa, her voice receding as she climbed the stairs. “And the sooner you two can find it, the better. I'm going up now to hunt for that formula.”

Brian, munching on another piece of cheese, asked curiously, “What formula is she talking about?”

“The one that will take us to the sword, Sir Brian. We always travel by formula.” The green eyes held a momentary gleam of mischief. “Surely you don't think I use shanks' pony to take my strawberries to the abbey!”

“I—I sort of wondered,” he confessed. “But I've been wondering about a lot of things. You don't go to the abbey just to sell strawberries. And it isn't always to see Brother Benedict—you can talk to him from afar. I know he's mixed up in something, just as you are. What are you? A kind of messenger?”

“Of course! I take messages all over Aradel.”

“All over Aradel! But that's impossible!” He shook his head. “You're not a bird!”

“No, but I do have Tancred.” She glanced over at the nightingale, asleep on a perch. “I don't know what I'd do without him. Anyway, traveling by formula is much better than flying.”

“I—I don't understand. But I don't understand any of this, really.”

“My blessed stars! Didn't that scheming uncle of mine tell you
anything?”
But before he could answer she gave an exaggerated sigh and said, “No, of course he didn't. To all your questions I can hear him saying, ‘No, Brian, for your own safety it is far better that you do not know!' And naturally he was right—or would have been right if today hadn't happened.”

“He said I had upset a lot of plans by downing Rupert. And he also said I'd set something in motion. What did he mean by that?”

“Exactly what he said, Sir Brian.”

“But—but it doesn't make sense!”

“But, Sir Brian, you began something by defeating Rupert, for one thing, thus spoiling the plans of Albericus.”

“That was an accident. Either that, or something was wrong with Rupert. Beating him was too easy.”

“It was no accident,” she retorted. “And there was nothing wrong with Rupert. My uncle told me all about it. He was so afraid of what might happen that he had a Saracen bow ready to kill both Albericus and Rupert if you had been cut down. Killing them wouldn't have solved anything, would only have caused fighting all over Aradel for years. So you see—”

“Wait!” he interrupted. “You've got me more mixed up than ever. Are you trying to tell me that I beat Rupert because I'm actually better at arms?”

“Of course, you silly goose! And why shouldn't you be? You are a fair-haired Celt, and you were trained by the greatest swordsman the world has ever known. Why, if Albericus even suspected who my uncle is …” She rolled her green eyes tragically and shook her head.

He could only stare at her, more confused than ever.

Suddenly she gave one of her gay little laughs. “What has being a fair-haired Celt got to do with it?” she said. “And how do I know you are a Celt?” She paused, then said seriously, “I'm younger than you—only a little girl, really—but because my mother was of the Dryads, I was born with knowledge. Now, I will tell you something. Most Celts are dark, but there is a fair strain that produces great leaders and warriors. My father's people are of that strain. So are you. That is why my uncle wanted you to hide your hair this morning. But Albericus saw it anyway, and knew you for what you are.”

“But that doesn't explain—”

“I'm not through yet. What I'm trying to tell you is that all the time you were at the abbey, my uncle was training you for a very special mission.”

“To find the true sword?”

“Of course! Only, he wasn't expecting you to be strong enough and ready for another year or more. But what happened today upset everything. Why, just think what's happened: The duke is suddenly dead. His only heir—using what was supposed to be the true sword—was beaten and practically disgraced by a stableboy. Oh, la-de-de! Think what all Aradel will be saying as soon as the news is out!”

He blinked. “W-what?”

“Oh, fiddle! Surely you can see! Why, questions will fly like arrows in a battle. Everybody will know Albericus lied about the sword, that he brought Rupert a substitute. So where is the true sword? they'll ask. And what will Albericus do now? What's going to happen in Aradel?”

She paused for breath, then rushed on. “I'll tell you what's going to happen! Unless we can find the true sword quickly, there'll be trouble.
Dreadful
trouble. The peasants have been in bondage five years now. They're ready to fight. So they'll follow any wretch of a lord who promises freedom. But too many wretches would like to rule Aradel, so there'll be fighting all over the land. And burnings! Oh, that monster Albericus is so furious now he'll burn more Celts than ever.”

“Celts?”

“Of course. It's the Celts he hates and is afraid of. If we had the true sword now, every Celt in the land would rise and follow it. The true sword itself is Celtic.” She pointed to a carved cross with a circle about the center that was hanging above Tancred's perch. “See? That is a Celtic cross. One just like it is on the hilt of the true sword.”

“Oh!” He remembered the cross with a circle on Brother Benedict's map.

“This place,” she said, “the grove and the great spring, is sacred to the Celts. Every true Celt feels it when he first sees it. Our leaders, my uncle included, have long used the grove for their secret meetings.”

Suddenly a light began to gleam in the back of his mind. “I want to know about the language,” he said. “Is—is it the one that is forbidden?”

“Yes.”

“Do you speak it?”

Quick mischief shone in her eyes. “Of course I speak it—and so do you!”

“But—but how could I? I've never learned it!”

Her merry laughter filled the room. “It is your native tongue, Sir Brian. You have been speaking it ever since you came in here.”

He could only gape at her. She laughed again. Finally she said, “You forget, Sir Brian, that you are under a spell. A very strong one that will lift only when certain deeds are accomplished. For your own protection, you have been made to forget that you know your native tongue, even though you can understand it when you hear it. And you cannot speak it in public.”

He thought about this a moment, then asked, “How did you happen to learn all this about me? Did you get it from your uncle? And who put the spell on me? It seems very strange that—well, you've been leading me around by the nose just the way your uncle did. Why don't you—”

“Something's wrong,” Merra interrupted suddenly, springing to her feet. “It's Nysa. I can feel her thoughts. Oh dear—she can't find the formula!”

She raced out of the alcove and ran up the stairway. Brian followed a few paces and stood at the foot of the stairs, listening. He could hear Merra's voice somewhere above him, quick, anxious and questioning, and the quiet but worried tones of Nysa. After a long while he heard them returning. Merra appeared first, carrying a tiny box with a jeweled top. Behind her, suddenly shimmering into visibility, came Nysa.

“It's gone!” Merra exclaimed tragically. “The formula was kept locked in this box for years, but now it's gone! What in the world are we going to do?”

4

Search for a Formula

B
RIAN TOOK THE BOX FROM
M
ERRA'S UNSTEADY
hand and looked at it curiously. It was of silver, and just small enough to fit into his palm. A single large amethyst adorned the top. He flipped it open, saw that it was empty, and slowly closed it.

He looked questioningly at Nysa. “It—it's been locked for years?” he said.

“Yes. It was Cerid's box. She put the formula in it herself—it was written on a little roll of parchment—and locked it and gave it to me to keep. I put it in the cabinet upstairs, with the key beside it.” Nysa held up a tiny silver key on a string.

“Why bother to lock it?” he said, frowning at the key.

“Oh, that was just to keep the parchment from falling out accidentally, so it wouldn't be lost or carried away by mice.”

“And this is the first time you've unlocked the box since you've had it?”

“Yes. There was no reason why I should have opened it. So long as the box was here with me, I was sure the formula would be safe. Why, I—I simply cannot imagine …”

“Well, someone surely opened the box and took it,” he persisted. “Did anyone around here know you had it?”

“Everyone here in the grove knew about it,” Nysa said quietly. “We have no secrets from each other. But the Dryads never take. They only give.”

“But—but suppose someone just borrowed the formula and forgot to bring it back?”

Nysa shook her lovely head. “Had one of my sisters wanted to borrow it—and we always share what we have—she would have come to me and committed the formula to memory. Oh, I wish that had been the case! We could go to her now and have her write it down for us. As for me—”

“Didn't you ever look at the formula yourself?” Brian asked.