Free Swords: 09 - The Sixth Book Of Lost Swords - Mindsword's Story by Fred Saberhagen Page A

me to intrude between the two of you.”
           “Of course not. But…”
           “But—sometimes—I feel it is my duty to make at least one small suggestion.”
           “Do so.”
           “It is just this. Blind agreement, blind obedience, is not always the greatest, truest loyalty.”
           “Blind—?”
           “I mean, young man, that if there is some real danger to your father, and he is unable to see that danger clearly, it becomes your duty—and mine, of course, and all his followers—to help him. Even if what we say, or do, should anger him at first.”
           “I’m not sure I understand, Metaxas.”
           “Perhaps I have already said too much, young master. Anyway, it is my opinion that if your father feels he must give the Sword to someone, it should be you.”
           “Me!”
           “That is not so surprising, is it? That such an inheritance should pass to a faithful, loyal son?”
           “No—” said Carlo, then fell silent. Then he turned and walked away, not knowing if he was angry with the blind beggar or not. To have the Mindsword in his own hands … no, he told himself firmly. He did not wish for anything of the kind.
     
    * * *
     
           Later that night, with everyone but a pair of patrolling sentries fast asleep, Vilkata lay rolled in a borrowed blanket on the edge of camp. Choosing a time when both sentries were well out of earshot, he muttered certain antique words into his blanket, meanwhile holding the fingers of his left hand contorted into an unusual position.
           Within the space of a few breaths he became aware of the silent arrival of an intelligent presence, inhuman and invisible.
           “What news, Master?” inquired the demon’s voice. The dry leaves seemed to be swirling right in the Dark King’s ear, but still they were barely audible.
           Keeping his head three-quarters under the blanket’s folds, and whispering, Vilkata reassured his partner that he still remained free of the Mindsword’s influence. So far, using the demonic vision secretly provided by Akbar, he had managed to scramble out of range of the Mindsword’s power each time that violence threatened. On the last occasion it had been close.
           “I believe that most of these fools, if they take notice of me at all, think it only natural that a blind man should try to get himself out of danger when swords are drawn. At the same time they assume that the Mindsword must have caught me at some time, and that I am as loyal to their precious master as they are. I act the part, of course.”
           “And does the Crown Prince too assume you are his slave?”
           “He is a fool like the others. I doubt he thinks of me at all, except as a surprise gift for his beloved Princess.”
           “Ah. Excellent. I have no doubt that you have managed to deceive them all. When will you seize the Sword, Dark Master?” The dry-leaves-and-bones voice of the demon nagged him eagerly. “Tell me, when?”
           “I’ll grab it from him as soon as I can, fool!” Vilkata in his frustration had to remind himself to keep his whisper low; mere subvocalization was more than ample for the demon to hear and understand. “I do not enjoy this game, as you can understand, but I must play it patiently. Any man who has worn a sword as long as our friend Murat, and faced as many treacherous enemies as he, is always on guard against being suddenly disarmed, just as he is always breathing. And if I should try to get the weapon from him, and fail, I’ll get no second chance.”
           There was a silent pause.
           “Of course, Master. Forgive any suggestion of disrespect that I may have given in my impatience.”
           “You are forgiven.” The Dark King had no intention of offending his partner until he felt confident of being strong enough to