Free Swords: 10 - The Seventh Book Of Lost Swords - Wayfinder's Story by Fred Saberhagen

a lot worse; because here I am, still alive, and I have met friends who are armed with a Sword. But it could be better, because I am no closer to finding the Sword we want.”
           “Say message again. Say message again.”
           “I will, messenger, I will. But later. There’s no hurry about this one.” Ben spoke slowly and distinctly, as if to a child. “Rest now. Message later. Rest now.”
           The bird flew back to its higher perch, where it settled itself as if to rest. “The Prince is at home, then,” Zoltan commented.
           Ben nodded. “Since Kristin’s crippling, he’s spent more time in Sarykam than he did in the past two or three years put together. No more roaming the world, trying to look out for the Emperor’s business.”
           “And what of their sons?” Yambu wanted to know. “How old are the two princelings now?”
           Ben considered. “Stephen must be twelve. He has a temper. He’ll be a dangerous man in a few years.”
           “And Prince Adrian?”
           “Two years older. Secluded, somewhere well away from home, I don’t know where, perfecting his wizardry. I expect we’ll not see much of him for a year or two to come.” It was common for serious apprentices in the arts of magic to withdraw from the mundane world for a time of preparation.
           “And nothing can be done for Kristin?”
           “In the ordinary ways of healing and of magic, nothing. There is only one real hope, of course,” Ben concluded shortly.
           “The Sword Woundhealer.” Yambu nodded, and sighed.
           Ben nodded too. “Of course we had the keeping of it there in Sarykam for years, but … there’s no use worrying over that now. Mark nowadays thinks of little else but somehow getting Woundhealer back. He stays in Sarykam himself, but he sees to it that every clue, every hint we can obtain—whether reasonable or not, I sometimes think—is followed to the end.
             “That is why I am here now. There was one rumor, one hint, about Woundhealer, that we thought especially promising. It put the Sword somewhere in this area.”
           “And you came alone to track down this hint?” asked Valdemar, who until now had been largely silent.
           Thunder grumbled overhead, and more rain was starting to come down. Ben looked at his questioner. “I was not alone when I set out. Six other people and three of the great birds came with me. I can give you the unpleasant details later, but at this point only I, out of seven humans, am still alive; as for the birds, they no longer travel with me, but one of them finds me from time to time, as you have seen. Thus I am kept somewhat in touch with Sarykam.”
           Ben related to Yambu, Zoltan, and Valdemar additional details of his struggle with the band of river bandits, and his escape.
           Zoltan asked: “Are they seeking the Sword of Mercy too?”
           “Perhaps. They had something going with the Blue Temple, besides selling me to them—or they thought they did.”
           In turn, the Silver Queen and Zoltan told Ben the tale of their recent harassment by the leatherwings, of their fortunate encounter with Valdemar and the Sword he had been so strangely given, and how during the last few days the three of them, with Wayfinder’s help, had managed to avoid the flying reptiles.
           Ben gestured toward the Sword of Wisdom. “Speaking of your treasure there, I suppose you’ll have no objection to my borrowing its powers for a while?”
           Yambu smiled faintly. “I have been expecting you to ask. Let me see if I can guess for what purpose.”
           “No doubt a single guess will be all you’ll need. I want first to locate the Sword of Healing, and then to get my hands on it.”
           “Have you no more selfish wants than that, big man?”        “That will do