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

for the time being.”
           In unconsciously queenly fashion, Yambu raised Wayfinder in her own hands and apostrophized the Sword: “I asked you, Sword, for peace, and you have led me to this man of blood.”
           Zoltan saw Ben frown slightly at that.
           Yambu continued: “I see my own quest must give way to one of greater urgency. But before I hand you over to him, Sword, what else do you have to tell me? Is it possible that by following him I will discover the peace that has eluded me for so long?”
           The other three, watching closely, could see plainly how the Sword tugged, slowly twisting in her hands until it bent her wrists, aiming itself at the huge man.
           Without further comment the Silver Queen reversed her grip on the black hilt, and handed Wayfinder over to Ben.
           Reaching for the weapon eagerly, he murmured thanks. Once Wayfinder was in his grasp he wasted no time, but at once demanded of it bluntly: “Sword, lead me where I want to go!”
           The Sword of Wisdom in his hands at once twisted around sharply; Zoltan, though no stranger to the Swords and their powers, felt his scalp prickle. The weapon reminded him of some intelligent animal, responding differently as soon as it came under the control of a different master, perhaps a warbeast roused from sleep and scenting blood. Zoltan thought that this time he saw the blade actually bend, until the tip pointed somewhere to the northeast. That direction, he thought, was close to, though it did not exactly coincide with, the bearing of Sarykam.
           Still holding the Sword leveled, Ben shuffled his feet, as if getting his weary legs ready to move again. He asked his companions: “Are all of you ready to move?” It did not appear to have entered his thoughts that any of the three might choose not to accompany him.
           Valdemar stood up, towering over everyone else. He said slowly: “I began my journey holding in my hands that Sword you now have, and with my own goal, not yours, in mind. And so now I have my doubts about going with you.”
           At that Zoltan turned on him sharply: “I suppose you think your quest is more important than this one?”
           Valdemar raised his eyebrows. He said mildly: “It is important to me.”
           The two young men were of the same age, or very nearly so; but Valdemar—only partially because of his size—generally gave the impression of being older.
           “Well, perhaps you can manage to locate a wife without the help of Wayfinder,” said Zoltan. “Or—who knows?—if you come with us you might discover one to your liking in Sarykam.”
           The other shrugged. “Perhaps, friend Zoltan. Anyway, you should remember that I am not ready to abandon my purpose. But I have already given the Sword to Lady Yambu, given it freely, and so I have no claim on it any longer.”
             “You are welcome to take it back, long enough to ask a question,” the lady assured him.
           Ben nodded. “Just don’t be all day about it.”
           The lady paused in the act of handing Wayfinder back to Valdemar. Frowning, she said to him: “You are something of a magician, are you not?”
           The tall youth blinked at her as if the question had surprised him. “I have a certain knack for doing tricks with light, and mirrors, and sand and water,” he admitted. “No more than that. Depending on the company in which I find myself, I sometimes claim to know a little magic. But how did you know?”
           “I have known another magician or two in my time. The art is wont to leave its traces.” Yambu shrugged. “In this company you may freely claim competence,” she told Valdemar. “I doubt that any of us are able to surpass you, in whatever it is you do with light and mirrors.”
           Valdemar received the Sword from her, and held it steadily. “I