Free The First Book of Lost Swords - Woundhealer's Story by Fred Saberhagen Page B

well.”
           “Always gallant, Amintor. Come in.”
           Amintor followed the lady among her trellises into what was more a garden than a house, but even so, apparently her dwelling. Cultivated insects hummed musically among some flowers. In the silence of his own mind the Baron was thinking that she looked about sixty years old now, or fifty-five at the very least, although he knew that in fact she could hardly be much more than forty. Her hair had turned from raven black to silver since he had seen her last, and her face bore deep lines that he had never seen before. Her step was firm enough as she moved ahead of him, but without energy. Her body was still straight and tall, but he could tell little more than that about it because of the loose gray clothing that she wore. That, too, was a considerable change.
           They had now reached a roofed portion of her dwelling where there was simple furniture. Here the lady gestured her caller to a plain wooden seat.
           “I know what I look like,” said the former Queen, seating herself across from him, and in her voice he could hear for the first time a hint of the old fire and iron. “Hold Soulcutter in your hands throughout a battle, man, and see what you look like at the end of it. If it were not for Woundhealer, of course, I’d not be here now to talk about the experience … I suppose you’ve got that one in your possession now; Woundhealer I mean. I thought I heard some clash of arms out there. Well, I could have told them that they’d need more guards. A child could have told them they’d not be able to keep such a treasure here without defending it. But they’re impractical, as always. Never mind, tell me of yourself. That’s not Woundhealer at your side, is it—? No, it couldn’t be. What is this one that you have, then?”
           Her visitor had been waiting for an opportunity to reply.
           When he was sure that his chance had at last arrived, he said: “My lady, you amaze me as always. How d’you know it’s not the Sword of Mercy that I wear here? You’ve not touched it, and I wear the symbol on the hilt turned in.”
           “Amintor, Amintor.” She shook her head a little, as if to rebuke him for his slowness. “The Sword you wear at your side is the one you’re going to grab when danger threatens. No fear of your relying upon the Sword of Love for that-—you’ll want to make some wounds, not heal ’em. What then? It can’t be Shieldbreaker, not unless your fortunes have risen higher than the rest of your outfit indicates.”
           Amintor smiled. His hand brought the bright metal a few more centimeters out of its scabbard and turned it to give the lady a better look at the black hilt. Now she could see the concentric circles making up a small white target.
           “It’s only Farslayer, my lady. Nothing for you to wince at when I start to draw it in your presence.”
           “ Only Farslayer? And I may be your lady, but I’m Queen no longer; now I can wince whenever the need arises. I’m afraid that any of the Twelve would be likely to make me do so now.”
           “Even…?” Her visitor inclined his head slightly, in the direction of his own waiting troops. There was some laughter out there; apparently they were being fed and somehow entertained.
           “Oh, the one you’ve just appropriated has kept me alive when otherwise I would have died. But I’ve had all the help from it now that it can give me. And I won’t be sorry to see it go, for it reminds me of all the rest. But never mind all that. While we have a little time here, tell me all that you’ve been doing. Gods and demons, Amintor, listen to the way I’m babbling on. Seeing you again awakens in me a craving that I had thought was dead. A craving for information, I mean, of course.” There was the hint of a twinkle in the lady’s eye. “Now that you’re here, and no one