Free The Sword Bearer by John White Page B

magician—which surely is no different from prophet—that however much I fear your power, I fear much more the powers and malice of the Mystery. I must secure the Sword Bearer, even if it takes every Matmon in my company. So take him, guards!"
    The guards eyed John uncertainly. John raised his flashing sword above his head and cast a desperate glance in the direction of the magician. And this time he saw the flash at its source, for from Mab's still raised staff twin lightning streaks of blue fire roared into the ground on either side of him.
    "Entrust him to me if you cannot trust the prophecies!" Mab cried in anger.
    "How do I know ... ?"
    "You have seen my powers! They are greater than his! You would be in no danger, even if he were a follower of the Mystery, which he is not. No harm will come to the company if you commit him to my care."
    Bjorn drew in a worried breath.
    "And you will bring us to the island?"
    "I will bring you to the island."
    Bjorn paused. "And give us the wine of free pardon?"
    "And give you the wine of free pardon."
    This time there was a longer pause. Bjorn was frowning. At last he nodded. "Let it be so then." He glanced at the guards. "Sheath your swords," he said. And then he turned to John and said, not unkindly, "Go then to the magician, Sword Bearer, and do as he bids."
    John discovered his legs were unstable columns of gelatin, as he stumbled, sick with relief, to where the seer was standing at the foot of the giant eagle. He hardly glanced at the sloping ceiling of white eagle feathers above his head, but as he looked up instead at the ancient face above him, he found himself staring into a pair of friendly blue eyes that were wrapped in wrinkles and lines of laughter, hooded by shaggy white eye-brows. The white hair from Mab's head tumbled over the shoulders of his blue velvet gown. "You must do all I say, for perils surround you," he said quietly.
    John nodded, his throat too dry to speak.
    "And the child must have food and drink," Bjornsluv cried, relief written large on her grandmotherly face. "I go to prepare something. He is but a child." She turned and strode energetically toward a small square tent at the edge of the forest which she shared with her husband.
    The Matmon had come to life and were moving slowly here and there, relieved that the tension was at an end. The relief had softened even the hard character of the prophet, for suddenly he called again to the Matmon king, striding across the grass toward him with John at his side. "Food—yes—food! And wine of the best! Let us feast tonight as we make our plans for the journey. There will be perils enough ahead."
    "Food? Alas, we have barely enough. And as for wine ..." Bjorn began.
    Mab laughed, and turning his head to the gargantuan bird behind him, he called, "Aguila! A feast, Aguila! Fetch us a feast that is fitting for a company of kings!"
    The eagle spread her wings until they seemed to span the glade. Lazily she leapt upward, sweeping the great wings powerfully downward so that the wind rushed about their eyes and the branches of nearby trees bent and creaked. A moment later she was shrinking in size as she surged into the sky.

8
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John Behaves
Badly
     
     
    John should have been happy but he wasn't Bjornsluv had given him a meal that any boy would have enjoyed. He had feasted on cheese and sausages, fried bacon and eggs, hotcakes and honey, nuts and fruits of many variedes. He had then washed everything down with fresh, creamy milk.
    But he was not happy. You would have thought that to be rescued from execution would have done something to his mood. But the relief of his rescue had lasted only minutes. Even the strange business of the Gaal tree had failed to shake him from his petulant self-centeredness.
    Mab knew all about Gaal trees. He had invited John to "share his tree," and John had supposed that he was being invited to some kind of tree house. So when they had stopped at a large oak tree on the edge of the