still no power flowed from it. Rather the reverse. It
was as she had feared and expected it would be, but
worse; worse than she had thought or feared. Still she
could bear it if she must.
Queen Yambu slammed this most terrible of all
Swords back into its sheath, and sighed with relief as
the midnight around her appeared to brighten instantly.
Then she closed the ornate case around Soulcutter,
and got up and went to the tent door to cry orders to
break camp and march.
CHAPTER 12
Of course the Dark King knew better, when he
stopped to think about it. But through the visualization
provided him by the demon he had been able to see
Shieldbreaker in Sir Andrew’s distant hands only as a
kind of war-hammer rather than a Sword, a picture
matching the sound that reached Vilkata’s ears from
that distant combat. Soulcutter Vilkata had not yet
seen at all, but he knew that it was there now,
somewhere behind him, in the hands of the Silver
Queen. He knew it by his magically assisted
perception of an emptiness, a presence there to which
he was truly blind. Any Sword that he did not own
could frighten him, and he owned only one out of the
Twelve. And now he found himself between two
enemies armed with two Swords that seemed to him
particularly powerful.
Between the Mindsword in the Dark King’s hands
behind them and the Dark King’s cavalry in front of
them, Sir Andrew’s little army had cer-
tainly been destroyed. That much had been accom-
plished. Under ordinary conditions a victory of
such magnitude would have been enough to make
the King feel truly optimistic. But conditions were
not ordinary, if they ever were. There were the two
Swords Shieldbreaker and Soulcutter, and himself
between them.
When the report came in that the Silver Queen
was advancing on his rear, Vilkata sent a flying
messenger to recall most of his advanced cavalry,
and set about turning his entire army to confront
her. It was a decision made with some reluctance,
because he longed to go instead to search person-
ally on the battlefield for Shieldbreaker. A flying
scout had reported seeing from a distance that Sir
Andrew hurled the Sword away from him, when
the fight at last was over. And what subordinate did
the Dark King dare to trust with succeeding in that
search?-but at the same time he dared not fail to
meet the Silver Queen’s advance with the Mind-
sword in his own hands. He could not be in two
places at once.
Anyway Vilkata did not really believe the report
about Sir Andrew throwing Shieldbreaker away.
Whether the Sword of Force would be dropped and
abandoned by any living person on any battlefield
was, in his mind, very doubtful to say the least. In
the end he ordered certain patrols to the place
where Sir Andrew was last seen, to search for the
Sword, or to make what other valuable discoveries
they could, while he himself turned back to meet
the advancing columns of Yambu.
As it turned out, Yambu’s main army was not
nearly as close as had been reported. The flying,
half-intelligent scouts often had trouble estimating
horizontal distances; but the King could not take
chances. He had not much more than got his army
into motion in that direction, when additional dis-
quieting reports came in. These told of gods and
goddesses seen in the vicinity of Tashigang, doing
extravagant things in the Dark King’s name, and
proclaiming him their lord and master, the new
ruler of the world. That in itself would have been
well enough, but the reports also told of the deities
offering him human sacrifice, and holocausts of
grain and cattle. Besides the waste of valuable
resources, it made Vilkata uneasy to realize that the
divinities who had pledged loyalty to him were not
really under his control. Should he send word to
them of his displeasure? But he did not even know
where they were right now. Or where they were
going to be next, or what they might be intending to
do.
The trouble is, he thought, they worship me but I
am not a god. Having arrived at that thought„ he
felt as if he had made some great, vaguely alarming
discovery.
Mark and his escort had not been many days out
from Tasavalta when they were forced into a skir-
mish with a strong patrol of the Dark King’s troops.
This fight had cost them some casualties. But
Coinspinner in Mark’s hands, altering the odds of
chance in his favor at every turn, saw him and most
of his small force through the fighting safely. He
had experienced the workings of the Sword of
Chance before, and he trusted it-to a degree; it was
really the least trustworthy of the Twelve-and felt
almost familiar with it. The soldiers of his escort
had done neither until now.
When the skirmish was over, the enemy
survivors driven into flight, Mark and his troops rested
briefly and moved on. He was confident, and the
soldiers, who earlier had only grimly obeyed orders,
now picked up that attitude from him. Since what he
truly wanted now was to locate the Emperor, then to
the Emperor Coinspinner’s luck would lead him, in
one way or another.
As they rode Mark paused periodically to sweep
the horizon with the naked tip of the Sword of
Chance. When he aimed it in a certain direction, and
in that direction only, a quivering seized the blade, and
Mark could feel a faint surge of power pass into his
hand through the hilt. In that direction was the
Emperor. Or, at least, that was the way to go to
ultimately reach him.
For several days Mark and his surviving Tasavaltan
escort journeyed in safety. Then they began to
observe the unmistakable signs of armies near. And
then at last there was the noise of a battle close
ahead.
From a distance Mark watched an enemy force of
overwhelming strength, what he thought had to be the
main body of the Dark King’s troops, first advance in
one direction, then reverse themselvesthough not as in
defeat, he thought-and trudge in mass formation the
other way. The actual fighting had been somewhere
beyond them, where he could not see it.
When the enemy had moved out of the way, and
almost out of sight, Coinspinner still pointed him
toward the place where the battle had been.
When Mark with his small escort reached the
battlefield, they found it almost devoid of living things,
except for a few scavengers, gathering on wing and
afoot. There were a hundred human dead or more,
concentrated mostly in one place. Among the fallen
Mark could not see a single one in Vilkata’s colors.
The only livery visible was Sir Andrew’s orange and
black.
On the field one human figure was still standing.
Slightly built, it was garbed in a robe that had once
been white, and looked like one of Ardneh’s servants
who had been through some arduous journey and
perhaps a battle or two as well. When Mark first saw
it, this figure was bending over one of the dead men
who lay a little apart from the others. Then, even as
Mark watched, the figure in white began to labor
awkwardly at digging-a grave, Mark supposed-using
the blade of a long knife.
As Mark and his troops, in the colors of Tasavalta,
rode nearer, the figure in white took note of them and
stopped what it was doing to await their approach.
But it did not try to run.
When Mark got closer, he recognized the isolated
dead man as Sir Andrew. In war it was no great
surprise, particularly on a field of slaughter like this
one, to find a comrade and a leader dead. But still the
discovery was no less a shock.
Mark jumped down from his mount and put his
hand on the gore-spattered head of the Kind Knight,
and remarked his peaceful face. “Ardneh greet you,”
he muttered, and for a moment at least could feel real
hope that it might be so.
Then Mark stood up. Taking Denis for a genuine
Ardneh-pilgrim who had probably just wandered onto
the scene, Mark asked, “But where are his own
people, all slaughtered?” He looked round him at the
few score dead. “This can’t be his entire army!”
Denis answered. “Many were slaurrhtered_ I Fear _
The Dark King’s cavalry attacked also, ahead, beyond
those hills. The officers remaining are trying to rally
whatever troops are left. Sir Andrew’s close friends
wanted to bury him-what I am trying to do-but they
decided Sir Andrew would have wanted them to see
to the living first. As I am sure he would.”
“You knew him, then?”
The youth in ragged white nodded assent. “I had
been with him for some days. I think I came to know
him, in a way. I am called Denis the Quick, of