Swords: 09 - The Sixth Book Of Lost Swords - Mindsword's Story by Fred Saberhagen Page A

him, her head thrown back, tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. Murat needed a moment to make sure that they were tears of joy.
           Sheathing his Sword, and leaning on Carlo, the Crown Prince hobbled to her as quickly as he could.
           As he approached she said, in a breaking voice: “My lord Murat, I am now able to see you for the first time as you really are. You must forgive me, I beg you, for what I have done against you in the past, and what I was saying about you—only a few minutes ago. Could it have been only minutes? It seems to me a much longer time, because when I said such horrible things about you I did not understand. I had to be born again to understand.”
           Murat wanted to kneel down facing her, but his injured leg screamed pain at him. For the moment he could only lean on Carlo. “Princess! Kristin? I beg of you—get up!”
           In a moment the lady had sprung up nimbly to her feet. “As you wish, my lord Murat. Whatever you wish, from now on. I am yours forever. Do with me what you will—but you are hurt! Gods, let it not be serious! Say that it is not!”
           “It is nothing. I will not die of a bruise.” Then, taking both of his beloved’s hands in one of his, Murat tried to frame some reply in accordance with what honor and duty demanded. But the shouting celebration which surrounded Kristin and himself made it difficult to think.
     
    * * *
     
           Half an hour after Kristin’s conversion, she and Murat were sitting together in front of a newly made small fire, while their armed guardians, now a band some thirty strong under the command of Captain Marsaci, saw to their comfort and safety. Marsaci had guards patrolling a perimeter surrounding the royal couple at a distance of thirty or forty meters.
           There was no physician in the Crown Prince’s newly enlarged retinue, but several of the troopers were veterans with experience in all kinds of battle damage, and they agreed with Murat’s own assessment of his injury: walking and riding would be difficult for several days, but the wound was no more than a bruise, and with rest it would heal.
           When Murat at last commanded the circle of worshipful, worried gawkers to stand back, he happened to catch sight of the blind man Metaxas, standing in the background. Impulsively announcing to the Princess that he had a surprise for her, he ordered the former beggar brought forward.
           “Do you know this man, beloved?” Murat asked, when the ugly fellow was standing immediately before them.
           “No, my lord,” Kristin answered promptly. But a moment later a shadow crossed her face, and she shook her head. “No … that is, I do not remember.”
           As soon as she had spoken, Metaxas knelt before her. “I know the voice of my beloved Princess,” he murmured, his own voice almost inaudible.
           Kristin still hesitated. “I—I don’t know.” But she seemed upset.
           Murat gestured the fellow away, and burly troopers took him by the arms. “Never mind now, my lady. Later we can talk of him, if there is any need. Now there are more pressing problems that must be faced.”
           “You mean the reaction of my people, when I tell them how my eyes have been opened to your true nature.”
           “I—yes, that is a good way to put it, I suppose. How can we avert a conflict?”
           “I will speak to them. I am their Princess, and they honor me and will listen to me.”
           “Let us hope so.” Murat turned to his son who was standing nearby. “Carlo, take half a dozen men and reconnoiter. See if we are under observation, if you can; at least discover if more Tasavaltan forces are in the vicinity.”
           Kristin shook her head. “I should doubt that very much, my lord. But by all means send out your scouts. I pray there will be no more unnecessary