The Last Book Of Swords : Shieldbreaker’s Story by Saberhagen Fred

opened.
           In another moment he had employed the secret incantation given him by Karel, and the two doors thudded back.
           Vilkata frowned to find the vault already emptied of its best treasure.
           Only one Sword, obviously Stonecutter, was still in its rack. For the time being, Vilkata let it stay there. Above and below the single occupant, four empty velvet spaces yawned.
           A moment later Karel appeared—for the second time in a few moments, as Vilkata thought. Princess Kristin’s mighty uncle, as helpless in the Mindsword’s grip as the humblest of servants, having now in great concern for his Master’s welfare followed him downstairs, caught up with the Dark King in the Sword-chamber, discovered in his turn the body of Bazas, recognized the man, and expressed grief over the loss.
           “What loss is that?” demanded the Eyeless One. Karel murmured something to the effect that it was to be hoped that Bazas before dying had also seen the light, the glorious truth about Vilkata.
           Vilkata mumbled viciously. “Old idiot, are you going to prove as useless as you look? What does it matter what a dead man thought or felt? The real loss is here; the most important Swords are gone. I want to know who has them.”
           Karel obediently turned his attention to the inner vault. He was clearly surprised, and every bit as chagrined as Vilkata, by the absence of Sightblinder and Shieidbreaker. “I do not know who has them, Master,” he admitted sadly.
           Vilkata shook his head impatiently at this evidence of ineptitude. “Well, where was Shieldbreaker when you saw it last? And Sightblinder? Surely they are customarily kept here?”
           “Yes, sire. I had thought they would be here now.” The old wizard continued to look stricken at the loss.
           “Well, find them! You know the people here, the lay of the land. Use your vaunted powers!”
           The elder wizard looked gently pained. “Master, if whoever now possesses those two Swords does not wish to be found, neither my powers nor any others will search effectively.” And the graybeard made a helpless gesture.
           Of course he was right. The Dark King gestured too, and muttered, summoning into the armory more demons, who rolled down the stairs like so many billows of smoke. A moment later, fearing Shieidbreaker in the hands of some unknown enemy, he shouted to bring more human converts to his side as well, potential unarmed champions and defenders if he should need them.
     
    * * *
     
           To the young Prince, who had been brought to a virtual halt two rooms away, these additional demons, which would ordinarily have sickened him to the point of disability, now seemed no more than storm-wraiths passing at a distance. Armed as the boy was, they could neither harm him nor even really see him; each demon, Stephen supposed, must be perceiving him as one of their own kind, or as the wizard whom they worshipped, no matter that the real wizard was visible only a few paces distant. Such was the power of the Sword of Stealth. …
           Stephen’s mind was for the moment clear again, though he had to struggle to keep his perceptions and his balance steady. Once more his feet were carrying him relentlessly, almost silently, toward the Sword-room, and in each hand he still held a heavy weapon poised.
           Whatever conscious fear he had experienced a few moments ago was now completely gone, and even his dizziness and disorientation were now abated, swallowed up in a burst of murderous rage directed at this intruder. Shieldbreaker’s steady, muffled hammering sounded no louder than the beating of his own heart.
           When he saw who stood beside the Dark King in the pose of an adviser, Stephen’s rage, unreasonably enough, extended to Karel. But Karel at the moment was in no danger; he was not the one who had to be struck