The Last Book Of Swords : Shieldbreaker’s Story by Saberhagen Fred Page A
Authors: Saberhagen Fred
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The young Prince’s quarry, a powerful man, an almost matchless wizard, seemed unable to hear or see the doom which was coming upon him. This tall creature before Stephen, pale and eyeless as a cave-worm, repulsively malignant and at the same time helpless, was the evil man who two years ago had almost killed Stephen’s mother and had come near bringing disaster upon the whole realm.
* * *
Yet again the moment of final confrontation was postponed. One of the flock of circling demons, evidently caught up in an ecstatic urge to worship the figure it perceived as its true Master, came flitting toward Stephen—then, at the last moment, turned in terror, on the point of flight from whatever sudden alteration it now saw in the shape before it.
In a spasm of hatred and revulsion the youth armed with the two Swords killed the demon. An effortless flick of the young Prince’s right wrist, a single drumbeat from the Sword of Force, and the hideous thing was gone—he wondered why the man who was going to be his next victim should not at least have heard that much warning? Because, the demon-killer quickly understood, Sightblinder muffled and transformed everything. …
Yet perhaps the Dark King had heard something after all. His demeanor changed; he was almost alert. Warned by his powers that some new violence had occurred, but unable to pinpoint precisely what had taken place or where, he looked about him nervously. …
The magical and physical searches of the armory and lower palace, which moments ago Vilkata had commanded certain demons to perform, had already been carried out. Helpless against the Sword of Stealth, the searching demons had discovered no human presence unaccounted for—none save their Master’s own, and that of his loyal converts.
The searchers were once more swirling round him even now, reporting. “There is no one here who means you harm, great Master, no enemy at all. …”
But of course, the Dark King thought, cursing suspiciously, such a negative result was all one would expect in the case of an enemy working under Sightblinder’s protection—the searchers however diligent and clever, would be unable to perceive—
* * *
In the next moment, just as Stephen with weapons raised approached the door to the Sword-chamber, Karel, the real Karel standing just inside, turned an astonished countenance to confront him briefly.
“Master?” the old man asked, in wild bewilderment. Then, turning from Stephen to the genuine Vilkata standing just beside him, he uttered the same word once more.
“Master?” And with that the helpless old magician, befuddled like all Sightblinder’s victims, fell down in a near-trance of terror or worship, and was for the moment forgotten by the dueling powers that were about to come crashing into conflict.
* * *
Vilkata’s thought on the subject had no chance to develop further. Stark terror gripped the Dark King’s guts and seemed to stop his heart.
Because a figure of utter and abysmal terror had just stepped from somewhere into the very room where he was standing. This entity came seemingly from nowhere, and immediately the Dark King knew in his bones that this confrontation meant his doom.
Facing him now was Prince Mark, in full battle gear, smiling a terrible smile of triumph, and lifting Shieldbreaker for the killing blow— or was the truth yet worse than that?
The fact that the approaching figure was being transformed even as Vilkata watched it made the apparition more terrible rather than less—the truly powerful were often capable of appearing in any guise they chose. The Eyeless One now perceived with merciless clarity, he was for a moment utterly convinced, that he was confronted by Orcus, the king demon, archfoe of Ardneh.
Not
The young Prince’s quarry, a powerful man, an almost matchless wizard, seemed unable to hear or see the doom which was coming upon him. This tall creature before Stephen, pale and eyeless as a cave-worm, repulsively malignant and at the same time helpless, was the evil man who two years ago had almost killed Stephen’s mother and had come near bringing disaster upon the whole realm.
* * *
Yet again the moment of final confrontation was postponed. One of the flock of circling demons, evidently caught up in an ecstatic urge to worship the figure it perceived as its true Master, came flitting toward Stephen—then, at the last moment, turned in terror, on the point of flight from whatever sudden alteration it now saw in the shape before it.
In a spasm of hatred and revulsion the youth armed with the two Swords killed the demon. An effortless flick of the young Prince’s right wrist, a single drumbeat from the Sword of Force, and the hideous thing was gone—he wondered why the man who was going to be his next victim should not at least have heard that much warning? Because, the demon-killer quickly understood, Sightblinder muffled and transformed everything. …
Yet perhaps the Dark King had heard something after all. His demeanor changed; he was almost alert. Warned by his powers that some new violence had occurred, but unable to pinpoint precisely what had taken place or where, he looked about him nervously. …
The magical and physical searches of the armory and lower palace, which moments ago Vilkata had commanded certain demons to perform, had already been carried out. Helpless against the Sword of Stealth, the searching demons had discovered no human presence unaccounted for—none save their Master’s own, and that of his loyal converts.
The searchers were once more swirling round him even now, reporting. “There is no one here who means you harm, great Master, no enemy at all. …”
But of course, the Dark King thought, cursing suspiciously, such a negative result was all one would expect in the case of an enemy working under Sightblinder’s protection—the searchers however diligent and clever, would be unable to perceive—
* * *
In the next moment, just as Stephen with weapons raised approached the door to the Sword-chamber, Karel, the real Karel standing just inside, turned an astonished countenance to confront him briefly.
“Master?” the old man asked, in wild bewilderment. Then, turning from Stephen to the genuine Vilkata standing just beside him, he uttered the same word once more.
“Master?” And with that the helpless old magician, befuddled like all Sightblinder’s victims, fell down in a near-trance of terror or worship, and was for the moment forgotten by the dueling powers that were about to come crashing into conflict.
* * *
Vilkata’s thought on the subject had no chance to develop further. Stark terror gripped the Dark King’s guts and seemed to stop his heart.
Because a figure of utter and abysmal terror had just stepped from somewhere into the very room where he was standing. This entity came seemingly from nowhere, and immediately the Dark King knew in his bones that this confrontation meant his doom.
Facing him now was Prince Mark, in full battle gear, smiling a terrible smile of triumph, and lifting Shieldbreaker for the killing blow— or was the truth yet worse than that?
The fact that the approaching figure was being transformed even as Vilkata watched it made the apparition more terrible rather than less—the truly powerful were often capable of appearing in any guise they chose. The Eyeless One now perceived with merciless clarity, he was for a moment utterly convinced, that he was confronted by Orcus, the king demon, archfoe of Ardneh.
Not
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