The Sword of Aradel by Alexander Key Page A

I’ll tell you this, sarge. All five of that bunch were badly cut, and the interne on the second ambulance said he doubted one would live.”
    â€œSo!” The thin mouth in the broad face became even thinner. Sergeant Sykes looked at Brian, then at Merra. “What a nice pair you are! Illegal possession of a firearm. Assault with deadly weapons. Attempted murder—and it’ll be murder if that punk dies. And on top of it all, this—” His hand touched the sword and the glittering coins. “Probably grand theft.” Abruptly the hand slapped the desk, so hard that the coins jumped. “Let’s have it! Where’d you steal this stuff?”
    It was several seconds before Brian could decipher enough of what he had heard to understand the accusations.
    â€œThou callest us thieves?” he said slowly.
    â€œIf you didn’t steal it, then how did you get it?”
    Brian fought to control himself. This cold, unbelieving, unfeeling world was almost worse in its way than Aradel under Albericus. In a voice that shook a little from his rising fury, he managed to say, “The sword, ’tis mine by right of combat, and fairly won! The gold, a gift from the Dryads to help in our quest!”
    â€œHuh? Dry—what? You sure you didn’t find it all in a garbage can?” The thin mouth curled in a sneer. “Phooey! I don’t know where you got those trick costumes and that phony talk, but you’re nothing but a pair of thieving punks and worse, in my opinion, than that bunch you cut up.” Suddenly he glared at Merra. “You! Where did you get that pistol?”
    â€œExplain thyself!” she cried back. “I know not what a pistol be!”
    â€œNuts! You’re a lying little witch. The weapon was found at your feet, and you were seen using it. Any kid your age who runs around nights packing a pistol—”
    â€œEnough!” Brian exploded. “She telleth no falsehood!”
    Before anyone could even guess what he was about to do, his hand had streaked out faster than the eye could follow and closed on his sword. The sword flashed from the scabbard and he leaped quickly back, giving himself room to use it.
    â€œNow hear ye!” he yelled, his voice drowning out the sudden shouts and exclamations as men fell away from him, most of them instantly producing weapons like the thing called a pistol. Fury made him oblivious to any possible danger. “Hear ye, and hear ye well! We speak truth, yet ye mind us not! What manner of men be ye? We come as strangers, seeking a thing long lost, and are at once beset by thieves. We find refuge in the park, but they follow and attack. Verily, we are forced to fight for our lives! Yet ye swallow the tale of those scoundrels and thieves, and hear not the truth! What manner of men—”
    â€œPut down that sword, you jackass!” Sergeant Sykes roared, kicking his chair aside.
    â€œGive me thy word that we may go in peace, and I will put it away.”
    â€œI’ll put you away, you thieving punk! I’ll put you away for good!”
    Brian saw the man’s hand swing up, pointing the pistol thing at him. His blade, flicking quickly from side to side to hold a half dozen men at a distance, became a sudden blur. The pistol thing exploded and flew off across the room. Sergeant Sykes, now white of face, fell back holding his hand.
    â€œI don’t believe it!” someone whispered. “The way that young idiot handles a sword! If we don’t stop him—”
    Brian was momentarily startled by the weapon’s explosion, for it was much louder than the other explosions in the park had been. For the first time he thought of the burning sting in his left arm, then instantly forgot it as more men erupted into the room. They approached him warily, then suddenly rushed him when an opened blanket was flung in his face.
    The sword was caught in the blanket like a fish in a net, and