Read Swords: 09 - The Sixth Book Of Lost Swords - Mindsword's Story for Free Online

right.”
           Carlo was frowning. He didn’t understand. “But—the Tasavaltans will want to throw you in prison, won’t they? Or worse?”
           “Princess Kristin will listen to me. Especially when I present her with this Sword as a gift.”
           “You intend to give it away? To the Princess in Sarykam?” The young man’s perplexity grew worse.
           “Yes, that’s what I mean to do. Come, if you’re ready, let us ride on.”
           The two remounted. As they rode on, side by side, Murat’s son was silent for a time. Then, still looking troubled, he said, “I hear that Prince Mark has a short temper. If they really believe that you have wronged them—” Carlo broke off, looking worried.
           “Mark is generally away on some adventure. If he happens to be at home, well, I’m not afraid to face him. Short-tempered or not, he is said to be a fair man, and he will listen to me.”
           Actually the Crown Prince spoke with somewhat more confidence than he felt. It had already occurred to him that in the unlikely event that Kristin’s clod of a husband was on hand when he, Murat, arrived in Sarykam, his welcome could well be unpleasant. But Murat had determined to take the chance.
           Carlo, riding beside him, kept turning his head to look at the black hilt. At last the youth asked: “May I hold the Mindsword, Father? In the sheath, I mean. I won’t draw it, of course.”
           His father considered the request seriously, then solemnly shook his head. “I think not. I have pledged not to draw it, nor to give it to anyone except the Princess herself.”
           “I’m sorry, Father, but I still don’t understand why you intend to give it to Princess Kristin and Prince Mark.”
           An edge crept into Murat’s voice. “I thought I had explained. A year ago I stole the Sword Woundhealer from that lady’s treasury. In doing so I wronged her greatly, though at the time I had convinced myself that what I was doing was the proper course of action. Now I am determined to make amends.”
           Carlo was silent. Murat wondered suddenly if he was thinking that his father had wronged others also, in times past, and never made amends in such grand style.
           At last the youth spoke again. “Isn’t there some other way for you to right the wrong you feel you have committed against Princess Kristin?”
           “This is the way I choose,” Murat said shortly, and tapped the black hilt with his palm.
           Carlo, well acquainted with that tone, did not argue.
           Shortly before sunset the two travelers stopped to make camp for the night. The subject of Swords was not discussed again between them before they slept, Murat lying with the sheathed Sword as close to him as a lover’s body.
           In the morning father and son traveled on companionably toward Tasavalta, speaking of peaceful matters, using the time to renew their acquaintance.
     
    * * *
     
           Early on the second day after Carlo had joined Murat, the pair became aware that they were being followed. No such luck as a single stalker this time, but rather a band of eight, who definitely had the look of bandits. When father and son tried to outdistance their pursuers, four more riders appeared ahead, posted in just the right spot for tactical advantage, efficiently cutting off the travelers’ escape.
           Father and son slowed their hard-breathing mounts to a walk, and presently to a halt. A ravine to their right and a rock wall to their left formed practically impassable barriers. The two found themselves trapped, effectively surrounded by a dozen mounted men who were poorly clothed, heavily armed, and plainly devoid of good intentions.
           Murat had not yet voiced to his son his worst fear: that these might not be merely ordinary brigands, but the agents of some great magician or other