Swords: 09 - The Sixth Book Of Lost Swords - Mindsword's Story (8 page)

      
But he thought that Kristin relaxed slightly. He did not know that she had caught a momentary glimpse of blue and green and armor, not far to her right, just behind the screen of rocks and stunted trees. More bewitched defectors? She was going to gamble that they were not.

      
A moment later, with an abrupt effort that took Murat and his escort by surprise, she was reining her mount sharply, spurring away from them. From the screen of rocks and bushes twenty meters away erupted a rush of cavalry in blue and green, Captain Marsaci and his force, howling in a charge upon Murat and his men. The Princess had not, after all, been caught completely unprotected.

Chapter Eight

      
Even as Princess Kristin, crouching low over the animal’s neck, spurred her mount away from Murat, she was shouting orders to her attacking troops. Carlo thought he heard her cry out a command to take the Crown Prince alive. But whatever her order might have been, it came too late to have any immediate effect upon the line of charging mounted men who had now burst out of cover.

      
Carlo had drawn his own sword and was shouting also, knowing that his words too were useless even as he cried out a superfluous warning to his father. In the next instant he saw his father struck by a slung stone. But the Prince managed to remain in his saddle, and a moment later he had drawn the Sword of Glory again.

      
A moment after that, the attack by the blue-green guardsmen was aborted. Their charge ended in plunging, rearing confusion, men and animals swallowed in the dust cloud raised by twenty riders simultaneously reining in their mounts.

      
But the defensive reaction that charge had provoked among Murat’s guardians went on for a few seconds longer; it did not stop until the Crown Prince had shouted orders to his men, and in that brief period more than one of the attackers were struck down.

      
Carlo rode quickly to his father’s side. Murat, his face pale, was managing to control his riding-beast with one hand.

      
“Father—where were you hit?”

      
“Right thigh. I’m all right. A glancing blow, no more.”

      
Carlo sheathed his own sword and watched the immediate effects of the enemy’s conversion. He thrilled with triumphant pride as once more the Mindsword’s intervention produced its inevitable result; soon the largest harvest yet of new followers, their weapons discarded, were arrayed around Murat in attitudes of prayer and submission, begging forgiveness from their new master for not having seen him clearly a few minutes ago, for having committed the unthinkable crime of daring to attack him.

      
Murat, despite his repeated insistence that he was not much hurt, needed help in dismounting. Carefully slitting his right trouser leg with the point of his dagger, he disclosed a great bruise swelling on the outside of the thigh. He could stand on the leg, though at the cost of some pain; it seemed that no bone had been broken.

      
Obviously the Crown Prince was angrier this time than on the two earlier occasions when he’d drawn the Sword.

      
A murmur spread swiftly among the men gathering around him. The slinger who had inflicted the injury had just used his dagger on himself, his last breath leaving his throat in a scream of remorse.

      
Carlo felt a sense of loss; he’d been looking forward to seeing the unfortunate cavalryman cut up into little bits.

      
But Murat paid little attention to his attacker’s fate; even before the attack on him had come to an end in confused, abject, and horrified surrender, he was already looking around for Kristin.

      
The sight of her mount, running riderless, gave the Crown Prince a sickening moment. But then he beheld his beloved Princess, physically quite safe, kneeling in front of 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 fighting.”

      
“I share your feelings,” said Murat fervently. Then he nodded to Carlo. “Go!”

* * *

      
At midday, Murat was still sitting in almost the same spot, for he had to avoid putting weight on his leg as much as possible. He was now saying to the Princess, for what seemed to him the hundredth time since he had found her: “But I want to help you. I have come here to help you.”

      
Kristin was sitting on the grass a little apart from the Crown Prince now, and gazing at him adoringly. “Help me? But you have already transformed my life. From now on, my lord, I live only to help you.”

      
Perhaps, Murat thought to himself, it was hopeless to try to explain his position to his beloved now. No doubt he would do better to wait until the effects of the Mindsword wore off, or at least moderated to some extent, as he thought they were bound to do. But with Kristin before him, hanging on his every word, her every expression one of perfect trust and contentment to be with him, he was compelled to keep trying to explain.

      
“Kristin, what I wanted to do was … ever since we met for the first time, I have hoped someday to win your love.”

      
The Princess glowed. “Do you mean it?” she whispered softly.

      
“Yes, of course I mean it. Now I can—I must—openly acknowledge that was my secret purpose in coming here. But—I never wanted it to happen like this! I do not want you as a slave.”

      
The lovely woman drew back. To Murat’s astonishment it was almost as if he had slapped her face. She said in a much different voice: “You may call it slavery or not, as you choose. I only know that all the love I have to give is yours. I am sorry if there is something in the situation that does not please you.”

      
He leaned forward, forgetting his injured leg, provoking a sharp twinge of pain. “Don’t weep! I beg of you do not weep!”

      
Moved by the sincerity in her lover’s tone and manner, the beautiful young woman ceased to cry. Tentatively she essayed a smile.

      
But Murat, shaking his head, could not force a smile in return. He could only mutter once again: “I did not want it to be like this.”

      
Kristin’s smile lingered. “But this is the way I am, my lord, and this is how things are. I rejoice to hear that you have wanted me for a long time, and I am overjoyed that you want me still; only the thought that one day you might cease to want me brings utter desolation.”

      
Murat opened his mouth and closed it again, remembering how some of his first converts had been ready to kill themselves at the mere suggestion that he was leaving them. He was not going to suggest anything of the kind to this beloved woman. Nor was he going to take advantage of her in her present enchanted condition.

      
Presently a call from a lookout informed the camp that Carlo and his scouting party were returning. Getting to his feet with an effort, his weight on his left leg, Murat waited for his son’s report.

      
It was brief and to the point. The reconnaissance patrol had discovered no signs of fresh Tasavaltan activity.

      
As if the sight of Carlo had reminded her of something, Kristin began to look around, her gaze sweeping the distant hills and meadows.

      
“What is it, Kristin?”

      
“My son Stephen was somewhere around…”

      
“Was he—within a hundred meters, when we met?”

      
“A hundred meters?” Kristin did not appear to grasp the significance of the distance. “No, I don’t think so. He may have ridden back to our summer house, before—before you and I met.”

      
The Crown Prince sat down again, with a grunt of relief. “I remember Stephen. He’ll be a year older since I saw him—a likely lad, well able to take care of himself, I’d say.” But Murat called his own son to him again, and shortly a cavalry patrol was scouring the area for the boy, with orders to bring Stephen to his mother if that could be accomplished without using force.

* * *

      
While the search was in progress, Murat gave orders to set up camp where they were, and maintain a perimeter patrol, to give warning of anyone approaching.

      
Murat’s leg needed rest; even more desperately, he decided, he needed time to think. Where was he to take the Princess now, where to lead his augmented force of fanatical followers? He asked her who else was at the summer lodge, and found there was only a minimum staff.

      
He also learned from Kristin that she and her party were not expected back there until late in the afternoon, and no one at the lodge would be really concerned about them until nightfall. Probably not until tomorrow would there be any thought of sending out a search party.

      
Hours passed, and the patrol dispatched to search for Stephen did not return. Again Kristin expressed some vague concern about her son— “He’ll think something terrible has happened to me” —but everyone assured her that there was really no reason to be worried about the lad.

      
“If he did observe our meeting, and saw how you—came to join me, and if he is now raising an alarm—well, in any case, my Princess, someone will do that, sooner or later, when you do not return to your summer house. What are we to do now, Princess?” The Crown Prince was shaking his head. “What am I to do? Believe me, I had no intention of coming here and making you my prisoner by magic.”

      
Kristin blinked at him, and seemed to have trouble grasping the idea. In fact she could hardly believe her ears. “Your
prisoner
? My lord! Am I a prisoner now?” She laughed at the idea.

      
“Of course you are not.” Murat paused. “I mean that is certainly not my intention. I want you to be completely free, my dear one, and you are, you shall be, as free as I can make you … but I’m afraid that your people, those who remain outside my Sword’s influence, are not going to see the matter in that light.”

      
Kristin was almost indignant. “If any of my people should come out from the city against us, my lord, or if more units of my army appear, be assured that I am their Princess. They will listen to me when I tell them that nothing at all is wrong.” She paused, smiling. “I have formed a new … alliance. That is all.”

      
“Yes, no doubt they will listen to you, for a time, at least. But as soon as they learn that you have been exposed to the Mindsword’s powers they will react differently. … Where is your husband now?”