The Fourth Book Of Lost Swords : Farslayer's Story (Saberhagen's Lost Swords 4), Fred Saberhagen [100 best novels of all time TXT] 📗

      Gelimer heaved a sigh. “It is a long story,” he said at last. “But if you are interested—I suppose you should hear the main points of it anyway, if you are going on downstream from here by foot—the journey, you must realize, will not be without its dangers.”

      “Few journeys are,” said Yambu calmly. “At least among those which are worthwhile.”

      “When you have finished eating and enjoying your tea,” said the hermit, “you must come outside, and we will climb up on a rock. From there we will be able to look downstream for many kilometers, and see the land on either side of the river, and there I will tell you something of the situation.”

      Presently, when their modest meal had been consumed, they were outside again. Gelimer took them to a promontory a little above his house, a place from which they could look to the south and west and see where the Tungri eventually lost itself among distant hills.

      Gelimer waved his right hand to the north. “The land on the right bank is, for as far as you can see from here, under the domination of a clan called the Senones. The land on the left bank, whereon we are standing, is ruled by the Malolo clan. The two clans are bitter enemies, and have been so for many generations. The mermaids you have seen upstream were girls from one of a handful of small villages on the Malolo side, down there beyond the place where the river widens—you can barely see it from here.

      “Their strange, unnatural form is a result of Senones magic, a bitter and destructive curse that was inflicted upon people in the Malolo territory several generations ago. Sometimes the girls deformed by the curse are sold into slavery as curiosities. I have heard that traveling shows and the like buy them. An evil business.”

      “Yes. I see,” said young Zoltan. He was shading his eyes, and staring very intently and thoughtfully at the village barely visible in the distance. “And has no one ever found a cure for this particular curse?”

      “It would seem that the Malolo at least have never been able to find any.”

      Zoltan was silent, gazing off toward the horizon. It was left to the Lady Yambu to ask their host some practical questions about the trails.

      Shortly after he had imparted that information, Gelimer was again left without human companionship. His guests were on their way—long hours of sunny daylight still remained, and both pilgrims, the young man and the older woman, were eager to be gone.

      The hermit, looking after them when they had vanished down the trail, still could not quite decide what was the relationship between them. The young man seemed more true companion than servant. And if that woman had really at one time been the Silver Queen … having talked to her now, Gelimer found he could believe she had.

      Eventually the hermit, frowning, turned back to his hermitage. Hiding the Sword had really done nothing to relieve him of its burden. He still had matters of very great importance to decide.

Chapter Three

      The sun had nearly disappeared from sight behind the tall trees of the valley’s forest before the two pilgrims again came in sight of the small fishing village they had glimpsed from the crag above the hermit’s house. Now they were walking close beside the river, and were almost on the point of entering the settlement.

      At the point where the trail they had been following emerged from the forest, on the south bank, Zoltan paused and turned to look over his shoulder to the northeast. He thought that he could see that crag again, still clearly visible in the light of the lowering sun. Now, of course, those heights were much too far away for him to be able to make out whether the hermit or anyone else was standing there.

      He faced forward again, and with the Lady Yambu at his side approached the village. The pair of them advanced slowly, wanting to give the inhabitants plenty of time to become aware of their arrival. Three or four of the fisherfolk were visible, garbed in heavy trousers and jackets. The place seemed quite ordinary for a settlement beside a river. It consisted of twelve or fifteen bark-roofed houses, some of them raised on stilts along the shoreline, and actually extending over the water. Thin columns of smoke from several fires ascended into the air. Just behind the village the forest rose up dense and tall, beginning to be clothed in the new growth of spring. One or two of the trees loomed impressively, being of the same gigantic species as the one that had formed the hermit’s house.

      The hermit Gelimer had told the travelers that this was one of the handful of villages, all within a few kilometers of each other along the Tungri, whose inhabitants lived under the mermaid curse. Those few who were now visible to the slowly approaching travelers had nothing out of the ordinary in their appearance —not, Zoltan supposed, that there was any reason to think they would. Three or four fishing boats were tied up at a dock, and only a few patches of ice were visible along the shore. At this lower altitude the ground was completely barren of snow.

      “Remember, Zoltan, how the hermit warned us,” admonished Yambu, watching her companion closely. “In my opinion he advised us well. You should say nothing at all about mermaids while we are among these village people, at least not until we have gained some understanding of their attitude on the subject. It must be a matter that they are not inclined to treat lightly.”

      “I understand. I agree,” Zoltan answered shortly. He was having a difficult time trying to control his impatience, and he supposed the difficulty showed.

      During their long day’s hike down the mountain and through the forest he had talked at some length with Yambu about his continuing determination to seek out one particular mermaid.

      “You say, my lady, that