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

      Chilperic said nothing to discourage this plan, thinking that by doing so he would only guarantee it.

      He went on to his breakfast, and managed to enjoy it. Hissarlik did not appear at the table. Soon Chilperic, this time accompanied by both Megara and Tigris was once more closeted in his room, trying again to call his demon.

      Again he drew out the leather wallet from his bosom, rubbed it, and carefully recited the words of the incantation.

      This time, to his immense relief, Rabisu did respond to his summoning. Not with a physical presence, but at least the insect chittering of the demonic voice sounded in Chilperic’s mind. He thought it could probably be heard in the air around him as well.

      The women could indeed hear the voice. Megara appeared largely indifferent, but Tigris frowned at Chilperic, puzzled by what she heard.

      Rabisu’s first response reached Chilperic in the form of an extremely attenuated whisper, as if the hideous creature were trying to make contact with him from some enormous distance. Indeed, to begin with the signal was so very faint that Chilperic could not make out what was being said.

      But he persisted in his efforts at summoning, and within half an hour the voice of the demon was definitely louder, and marginally more clear. Now and then a word or two came through distinctly, but the man still found it impossible to do more than guess at the meaning of the message as a whole.

      Tigris murmured to Lady Megara: “It is almost enough to make one envious, is it not?”

      Megara recalled herself from some mental distance. “Envious?”

      “Of the power that Wood has granted our friend here. That such a vastly inferior wizard as our friend Chilperic, no wizard at all really, should have such a superior tool as a demon placed at his command.”

      “I have seen demons,” said Megara, still distantly. “I have felt them, too.”

      “My dear, I suppose we have all seen them at some time—all of us who are acquainted with the art. But to know the luxury of being able to command one…” Tigris let her words trail away.

      Chilperic naturally had heard the conversation, though he wasn’t sure what Tigris was trying to accomplish by it. Now he bowed lightly in Lady Megara’s direction. “Should you ever decide to serve my master, lady, I am sure that you would be favored, too.”

      “Your master? I have little interest in serving any master now.”

      “When you are fully recovered, my lady, perhaps it will be time to speak of an alliance.”

      “An alliance? But why—never mind.”

      Chilperic went back to trying to communicate with his living tool; he was still having only very limited success in that endeavor.

      He maintained his calm as well as he was able. But he had to admit to the healer sorceress Tigris that something was still seriously wrong.

      She offered to help.

      But Chilperic did not know what the demon was trying to tell him, and thought that the message might well be one he wouldn’t want any outsider to hear. He tried to convey this objection to Megara as delicately as possible.

      “Of course. I understand perfectly.”

      Tigris went out with her, for which Chilperic was grateful. He supposed that she would expect a full report later.

* * *

      Despite the demon’s promise of a swift return, many hours had passed and night had fallen before Rabisu’s voice was close and clear enough for Chilperic to be able to understand it reasonably well.

      But this understanding, when he managed it, did nothing to alleviate Chilperic’s growing sense of alarm. Quite the contrary.

      Rabisu reported having been forced, by some overwhelming magic, to abandon his place of duty.

      “Your place of duty? And where was that? I don’t recall assigning you to any particular place.”

      “I was patrolling in the valley, lord. Trying to look out for your interests as best I could.” The demon went on to report that he had been hurled away, to an almost inconceivable distance, by one of a party of men he had discovered in a fishing boat upon the Tungri.

      “By a fisherman?”

      “No, Lord Chilperic, no. Not by a fisherman at all. This man was much more than that.”

      “I should think he must have been. Proceed with your explanation, then. Tell me what happened.”

      Rabisu, in a subservient voice, continued his report. The fishing boat had come out, he thought, from the Malolo side of the river, and it had been heading for the islands. The description given by the demon of two of the boat’s five passengers matched well with Koszalin’s account of two of the impressive visitors who seemed to have attached themselves to the Malolo cause.

      And one of these two men had been wearing a Sword.

      Chilperic sighed deeply. “Was it Farslayer?”

      “I do not believe that it was that Sword, sir.”

      “Then which was it? You are certain it was one of the Twelve?”

      “To the second question I answer yes. As for the first, I regret that I do not know.”

      “Go on.”

      Rabisu related how he had caused himself to materialize directly in front of the boat, and had challenged those aboard. To his first cursory inspection, none of the men aboard the boat had seemed to be magicians at all and Chilperic, listening to the story, knew that demons were unlikely to be wrong in such matters. But then, when Rabisu materialized, the man who wore the Sword had answered him with what seemed fearless confidence.

      “And then, master, it fell on me as if from nowhere—a stroke that Ardneh himself might have delivered! I could do nothing to resist it, nothing!”

      “What kind of a stroke?” Chilperic was still mystified.

      “It hurled me to a vast distance. I am at a loss to give any more detailed description.”

      “Well, can I take it that you are successfully recovering from it now?”

      “I am returning to you as fast as I am able, master. As far as I can tell, my powers are unimpaired. If I were to tell you how far that one blow