"Later. Now, you were a smith yourself. Regardless of whether weapons were ever your specialty, I take it that this sword was of such beauty that you must have realized it would be worth a lot of money even leaving aside any magical properties it may have had.

Did it never enter your head to sell it?"

The mans face hardened at that. "Beg pardon, Your Grace. I didn't think it had been given me to sell."

"No? Didn t Vulcan say that it was yours, to do with as you liked?"

"He said it was mine, sir. But until it came time for me to pa.s.s it to my sons. That was said very definitely, too."

"I'm curious, Jord. What did you think your son would do with it, when it came to him? Just keep it on the wall, as you did?"

"I don't know, sir."

The Duke waited a little, but nothing more came. He sighed. "A pity. I'd have given you a very handsomeprice, if you'd brought the thing to me. I still will, of course, should the blade ever happen to come into your control again. If, for example, your son should bring it back. Or if, perhaps, you should look through the woods and find it where he dropped it. I'll give you a good price and ask no questions:"

The man and woman looked at each other, as if they wished they could take advantage of the Duke's gener- osity.

The Duke sat in his chair, leaning forward. "Just realize that, sooner or later, in one way or another, I'll have that sword." He leaned back, brightening. "And I do want to give your son a substantial reward, for trying his best to defend my cousin-as did your older son, indeed. So before I forget-" And from a pocket the Duke produced a golden coin; it spun brightly toward Jord in a practiced toss.

Dazed or not, Jord caught the reward deftly in his huge workman's hand. He stood up, and he and his wife both bowed in grat.i.tude.

As if it had never occurred to him to ask the ques- tion before, the Duke inquired: "Where do you sup- pose young Mark is now? Have you perhaps some relatives in another village, where he might have gone?"

"We have kin in Treefall, Your Grace:" It was the woman who answered. Again she was mentioning that village, again with an odd but subtle emphasis in her voice. Yes, he'd have to see her alone soon.

Jord said: "We've told your men already about all our relatives, sire . . . Your Grace, when can we go home? I'm worried about our daughter, left alone."

"She'll be all right. I have people in the village now, keeping an eye on things ...you have no other chil- dren living, besides that daughter and Mark?"

"None, sir," said the woman. High child mortality was common enough. She added: "Your Grace has been very good to us. To provide healing for my husband, and now money."

"Why, so I have. But why not? You are good people, faithful subjects. And when your young boy is found, I mean to be good to him as well. There's a story being told by a neighbor of yours, as doubtless you're aware, that it was Mark's arrow that felled my cousin. Even if that should be so, Mark would not be punished for it-you understand me? If it were so, the evil hit would have happened by accident-or possibly as the result of an evil spell, worked by some enemy. My wizards will find out who did it." And His Grace glanced at the empty-looking chair beside his on the dais. "But I do hope, I hope most earnestly, that your young one is doing nothing foolish with that sword. It has power far beyond anything that he might hope to control or even to understand. I would protect him from disaster if I could. But of course I cannot protect him if I don't know where he is."

The faces of both parents, the Duke decided, were still those of helpless sufferers, not those of schemerstrying to decide whether a secret should be told or not.

He sighed once more, inwardly this time, and made a gesture of dismissal. "Jord, go make that drawing for me, of the decorations on the sword. Tell the men in the next room what I want you to do, they'll get you what you need. Mala, stay here, I want to hear your story once again:"

The spear-carrying. guard had reappeared. And in a moment Jord, having made an awkward bow toward the Duke, was gone.

The woman waited, looking out from under her dark curls.

"Now, my dear, you wanted to tell me something else:"

She was not going to pretend otherwise. But still she seemed uncertain as how best to pad. "I spoke of that village, sire. Treefall. The place my husband comes from:"

"Yes?"

"I thought, Your Honor, that I had encountered you there one night. Thirteen years ago. At a funeral. The very night that the five men slain by Vulcan were being waked, and my husband prayed for-though he would not be my husband till two days later-and healing magic worked to help him recover from the awful wound-"

"Ali :" The Duke pointed a finger. "You say you thought you had encountered me? You did not know? You would not remember?"

"The man I met, my lord, wore a mask. As I know the mighty sometimes do, when they visit a place beneath their station."

"So. But why should you think this masked man was me? Had you ever seen me before?"

"No sir. It was just that I had heard-you know how stories go round among the people-heard that you sometimes appeared among your people wearing a mask of dark leather. . . " Mala evidently realized that her words sounded unconvincing. "I had heard that you were not very tall, and had dark hair." She paused. "It was a feeling that I had:" Pause again.

"There were funeral rites that night. I went with the masked man to the fields. Nine months later, my son Mark was born:"

"Ah:" The Duke looked Mala over thoughtfully, looked her up and down, squinting a little as if trying to remember something. "Folk out in the villages do say, then, that sometimes I go abroad disguised:"

"Yes, Your Grace, many say that. I'm sure they mean no harm, they just- "But this time, folk were wrong. You understand?"

Mala's dark eyes fell. "I understand, Your Grace:"

"Your husband, does he-?"

"Oh no sir. I've never told him, or anyone, about the masked man:"

"Let it remain so," said Duke Fraktin. And again hemade a gesture of dismissal.

The woman hesitated marginally. Then she was gone.

The Duke turned toward the wizard's chair, which once again was visibly occupied. He waited for its occupant to comment.

The first thing that the Blue-robed one said was: "You did not consider using torture, Your Grace?"

"Torture at this time would be foolish. I'll stake my lands that at this moment neither of them knows where.their brat has gone-or where my sword is, either. The woman, at least, would hand the sword over to me in a moment if she could. I think the man would, too, if it came to an actual decision. And when they find themselves safely home again in a day or two, with my gold in their hands-they'll want more.

The word will go out from them that their son should come home. Word spreads swiftly across the country- side, Blue-Robes-I've been out there among them and I know. When their child hears that his parents are home, safe, rewarded by me-there's a good chance that h.e.l.l bring home the sword. If he still has it, if we haven't found him already. But on the other hand if we begin with pointless torture, he'll hear about that too.

What chance then that h.e.l.l come home voluntarily?"

"Your Grace knows best, of course. But that man's a stiff-necked one, underneath his meekness. I have the impression that he was holding something back:"

"You are a shrewd observer, Blue-Robes. Yes, I agree, he was. But I don't believe it's anything central to our purpose. More likely something that pa.s.sed between him and the G.o.d, years ago."

"Then, Sire-?"

"Then why not get it out of him. Indeed:" And Duke Fraktin sighed his delicate sigh. "But-it may not be hi's to tell. Have you considered that possibility?"

"Your Grace?"

"Are we sure, Blue-Robes-are we really sure-that we want to know everything that a G.o.d has said should be kept secret?"

"I must confess, sire, that your subtlety is often- times beyond me."

"You think I'm wrong. Well, later, perhaps, I'll put the whole family on racks or into boots:" The Duke was silent for a few moments, thinking. "Anyway, he's a man of property-he's not going to take to the hills and leave his mill to be confiscated. Not unless we frighten him very clumsily."

"And the woman, sire?"

"What about her "The time she spoke of, thirteen years ago, that was before I came into your service. There was no basis in fact for what she said? I ask because a magical influ- ence may sometimes be established through intimacy."

"You heard what I told her." The Duke was brusque.

The wizard bowed lightly. "And what about theyoung boy, sire? When he is found?"

The Duke looked at his advisor. "Why, get the sword from him, of course, or learn from him where it is, or at the very least where he last saw it:"

"Of course, sire. And then, the boy?"

"And then? What do you mean, and then? He killed my cousin, did he not?"

The wizard bowed his little bow, remaining in his chair. "And the village, my lord-the place where such an atrocity was permitted to happen?"

"Villages, Blue-Robes, are valuable a.s.sets. We do not have an infinite supply of them. They provide resources. Vengeance must never be more than a tool, to be taken up or put down as required. One boy can serve as an example, can serve better that way, perhaps, than in any other. But a whole village-" And Duke Fraktin shook his head.

"A tool. Yes, sire."

"And a vastly more powerful tool is knowledge. Find out where that sword is. Even finding out whose men those were who tried to kidnap my cousin would be better than mere vengeance."

CHAPTER 4.

Getting down from the high mountains was difficult, when your legs were increasingly weakened by hunger, and your head still felt light from hunger, volcanic fumes, alt.i.tude, and confrontation with the G.o.ds. Get- ting down still wasn't as difficult, though, as going up had been.

Even carrying the sword was easier now, as if Mark had somehow got used to it. No, more than that, as if it had in some way become a part of him. He could rest its bundled weight on his shoulder now without feeling that he was going to be cut, or swing it at his side without expecting that its awkward weight would trip him up.

He could even contemplate, more or less calmly, the fact that his father and brother were dead, his mother and sister and home out of his reach, perhaps forever.

His old life was gone, the G.o.ds had agreed on that much at least. But he still had his own life, and the open road ahead, to carry him away from the Duke's vengeance. And the sword.

To find his way down the mountain, Mark simply chose what looked like the easiest way, and this way kept leading him obligingly farther and farther to the south. South was fine with Mark, because he thought that the shortest route out of Duke Fraktin s territory probably lay in that direction.

He seemed to remember hearing also that the lands of Kind Sir Andrew, as the stories called him, were in that direction too. There were a number of stories told about Sir Andrew, all very different from those told about the Duke. Mark supposed that he would willingly have gone south anyway, but the prospect of enteringthe realm of a benign ruler made it easier to contem- plate leaving home permanently behind.

Anyway, his present problems kept him from worry- ing a great deal about his future. Survival in the present meant avoiding Duke Fraktin s search parties, which he had to a.s.sume were looking for him; and it also meant finding food. In this latter respect, at least, Mark's luck had turned. The first stream he encountered on his way down the mountain, a bright small torrent almost hidden in its own ravine, surprised him by yielding up a fish on his first try with his pocket line and his one steel hook. Dried brush along the water- course provided enough fuel for a small fire, and Mark caught two more fish while the first was cooking. He ate his catch crudely cleaned': and half cooked, and went on his way with his strength somewhat renewed.

By now, most of the daylight hours had pa.s.sed.

Looking back, Mark could see that the whole upper two-thirds of the mountains had been swallowed by clouds. He'd got down just in time, no doubt, to save his life from storm and cold. Darkness was gathering fast, and when he came to a small overhang in the bank of the stream he decided to let it shelter him for the night. He tried fishing again, without success. But he found a few berries, and made himself a small watchfire as darkness fell.

During the night there were rain showers enough to put out his fire, and the bank offered him no real protection against the weather. But the deep, bitter cold of the high alt.i.tudes was moderated here; Mark shivered, but survived. Dawn came slowly, an indirect brightening of an overcast sky. For Mark the clouds were rea.s.suring-the Duke's menagerie was said to include flying beasts of some degree of intellig.-ince, that he sent out on spy missions from time to time.

Again in the morning Mark fished without catching anything. Then he got moving, picking and eating a few more berries as he went. He continued to follow down the channel of the leaping, roaring stream until the way became too difficult. Then he left the streambed to strike out across a less difficult slope.

His chosen way gradually revealed itself as a real path. .The trail was very faint at first, but after he'd followed it for half an hour its existence was undeniable.

Switchbacking through a field strewn with great boulders, it led him in another hour to a primitive road, which also tended to the south as well as down.

The road's twin ruts showed that it had once been used by wheeled vehicles. But it was rea.s.suringly empty of all signs of present traffic, and Mark contin- ued to follow its twistings among the foothill outcrop- pings and rockslides. Within a few kilometers it joined a north-south way, much wider and better defined, upon which some effort at road-building had once been expended.

Mark turned onto this highway, still heading south.Presently he came upon evidence of recent use, freshly worn ruts and beast-droppings no more than a day old. His sense of caution increased sharply. The Duke's men and creatures, if they really were searching for him, were likely to be near.

Trying to make himself inconspicuous, Mark left the road and trudged along parallel with it at some fifty meters' distance. But the rocky terrain not only slowed him down, it threatened to completely destroy his hunter's boots. whose soft soles were already badly worn by climbing on rock. To save his feet he soon had to go back to the comparative smoothness of the road.

For half an hour longer he kept going, alert for anything that looked or smelled like food, and wondering when the newly threatening rain was going to break.

He glanced back frequently over his shoulder, worried about the Duke's patrols.

And then suddenly he was indeed being overtaken, by two mounted men. Obviously they had already spotted Mark, but at least they were not soldiers.

Their riding-beasts were only trotting, giving no impres- sion of actual pursuit. Still they were quickly catching up. The men were both in commoners' dress, very little different from Mark's own. Both were young, both spare and wiry of build. And both wore long knives sheathed at their- belts, a detail that Mark supposed was common enough out here in the great world. He thought, as they drew near, that their faces were rea.s.suringly open and friendly.

"Where to, youngster?" The man who spoke was riding a little in advance of the other. He was also slightly the bigger of the two, and carrying a bigger knife. Both men smiled at Mark, the one in the rear thereby demonstrating that he had lost a fair number of his teeth.

Mark had, while walking, prepared an answer for that question, in case it should be needed. "To Sir Andrew's Green," he said. "I hear there's to be a fair."

It was common knowledge that Sir Andrew had one every year, military and economic conditions permitting.

The two men glanced at each other. They'd slowed their mounts now, to just match Mark's steady marching pace. "Fairs are fun," agreed the one who had already spoken. "And at Sir Andrew's gates would be a pleas- ant place to bide, in these times of unrest:" He studied Mark. "You'll have some kin there, I suspect?"

"Aye, I do. My uncles an armorer in the castle."

This answer, too, had been thought out in advance.

Mark hoped it would put him in the shadow of the distant Sir Andrew's kind protection-for whatever that might be worth.

It was still the same man who did the talking. ' An odd-looking bundle you've got there under your arm, lad. Might you be taking along a sword, for your uncle to do some work on it?"

"Yes; that's it:" Was it reasonable that the man hadguessed, simply from looking at the bundle, what it contained? Or had a general search been ordered, rewards posted, for a fugitive boy carrying a sword?

Mark turned his eyes forward and kept on walking.

The talking man now urged his riding-beast ahead of Mark, then turned it crossways to the road, block- ing Mark's path, and reined it to a halt. "I'll take a look at your sword," he said, and his voice was still as easy and as friendly as before.

If ever the time had been when wordplay with these two might have helped Mark's cause, that time was obviously past. He skipped into a run, ignoring their cries for him to stop. Bending low, he ran right under the belly of the leader's mount, making the animal whine and rear. Its master was kept busy for a moment, trying to do no more than retain his seat. Meanwhile, the second man, urging his own steed forward, found his companion in the way. Before the two could get themselves untangled Mark had a good running start and was well off the road.

The idea that he might be able to run faster if he threw away the sword never occurred to him, even though its awkward weight joggled him off balance and slowed him down. He held it under one arm and ran as best he could. Two large boulders loomed up just ahead-if he were to dash between them, the men would never be able to follow him mounted. The trouble was that just on the other side of the boulders, open country stretched away indefinitely. They'd ride around the obstacle easily and catch him in the open, before he'd had a long enough run to make him gasp.

Mark feinted a dart between the rocks, then instead tossed his sword up atop the highest one and scram- bled up after it, using hands and feet nimbly on tiny projections from the rock. The boulder was more than two meters high, with a flat top surface where his sword had landed. Up here he'd have good footing, and room to stand and swing the sword, though not much more. As his pursuers came cantering, outraged, up to the rock, Mark was relieved to be able to confirm his first impression that they were ca-.Tying no missile .weapons, slings or bows. And the side of the boulder where he'd scrambled up, steep as it was, appeared to be the least difficult to climb; it wouldn't be easy for them to come at him from two directions.

The men were both roaring at him angrily. Even mounted as they were, their heads were .no higher than the level of Mark's feet. Ignoring their noise, he tugged at the cord that bound the bundle. The sword seemed almost to leap out of its wrappings, as if it were eager to be used. Still no sound came from it, no sense of power flowed; it balanced well in Mark's two-handed grip, but remained heavy and inert. - The men below fell silent as he held up the blade.