The Third Book of Swords by Fred Saberhagen

Author:Fred Saberhagen [Saberhagen, Fred]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, General, Fiction
ISBN: 0812553454
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 1988-09-15T07:02:27+00:00

The General glowered at him, Mark thought; that was the way of generals everywhere, he had observed, when looking at someone of insignifi-cance who had got in the way. Still Rostov was quick to express his own and his army's formal thanks.

A hundred people were speaking now, but one soft voice at Mark's elbow caught his full attention.

It was a woman's, and it said: "They told me that your name was Mark. And so I hurried here to see."

Mark recognized his mother's voice, before he turned to see her face.

CHAPTER 8

The scar on Denis's arm, the last trace of the wound that had been healed by the Sword of Mercy, looked faint and old already. He thought that the second touch of Woundhealer in the hand of Aphrodite had reached his heart, for there were times when he had the feeling of scar tissue forming there as well. The vision of the goddess as she had; appeared to him at night on the river-island was with him still. He still felt pity for her whenever he thought of what had happened; and then, each time, fear at what might happen to a man who dared feel pity for divinity.

His emotions whipsawn by his encounter with Aphrodite, Denis sometimes felt as if years had passed in the few days since his departure from Tashigang. In the days that followed, he went on paddling his canoe into the north and east. He toyed no more with the idea of absconding with the remaining Sword; he was still in awe and shock from that demonstration of its powers, and he wanted nothing but to be honorably and safely rid of it.

With that objective in mind, he tried his best to keep his attention concentrated upon practical affairs. It was necessary now to watch for a second set of landmarks, these to tell him where to leave this river and make the small necessary portage.

The markers were specially blazed trees, in the midst of a considerable forest through which the little river now ran. Denis paddled upstream through the forest for a full day, looking for them.

The stream he was now following grew ever younger and smaller and more lively as he got further from the Corgo, and was here overhung from both banks by great branches.

On the night that Denis left Tashigang, Ben had told him that if he saw any wild-looking people after he had come this far, they were probably Sir Andrew's. The Kind Knight's folk would escort a courier the rest of the way, or at least put him on the right track, once he had convinced them he was bona fide .

. . . and the Goddess of Love had told him, Denis, that she loved him. Even in the midst of trying to make plans he kept coming back to that, coming back to it in a glow of secret and guilty pride, guilty because he knew that it was undeserved. Was ever mortal man so blessed?

Much good had such a blessing done him.

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