Swords: 09 - The Sixth Book Of Lost Swords - Mindsword's Story Read Online Free PDF Page A

dry as the demon’s own. “No thoughts of having the top place for yourself, I suppose?”
           “Above yourself? Not I! No, no. Never! Remember, Great Lord, was I not content to be subordinate in the old days? When you ruled a kingdom, Master, and that Sword was yours before?” The yeoman spoke so earnestly; what a fine, sturdy peasant he seemed! “Was I not content?”
           The thing seemed to be asking the question seriously, really hoping for an answer.
           “I suppose you were,” Vilkata grudgingly acknowledged. “That is to say, I don’t recall any particular effort at rebellion.” In fact, as this conversation progressed he had gradually come to remember more and more about Akbar. Yes, definitely a cowardly sort of demon. Self-effacing, forever trying to avoid risk and responsibility, always seeking first of all to evade the pain of magical punishment and the possibility of destruction. One of the more easily managed demons, certainly. The very one he might have chosen to meet, had the choice been his, in his current state of weakness.
           “There you are, my lord. I see that you do remember me. Why should you not, with my help, be able to regain your Sword?”
           Wind whined, stirring the dry leaves; for a moment the yeoman’s face was blurred into a caricature. “You were a fine master, a great and intelligent master. I am not clever enough to be a master over clever men and demons—not without direction from above—but you assuredly are.”
           The thing was waiting for an answer.
           “Of course I will accept your offer,” the Dark King said after a moment. What choice had he, really? It would be pointless, he thought, for him to issue warnings, to say anything of his abiding suspicions. At one time his magic had been quite capable of managing demons, including creatures vastly more formidable, because less cowardly, than this one. His powers might be shaky now—but fortunately there was no need to try to establish magical control over Akbar just yet. The demon was coming to him willingly, and Vilkata saw no reason, given time and a chance to regain his physical and psychic strength, why his powers of control should not eventually be dominant again. Gradually, subtly, he would regain the upper hand…
           “Our pact is concluded, then?” the sturdy, hearty yeoman asked him anxiously. “Our pact is made, and sealed. Where is the Mindsword now?”
           “It is not far from here at all, Master. Not very far. Allow me to show you, Master, what I see.”
           And in a moment, by means of his demonically provided vision, just as on occasion in the old days, Vilkata was once more able to behold a physically distant scene. This picture was of a rider traveling alone, wearing the Mindsword at his side. Magic and symbolism informed the vision, so that the Dark King perceived the weapon of the gods as a pillar of billowing flame, long as a spear.
           “Take me to it!”
           “I shall, Master, I shall! Never fear. But that Sword, as you know, is very powerful. We must take no chances. We must have a plan.”
           “You mean the fellow might detect us when we get near him, or even as we approach, and use the Sword on us? Is he a magician, then?”
           “ Perhaps he is not … but consider that he has managed to obtain possession of a Sword that other magicians have sought for many years, and failed to find.”
           “Indeed he has done that … and he might well get wind of us, and draw the Sword at an untimely moment—yes, there is that.”
           Vilkata had no wish to spend the rest of his life in the abject adoration, the selfless service, of any other being.
           “There is that, Master, as you say. We would not want him to draw the Sword when we were near. The danger is very real.”
           Impatiently the Dark King waved a hand