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

before his face, and the wraith of that distant, unknown rider vanished. He, Vilkata, was once more gazing with eyeless and demonic vision at his immediate surroundings, the dark, drab, ugly room of his long exile.
           “Of course,” he said. “And I—wait.” His voice turned sharp, and he directed his vision toward the small room’s only door, which now stood closed. “Who’s there?”
           He knew, even as he spoke, that the person outside must be only the village girl who had stayed for the night, roused to a fatal curiosity by the sound of a strange voice in the Lord Vilkata’s room. But it would certainly be best to make sure.
           There was a whisper and a blurring in the air. Without visibly occupying the intervening space, the figure of the yeoman, moving with inhuman speed and silence, was already standing at the door, pulling it quickly open.
           Just outside, the slight figure of the young girl stood revealed, her face startled, empty hands beginning to rise before her as if in an effort to ward something off.
           The yeoman holding the door open bowed lightly toward Vilkata.
           “A pleasant morsel, Master,” the dry leaves rasped, “for the two of us to share tonight. For each of us to enjoy, in his own way. What remains will be appropriate as a small present for these villagers. A token of your appreciation of their years of hospitality.”
           Vilkata began to laugh. His mirth rose louder and harder, as he had not laughed in years. Meanwhile the girl seemed to be petrified.
           “Bring her in,” the Dark King commanded presently.
           But the yeoman only bowed himself aside, out of deference, it seemed. “Nay, you, Master, shall of course be first.”
           Vilkata looked at his new partner. Then he arose from his crude chair, on limbs and joints that had suddenly regained something of their youthful suppleness and strength, and stalked toward the door.
           The girl screamed at his approach, and broke free of her paralysis. She ran into the little kitchen behind her. There was no door leading directly outside from the kitchen, and she went for the only window.
           The man who had once been the Dark King, and now would be again, caught her from behind; the back of her simple dress tore in his grip as he pulled her back into the room. Now she slumped in his grip, and seemed to have no voice for screaming left.
           But a moment later the girl broke free, with a spasmodic effort. Careening against the table in the center of the room, she snatched up a kitchen knife.
           The demon blurred into action once more; one of the yeoman’s hands, suddenly sharp-taloned at the end of an arm unnaturally elongated, swung forward past Vilkata’s shoulder to strike.
           The knife fell from the girl’s hand. Her face, suddenly bloody, grew blurred in the Dark King’s demonic vision, as she slumped forward into his ready grasp.
     
     

 
    Chapter Three
     
           Crown Prince Murat’s destination on his lonely ride was Tasavalta. Slightly more than a year had passed since his first visit to that realm. In the course of that visit he had met Princess Kristin for the first time. Murat had spent only a few days in her presence, and had not laid eyes on her since his hasty departure from her land. But throughout the intervening months the image of her lovely face had never completely left him; the impression of grace and beauty inspired by her chastely clothed body had endured.
           Now, on the first day after Murat had found the Sword, Kristin’s presence was brighter and clearer than ever in his mind’s eye as he rode alone toward her homeland, traversing the desolation of the southern foothills of the Ludus Mountains.
           Around midday the Crown Prince was roused from certain improbable daydreams concerning himself and the Princess by the