Swords: 10 - The Seventh Book Of Lost Swords - Wayfinder's Story Read Online Free PDF Page B

apart into separate marching figures, all headless, some in the shape of men and some of beasts. Whether in the form of many bodies or only one, the gold tramped upward and forward, the several shapes enlivened by Wood’s magic all glowing dull yellow in this chamber’s parsimonious light.
           The Director of Security, jabbering incantations, avoided the score of trampling golden legs. Gesturing, he intensified his magical efforts to undo what Wood was doing.
           But it was obvious to all that the Director’s attempted counterspells were failing miserably. Losing his temper, he rushed at his rival.
           That was a serious mistake.
           Halfway toward the object of his wrath, the Director slowed, then staggered to a halt. It was as if he had forgotten where he was going. Worse than that, it was as if he had almost forgotten how to walk.
           Turning now to Hyrcanus, and then to all the others in the room, a smile of infantile imbecility, the Director of Security sank slowly into the nearest chair. Simpering vacuously at nothing, he appeared ready to be entertained by whatever might happen next.
           His eyes lighted on the inexorably marching metal. “Gold,” the old man whispered, obviously delighted. “Pretty, pretty.”
           Meanwhile Wood, his arms folded, had turned away from the Director and sat down on the edge of Hyrcanus’s desk. He was watching the proceedings with an abstracted look, as if he were not personally very much involved. Tigris, taking her cue from her master, was now seated also, in a leather chair. From a purse that had appeared as if from nowhere she had actually brought out some knitting, with which she appeared to be fully occupied.
           With the intrusion of the marching gold, and the ruthless disabling of his first assistant, Hyrcanus abandoned all pretense of calm control.
           He jumped up onto his desk. With screams he rebuked his Security forces. Then he turned to Wood, pleading: “Put the gold back! Send it back at once!”
           “And you will listen to me if I do?”
           “Of course, of course. And this fool here” —the Chairman indicated his chief aide, now smiling as he counted up his fingers— “can you restore him to what ordinarily serves him as his right mind?”
           “If you will listen.”
           “I will. I swear it, by Croesus and Midas. What was it you wanted to discuss?”
           Accepting this surrender graciously, Wood slid off the desk and with a few gestures quickly restored Blue Temple headquarters more or less to normality. The weird upward progress of long-hidden treasure ceased. The marching golden centipede and all its fragments, immediately obedient to Wood’s most subtle command, reversed direction, and headed docilely downstairs. And at the same time the Director lost his carefree interest in his own fingers; his eyes closed and his head sank slumberously upon his chest.
           Within moments after the tramping treasure had retreated, the building ceased to vibrate. Inside the Chairman’s office only the shouts of guards, somewhere in the middle distance remained as evidence that something remarkable had occurred.
           Slowly, shakily, Chairman Hyrcanus resumed his seat behind his desk. He wiped his brow. With a gesture and a few muttered words, he offered Wood and Tigris chairs. The three were now alone.
           With the opposition satisfactorily crushed, Wood was calm and reassuring. He glanced at the Director, who was snoring faintly. “He will regain his wits—such as they were.” Then Wood focused an intense look on the Chairman. “Hyrcanus, understand me. Your wealth is safe, for the time being—safe from me, at least. Every coin is now back where it was. I do not crave Blue Temple gold, or any other treasure you may possess.”
           Hyrcanus, smiling glassily, murmured an excuse. Then,