The Sword of Morning Star Read Online Free Page A

away from Sandivar.
    “Ah,” said the sorcerer. “And it troubles you that you shall never be feared?”
    “Yes,” the boy said. “By Albrecht, and his wolf guard, Eero. For, by my father’s sword, have I debt enough to collect from both. There was a man named Vincio, whom I loved—”
    “I know of Vincio,” Sandivar said. With a sweep of his arm, he shoved back some of the apparatus on the table. Turning to a stone oven, he produced two stone plates piled with savory mounds of fish and the wild rice of the fens. From a bottle, he poured wine; then he pulled up a rude, wooden bench. “Come and eat,” he said.
     
    They sat side by side on the bench. It was awkward for Helmut to handle his wooden spoon with his left hand. He kept the stump of the right one out of sight, lest it take his appetite, for it seemed to him that never had food been so delicious. He ate ravenously; and yet, until he began to approach satiety, the serving scarcely diminished; it was almost as if it were replenishing itself. Finally, though, as he slowed down, the bare stone of the trencher at last became visible. He belched quite loudly, and then became aware that he was also full of questions. “Where is this place?”
    For answer, Sandivar arose, went to the oaken door, and flung it open. Beyond, Helmut saw marshes and fens stretching without limit to the dead-level horizon, slow, still water gleaming in the sunlight, reeds, cane, and grasses swaying in the breeze. “The Southern Wetlands,” said the old man, coming back to the bench. He sipped his wine and began to pick his teeth. “Whence Albrecht banished you. Had I not caught you, the Jaal would have carried you at last into these marshes, and you would have vanished without trace. Here—” he made a gesture that encompassed the tower, “—some centuries ago, soldiers stood guard against invasion from the sea. But the danger no longer lies that way, and this watching place has long since been abandoned. Still, what is unsuitable to soldiers may be very acceptable to one of my profession, and here I live as happily as a hedgehog under a bush.”
    Helmut almost wiped his mouth with the back of his right hand; shuddering, he remembered just in time. “And how long have I been here?”
    “Not overlong. A week. Long enough, however, for your exile already to have been proclaimed in Boorn on the grounds of high treason—some fabricated conspiracy between yourself and one Vincio, now dead. Some rumbling and grumbling was there among the nobles, but Gustav and Albrecht, together and united, stilled them.”
    Helmut looked down at the trencher. At the sound of his half brother’s name, he felt again the burn of tears, though whether of grief or rage, he could not tell. That his brother could have so used him, believed him guilty of such foulness—And yet, how could Gustav have stood against the evil counsel and strong will of Albrecht? Heroic enough of poor, uncertain Gustav to block his execution. But Gustav had let his right hand be cut away, and what was a prince without a sword hand? Forgetting Sandivar, sorely baffled and confused, Helmut shook his head.
    “Yes, much you do not understand,” the old man said gently. “Some I could explain, had you strength to listen.”
    “I have strength enough for whatever be necessary.”
    Sandivar laughed, with a ring of admiration. “Aye, there speaks a warrior’s son. Well, then…” He strode to the wall, pulled back a ratty hanging, and revealed a chart. “This is a map,” he said. “You read and you know—?”
    “I read, somewhat. The map I know. Vincio has taught me—” Grief closed his throat for a moment; he swallowed, and it was gone.
    “Well, then, only briefly.” The great land mass was zoned in three colors, the sea around it a brilliant blue. To the north, encompassing the coldest lands and the wildest, Sandivar swept his hand across the black band. “The Dark Lands,” he said; and his voice rang with