'Ah.' The Duke sipped at his wine again, and paced the room. He took thought, trying to find the cleverest way to go. 'The sword that you were given. How was it decorated?'
'The blade, not at all, sir. Oh, there was a very fine pattern right in the steel, such as I've never seen elsewhere. But that was, as I say, in the very metal itself. Then there was a rough steel crossguard, no real decoration there either. And then the handle above was straight and black, of some material I didn't recognize: sometimes I wondered if it was from the Old World. And on it was a fine white pattern of decoration:'
'What did this pattern represent?'
'I puzzled often about that, sir. It might have been a crenelated wall, like on a castle or a town.' And the woman nodded agreement to what her husband said.
The Duke asked: 'Do you suppose that you could sketch it for me?'
'I'll have a try, sir.' The man sounded reasonably confident.
'Later. Now, you were a smith yourself. Regardless of whether weapons were ever your specialty, I take it that this sword was of such beauty that you must have realized it would be worth a lot of money even leaving aside any magical properties it may have had. Did it never enter your head to sell it?'
The man's face hardened at that. 'Beg pardon, Your Grace. I didn't think it had been given me to sell.'
'No? Didn't Vulcan say that it was yours, to do with as you liked?'
'He said it was mine, sir. But until it came time for me to pass it to my sons. That was said very definitely, too.'
'I'm curious, Jord. What did you think your son would do with it, when it came to him? Just keep it on the wall, as you did?'
'I don't know, sir.'
The Duke waited a little, but nothing more came. He sighed. 'A pity. I'd have given you a very handsome price, if you'd brought the thing to me. I still will, of course, should the blade ever happen to come into your control again. If, for example, your son should bring it back. Or if, perhaps, you should look through the woods and find it where he dropped it. I'll give you a good price and ask no questions.'
The man and woman looked at each other, as if they wished they could take advantage of the Duke's generosity.
The Duke sat in his chair, leaning forward. 'Just realize that, sooner or later, in one way or another, I'll have that sword.' He leaned back, brightening. 'And I do want to give your son a substantial reward, for trying his best to defend my cousin — as did your older son, indeed. So before I forget…' And from a pocket the Duke produced a golden coin; it spun brightly toward Jord in a practiced toss.
Dazed or not, Jord caught the reward deftly in his huge workman's hand. He stood up, and he and his wife both bowed in gratitude.
As if it had never occurred to him to ask the question before, the Duke inquired: 'Where do you suppose young Mark is now? Have you perhaps some relatives in another village, where he might have gone?'
'We have kin in Treefall, Your Grace.' It was the woman who answered. Again she was mentioning that village, again with an odd but subtle emphasis in her voice. Yes, he'd have to see her alone soon.
Jord said: 'We've told your men already about all our relatives, sire… Your Grace, when can we go home? I'm worried about our daughter, left alone.'
'She'll be all right. I have people in the village now, keeping an eye on things… you have no other children living, besides that daughter and Mark?'
'None, sir,' said the woman. High child mortality was common enough. She added: 'Your Grace has been very good to us. To provide healing for my husband, and now money.'
'Why, so I have. But why not? You are good people, faithful subjects. And when your young boy is found, I mean to be good to him as well. There's a story being told by a neighbor of yours, as doubtless you're aware, that it was Mark's arrow that felled my cousin. Even if that should be so, Mark would not be punished for it — you understand me? If it were so, the evil hit would have happened by accident — or possibly as the result of an evil spell, worked by some enemy. My wizards will find out who did it.' And His Grace glanced at the empty-looking chair beside his on the dais. 'But I do hope, I hope most earnestly, that your young one is doing nothing foolish with that sword. It has power far beyond anything that he might hope to control or even to understand. I would protect him from disaster if I could. But of course I cannot protect him if I don't know where he is.'
The faces of both parents, the Duke decided, were still those of helpless sufferers, not those of schemers trying to decide whether a secret should be told or not. He sighed once more, inwardly this time, and made a gesture of dismissal. 'Jord, go make that drawing for me, of the decorations on the sword. Tell the men in the next room what I want you to do, they'll get you what you need. Mala, stay here, I want to hear your story once again.'
The spear-carrying guard had reappeared. And in a moment Jord, having made an awkward bow toward the Duke, was gone.
The woman waited, looking out from under her dark curls.
'Now, my dear, you wanted to tell me something else.'
She was not going to pretend otherwise. But still she seemed uncertain as how best to pad. 'I spoke of that village, sire. Treefall. The place my husband comes from.'
'Yes?'
'I thought, Your Honor, that I had encountered you there one night. Thirteen years ago. At a funeral. The very night that the five men slain by Vulcan were being waked, and my husband prayed for — though he would not be my husband till two days later — and healing magic worked to help him recover from the awful wound…'
'Ah,' The Duke pointed a finger. 'You say you thought you had encountered me? You did not know? You would not remember?'
'The man I met, my lord, wore a mask. As I know the mighty sometimes do, when they visit a place beneath their station.'
'So. But why should you think this masked man was me? Had you ever seen me before?'
'No sir. It was just that I had heard — you know how stories go round among the people — heard that you sometimes appeared among your people wearing a mask of dark leather… ' Mala evidently realized that her words sounded unconvincing. 'I had heard that you were not very tall, and had dark hair.' She paused. 'It was a feeling that I had.' Pause again. 'There were funeral rites that night. I went with the masked man to the fields. Nine months later, my son Mark was born.'
'Ah.' The Duke looked Mala over thoughtfully, looked her up and down, squinting a little as if trying to remember something. 'Folk out in the villages do say, then, that sometimes I go abroad disguised.'
'Yes, Your Grace, many say that. I'm sure they mean no harm, they just…'
'But this time, folk were wrong. You understand?'
Mala's dark eyes fell. 'I understand, Your Grace.'
'Your husband, does he..?'
'Oh no sir. I've never told him, or anyone, about the masked man.'
'Let it remain so,' said Duke Fraktin. And again he made a gesture of dismissal.
The woman hesitated marginally. Then she was gone.
The Duke turned toward the wizard's chair, which once again was visibly occupied. He waited for its occupant to comment.
The first thing that the Blue-robed one said was: 'You did not consider using torture, Your Grace?'
'Torture at this time would be foolish. I'll stake my lands that at this moment neither of them knows where their brat has gone — or where my sword is, either. The woman, at least, would hand the sword over to me in a moment if she could. I think the man would, too, if it came to an actual decision. And when they find themselves safely home again in a day or two, with my gold in their hands — they'll want more. The word will go out from them that their son should come home. Word spreads swiftly across the countryside, Blue-Robes — I've been out there among them and I know. When their child hears that his parents are home, safe, rewarded by me — there's a good chance that he'll bring home the sword. If he still has it, if we haven't found him already. But on the other hand if we begin with pointless torture, he'll hear about that too. What chance then that hell come home voluntarily?'
'Your Grace knows best, of course. But that man's a stiff-necked one, underneath his meekness. I have the impression that he was holding something back.'
'You are a shrewd observer, Blue-Robes. Yes, I agree, he was. But I don't believe it's anything central to our
