Kedrigern in Wanderland by John Morressy Read Free Book Online

Mergith smiled, revealing crooked yellow teeth. “Swordsman, come closer that I might convey my gratitude for your service to my subjects,” he called.
    Hamarak came to the foot of the throne, the sword still resting on his shoulder. The guards kept close watch, ready to pounce at the first suspicious move.
    “What is your name, my fine champion?” Mergith asked.
    “Hamarak.”
    “So. A good name. A fine strong name. A hero’s name. And what brings you to Dendorric, Hamarak?”
    “I’m going east. Dendorric is on the way.”
    “So it is, so it is. Particularly if one is coming from the west,” said Mergith, a yellowed smile nearly splitting his narrow face. “And you bear an enchanted sword, I’m told.”
    “Yes. This is Panstygia, Mother of Darkness, the great black blade of the west. She wants to meet you.”
    Mergith shrank back: a momentary flicker of fear ran through him at the thought that Hamarak’s words might be the subtle mocking prelude to a quick and fatal slash; but the sight of Hamarak’s homely open features reassured the wizard. There was no subtlety, nor malice, in that face.
    “Does she?” he responded, raising his black brows in wonder. “How nice of her. How very sociable. May I hold her?”
    “If you want to,” Hamarak said, presenting the hilt of the black sword to Mergith. The wizard stood and grasped it in both his bony, long-fingered hands. He raised the blade high and made a few nimble passes in the air.
    “lt’s beautifully balanced,” he observed.
    “It’s a good sword,” Hamarak said agreeably.
    Mergith returned to the throne, sat down, and laid the black sword across his knees. He pushed back the lank black hair that had fallen over his forehead. Favoring Hamarak with another sallow smile, he gestured to the guards. “You may leave us,” he said. “I would speak with the swordsman in private.”
    No sooner had the door shut behind the last guard than Panstygia said in a clear commanding voice, “Mergith, you must help me.”
    Mergith gave a start and jerked his hands away from the blade. “Did you speak to me?” he asked warily.
    “I did, Mergith. I’ve come a long way to seek your assistance. Do not disappoint me, please.”
    Mergith looked suspiciously at Hamarak, who stood gazing at a half-eaten loaf that lay on the table by the fireplace. The swordsman’s lips had not moved. He could not be a ventriloquist. And yet Mergith had heard of no enchanted talking swords in the area. It could be a trick.
    But who would dare? More to the point, who was capable? The people of Dendorric disliked him; but they were a mob of clods. They could never have come up with such an elaborate ruse. Yet someone had. But was it a ruse, or was this truly an enchanted blade speaking to him, asking his aid?
    There was one easy way to make sure of Hamarak. Mergith summoned the swordsman closer and said, “I have been remiss in my thanks. I must reward you for your service to Dendorric.” He dug deep into the sleeve of his gown and drew forth a large golden coin, which he held up in two fingers, turning it to catch the torchlight. “Look at this coin, Hamarak. It’s a bright, pretty coin, isn’t it? Look how it catches the light.”
    “It’s pretty,” said Hamarak.
    “Look closely. Listen. You’ve worked hard today, Hamarak. You must be tired. Aren’t you tired?”
    “A little. It’s still only morning.”
    “But think of all you’ve done. You need a rest. Wouldn’t you like a nice rest?” Mergith asked in a soft, lulling voice.
    “I wouldn’t mind. My arms are tired.”
    “Then you must rest,” Mergith said, turning the coin, on which Hamarak’s eyes were fixed. “You’re already beginning to feel very sleepy. Your eyes are getting heavy. It would be nice to sit by the warm fire, and rest your weary bones, and go to sleep. Wouldn’t that be nice, Hamarak?”
    “Very nice.”
    “Then you must do it. Go over by the fire and sit on a stool. Have a good long