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

magic. We are not much, perhaps, but we are the most accomplished and successful band of brigands for many kilometers around.”
           Murat could not help feeling a certain sympathy for the poor outcasts, despite their recent murderous intentions. But other concerns still dominated his thoughts.
           “Are you sure you’re all right, Carlo? The Sword’s influence fell upon you also. I didn’t want that to happen but as things were I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry—”
           “I’m fine, Father,” the lad interrupted. And really he now looked perfectly well. Then his young face clouded again. “It was only when I thought—when I feared that they might hurt you—”
           “Yes. Well, they didn’t.” The Crown Prince turned his head to speak sharply to one of his new devotees. “Let go of my stirrups, you, and stand back a little—that’s better. They didn’t hurt either of us.”
           Murat, inspecting his son, felt reassured. It was unlikely, after all, that Carlo could have taken any real harm. Historically the Sword’s effects were very often only temporary; and what was more natural, after all, than that a son should honor and love his father?
           The condition of the bandits was another matter. A few minutes ago, they had all been thieves and murderers—and they had hardly changed in that respect, Murat realized. They would grab up their weapons instantly if he were to point out to them someone he wished robbed or murdered; grab up their weapons and fight for him, win, or die in the attempt.
           In a few more moments he and Carlo were ready to move on. But a dozen men on foot still surrounded them, begging not to be left behind.
           “What do you want of me?” Murat demanded of them irritably. But he realized it was a foolish question even before the words had left his lips.
           “Be our leader!” the bandits clamored eagerly, almost in unison.
           Now Gauranga, the former leader of the robbers, spoke up again, enthusiastically offering for Murat’s consideration a scheme his band had long contemplated. There was a certain walled village that the robbers knew of, a settlement so large and strongly defended that the risks of attacking it had been judged unacceptable. But now, in the service of their glorious new leader, they would gladly stake their lives in such an effort.
           “But the lord must not risk his own life!” Another bandit broke in, suddenly aware of the peril implicit in his former leader’s proposition. “Our new lord must stay in a place of safety!” Others growled their agreement.
           Before Murat could decide how best to placate the gang and get them out of his way, another bandit had the floor and was arguing that the lord would be in no real danger even if he were to join in the attack.
           “The Sword he carries will open the eyes of the villagers, even as it did ours.” And then, as the elated bandit went on to explain, all the inhabitants’ treasure, their food and drink, their gold and their daughters, would become instantly available for plundering. Once the whole village belonged to the lord, he could distribute its wealth among his followers as he chose.
           At this prospect a joyful babble arose, only to die out again as soon as Murat broke in firmly. “No! No, I am not going to attack any village, and neither are you. I command you all: from this moment forward, attack no one unless I give you permission.”
           There was a murmur of surprise at this, though nothing that could have been called an objection. Briefly the Crown Prince regained the quiet, respectful attention of the group.
           Then a question burst from one of the worshipers. “What is your name, Lord?” Another pleaded: “Will you tell us your name?”
           Again a general clamor mounted. From the exaggerated tones of pleading and