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been taken by the slavers; he could tell you the story, word by word." He
raised his head. "Though Clan Erik still has its
Speaker. Do you want to wait until you can hear it properly?"
"To be honest, I'm itching with curiosity."
Not particularly about this sword, though. What were a group of Mel men doing
with Scandinavian names and Scandinavian accents?
And more.
The figureheads on the dugouts looked like the dragons on Viking longboats;
they were stylized, almost rectangular, not saurian, like Ellegon.
The huts were bamboo-and-cane versions of Viking lodges.
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That didn't make sense. A climate and environment similar to Polynesia could
have given rise to a culture similar to the Polynesian culture, complete with
loose, wraparound clothing, outrigger canoes, and a loose and easy life-style
based on the bounty of the sea. But where had the Scandinavian elements come
from?
It was possible that the dragon-headed canoes or the accent or the similarity
of some of the names could have been a coincidence, but not all three.
Seigar Wohtansen sat up, then drained his mug, beck-oning to Estalli for a
refill.
"Very well. My father's father's father's . . ." He knit his brow in
concentration as he counted out the generations by tapping his fingers against
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his leg. "... father's father's father's father, Wohtan Redbeard, was called a
pirate, although he truly was a just man. He sailed his boat on a sea of salt,
as he raided the villages of the wicked landfolk, taking from them their
ill-gotten grain and gold."
As Wohtansen spoke, the children sat down on the
The Guardians of the Sword
185
mats, listening intently, as if to a favorite, of ten-repeated bedtime story.
"... he and his men would appear from over the horizon, beach their boat, then
..."
One of the little boys leaned over toward an older sister. "How could they
sail on salt?" he asked, in a quiet whisper.
She sneered down at him, holding herself with the air of superiority possessed
by older sisters everywhere. "There was salt in the water."
"That doesn't make sense. Why would they waste salt by putting it in the
water?" he pressed. "Father says salt is hard enough to find as it is."
"They didn't. It was already there."
"How?"
"Shh, Father's talking."
"... but this night was dark, and a storm raged on the sea, sending his ship
leaping into the air, then crashing down into the troughs between the waves.
..."
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"Why didn't they just land?" The boy nudged his sister again.
She sighed. "Because they were too far out at sea."
"Didn't they know that they weren't supposed to go out of sight of land?"
"I guess they forgot."
"... and just as he thought that his ship would founder and sink, the sky
cracked open around him, and the ship found itself on the quiet waters of the
Cirric. ..."
"But how did it get here?"
"Weren't you listening?" She gave him a clout on the head. "The sky cracked
open."
He rubbed at the spot where she had struck him. "I've never seen that."
"You will if you don't be quiet."
"... standing at the prow was an old man. White-bearded, he was, dressed in
gray wizard's robes. Clutched tightly in fingers of light, a sword floated in
the air over his head.
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THE SWORD AND THE CHAIN
" 'I, Arta Myrdhyn, have saved your lives and brought you here,' he said, in a
tongue they had never before heard, but somehow understood, 'to take this to a
place I will show you.' His voice was the squeak of a boy whose manhood was
almost upon him, yet his face was lined with age. 'You and your children will
watch over it, and keep it for one whom I will send.'
"A man named Bj0rn laughed. 'My thanks for the sword,' he said. 'But I will
take it for myself.'
"As he sprang across the deck at the wizard, lightning leaped from the
wizard's fingers, slaying Bj0rn instant-ly. ..."
The boy looked up at his sister. "Bj0rn? What kind of name is Bj^rn?"
"An unlucky one. And a stupid one. Now, shh."
"... brought them to the cave, and left the sword there, amid the writings
that only two of them could see,
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file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%20E-books/Joel%20Rosenberg%20-%2002%2
0-%20The%20Sword%20And%20The%20Chain.txt and none of them could read. 'Watch
for strangers,' Arta Myrdhyn said. 'One day, a stranger will come for the
sword.'
" 'But how will I know him?' my many-times-great-grandfather asked.
"The wizard shook his head. 'You will not, and neither will your children, or
their children. It is not yours to know, but to watch, and wait. The sword
will know. . . .' "
"How can a sword know anything?"
"It's a magical sword, stupid."
"Hmph."
"... accepted them gladly, and offered their daugh-ters as wives." Wohtansen
raised his head. "And so, they settled down to an easier life, raised their
children, and grandchildren, down the nine generations."
He thumped his hand against his mat. "And here we are." He tapped the jug.
"More juice?"
Ahira caught Karl's eye. "What we've had has already gotten to my bladder." He
elbowed Karl in the side.
"Oof. Me, too. If you'll excuse us for a moment?"
The Guardians of the Sword
187
"Did you catch all that, Karl?" Seating himself on a waist-high rock, the
dwarf drummed his heels against the stone.
Karl's head swam. It made sense, but it didn't. All at once. "I don't
understand it. Part of it makes sense, but ..." What Wohtansen had said boiled
down to the sort of story a group of conquering Vikings might tell to their
children and grandchildren. "But eight, nine generations? When were the
Vikings? About eleventh century, no?"
Ahira nodded. "Something like that. And with the faster time rate on This
Side, if a bunch of eleventh- [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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