Black wizards - Douglas Niles [36]
His eyes were drawn to a weapon, and his jaw dropped as he recognized his own scimitar! It can't be, he told himself, but the weapon was unmistakable. He noticed a sword next to it and picked it up, fairly certain that it was Pontswain's weapon. Though he looked for the Sword of Cymrych Hugh, there was no sign of Tristan's blade in the room.
He casually kicked aside some of the coins and discovered a pair of soft gloves that looked like they were the right size. On impulse, the Calishite put down the sword and pulled on the gloves. They immediately lightened in color until they exactly matched the hue of his skin. Each fingertip even had an artificial fingernail. Someone would have had to look very closely to see that he wore anything upon his hands. They were smooth and warm and quite comfortable.
Then he noticed another piece of leather, nearly buried by the coins, and he pulled free a smooth and tightly sewn sack. He saw another just like it and picked that one up, too. With luck, their flotation problem would be solved by these.
Gathering his belongings, he left the room. The door locked behind him.
* * * * *
With a sense of profound wonder, Tristan watched the woman rise. She sat up slowly, and for the first time the prince realized that the glass case had no top. She opened her eyes, and though her skin was pale as death, her eyes were deep brown, rich and loving.
Then she smiled, and Tristan's knees buckled from the beauty of her face. Unwittingly, he knelt before her, forced to drop his eyes in wonder.
"My lady," he gasped.
She studied him curiously, extending her hand and then speaking quietly. "My husband, have you come for me?"
But then her voice trailed off, and she stared at the prince for a full minute. When she spoke again, her voice was more confident.
"Rise, my prince, and step forward." Her voice was even more lovely than her smile. Dumbly, Tristan rose and moved hesitantly to the side of the case.
"This shall be yours again, until you find its true bearer." She held forth an object that had been by her side.
Tristan's senses returned as he saw the object that she extended toward him, hilt first.
She offered him the Sword of Cymrych Hugh – the sword that had been lost when his boat sank! How she came to hold the weapon, the prince did not try to guess, but he took it reverently and kneeled of his own will.
"You are Queen Allisynn," he guessed. "I do not know why you have performed for me this great miracle. But my sword shall be yours to command for the rest of my days!"
For a moment, her exquisite face looked sad. "Alas, but I am far beyond the need for swords. This… tomb is all the protection I will ever need." She sighed and Tristan's heart nearly broke.
"But you shall have need of that sword, and very soon," she continued. "Which is why, of course, I returned it to you. You did lose it, didn't you?"
"Yes. Forever, I thought."
"Do not say that. You cannot have any idea how long forever is." The rebuke was in words only, for her tone was still gentle.
"You are here for a reason, prince, and I shall tell you what that reason is so you may leave. You haven't much time, you know." As Tristan nodded, she continued.
"You have a destiny laid upon you, Prince Tristan Kendrick of Corwell. And it is mine to tell you what that destiny is. That is why, of course, your sword was returned."
Her voice grew solemn and serious. "The realms of the Ffolk are to be united again, as they were by my husband, Cymrych Hugh. They are to be united in your time, and in your presence. Now, this is the destiny I shall lay upon you:
"You are to find the next High King of the Ffolk – the one who will rule