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His young guest, thus encouraged and apparently finding no reason to be suspicious, was soon
rattling off the names and attributes of the various magic weapons, as if he indeed might be
something of an expert on the subject. From the few blades that were generally admitted to be kept
in the Tasavaltan vaults, his cataloguing soon moved on to others. Presently it arrived at the one
in which Gelimer had reason to be particularly interested.
"-and then there's Farslayer, which is sometimes also called the Sword of Vengeance. Though of
course it can be more than that."
Gelimer blinked. "It sounds truly terrible."
"Oh, it is, believe me. You whirl it around your head, and chant I forget just what words you're
supposed to use, though my uncle did tell me once."
"Your uncle is a magician, perhaps?"
"No." Then young Zoltan for just a moment put on a look of wary intelligence, like one who
realizes that he has almost said too much. Gelimer pricked up his ears. Then the youth went
smoothly on: "Anyway, I'm not really sure that any of those trimmings, the whirling and chanting
and so on, are really necessary. The point is, when you throw Farslayer with deadly intent, it
will go on to bury itself in the heart of your chosen target, whether man, god, or demon. Even if
that target is halfway around the world and you don't know where, surrounded by defenses."
"Magical or material? I mean, what if your target was enclosed by material walls?"
"Walls of stone or wood or magic, it would make no difference. Farslayer would come through 'em
like so much smoke."
"Oh." And perhaps Gelimer's expression of careful vacuity changed now; but if so, the change was
quickly smoothed back into blankness.
"Oh yes. There's no defense, of steel armor or of sorcery, that can save the intended victim, once
Farslayer is thrown against him or her. Two of the gods, Mars and Hermes, have died of that very
blade."
"Now that I find hard to believe." The hermit was trying to provoke more details.
Young Zoltan was quite ready for a little good-humored argument. "I know someone who with his own
eyes saw Hermes lying dead, with the wound made by Farslayer still in his back."
"That someone must have led a very adventurous life."
The young man glanced up when he heard the deliberate tone of disbelief, then calmly disregarded
it. Suddenly Gelimer found the youth's implied claim of expertise considerably more convincing.
The hermit asked innocently: "And is there no possibility of defense at all?"
"None at all, I should say, apart from the other Swords. If you had Shieldbreaker in your
possession, for example, you'd be able to laugh at anyone who threw Farslayer against you.
Shieldbreaker's already destroyed two other Swords, Doomgiver and Townsaver, when people were
foolish enough to bring them into combat directly against it."
"I see. I suppose your adventurous friend saw them destroyed also?"
"No."
The hermit saw that now he had gone too far. "Please, I did not mean to imply that I doubted your
word. I only thought that perhaps some friend of yours had somewhat embellished his stories. There
are many good folk who like to do that from time to time."
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"But that's not what happened in this case."
"I believe you, and I am sorry. Please, go on. I find the subject of the Swords intensely
interesting."
"Well where was I?"
"You mentioned Shieldbreaker."
"Yes. Then there's Woundhealer, which can cure any wound, even a thrust of magic through the
heart, if it's brought into play promptly enough. And then, maybe, Sightblinder I don't know if
Sightblinder would offer any protection against Farslayer or not. It's an interesting thought,
though."
And with that the youth, his good humor apparently restored, suddenly threw back his head and
began to recite:
Farslayer howls across the world
For thy heart, for thy heart, who hast wronged me!
Vengeance is his who casts the blade
Yet he will in the end no triumph see.
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