The Last Book Of Swords : Shieldbreaker’s Story by Saberhagen Fred Page B

intended human victims—
           A moment later the demon was entirely gone.
           As the young Prince scrambled back to his feet, he was dimly aware of distant screams and yells, in voices far more human than the demon’s. At the moment he could not tell whether these outcries proceeded from upstairs within the palace, or from outside. But he thought it did not matter. The whole palace, the whole city, must be under attack.
           Now that the demon had been ejected from the armory, Bazas, just outside the doorway of the Sword-chamber, was slowly regaining his feet. The old armorer, shaking his head and quivering in all his limbs, was still holding Dragonslicer in one hand and propping himself with the other against the wall.
           Stephen turned immediately back to the task he must perform, that of opening the inner vault which held the Swords—but the moment he again began the incantation to unlock the doors, he became aware, more with his mind than with any of his physical senses, that the demon he had caused to be hurled away had not gone very far.
           Howling and screaming its rage at him, its insane hatred of all humanity but the adored Master, Akbar was racing, flying back—
     
    * * *
     
           Again the incantation must be interrupted. Again the young Prince had only a moment in which to bark out a command. This time, heartened by the partial success of his first attempt, he managed to put more authority into his voice. Gritting his teeth, he willed and yelled his swelling anger at the beast.
           Again a scream from an affronted demon—again the banishing was successful. Because the mental contact which had been established between himself and Akbar still persisted, Stephen could feel that this time his foe had been hurled to a somewhat greater distance. But the youth had no doubt that Akbar would be doggedly, relentlessly, returning yet once more to the attack. And Stephen was vaguely aware of the presence, somewhere in the background, of another demon—more likely several of them—approaching.
           Meanwhile, Stephen’s latest repulsion of the enemy had earned him the moment of time, the breathing space he needed.
           Half leaning against one side of the inner vault, the young Prince once again reached a physical position from which he could lay his right hand on the slanted doors. Breathlessly he hurried through the few and simple words, dreading lest he stumble in his pronunciation of one of the essential syllables, and so be forced to begin yet again.
           But this time Stephen managed to do the incantation properly. The vault doors of their own accord jerked open with a double slam. At once the wordless voice of the Sword of Force, no longer muffled, boomed out through the armory.
           Three god-forged Swords, as well as two empty, Sword-shaped spaces, were revealed within the vault. Each meter-long blade and white-marked hilt lay nested in a velvet lining of the blue-green color of the sunlit sea. The faint wash of Old World light coming into the chamber from two rooms away touched the bright magical lines of steel, and the flat sides of the three perfect blades gave back a mottled triple reflection—Shieldbreaker, Sightblinder, and Stonecutter.
           In appearance the Swords were indistinguishable from each other, save for the white symbols on their black hilts.
           Three Sword-belts of fine leather, each with an empty scabbard attached, were racked separately at one side within the inner vault. The receptacle for belts, like that for the Swords, displayed two empty spaces and three filled.
           Despite the immediate threat posed by the returning demon, Stephen knew a sense of awe that compelled him to a heartbeat’s hesitation. These were the weapons of the gods, forged more than forty years ago by the deity Vulcan himself, with the human aid of Jord, a human smith—Jord who was