The Sword of Aradel by Alexander Key Page A

as well as the protection of a coat of mail. But as Brian’s hand closed over the hilt of his own sword, causing it to fairly leap from the scabbard, he was determined to draw blood—as much of it as possible.
    â€œRun!” he said urgently to Merra. “Get back to Nysa. I’ll hold this murdering wretch!”
    Merra vanished behind him. He did not chance taking his eyes from the guard to watch her, for the fellow was only a short distance away, coming up swiftly. He had a momentary urge to step backward and give himself more room, but realized just in time that it would be a mistake. Instead he took a quick step forward to stand braced at the top of the stairway, dominating it and placing the oncoming fighter at a disadvantage. The sword, which had felt so heavy early in the day, now seemed light as a feather from the power it had drawn from the scabbard. He was able to whirl it in front of him with a speed and ease that the strongest of men would have found impossible to equal.
    Brian saw the little glittering eyes of the man widen at the sight of the flying blade, and he anticipated a sudden frenzied attack to cut through his guard. When it came he was ready. A deft turn of his wrist deflected the other’s weapon. Another quick turn slashed open and wrecked the man’s arm and hand, and sent the sword the hand would never hold again clattering down the stairs. An instant later a double handful of soot and ashes was flung into the staring and incredulous eyes. With it went the unleashed fury of Merra’s tongue. The fellow howled, lost his balance, and went tumbling after the sword.
    Brian turned and saw Merra, her small hands soiled with the ashes of the burned books. “I told you to get back to Nysa!” he said accusingly. “Why didn’t you? If he’d cut me down, he would have caught you!”
    â€œOh, fiddle! You ought to know I wouldn’t desert you in trouble! Besides, I knew very well you’d give the wretch a treatment as sound as you gave that stupid Rupert. I merely thought I’d hasten it with the ashes—but your sword is faster than I thought. Why, I could hardly believe it!”
    â€œI could hardly believe it myself,” he admitted. “But of course it has drawn its power from the scabbard. Which makes me wonder: If the scabbard can do this to an ordinary blade, what would it do to the true sword?”
    Her green eyes flashed up at him curiously. “Sir Brian, you forget one thing—your own ability.”
    â€œI—I don’t understand. All I know is what your uncle taught me.”
    â€œOh, don’t be so blind! Don’t you realize by now that you were born with a special power of your own? Young as you are, if you had the true sword, no one could stop you. Why, my uncle told me—”
    She paused suddenly, listening. From somewhere below Brian could make out, for the first time, the hoarse, agonized voice of the wounded guard, crying for help. And help must be coming, for he could faintly hear the answering calls of hurrying men.
    â€œWe’d better leave!” he muttered.
    Catching Merra by the arm, he drew her swiftly up the stairs to the top of the tower. Quickly he sheathed his sword, and they stood back to back in one of the faint circles drawn on the floor, her small hands clasped tightly in his. Tancred fluttered down and perched on her shoulder.
    â€œReady?”
    â€œReady!”
    As she began her curious chant he could hear voices growing louder below, then the clink and clatter of arms as men started upward. Finally came Merra’s rhyme:
    â€œBy right of blood and all my power,
    Take us from this blackened tower;
    Take us fast as fast can be!
    Take us home to Nysa’s tree!”
    Just in time he remembered to close his eyes. On the instant came the sudden giddiness, the feeling of whirling and flying apart, and the abrupt landing on his heels.
    When he opened his eyes—which he