"Very interesting," she said.
"Not a flying chair, but I try," he said.
"Well, I also have a tulpa," said the Lady.
"No," said Toler.
"Mamresh," she said, and in an instant, there appeared, just to the right of the flying chair the presence of a woman. She was naked and powerfully built. A warrior, thought the swordsman. His only other impression, before she disappeared-the deep red color of her voluminous hair.
"You surprise me," he said to the Lady.
"If you'll stay tomorrow," she said, "I'll show you something I think you'll be interested in. Meet me among the willows in the garden after noon.
"I'm already there," he said.
She smiled as the chair rose slowly above the balcony. It turned in midair and then floated out past the railing. "Good night, Ismet Toler," she called over her shoulder.
As the chair disappeared into the dark, Greppen approached. He led the swordsman to a spacious room near the balcony. The Councilor said nothing but lit a number of candles and then called goodnight as he pushed the door closed behind him.
Toler undressed, weary from travel and the aftereffects of the drug that was Lady Maltomass. He lay down with a sigh, and then summoned his servant. The tulpa appeared at the foot of the bed.
"Garone, while the palace is sleeping I want you to search around and see what you can discover about the Lady. A mysterious woman. I want to know everything about her. Take caution, though, she also has a tulpa." Then he wrapped his right hand around the sheath of The Coral Heart, clasped the grip with his left and fell asleep to a dream of kissing Lady Maltomass beneath the willows.
Toler arrived early to the gardens the following day. The entrance led through a long grape arbor thick with vine and dangling fruit. This opened into an enormous area sectioned into symmetrical plots of ground, and, in each, stretching off into the distance, beds of colorful flowers and pungent herbs. Their aromas mixed in the atmosphere and the scent confused him for a brief time. Everywhere around him were bees and butterflies and members of Greppen's strange race, weeding, watering, fertilizing. The swordsman asked one where the willows were, and the toad man pointed down a narrow path into the far distance.
It was past noon when he arrived amid the stand of willows next to a pond with a fountain at its center. He discovered an ancient stone bench, partially green with mold, and sat upon it, peering through the mesh of whiplike branches at sunlight glistening on the water. There was a cool breeze and orange birds darted about, quietly chirping.
"Garone," said Toler, and his servant appeared before him. "What have you to report about the Lady?"
"I paced through every inch of the palace, down all its ostentatious halls, and found not a scrap of a secret about her. In the middle of the night I found her personal chambers, but could not enter. I couldn't pass through the walls nor even get close to them."
"Is there a spell around her?" asked the swordsman.
"Not a spell; it's her tulpa, Mamresh. She's too powerful for me. She's blocking me with her will from approaching the Lady's rooms. I summoned all my strength and exerted myself and she merely laughed at me."
Toler was about to speak, but just then heard his name being called from deeper in amidst the willows. Garone disappeared and the swordsman rose and set off in the direction of the voice. Brushing the tentacles of the trees aside, he pushed his way forward until coming upon a small clearing. At its center sat Lady Maltomass in her flying chair. Facing her was another of the ancient stone benches.
"I heard someone speaking off in the distance, and knew it must be you," she said. He walked over and sat down across from her.
"I hope you slept well," said the Lady.
"Indeed," said Toler. "I dreamt of you."
"In your dream, did I tell you I don't like foolishness?"
"Perhaps," he said, "but the only part of it I witnessed was when we kissed."
She shook her head. "Here's what I wanted to show you," she said, lifting a small book that appeared to be covered with a square of Greppen 's flesh.
"Is the cover made of toad?" he asked, leaning forward to get a better look at it.
"Not precisely," she said, "but it's not the cover I wanted to show you. She opened the book to a page inside, and then turned the volume around and handed it to him. "What do you see there?" She pointed at the left-hand page.
There was a design that was immediately familiar to him. He sat back away from her and drew his sword. Bringing the blade level with his eyes, he studied the design of the inscribed spell. He then looked back to the book. Three times he went from blade to book and back before she finally said, "I'll wager they are identical."
"How did you come upon this?" asked Toler, returning his sword to its sheath. "The blade has never left my side since it came to me."
"No, but the weapon is old, and it has passed through many men's hands. In fact, there was a people who had possession of it, two centuries past, who deemed it too dangerous to be at large in the world. They didn't destroy it but studied it. One of the things they were interested in was the spell. For all of their effort, though, they were only able to decipher two words of it. There might be as many as ten words in that madly looping script. My father, digging in the peat bogs north of the Gentious quarry, hauled two clay tablets out of a quivering hole in the ground. Those heavy ancient pages contained reference to the sword, to its legend, and the design of the blade's script. Also included was the translation of the two words."
"What were they?" he asked, wrapping his fingers again around the grip of the weapon.
"My father worked with what was given on the tablet and deciphered three more of the spell's words."
"What were they?"
"The words he was certain of were-Thanry, Meltmoss, Stilthery, Quasum, and Pik."
"All common herbs," said Toler
She nodded. "He believed that all the words constituted a kind of medicine, that if prepared and inserted into one of your victim's coral mouths, it would reverse the sword's power and return them to flesh. The blade's damage could, of course, have been a death blow, in which case there would be no chance of returning them to life, but those who succumbed to only a nick, a scratch, a cut would again be flesh and bone and draw breath."
"I've often wondered about the inscription," he said. "Your father was a wise man."
"I'm giving you the book," she said. "When I heard you'd turned up at the gate, I remembered my father telling me about his discoveries. The book should belong to the man who carries the weapon. I have no use for it."
"Why would the blade hold an antidote to the sword's effects, and yet be written in a language no one can understand?" asked Toler.
"That fact suggests a dozen possible motives, but I suppose the real one will remain a mystery." She held the book out toward him. As he leaned forward to take it from her, she also leaned forward, and as his fingers closed on the book, her lips met his. She kissed him eagerly, her mouth open. They parted and he moved closer to the edge of the stone bench. He put his hands on her shoulders and gently drew her toward him.
"Wait, is that Greppen, spying?" she said, bringing her arms up between them. Toler drew his sword as he stood and spun around, brandishing it in a defensive maneuver. He saw no sign of Greppen, heard no movement among the willow branches. What he heard instead was the laughter of Lady Maltomass. When he turned back to her, she was gone. He looked up to see the chair rising into the blue sky. As she floated away toward the tree line, he yelled, "When will I see you next?"
"Soon," she called back.
Two days passed without word from her, and in that time, all Toler could think of was their last meeting. He tried to stay busy within the walls of the palace, and the beauty of the place kept his attention for half a day, but, ultimately, in its ease and refinement, palace life seemed hollow to one who'd spent most of his life in combat.