Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [132]
Saryon sat up, leaning against the bed’s headrest, staring intently at Vanya. He had seen the Bishop shaken only once before in his life, and that had been at the Testing ceremony of the tiny Prince. Joram’s Testing, when they had discovered that he was Dead. And now that Saryon looked at his superior closely, he saw the same expression on the man’s face — one of worry, concern…. No, it was more than that. It was fear….
“What is it? Why do you look at me like that?” Saryon demanded. “You have lied to me! I know that now, I’ve known it for months. Tell me the truth! I have a right to know! In the name of the Almin,” the catalyst cried suddenly, sitting forward, stretching out a trembling hand, “I deserve the truth! This has come near costing me my sanity!”
“Calm yourself, Brother,” said Bishop Vanya sternly. “I lied to you, yes. But it was not of my choice. I lied because I am forbidden by the strongest and most binding vow to the Almin to reveal this dread secret to anyone. But I am gong to tell it to you, in order that you will understand the gravity of the situation and help us to remedy it.”
Puzzled, Saryon lay back on the pillows, his gaze never leaving Vanya’s face. He did not trust the man. How could he? Yet, search as he might, he saw no sign of dissembling, no sign of slyness. There was only an old man, overweight, his face pale and flabby, one pudgy hand crawling nervously along the arm of the wooden chair.
Bishop Vanya drew a deep, shivering breath. “Long ago, at the end of the terrible Iron Wars, the land of Thimhallan was in chaos. You know, Saryon. You have read the histories. I need not go into detail. It was then that we catalysts realized that we had the chance, finally, to gain control of the fragmented world and use our power to bind the shattered pieces together. Each city-state would continue to govern itself ostensibly, but they would do so under our watchful guidance. The Duuk-tsarith would be our eyes and ears, our hands and feet.
“In this, we were successful. There has been lasting peace for hundreds of years. Peace until now.” He heaved a sigh, shifting his great bulk uneasily in his chair. “Sharakan! Those fools! Renegade catalysts preaching freedom from the tryanny of their own Order! The King consorting with Sorcerers of the Dark Arts….”
Saryon felt his skin burn with shame. Now it was he who shifted in his bed, but he kept his gaze fixed upon his Bishop.
“Ordinarily” — Vanya waved a pudgy hand — “this would not have been anything we could not handle. There have been disturbances in the past, not quite this serious, but we dealt with them, using the Duuk-tsarith, the DKarn-Duuk, the Field of Contest. But this … This is different. There is another factor involved…. Another factor.”
Vanya fell silent again, the struggle in his mind clearly visible on his face, on his entire body in fact. He frowned; the hand curled over the arm of the chair; the knuckles turned white. “What I am about to tell you, Saryon, is not in the histories.”
Saryon tensed.
“In order that they might rule better, the catalysts of the time of the Iron Wars sought to look into the future. There is neither the need nor the time to describe to you how that is done. It is a skill we have lost. Perhaps” — Vanya sighed again — “it is just as well. At any rate, the Bishop of that era along with one of the sole surviving Diviners undertook to use this powerful magic that involves direct contact with the Almin Himself. It worked, Saryon.” Vanya’s voice was hushed with awe. “The Bishop was allowed to look into the future. But it was not as he had foreseen, as anyone had foreseen. These were the words he spoke to the astounded members of the Order who were gathered around him.
“‘There will be born to the Royal House one who is dead yet will live, who