Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [157]
Looking at the ugly, misshapen weapon, Gwen shuddered. Joram drew her closer, protectively, ignoring the realization that it was himself from which he sought to protect her.
She did not understand, but she nodded anyway. Frightened and confused, already half regretting her decision, her own heart torn with sorrow for what she knew would be a devastating blow to her family, Gwendolyn was further confused by the stirrings of a painful pleasure she felt at being held fast in Joram’s embrace. She longed to stay here, held close to his fast-beating heart. She wanted, in fact, to get closer, somehow, to feel the pleasure and the pain expand within her. But the thought of that made her quail with a fear that was cold in the pit of her stomach. And all-encompassing was the more real and pressing fear of capture.
“If we can get away from the Palace,” she asked, “where will we go?”
“To the Grove of Merlyn,” Joram said immediately, suddenly seeing everything clearly in his mind. “Mosiah is waiting for us there. We’ll slip out of the Gate …” He paused, frowning. “Simkin. We need Simkin! He can get us out. Then, once we’re away from this cursed city, we’ll travel to Sharakan.”
“Sharakan!” Gwen gasped, her eyes widening in alarm.
Joram smiled at her briefly, reassuringly. “I know the Prince there,” he said. “He’s a friend of mine.” He fell silent, staring off into the distance. Perhaps Garald wasn’t his friend. Not anymore, now that he was nobody. No. He shook his head. After all, he had the Darksword. He knew of darkstone and how to forge it. That made him someone. His expression grew grim, fierce. “And I’ll forge darkstone,” he muttered. “We’ll raise an army. I’ll return to Merilon,” he said softly, his grip tightening on the sword. “And whatever I want I will take! That, too, will make me somebody!”
Feeling Gwendolyn shiver in his grasp, Joram looked down into the blue eyes. “Don’t be frightened,” he murmured, relaxing. “It will all be all right. You will see. I love you. I would never do anything to hurt you.” Bending down, he kissed her gently on the forehead. “We will be married in Sharakan,” he added, feeling her trembling lessen. “Perhaps the Prince himself will come to our wedding….”
“Egad!” came a voice from out of the fiery, illusionary inferno that surrounded them. “Here’s the Black Death searching high and low, nook and cranny, hither and yon for you two and I find you playing at slap and tickle in a corner!”
Joram whirled about, sword raised. “Simkin!”, he gasped, when he could breathe normally again. “Don’t creep up on me like that!” Lowering the sword, Joram wiped sweat from his face with the back of his swordhand. Gwen crept out from behind him, half-smothered from being pressed back against the wall.
“My dear turtledoves,” said Simkin casually, “I can assure you that something much nastier and uglier than myself is likely to be creeping up on you at any moment. The alarm has been sounded.”
Joram listened. “I don’t hear anything.”
“You won’t, old bean.” Simkin smoothed his beard with his hand. “This is the Palace, remember? Wouldn’t do to upset His Majesty or to startle the Empress in her fragile state of health. But rest assured that there are eyes seeking and ears pricking and noses twitching. The Corridors are alive.”
“It’s hopeless,” whispered Gwen, slumping back against Joram, tears sliding down her cheeks.
“No, no. Quite the contrary,” Simkin remarked. “Your fool is here to save you from your folly. Rather a nice ring to that. I must remember it.” Tilting his head back affectedly, Simkin peered at Gwen down his long nose. “You will make a charming Mosiah, my dear. One of my better ones.” Wafting the orange silk that appeared suddenly in his hand, Simkin laid it solemnly over Gwen’s head before she could protest, spoke a word or two, then, “Abracadabra!” he cried, whipping the silk away.
Mosiah leaned against Joram now, brushing tears from his face. Looking down at himself, he gave a cry of dismay and stared wildly back at Simkin.
“Charming,” said Simkin, eyeing him complacently and with a glint