Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [176]
Prince Xavier fell silent, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. No one else spoke. Vanya sat in his chair, his fingers crawling up and down the arm, staring at The DKarn-Duuk as a losing card player stares at his opponent, trying to calculate his next move. Joram, the stern mask of pride beginning to slip, appeared almost stupid from weariness and shock. He looked at nothing with dull, glazed eyes. Saryon was drowning in his own misery. Dulchase felt sorry for the man, but there was little it seemed he could do.
The old Deacons head ached; he was shivering from cold and nerves so that he had to keep his teeth firmly clamped together to stop them from rattling in his head. He was angry, too. Angry at having been dragged into this absurd, dangerous situation. He didn’t know who to believe. Didn’t, in fact, believe any of them. Oh, some of it he must concede was true. The kid was obviously the Empress’s son — that hair and those eyes couldn’t lie.
But — a Prophecy to destroy the world? Every generation of mankind had been told by one prophet or another that it was doomed. How this Prophecy came about, the Deacon didn’t know. But he could guess. Some old man living on bugs and honey for a year has a vision and sees the end of the world. Probably all due to constipation. But now, hundreds of years later, it was going to cost this kid his life.
Forgetting himself, Dulchase snorted in disgust. The sound split the tense atmosphere like thunder. Everyone in the room started, and all eyes — even the cold, flat eyes of The DKarn-Duuk — turned on the old Deacon.
“Head cold,” Dulchase muttered, making a show of wiping his nose on the sleeve of his robe.
To his relief, Bishop Vanya took advantage of the break in the charged atmosphere to stir his great bulk. “How did you find out?” he asked Prince Xavier once more.
The warlock smiled. “Still trying to save your skin, aren’t you, Eminence? I don’t blame you. It covers a large quantity of blubber that would undoubtedly be an extremely disgusting sight if it leaked out for all to see. Who else knows? you’re wondering. Are they in a position to take your place? Am I in a position to put them there?”
Vanya’s complexion went sallow. He started to make some reply, but Prince Xavier raised a thin hand. “No more blustering. You may relax, in fact, Bishop. I could replace you, but I find it suits me not to — provided, of course, that you and I reach agreement on a final solution to our problems. But we will discuss those further. Now, to answer your question. A gentlemen of the upper middle class came to me last night, distraught over the disappearance of his daughter.”
Joram raised his head, the dark eyes flashing.
Prince Xavier turned immediately from the seemingly mollified Bishop to the young man seated at his side. “Yes, Nephew, I thought that might stir your blood.”
“Gwendolyn!” Joram said, his voice cracking. “Where is she. What have you done to her! By the Almin!” His fist clenched. “If you’ve hurt her —”
“Hurt her?” The DKarn-Duuk was cool, his tone rebuking. “Give us some credit for common sense, Joram. What would it benefit us to harm this girl whose only crime has been the misfortune of falling deeply in love with you?”
Prince Xavier turned back to the Bishop.
“Lord Samuels came to me in the Palace last night at my request. I was aware, of course, that the Duuk-tsarith were searching for the young man with what I thought unusual zeal. I was naturally curious to know why, and Lord Samuels was eager to answer my questions. He told me all he knew of Joram and of the strange testimony of the Theldara. There were many unaswered questions that piqued my curiosity. Why had the records on Anja disappeared? Why insist that a child had been stolen from among the waifs and orphans when it was obvious that one had not?
“I immediately sent for the Head of the Duuk-tsarith. At first,