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By Root 1037 0

she was reluctant to talk. Upon my exhibiting how much I already knew, and upon emphasizing the advantages of speaking versus the disadvantages of remaining silent and loyal to one who did not deserve her loyalty” — Prince Xavier emphasized this, to the renewed fury of the Bishop — “she decided to cooperate, and told me all I wanted to know. You need not worry, Nephew. Your young lover is back in the bosom of her family, no doubt shedding copious tears over your capture. She has one more trial to undergo, which — though painful — is necessary. They tell that, in the ancient world, it was customary to cut off a diseased limb to save the life of the body as a whole. She is young. She will recover From the wound, especially when she discovers that the man she loved is a Dead man being convicted for the murder of two citizens of the realm and for dabbling in the Dark Arts.”

Color was returning to Bishop Vanya’s bloated face. He cleared his throat, coughing.

“Yes, Eminence,” Prince Xavier continued, a sneer curling the thin lip, “I will keep your secret. It is in the best interests of the people to do so. There is, of course, a condition.”

“The Empress,” Vanya said.

“Precisely.”

“Her death will be made known tomorrow,” the Bishop said, swallowing. “We have long counseled this course of action” — Vanya’s eyes went to the two catalysts present — “as being only fitting to give the poor soil the eternal rests it seeks. But the Emperor opposed our will. There is no doubt” — the Bishop glanced at Prince Xavier nervously — “that the Emperor is insane?”

“None,” responded the warlock dryly.

The Bishop nodded in relief, licking his lips.

“There is just one other small matter,” Prince Xavier said.

Vanya’s face darkened. “What is that?” he asked suspiciously.

“The Darksword —” began the warlock.

“None shall touch that weapon of abomination!” Vanya roared, his face flushing red. Veins popped out in his forehead; his eyes were nearly engulfed by swelling flesh. “Not even you, DKarn-Duuk! It will be present at the Judgment as evidence of this young man’s guilt. Then it will return to the Font, where it will be locked away forever!”

There was no doubting, from the Bishop’s tone, that Prince Xavier, in cultivating the soil of a newly plowed field, had suddenly struck a gigantic boulder. He might move it, but that would take time and patience. Much better, for the moment, to go around. Shrugging, he bowed in acquiescence.

“You have my sword, but what is to become of me?” Joram demanded in low, proud tones. A bitter smile twisted his face. “It seems you have a true dilemma on your hands. You cannot kill me, without fulfilling the Prophecy. Yet you can’t afford to let me live. There have been too many ‘mistakes’ made already. Lock me up in the deepest dungeon — there wouldn’t be one night you slept easily without wondering if I haven’t, somehow, managed to escape.”

“I grow fonder of you by the minute, Nephew,” Prince Xavier said with a sigh, rising to his feet. “Your fate is, I fear, in the hands of the catalysts, since you are a threat to the realm. And, I have no doubt, Bishop Vanya has — at last — found a solution to this thorny problem. My work here is concluded. Eminence.” The DKarn-Duuk bowed slightly. “Revered Brethren.” He nodded to Saryon, who was staring at Vanya with wide, terror-stricken eyes, and to Dulchase, who shifted uneasily in his chair and refused to meet the man’s flat gaze.

Casting the red hood of his luxuriant robe over his head. The DKarn-Duuk turned last to Joram.

“Rise and bid me farewell, Nephew,” said the warlock.

Reluctantly, with the defiant toss of his black hair, the young man obeyed. He stood up, but he made no movement beyond that. Clasping his hands behind him, he stared straight ahead, into the darkness of the empty Hall.

Stepping forward, Prince Xavier took hold of the young man by the shoulders with his thin hands. Flinching, Joram instinctively tried to free himself from the warlocks grasp, but he checked himself, too proud to struggle.

Smiling, The DKarn-Duuk leaned near the young man. Placing