Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [178]
A corridor opened behind Prince Xavier. Stepping into it, he vanished. The light he had brought with him disappeared as well. Most of the Hall was plunged into darkness, except for the faint, ghastly radiance emanating from the Well of Life in the center and the harsh, bright light streaming out from behind the Bishops throne.
Though still obviously shaken, Vanya appeared to be regaining his composure. At a gesture from the Bishop, the young Duuk-tsarith came forward from the shadows. He spoke a word and, once more, Joram was surrounded by three fiery rings, their flaming light casting an eerie glow in the deep gloom of the Hall. The Bishop stared in silence at the young man, sucking air in loudly through his nose.
“Holiness,” began Saryon, rising slowly and haltingly to his feet, “you promised he would not be killed.” The catalyst clasped his trembling hands before him. “You swore to me by the blood of the Almin….”
“Get down on your knees, Brother Saryon,” said Bishop Vanya sternly, “and beg Him for your own redemption!”
“No!” Saryon cried, throwing himself forward.
Struggling to his feet, Vanya heaved his great bulk from the throne and, thrusting the catalyst out of his way, walked over to stand before the young man. Joram watched him without speaking, the bitter half smile on his lips.
“Joram, son of —” Vanya began, then stopped, confused. The half smile on the young man’s face widened into a proud smile of triumph. The Bishop’s face grew livid with anger. “You are correct, young man!” he said, his voice quivering. “We dare not let you live. We dare not let you die. As you have been Dead among the Living, so now you will find a living Death.”
Dulchase sprang up, his throat constricting. No! he wanted to shout. I won’t be a party to this! He tried to speak, but nothing came out. For once, his tongue failed him. They had trapped him neatly. He knew too much. He would go to Zith-el, where they had a remarkable zoo …
Saryon gave an anguished cry, falling on his knees to the floor before Vanya’s throne.
The Bishop paid no attention to either of his catalysts. Joram’s gaze went once to the wretched Saryon, but it was cool and unforgiving and almost immediately returned to the Bishop.
“Joram. Having been found guilty as charged of all counts presented against you by three catalysts as prescribed by the laws of Thimhallan, I hereby sentence you to the Turning. This dawn, you will be taken to the Border where your flesh shall be turned to stone, your soul left to live within your body to contemplate your crimes. Forever more, you will stand Guard at the Border, dead but alive, staring eternally into Beyond.”
12
Obedire Est Vivere
There came a soft knock upon the closed door.
“Father Saryon?” called a gentle voice.
“Is it time?”
There were no windows in the small chapel. The harsh, bright dawn of a new day might come to the world outside, but it would never penetrate the cool darkness of this sanctuary.
“Yes, Father,” said the voice in hushed tones.
Slowly, Saryon raised his head. He had spent the remainder of the night kneeling on the stone floor of one of the private chapels in the Font, seeking solace in prayer. Now his body was stiff, his knees bruised. His legs had long ago lost any feeling.
How he wished the same might be said of his heart!
Reaching out a hand, Saryon grasped the prayer rail before him and struggled to stand. A stifled groan escaped his lips, returning circulation sending sharp needles of pain through his limbs. He tried to move his legs and discovered he was too weak. Leaning his weary head upon his hand, he blinked back the tears.
“You who have denied me everything else, grant me strength to walk,” he prayed bitterly. “I will not fail him in this,