Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [22]
“Smashing!” cried Simkin, sitting up and swinging his multicolored feet over the side of the bed. “I must go watch —”
“No,” said Joram abruptly. “Stay here. We’ve got plans to make. We have to get out! Tonight!”
“The devil you say!” Simkin wailed in dismay. “And miss the funeral? After I took such pains —”
“I’m afraid so,” Joram said dryly. “Here, Catalyst.” He handed Saryon a crude chain from which dangled a piece of dark rock. “Your ‘good luck’ charm.”
Saryon accepted the chain with a grave expression. He held it for a moment, staring down at it, his face growing increasingly pale.
“Father?” asked Mosiah. “What’s wrong?”
“Too much,” the catalyst replied softly, and, with the same solemn look upon his face, he hung the darkstone around his neck, being careful to tuck the rock beneath the collar of his robes. “Blachloch’s men have sealed off the town. No one is to go in or out.”
Joram swore a bitter oath.
“Dash it all!” Simkin burst out. “The very devil! It’ll be such a wonderful funeral, too. Highlight of the year around here. And the best part,” he continued gloomily, “is that the townspeople will undoubtedly take the opportunity to whack a few of Blachloch’s henchmen. I was quite looking forward to a nice round of lout-whacking.”
“We have to get out of here!” Joram said grimly. Tying his cloak around his neck, he arranged the folds so that the fabric covered the sword, hiding it from sight.
“But why should we leave?” Mosiah protested. “From what Simkin’s told me, everyone will believe Blachloch was killed by centaurs. Even his henchmen. And they won’t be hanging around long to ask questions. Simkin’s right. I’ve seen how the townspeople are looking at that scum. That’s why Blachloch’s men have sealed off the town. They’re scared! And with good cause! We’ll fight them! Drive them out, and then there won’t be anything to fear from anyone —”
“Yes, there will,” Saryon said, his hand lingering on the amulet. “I have been contacted by Bishop Vanya.”
“I bet he gets to go to the funeral,” sulked Simkin.
“Shut up, fool,” Mosiah growled. “What do you mean, ‘contacted’, Father? How could he?”
Speaking hurriedly, with frequent glances out the window, Saryon told the young men of his conversation with the Bishop, leaving out only what he knew about Joram’s true identity.
“We must be gone by nightfall,” Saryon concluded. “When Bishop Vanya cannot reach either me or Blachloch, he will know something dire has happened. By nightfall, the Duuk-tsarith could be here.”
“See? Everyone who’s anyone will be at that funeral,” said Simkin moodily.
“The Duuk-tsarith, here!” Mosiah paled. “We must warn Andon —”
“I have just come from Andon,” Saryon interrupted with a sigh. “I tried to make him understand, but I’m not certain I succeeded. Frankly, he’s not worried half as much about the Duuk-tsarith as he is over the people getting into a fight with Blachloch’s men. I don’t think the Duuk-tsarith will bother the Sorcerers if they do come,” Saryon added, seeing Mosiah’s concern. “We can assume now that the Order was in constant touch with Blachloch. Had they wanted to destroy the village, they could have done so at a moments notice. They will be searching for Joram and the darkstone. When they discover he is gone, they will follow his trail. They will follow us….”
“But these people are my friends, like my family,” Mosiah persisted. “I can’t leave them!” He stared worriedly out the window.
“They’re my friends, too,” Joram said abruptly. “Its not like we’re running out. The best thing we can do for them is to leave.”
“Believe me, there’s nothing we could do if we stayed, except perhaps bring greater harm to them,” Saryon said gently, resting his hand on Mosiah’s shoulder. “Bishop Vanya told me once that he wanted to avoid attacking the Sorcerers, if possible. It would be a bitter battle and, no matter how quiet the Church kept it, word would get out and throw the people into a panic. That was why Blachloch was here — to lead the Sorcerers to their own destruction along with Sharakan. Vanya still hopes to carry out his plan.