Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [3]
“Yes, Holiness,” Saryon murmured nervously. The dark night beyond the cell’s barred window was thinning into gray dawn. He could hear a few footsteps in the streets — those who began their workday the same time as the sun began his. But otherwise the village slept. Where was Joram? Had he been caught, the body discovered? The catalyst clasped his hands together and attempted to concentrate on the Bishops voice.
“Through magical means, Saryon, a chamber was devised for the Bishop of the Realm whereby he can minister in private to his followers in need of support. Known as the Chamber of Discretion, it is particularly useful for communicating with those performing certain delicate tasks that must be kept secret for the good of the people —”
A network of spies! Saryon thought before he could stop himself. The Church, the Order to which he had devoted his life, was in reality nothing more than a giant spider, sitting in the midst of a vast web, attuned to every movement of those caught within its sticky grasp! It was a dreadful thought, and Saryon tried instantly to banish it.
He began to sweat again, even as his body shivered. Cringing, he waited for the Bishop to read his mind and reprimand him. But Vanya continued on as though he had not heard, expounding upon the Chamber of Discretion and how it worked, allowing one mind to speak to another through magical means.
So tense that his jaw muscles ached from the strain of clenching his teeth, Saryon pondered. “The Bishop did not notice my random thoughts!” he said to himself. “Perhaps, as he said, I have to concentrate to make myself heard. If so — and if I can control my mind — I might be able to cope with this mental invasion.”
As Saryon realized this, it occurred to him that he was hearing only those thoughts Vanya wanted him to hear. He wasn’t able to penetrate beyond whatever barriers the Bishop himself had established. Slowly, Saryon began to relax. He waited until his superior had reached an end.
“I understand, Holiness,” the catalyst thought, concentrating all his effort on his words.
“Excellent, Father.” Vanya appeared pleased. There was a pause; the Bishop was carefully considering and concentrating on his next words. But when he spoke — or when his thoughts took form in Saryon’s mind — they were rapid and concise, as though being repeated by rote. “I sent you on a dangerous task, Saryon — that of attempting to apprehend the young man called Joram. Because of the danger, I grew concerned about your welfare when I did not hear from you. Therefore, I deemed it best to contact a trusted associate of mine concerning you —”
“Simkin!” Saryon thought before he could stop himself. So intense was the image of the young man in his mind that it must have translated to the Bishop.
“What?” Thrown off in the middle of his speech, Vanya appeared confused.
“Nothing,” Saryon muttered hastily. “I apologize, Holiness. My thoughts were disturbed by … by something occurring outside….”
“I suggest you remove yourself from the window, Father,” the Bishop said ascerbically.
“Yes, Holiness,” Saryon replied, digging his nails into the flesh of his palms, using the stimulus of pain to help him concentrate.
There was a second’s pause again — Vanya attempting to remember where he was? Why didn’t he just write it down? Saryon wondered irritably, sensing the Bishop’s thoughts turned from him. Then the voice was back. This time, it was filled with concern.
“I have been, as I said, worried about you, Father. And now this associate, who was assigned to keep an eye on you, has not been in contact with me for the last forty-eight hours. My fears grew. I hope nothing is wrong, Saryon?”
What could Saryon answer? That his world had turned upside down? That he was clinging to sanity with his fingertips? That a moment before, he had been praying for death? The catalyst hesitated. He could confess everything,