Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [62]
With the end of the snow, the wind died and the sky cleared rapidly. A hush settled over the forest, but there was a tension in the air that was far from peaceful, almost as though a giant had sucked up cloud and wind and snow and was now holding its breath in a fit of pique. The tension did not lessen during the days that followed, although the sky remained clear — its color the brittle blue seen only in winter — and there was no sign of returning storms.
But everyone in the glade knew that a storm raged, if only in the soul of one young man. The storm clouds were never clearly visible; since the morning of his return, Joram had remained the same — cool and impassive, silent and reserved. He spoke only when spoken to, and then his answers were brief and careless, as though he had not heard. He was gone from camp much of the time, he and the Prince spending the largest part of each day together. When he came back from these sessions, Joram was even more withdrawn. It seemed to those observing him that his nerves were stretched taut as the strings of a badly tuned instrument.
Saryon could only hope (he did not pray) that some master hand was slowly working to ease the pressure on those strings before they snapped, to find the beautiful music that the catalyst was convinced must be locked within the young mans dark soul. Was Garald’s the hand? Saryon began to believe it was, and this hope lightened the burden he bore. He had no idea what they did or talked about when alone together. Joram refused to discuss the meetings at all, and Garald said only that they were practicing Joram’s swordwork.
Then, one early morning near the middle of the week, the catalyst was invited to accompany them to what the Prince jokingly referred to as “the arena.”
“We need you to help us experiment with the Darksword, Father,” Garald explained when he and Joram roused the catalyst from his fitful slumbers. The three stood talking outside the Cardinal’s tent, speaking in low tones so as not to wake anyone else.
Seeing Saryon’s solemn, disapproving expression, Joram gave an impatient sigh that was checked by a slight movement of Garald’s hand.
“I understand your feelings, Father Saryon,” the Prince said kindly, “but you would not send Joram into Merilon without knowledge of the swords powers, would you?”
I would not send Joram into Merilon at all, the catalyst thought but did not say.
Saryon agreed to go along, however. He was forced to admit that the Prince’s argument had merit. And the catalyst was, in addition, secretly curious about the Darksword himself. Wrapping himself in a warm cloak provided by the Prince, he accompanied the two into the forest.
“I am sorry to trouble you, Father,” Garald apologized as they walked through the frozen woods. “I could have asked Cardinal Radisovik, of course, but Joram and I believe that the fewer people who know the true nature of the Darksword, the better.”
Saryon agreed wholeheartedly.
“Then, too” — Garald smiled — “despite the fact that Radisovik is quite progressive and liberal in much of his thinking — far too liberal, according to your Bishop — I fear that the Darksword might stretch his tenets just a bit too far.”
“I will try to do what I can to help, Your Grace,” Saryon replied, wrapping his chilled hands in the sleeves of his robes.
“Excellent!” said Garald heartily. “And we will do what we can to keep the cold from you; something that never seems to be a problem for Joram and me.”
He exchanged glances with the young man, and Saryon was astonished to see a slight smile on the stern lips and a flicker of warmth in Joram’s dark eyes. Saryon’s own heartache eased at that moment, and he felt warmer already.
The “arena” turned out to be a patch of cleared, frozen ground located in the woods some distance from the glade. Though Saryon knew the watchful Duuk-tsarith must be around, he could not see the warlocks, and the three had at least the impression of being alone. Or perhaps the Duuk-tsarith weren’t there after all. The Prince might have meant what he said about keeping the Darksword