Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [7]
“Blachloch knows what it is necessary for him to know,” Vanya answered. “I had my suspicions, I admit, and he did what was necessary to either confirm or refute them. I did not see the need to discuss the matter with him.”
The catalyst shifted restlessly in his chair. “But there is a need to discuss it with me,” he muttered.
“Yes, Father.” The Bishop’s voice was now cold and firm. “I sense in you an attachment to this young man, a growing affection for him. It is acting as a deadly poison in your soul, Brother Saryon, and you must purge yourself of it. Yes, perhaps I did send you in hope that you would confirm what I had long suspected. Now you know the secret, Saryon, and it is a terrible one! The knowledge that the true Prince lives would leave us at the mercy of our enemies. The danger is so vast that it is almost unthinkable! What if it were known, Saryon, that the true Prince was Dead? Rebellion would be the least of our worries! The ruling family would be cast out, reviled. Merilon would be in chaos, fall easy victim to Sharakan! Surely you see this, Saryon!”
“Yes, Holiness.” Once more Saryon attempted to moisten his mouth, but his tongue felt as if it were made of wool. “I see it.”
“And so you understand why it is imperative that Joram be brought to us —”
“Why wasn’t it imperative before?” Saryon demanded, cold and exhaustion giving him unwonted courage. “You had Joram here, you had Blachloch. The man was a warlock, Duuk-tsarith! He could have handed Joram to you in pieces if you’d ordered it! Or why bother to bring Joram to the Font at all? If he’s that dangerous, just be rid of him! It would have been easy to kill him, especially for Blachloch!” Saryon was bitter. “Why involve me —”
“You were necessary to provide the truth,” Vanya answered, severing Saryon’s thoughts with one swift stroke. “Until now, I could only surmise that this Joram was the Prince. Your ‘factors’ add together well, as I thought they might. As for assassinating him, the Church does not commit murder, Father.”
Saryon hung his head. The rebuke was well deserved. Though he had lost his faith in both his church and his god, he could not find it in his heart to believe that the Bishop of Thimhallan would order a man’s death. Even the babies — the ones judged Dead — were not put to death but were taken to the Chambers of Waiting, where they were allowed to slip quietly out of a world in which they had no place. As for the murder of the young Deacon, that had been Blachloch’s doing. Saryon could well believe that the warlock had been difficult for the Bishop to control. The Duuk-tsarith lived by their own laws.
“I am going to confess something to you, Father.” Vanya’s thoughts came to Saryon laden with pain. The catalyst winced, feeling the same pain inside himself. “I tell you this, in order that you will understand more clearly. If it were not for this wretched young man’s discovery of the darkstone, I would have been content to let him live out his life, hidden among the Sorcerers — at least until such time as we were ready to move against all of them. Don’t you see, Saryon? It would have been so easy to lose Joram among them, to eliminate all these dangers to the world at one blow, without upsetting the people. Chastise Sharakan, punish the rebellious catalysts, eliminate the Sorcerers of the Dark Arts, rid ourselves of a Dead Prince. It was all to have been so simple, Saryon.”
Once again, that silence within the silence. Saryon sighed, letting his head sink into his hands. The voice resumed, speaking so softly it was a whispering in his mind.
“It can still be simple, Father. You hold the fate of Merilon in your hands, if not the fate of the world.”
Saryon, appalled, looked up, protesting. “No, Holiness! I don’t want —”
“You don’t want the responsibility?” Vanya was grim. “I am afraid