Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [9]
But … Joram….
Yes, what about Joram? The memory of the young man pricked the bubble of peace. The warmth began to ooze away. No! Saryon fought to hang onto it.
“Admit it,” he argued with himself. “Joram frightens you! Vanya is right. The young man is a very real danger. It would be a relief to be rid of him and the responsibility of that weapon of evil, especially now that I am certain of the truth. After all, what was it the ancients said — ‘The truth shall make you free’?”
Very well, countered Saryon’s black, cynical soul, but what is the truth? Did Vanya answer your questions? What truly happened seventeen years ago? If Joram is the Prince, how and why is he still alive?
The catalysts eyes closed, trying to block out sun and shadows alike. Once again, he held that small baby in his arms, rocking it gently, his tears falling upon the unconscious head. Once again, he felt Joram’s touch — the young man’s hand resting upon his shoulder as it had done in those dreadful moments last night in the forge. He saw the look of starved longing in the black, cold eyes — the longing for love Joram’s soul had so long denied itself. Joram saw that love in Saryon. The bond was there! Yes. If Saryon had believed in the Almin, he might almost have said it was there by the god’s will. Could he break it, betray it?
What will happen to Joram? His words to the Bishop echoed in his mind. And he knew the answer. Bishop Vanya had taken the baby away to die. He could do no less with the man.
Saryon opened his eyes, facing the gray dawn in which there was no warmth but in which there was truth — cold though it might be.
If I take Joram back, I take him back to death.
The false peace seeped out of the catalyst, leaving behind the same bleak, dark void. There were too many unanswered questions, too many lies. Bishop Vanya had lied to the Emperor and Empress, who believed their baby dead. He’d lied to Saryon when he sent him out after Joram. And he would have continued to lie if Saryon had not caught him. Of that, the catalyst felt certain. He could not trust Vanya. He could trust no one. The only truth Saryon had to cling to was within himself. He sighed heavily. He would follow that truth, and hoped it would guide him through the morass surrounding him.
And where was Joram, anyway? He should have been back by now. Something must have gone wrong….
The sunlight was blotted out by two dark shapes materializing within the center of the room like the ghosts of Saryon’s conscience. Fearfully, the catalyst stared at them, his heart in his throat, until one spoke.
“I say,” remarked a voice, as bright and mocking as the sun, “look here, Joram. You and I are out there, braving the peril of the wilds, and here lies the Priest of Bald Pates, sleeping like the dead as the Baron of Dunstable Manor was wont to do before they buried him by mistake.”
3
Stain Removal
“Joram?” Saryon said hesitantly.
Sitting upright, the catalyst stared at the two young men standing in the center of the cell. They had come so suddenly, appearing out of nowhere, that Saryon wondered if they were real or were a manifestation of his thoughts.
But the voice that answered was real enough, as was the irritation. “Who the hell else would it be?” snapped Joram, further proving his reality by walking over to the table and grabbing the water pitcher. Upon discovering the ice inside, he set it back down with a bitter curse.
“Hush!” Saryon warned, but it was too late.
At the noise, a guard’s face suddenly peered in the barred window, causing the other young man accompanying Joram to shout in alarm.
“Egad! Run for your lives! A loathsome beast is upon us — Oh, beg your pardon” — as the guards face twisted into a scowl — “’tisn’t a loathsome beast. Just one of Blachloch’s men. My mistake. Must have been the smell that confused me.” The guard disappeared with a snarl, and Simkin, sniffing, covered his nose with his hand.
Saryon hurried across the small room. “Are you all right?” he asked Joram, looking at him in concern.
The young