Forging the Darksword - Margaret Weis [121]
“Good. He will perform adequately?”
“I see no problem. He seems, as you described him, naive and weak, easily intimidated, but—”
“Bah! The man is a mass of quivering jelly. He may cause trouble once, but that will be dealt with harshly, I presume. Once he has learned his lesson, I foresee no further problems.”
“I hope not.” The voice in Vanya’s head sounded skeptical, causing the Bishop to frown.
“Where are the Technologists in terms of the forging of the weapons?” Vanya continued.
“With this catalyst’s help, production should accelerate rapidly.”
“How are matters progressing in Sharakan? Have you contacted His Majesty there?”
“You probably know more about that than I do, Holiness. I must move cautiously, of course. I cannot afford to reveal my hand. It is a dangerous game I play His Majesty has been discreetly informed of the acquisition of a catalyst and how it will affect us. That is the best I could do.”
“Adequate. His Majesty must be confident of you. His demeanor is becoming increasingly warlike. We are, of course, attempting to quell this storm”—Vanya made a gesture with his hand as of smoothing turbulent water—“and when the time comes we will be grieved to admit our failure. Things are moving here. The Empress’s brother is becoming a nuisance, but he is easily dealt with. When war is declared, we will be ready to act. Is there anything else?”
“Yes. What about Joram? What does this catalyst intend to do with him?”
“What does it matter to you? The boy is a cat’s-paw, nothing more. The only thing you need concern yourself with is keeping him alive.”
“What are the catalyst’s instructions? What will he do?”
“Do? I doubt if he has the guts to do anything. I have recommended caution to him. He is to report to me in a month or so. I will entreat him to move slowly in the matter. But make your preparations. When I give you the word, you will need to move swiftly. You have your orders. Do I need to remind you of them?” Vanya’s frown deepened. “I sense dissatisfaction in you, my friend. I am not accustomed to this questioning. What is wrong? Has your disguise been penetrated?”
“Of course not, Bishop.” The voice grew cold. “We both know my talents. That was why you chose me. But certain matters have arisen that were unexpected. Someone is taking a greater interest in this than I like.”
“Who?” Vanya demanded.
“I think you know.” The voice inside Vanya’s head was smooth. “I think, in fact, that you have dealt me marked cards.”
“How dare—”
“I dare because of who I am. And now, I must go. Someone is coming. Remember, Holiness, in my hand, I hold the king.”
The magical link between the two broke, leaving Vanya sitting, staring into the darkness, his lips pursed, his fingers crawling spiderlike over the arm of his chair. “King? Yes, my friend. But I hold swords.”
The Scianc
We are many, but we are not one.
If the Technologists had risen in a group and rebelled against Blachloch, the warlock and his henchmen must have fallen. Without a catalyst to grant him Life, the Enforcer’s magical powers were limited. His henchmen, few in number, could not have held out long against hundreds. These hundreds did not arise, however. Most of the Sorcerers were, in fact, in complete agreement with Blachloch’s plans for joining with the people of Sharakan and declaring war. It was time for the Sorcerers to bring the power of the Ninth Mystery back to the world, to once more take their rightful place among the inhabitants of Thimhallan. And if they had to bring death and destruction back to the world as well, wouldn’t this be mitigated by the wonders they would introduce, wonders that would improve life?
There were those among the Technologists who were wise enough to see that in this kind of dream, the Sorcerers were simply repeating the tragic mistakes of the past. But these people were in the minority. It was all very well for Andon, an old man, to talk of patience and peace. The young were sick and tired of skulking about in the wilderness, leading dreary lives of drudgery when the riches and wealth