Forging the Darksword - Margaret Weis [126]
“Not this year. This year you have me, a catalyst. This year Blachloch can use me to enhance his powers. Have you ever seen the magic a warlock can summon?”
“Then, why are you here?” Mosiah asked abruptly, turning to look at Saryon, his face grim. “Why did you run to the Outland if you’re full of such righteous notions?”
“You know,” replied the catalyst in a low voice. “I heard Simkin tell you.”
Mosiah shook his head. “Simkin can’t tell you the time of day without lying,” he said scornfully. “If you mean that nonsense about you coming for Joram—”
“It isn’t nonsense.”
Mosiah blinked, staring. Saryon’s face, though pale and haggard with weariness, was composed. “What?” he repeated, not certain he had heard correctly.
“It isn’t nonsense,” the catalyst said. “I was sent here to take Joram back for justice.”
“But … Why? Why are you telling me this?” Mosiah demanded in confusion. “Do you want something from me, is that it? Do you want me to help you? Because I won’t! Not Joram! He’s my—”
“No, of course not,” Saryon interrupted, shaking his head with a sad smile. “I don’t want anything from you. What I do about Joram, I must do alone.” Sighing, he rubbed his eyes wearily. “I told you because I promised your father I would speak to you if I found you involved in this …” He waved his hand.
The two rode together in silence through the dreary rain. Faintly, behind them, above the jingle of the harness and plodding hoofbeats, Mosiah heard Simkin’s raucous laughter.
“You could have preached me your sermon without telling me the truth about yourself, Father. I didn’t believe Simkin anyway. No one ever does,” Mosiah muttered, his hand twisting the reins, his eyes on the horse’s tangled mane. “I don’t know what you mean about taking Joram in for justice. I don’t see how you could,” he added, glancing at the catalyst with contempt. “I’ll warn Joram, of course. I still don’t understand why you told me. “You must have realized this would make us enemies, you and me.”
“Yes, and I am sorry,” Saryon answered, hunching deeper into his soggy cloak. “But I was afraid you wouldn’t have paid attention to me otherwise. My ‘sermon’ wouldn’t have had much impact if you thought I was talking out one side of my mouth as the saying goes. Now, at least, I hope you will think about what I have told you.”
Mosiah did not answer, but continued to stare down at the horse’s mane. His expression hardened; the hand twisting the reins gripped them firmly. “Your conscience can feel eased now,” he said, raising his head. “You’ve done your duty to my father. But, speaking of conscience, I don’t see you hesitate to obey Blachloch when he tells you to grant him Life. Or perhaps you’re thinking of disobeying,” Mosiah said with a sneer, recalling the punishment at which Joram had hinted. Expecting the weak-appearing catalyst to cower and cringe, the young man was startled to see him meet his gaze with quiet dignity.
“That is my shame,” Saryon answered steadily, “and I must deal with it as you must deal with yours.”
“I have no need to deal—” began Mosiah angrily, but was interrupted by Simkin’s lilting voice, rising above the sound of rain and hooves.
“Mosiah, Mosiah! Where are you?”
Irritably, the young man turned around in the saddle, looking behind him and waving his hand. “I’ll be there in a moment,” he shouted. Then he turned back to the catalyst. “One last thing I don’t understand, Father. Why did you tell Simkin about Joram? Preaching him a sermon, too?”
“I didn’t tell Simkin,” Saryon said. Awkwardly kicking at his horse with his big, ungainly feet, the weary catalyst urged the animal forward. “You better go, they’re calling for you. Good-bye, Mosiah. I hope we can talk again.”
“Didn’t tell him! Then how—”
But Saryon shook his head. Pulling his hood low over his eyes, he rode on, leaving Mosiah to stare after him in confusion.
“You’re too gullible.”
“You weren’t there,” Mosiah muttered. “You didn’t see him, the look on his face. He’s telling the truth. Oh, I know how you feel about that”—seeing the bitter half-smile in Joram’s dark