Forging the Darksword - Margaret Weis [169]
The silence was longer, more profound this time. Vanya could almost hear its thoughts, whispering about him like the wings of bats.
“Very well,” the voice said finally, coldly. “But it will be more difficult and dangerous, especially now that he has darks tone. This was not in our original bargain. My price goes up.”
“You will be compensated according to your deserts,” Vanya remarked. “Act quickly before he becomes fully aware how to use the stone. And bring him personally” the Bishop added as an afterthought. “There are certain matters I wish to discuss with you, your reward among them.”
“Of course I’ll have to bring him personally,” the voice returned. “What else am I to do? Rely on your spineless catalyst? I will come through the usual channels. Look for me when you see me.”
“It must be soon!” Vanya said, endeavoring with all his power to keep his thoughts calm. “I will contact you tomorrow night.”
“I may or may not answer,” replied the voice. “This matter must be handled delicately.”
The communication ended. The Chamber was silent.
A trickle of sweat ran down the Bishop’s tonsured head and trickled into the collar of his robe. Pale, quivering with anger and fear, he sat in the Chamber for many hours, staring unseeing into the darkness.
For there will be horn to the Royal House one who is dead yet will live, who will die again but live again. And when he returns, he will hold in his hand the destruction of the world ….
11
Saryon’s Turn
“Listen, Saryon,” said Joram in low, persuasive tones, “it will be simple.” Sitting beside the catalyst, he slid closer still, resting his hand upon his arm. “You go to Blachloch. You tell him that you cannot rest, you cannot sleep. You are so horrified by what I have done and what I made you do that you think you might go mad.”
“I am not a good liar,” Saryon murmured, shaking his head.
“Would it really be a lie?” Joram asked, a bitter half-smile lighting his dark eyes. “On the contrary, I think you could be quite convincing.”
The catalyst did not answer, nor did he raise his gaze from the table where the two of them sat. A fat, almost obscene autumn moon grinned down from the clear black sky. Shining through the window, it sucked all color and life into its bulging cheeks, leaving everything a stark, bloodless gray. Bathed in the moonlight, the two sat close together at the table beneath the window, talking in hushed voices, Joram’s watchful gaze divided between the guards in the house across the street and Mosiah, sleeping restlessly on a cot in a dark corner.
At the sound of voices, Mosiah stirred and muttered in his sleep, causing Joram to grip the catalyst’s arm in silent warning. Neither said a word until Mosiah had drifted off again, throwing his arm over his eyes in his sleep as the moonlight crept stealthily across the floor and up the cot to examine and gloat over his pale face.
“And then what must I do?” asked Saryon.
“Tell him you will take him to me. You will help him apprehend me and”—Joram’s voice lowered—“the Dark sword. You will lead him to the forge, where I will be working, and there, we will have him.”
Saryon shut his eyes, a shudder convulsing his body. “What do you mean—have him?”
“What do you think I mean, Catalyst?” Impatiently, Joram withdrew his hand and leaned back in his chair, glancing again at the guards, whose shadows could be seen against the background of a blazing fire in the house opposite. “We have talked about this before. Once he is drained of his magic, he will be helpless. You can open a Corridor and call the Duuk-tsarith. No doubt they have been waiting eagerly many years to get their hands on one who is a disgrace to their Order.” He shrugged. “You will be a hero, Catalyst.”
Saryon sighed and clasped his hands together upon the tabletop, his fingers digging painfully into his flesh. “What about you?” he asked Joram, his gaze going to the young man. The stern face, reflected in the moonlight, looked almost skull-like.
“What about me?” Joram asked coolly, staring out the window, the half-smile playing about