Forging the Darksword - Margaret Weis [18]
Momentarily losing himself in a maze of crystal shelving, he heard the sound of voices to his right and somewhat ahead. This showed him the way, and he scurried on, arriving at the door to the forbidden chamber just as another silent, black-robed, black-hooded Duuk-tsarith materialized out of the air. The first Enforcer having removed the seal from the door, the second entered immediately. The Deacon started to follow, but the Enforcer’s unexpected appearance had so unnerved him that he was forced to lean against the doorway for a few moments, his hand pressed over his palpitating heart.
Then, feeling more himself and not wanting to miss the sight of two Duuk-tsarith battling a giant rat, the Deacon cautiously peered into the chamber. Although its ancient shadows had been driven back into their corners by the light of a candle, they seemed to be waiting for any chance at all to leap out and once more take possession of their sealed home. As he stared into the room, the giant rat wafted away into the thin air of the Deacon’s imagination, replaced by a horror more real and profound. He knew now that he had to deal with something much darker, much more terrible.
Someone had entered the forbidden room. Someone was studying its dark and arcane secrets. Someone had been seduced by the dread power of the Ninth Mystery.
Blinking, trying to accustom his eyes to the bright beam of candlelight, the Deacon could not recognize, at first, the figure that cowered in the grasp of the two dark warlocks. He could see only a white robe with gray trim like his own. A Deacon of the Font, then. But who—
A gaunt and miserable face looked up at him.
“Brother Saryon!”
5
The Chamber of the Bishop
Rising ponderously to his feet from performing the Ritual of Dawn, Bishop Vanya smoothed his red robes and, walking to his window, stared out at the rising sun, his lips pursed, his brow frowning. As if aware of this severe scrutiny, the sun peeped timidly over the ranges of the distant Vannheim Mountains. It even appeared to hesitate for a few seconds, teetering on the sharp edges of the snow-capped peaks, seemingly ready to set again in an instant if Bishop Vanya but spoke the word.
The Bishop turned from the window, however, thoughtfully lifting and placing around his neck the gold and silver chain that was the mark of his office and matched the gold and silver trim upon his robe. As if it had been waiting for this moment, the sun sprang into the sky, flooding the Bishop’s room with light. His frown deepening in annoyance, Bishop Vanya stalked back over to the window and closed the heavy velvet curtains.
A soft, self-deprecating knock interrupted Vanya as he was sitting down at his desk, preparatory to beginning the days business.
“Enter with the Almin’s blessing,” he said in a mild, pleasant voice, though he heaved a sigh immediately after, scowling to himself irritably at the interruption as his glance went to the stack of missives, newly delivered by the Ariels, that sat upon the polished wood.
The scowl was gone by the time the visitor had appeared in the doorway. A rebellious ray of sunlight, managing to sneak through a chink in the curtains, flashed off a bit of silver trim on the man’s white robes. Creeping into the room, his shoes making no noise at all on the thick carpet, the Cardinal bowed in greeting from the open door then, shutting it carefully behind him, ventured to cross the floor.
“Holiness,” he began, licking his lips nervously, “a most regrettable incident—”
“Sun arise, Cardinal,” the Bishop said from where he had seated himself behind his massive desk.
The Cardinal flushed. “I beg your pardon, Holiness,” he murmured, bowing again. “Sun arise. May the Almin’s blessing be with you this day.”
“And with you, Cardinal,