Forging the Darksword - Margaret Weis [67]
Staring at Bishop Vanya, Saryon wondered what he could possibly say. That I’m not Duuk-tsarith. That I know nothing about apprehending dangerous criminals. That I’m middle-aged, that I’m a catalyst—a word synonymous with weak and defenseless. “Why me, Holiness?” he managed to ask feebly.
Bishop Vanya smiled, tolerant of his priest’s confusion. Rising to his feet, he sauntered over to the window, waving his hand behind him as he went. This gesture was to the two underlings, indicating that they were to keep their seats, both of them having started to leap up when he stood.
Saryon relapsed into the soft cushions of the chair, but at the same time, he tried to shift his position in such a way that he could see Vanya’s face as he talked. That proved impossible. Walking to the window, the Bishop stood with his back to Saryon, staring down at the courtyard below.
“You see, Deacon Saryon,” he began, his voice still pleasant and nonchalant, “this young man, this Joram, presents rather a unique problem for us. He did not meet his physical death in the Outlands as was reported.” At this juncture, Vanya half-turned, carefully examining a bit of the fabric of the curtain and scowling at it irritably. The Field Catalyst went deathly white. Finally muttering, “A flaw,” Vanya continued imperturbably. “Father Tolban has since received word which leads us to believe that this young man, this Joram, has joined up with a group who call themselves the Coven of the Wheel.”
Saryon glanced at Father Toi ban, hoping for a clue, since Bishop Vanya had uttered these words in a tone of such dread that he could only suppose he was the only person in Thimhallan never to have heard of this group. But the Field Catalyst was no help, having shrunk back so far in his chair as to be practically invisible.
Receiving no response from his priest, Vanya glanced over his shoulder.
“You have not heard of them, Father Saryon?”
“No, Holiness,” Saryon confessed, “but I lead such a retired life … my studies …”
“No need to apologize.” Vanya cut him off. Clasping his hands behind his back, he turned to face him. “I would have been surprised if you had, as a matter of fact. As a loving parent keeps the knowledge of dark and wicked things from his children until they are strong and wise enough to deal with them, so we keep knowledge of this dark cloud from our people, bearing the burden upon ourselves in order that they may live in sunshine. Oh, the people are not in danger,” he added, seeing that Saryon raised his eyebrows in alarm. “It is simply that we will not allow vague fears to disturb the beauty and tranquility of life in Merilon as it has been disturbed in other kingdoms. You see, Father Saryon, this coven is devoted to the study of the Dark Art—the study of the Ninth Mystery—Technology.”
Once again, Saryon felt that cold fear grip his bowels. A shivering sensation starting at his scalp ran over his entire body.
“It seems that this Joram had a friend, a young man called Mosiah. One of the Field Magi, hearing noises in the night, woke and looked out his window. He saw Mosiah and a young man he is positive was Joram engrossed in conversation. He could not hear all of what was said, but he swears he overheard the words ‘Coven’ and ‘Wheel.’ He said Mosiah drew back at this, but his friend must have been persuasive because the next morning, Mosiah was gone.”
Saryon glanced over at Father Tolban just in time to see the Field Catalyst cast a furtive look at Vanya, who was studiously ignoring him. Tolban looked over at his fellow catalyst and caught Saryon looking at him. Flushing guiltily, Tolban returned to staring at his shoes.
“We have, of course, known of the existence of this coven for some time.” Bishop Vanya frowned. “It is composed of every outcast and misfit who thinks the world owes him something in return for his birth. Not only do the Dead walk among them, but so do thieves and robbers, debtors, vagrants, rebels … Now a murderer. They come from all over the Empire, from Sharakan in