Forging the Darksword - Margaret Weis [68]
“This—this is dreadful, Holiness,” Saryon stammered, still too confused to catch more than one word in ten. But Vanya was looking at him, expecting a reply, so he said the first thing that came into his head. “Surely—er—something must be done. We cannot live knowing that this threat exists …
“Something is being done, Deacon Saryon,” Bishop Vanya said in soothing tones. “Rest assured, the matter is under control, another reason that apprehending the boy must be handled delicately. But, at the same time, we dare not allow this murder of an overseer go unpunished. Talk is already spreading throughout the Field Magi, who are, as you know, a discontented, rebellious lot. To let this young man go free after his heinous crime would encourage the spread of anarchy among this class. Because of this, the young man must be apprehended alive and made to stand trial for his crime. Apprehended alive,” Vanya muttered, frowning. “That is most important.”
At last, Saryon thought he was beginning to understand. “I see, Holiness.” He had some trouble getting his words out past a bitter taste in his mouth. “You need someone to go in, isolate this young man, open a Corridor, and lead the Duuk-tsarith to him without anyone else being the wiser. And you chose me because I was once involved with the Dark—”
“You were chosen for the excellent mathematical knowledge you possess, Deacon Saryon,” Bishop Vanya interrupted, sliding in under Saryon’s words smoothly. A glance at the Field Catalyst and a slight shaking of the head were enough to remind Saryon that he was not to speak of the old scandal. “These Technologists, so we are led to believe, are extremely fascinated with the subject of mathematics, believing it to be the key to their Dark Art. This will provide you with ideal cover and lead them to accept you into their group most readily.”
“But, Holiness, I am a catalyst, not a—a rebel, or a thief,” Saryon protested. “Why should they accept me at all?”
“There have been renegade catalysts before,” Vanya remarked wryly. “This Joram’s father was one, in fact. I remember the incident quite well—he was found guilty of conceiving through the repulsive act of physically joining with a female. He was sentenced to the Turning to Stone …”
Saryon shuddered involuntarily. All his old sins were crowding in on him, it seemed. The lurid dreams of his youth returned to him, adding to his tension. The fate of Joram’s father might well have been his own! For a moment, he was very nearly physically ill and leaned back against the cushions of his chair. When the blood quit pounding in his ears and his dizzy feeling abated, he could once more attend to Vanya’s words.
“Surely you remember the incident, Deacon Saryon? It was seventeen years ago … But, no, I forgot. You were … absorbed … in your own problems at that time. To continue, upon being told that her child had failed the Tests, the mother—I believe her name was Anja—disappeared, taking the babe with her. We tried to trace her, but it proved impossible. Now, at last, we know what happened to her and her child.”
“Holiness,” Saryon said, swallowing the bile in his mouth, “I am not a young man. I do not believe I am suited for such an important task. I am honored in the confidence you repose in me, but the Duuk-tsarith are far better qualified—”
“You underestimate yourself. Deacon,” Bishop Vanya said pleasantly leaving the window and walking across the room. “You have been living too long among your books.” Coming to stand directly in front of Saryon, he looked down at the priest. “Perhaps I have other reasons for choosing you, reasons that I am not at liberty to discuss. You have been chosen. I cannot, of course, force you to do this. But, do you