Forging the Darksword - Margaret Weis [71]
They learned, once more, the ancient, lost art of forging iron.
Who knows by what chance this brought the evil men to them? Perhaps it was the discovery of a crude knife upon the body of a centaur. Perhaps it was the spear in the hands of some poor, pathetic giant, who babbled the name of those who had made it for him before he succumbed to torture. It doesn’t matter now. The bandits found the Coven—a simple, peaceful people, isolated from the world. To enslave them was an easy task, for the leader of the bandits was a powerful warlock, a former Duuk-tsarith.
For the last five years, the Technologists have been ruled by a group who has taken the iron, taken that which is Lifeless, and given it a most deadly life of its own.
I
The Renegade
In less time than it takes to tell it, Saryon started on his journey. By the time he was ready to leave the Font, he was no longer afraid, nor was he bitter or angry. He was resigned. He had accepted his fate. After all, he had escaped punishment for seventeen years …. He left the Font under the cover of night, sped upon his way by the Enforcers, the black-robed Duuk-tsarith.
Only one person noticed Saryon was gone—Deacon Dulchase. When his inquiries among Masters and brethren brought only shrugs and blank looks, Dulchase, secure in the favor of his Duke, finally confronted Bishop Vanya himself.
“By the way, Holiness,” said Dulchase in conversational tones, planting himself in front of the Bishop as he walked about one of the terraced gardens, “I have missed Brother Saryon of late. He and I were to have discussed a mathematical hypothesis concerning the possibility of fetching the Empress the moon. The last time I saw him, he spoke of being summoned to your chambers. I wondered—”
“Father Saryon?” interrupted the Bishop coldly, glancing around at several other catalysts, members of his staff, who were standing near. “Father Saryon …” the Bishop mused. “Yes, I recall now. I believe he and I discussed a mathematical theory of his, something about shaping stone. He seemed fatigued to me. Overworked. Don’t you agree, Deacon!” An emphasis on the rank. “I recommended a … holiday.”
“I’m certain he took your recommendation to heart, Holiness,” the perennial Deacon returned, frowning.
“I hope so, Brother,” Bishop Vanya said, turning away.
With a sigh, Dulchase went back to his cell to perform the Ritual of Night, seeing, in his mind’s eyes, his poor friend slogging among the beans and cucumbers.
Dulchase was not far wrong in his imaginings. The Bishop had decreed that Saryon should establish a “reputation” as a renegade catalyst so that, when he vanished into the Outland, his story would be believed. He also advised Saryon to discover what he could about Joram, to gain information on the young man that might be of use later. What better way to accomplish both objectives then to live among the Field Magi in the village of Walren?
Saryon agreed to the arrangements calmly and quietly, a doomed man accepting his fate. He had decided, after serious reflection, that this business about Joram was all a sham. There seemed no other reasonable explanation. He simply could not fathom why the Bishop was going to all this trouble to track down one Dead young man, even if he was a murderer.
Saryon had simply outlived his usefulness to the Order and this was Vanya’s way of eliminating him swiftly and silently. Such things were not unusual. Catalysts had disappeared before. The Bishop had even taken the trouble to establish a witness in this wretched Father Tolban, who would relate that Saryon had died in a heroic cause. Thus Saryon’s mother’s spirit would rest easy and not trouble Bishop Vanya in the night as spirits sometimes did now that the Necromancers were no longer in the world to propitiate them.
Saryon and Father Tolban arrived in the village of Walren within moments after leaving the Font, traveling through the Corridors