Forging the Darksword - Margaret Weis [76]
Vanya’s face flushed, his brows contracted. Pursing his lips, he drew in a deep breath through his nose. “Do you take me for a fool, Father Saryon?” he bellowed.
“Holiness!” Saryon gasped, blanching. He had never seen the Bishop so angry. It was more frightening—at the moment—than the unknown terrors of the Outland. “I never—”
“I thought I had made myself clear. The importance of bringing this young man to justice cannot be overemphasized.” Vanya’s pudgy fingers stabbed the air. “You, Brother Saryon, have a high opinion of yourself, it seems! Do you honestly think I would go to this considerable expenditure of time and effort simply to divest the Order of one foolish priest? I undertake nothing with an expectation of failure. I have information about these practitioners of the Dark Arts, Saryon. I know they need one thing, and that one thing I am sending them—a catalyst. No, you will be quite safe, I assure you, Father. They will see to that.”
Saryon could not answer. He could only stare at the Bishop in utter confusion. One thought managed to rise to the top of the swirling waters of his mind. Once again he wondered, what was it that made this one Dead young man so vitally important?
Seeing his priest dumbfounded, Bishop Vanya shut his lips with a snap and, turning, prepared to take his leave. Then he hesitated, and turned back again to face the catalyst.
“Brother Saryon,” the Bishop said in a peculiarly soft voice, “I have pondered long whether to tell you this or not. What I say now must not leave this room. Some of what I am about to reveal to you is known only to myself and the Emperor. The political situation in Thimhallan is not good. Despite our best efforts, it has been deteriorating for years. We have it on good authority that the kingdom of Sharakan has been influenced by certain members of this Coven of the Wheel. They have not yet embraced the Dark Arts that nearly destroyed us centuries ago, but their Emperor has been so rash as to actually invite these people to his kingdom. The Cardinal of the Realm, who sought to counsel against this, was dismissed from the court.”
Saryon stared at him, transfixed. “But why—”
“War. To use them and their infernal weapons against Merilon,” Vanya said with a heavy sigh. “Thus you see how vital it is that we take this young man alive and, through his trial, expose these fiends for what they are—murderers and black-hearted Sorcerers who would pervert dead objects by giving them Life. By doing this, we can show the people of Sharakan that their Emperor is in league with the powers of darkness, and we can then encompass his downfall.”
“His downfall!” Saryon clutched at the back of a chair, feeling weak and dizzy.
“His downfall,” Vanya repeated sternly. “Only then, Father Saryon, will we be able to prevent a catastrophic war.” He looked grimly at the catalyst. “You see now, I hope, the extreme urgency and importance of your mission. We dare not attack the Sorcerers’ camp. Sharakan would come instantly to their aid. One man must slip in, retrieve the boy … I chose you, one of my most intelligent brethren—”
“I’ll try not to fail you, Holiness,” Saryon murmured confusedly. “I only wish I had known, that I were better suited …”
Reaching out, Vanya placed his hand upon Saryon’s shoulder, his expression one of earnest caring. “I know you will not fail, Deacon Saryon. I have every confidence in you. I am only sorry you misunderstood the nature of your mission. I did not dare explain it more fully. The Font has ears, you know.” He raised his hand in the ritual blessing. “The elements of earth and air, fire and water, grant you Life. The Almin be with you.”
Stepping into the Corridor, the Bishop disappeared.
When he was gone, Saryon’s strength gave out and he sank to his knees, overwhelmed by what he had