Forging the Darksword - Margaret Weis [88]
Saryon stared at the young man in amazed confusion, feeling dizzy and only half comprehending what he’d said. This is insane, was the first clear thought that came to him. This … Simkin talking to Bishop Vanya? His Tubbiness! Yet Simkin knew …
“You must be the spy!” Saryon blurted.
“I must, must I?” Simkin said, regarding him with a look both cool and mysterious.
“You’ve as much as admitted it!” Saryon cried, grasping hold of the young man’s arm. Aching, frightened, and exhausted, the catalyst had reached his limit. “Why is Vanya sending me? I must know! You could bring him Joram, if that’s all he wants! Why did he lie to me? Why the tricks?”
“Now look here, old boy, calm down,” said Simkin soothingly. Suddenly serious, he laid his hand over Saryon’s and drew him near, “If what you say is true and I am working for Vanya, and, mind you, I’m not saying I am—”
“No, of course not,” Saryon muttered.
“—then you must know that my life would be worth less than that truly slovenly looking garb you’re wearing if anyone back at”—he nodded in what Saryon presumed was the direction of the coven’s settlement—“found out. Not that I care about myself,” he added in a low voice, “but it’s my sister.”
“Sister?” Saryon asked weakly.
Simkin nodded. “They’re holding her captive,” he whispered.
“The Coven?” Saryon was growing more confused.
“The Duuk-tsarith hissed Simkin. “If I fail …” Shrugging, he grasped himself around the neck and twisted his hands. “Snap,” he said gloomily.
“That’s dreadful!” Saryon gasped.
“I could turn Joram over to them,” Simkin continued with a sigh. “He trusts me, poor lad. I’m his best friend, in fact. I could tell them all they wanted to know about the negotiations with the Emperor of Sharakan. I could help expose these Technologists for the murderers and black-hearted Sorcerers that they are. But that’s not what we’re after, is it?”
Saryon deemed it safer not to reply, since he wasn’t at all certain what he was after. He could only stare at Simkin dumbly. How did he know all of this? Vanya must have told him …
“It is a deep game we play, brother,” said Simkin, clutching Saryon’s arm. “Deep and dangerous. You are in it with me, the only one I can trust.” He caught his breath in a choking sob. “I am thankful, thankful not to be alone anymore!”
Throwing his arms around the catalyst, Simkin laid his head on Saryon’s shoulder and began to weep.
Taken aback by this unexpected development, Saryon could only stand helplessly in the middle of the forest, patting the young man awkwardly on the back.
“There, I’m all right,” Simkin said bravely, straightening up and wiping his face. “Sorry for falling apart. It’s this beastly strain. It will be better now that I have somebody to talk to. For the nonce, however, we really must be running along!”
“Yes,” muttered Saryon, still feeling vastly confused, “but first please tell me why they sent me—”
“Listen!” said Simkin in a tense voice, grabbing hold of Saryon’s arm again. “Did you hear that?”
Saryon froze, every sense alert. “No, I—”
“There it was again!”
“I didn’t hear—”
“Centaurs! Not a doubt of it!” Simkin was pale, but controlled. “I was born in these woods! I can hear a squirrel’s breath at fifty paces. Come on! Open the Corridor. Here, use my Life force. I know where we’re going. I’ll visualize the destination.”
Saryon hesitated, still uncertain about using the Corridor when he knew the Thon-Li, the Corridor Masters, would certainly be monitoring it. He didn’t trust this young man or his wild tales, although he had no other explanation for Simkin’s extraordinary knowledge than that he must be a spy.