Forging the Darksword - Margaret Weis [99]
Moving closer, she brushed her lips against Saryon’s cheek. Her warm flesh, soft and curving, pressed against his and for an instant the catalyst was as weak as Simkin. Then she was gone, her cloud of golden hair shimmering around her.
“Let the merriment continue!” she shouted and the darkness came alive.
Saryon turned, his despair complete, and proceeded to half-walk, half-drag the drunken Simkin through the hall, followed by four dancing faerie guards.
“Well, it was a good try,” Saryon whispered to Simkin with a sigh. “But it didn’t work.”
“It didn’t?” asked Simkin, looking about in amazement. “Did they catch us? I don’t remember running!”
“Running!” Saryon said, puzzled. “What do you mean—running? I thought we were trying to convince them to let us go because you were sick?”
“I shay, that’sh a good idea!” said Simkin, regarding Saryon with misty-eyed admiration. “Letsh try it.”
“I did,” snapped Saryon tensely, his arms and back aching with the strain, his hands pricked by the leaves Simkin was wearing. He was growing increasingly nauseated from the smell of forest, wine, and vomit. “It didn’t work.”
“Oh.” Simkin appeared downcast, then almost immediately cheered up. “I guessh we’ll have to … to make … makearunforit.”
“Shhh!” cautioned Saryon, glancing back at the guards. “That’s nonsense! You can’t walk, let alone run.”
“You forget,” said Simkin with a lofty air, “I am a skilled wizard. Class Alionara. Open a con … duit to me, Catalysht, and I … will walk the wings of air.”
“You really know the way out?” Saryon asked dubiously.
“Coursh.”
“How do you feel?”
“Much better … since I was shick.”
“Very well,” Saryon muttered nervously, glancing back at the guards, who weren’t paying the least attention to them. “Which way?”
Simkin stared around, swiveling his head like an owl. “That way,” he indicated, nodding at a dark, unused corridor branching off to their right. Glancing behind him, Saryon saw the four guards lagging behind, staring back wistfully at the revelry they were missing.
“Now!” Simkin cried.
Saryon started to whisper a prayer to the Almin. Remembering bitterly that he was on his own now, he opened a conduit to the magic around him. Drawing it into his body, he hastily made the mathematical calculations necessary to give the young man Life, but not enough to completely drain himself. Filled with the magic he could never use, he extended the conduit to Simkin and felt the surge as the young wizard drew it from him.
Suffused with magical energy, Simkin took to the air with the grace of a drunken loon.
Seeing the young man safely on his way, Saryon broke into a run, the pent-up fear and nervousness surging in his blood giving him an unusual burst of strength as he dashed down the cavern corridor. He heard their guards cry out, but he dared not risk looking behind him to see what was happening. He was having enough trouble staying on his feet as it was. Though here and there a torch sputtered on the wall, the cavern corridor was shadowy, the floor was strewn with rocks and rubble. He had no idea where they were headed. Corridors branched off in all directions, but Simkin flew past them without pausing, his leaves fluttering around him like those of a tree in a high wind.
The shouting behind them grew louder, echoing down the cavern walls in an alarming fashion. Saryon thought he could hear Elspeth’s furious voice rising shrill and harsh above them all. The torches winked out, plunging them into a darkness so complete that Saryon instantly lost all sense of what was ahead of him, above him, or below him.
“Ouch! Drat!”
“Simkin?” Saryon cried fearfully, coming to a halt, not daring to take another step in the darkness, though he could hear the shouts of the faeries exulting loudly.
“More Life, Catalyst!” Simkin called out.
His breath coming in gasps, his heart lurching in his chest, Saryon opened the conduit once again. Immediately