Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [114]
“The cut’s not deep. The bleeding’s already stopped. He may have a headache for a while, but no permanent damage.”
Eliza drew out a handkerchief—a plain, white handkerchief— and began to dab at the cut on my forehead.
Angrily, I thrust away her hand. Scrambling to my feet, I backed up against the wall and glared at the two women, who were regarding me in astonishment. Had it been a dream? A hallucination? If so, it was the most incredibly real dream I had ever experienced.
“What’s going on here?” Mosiah demanded, coming over to us.
“Reuven’s foot turned on a stone and he fell and hit his head,” Eliza said. “Scylla says it’s not serious, but look at him. He’s staring at me as if I were a dragon about to tear him apart!”
“And you,” said Scylla, confronting Mosiah. “Where have you been?”
“I don’t know,” he said harshly. “Where have I been?”
“How the hell should I know?” Scylla demanded, looking amazed. “What’s wrong? Did you hit your head, too?”
Mosiah was suddenly grave, thoughtful. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Come to think of it, I did.”
He knew! He had been there, wherever it was! Limp with relief, I leaned back against the cave wall and tried to collect my thoughts. Most of them were too far scattered to get hold of, but at least I knew I wasn’t going insane. I started to ask Mosiah one of the thousand questions that was in my mind, but he made me a discreet sign with his hand.
“Say nothing. Not yet,” he counseled.
“There,” Scylla said, dusting off my clothes with an enthusiasm which nearly had me back on the stone floor again. “You look a little better.”
Eliza bent down, picked up the Darksword. I had a sudden, horrifying vision of a black dragon, claws stained red with blood, knocking the Darksword from her hands. She fell. The claws ripped and tore her flesh. Her screams . . .
The vision faded, though not the horror. My body was wet with sweat and I shivered in the cavern’s dank air.
“You do realize that we are standing in a dragon’s lair,” Mosiah said sharply.
“That’s what Scylla told me.” Eliza shrugged. She was too preoccupied with worry over her father to evince much interest.
“It’s an old one,” Scylla said. “No need to be afraid. All the dragons died when the Well of Life was destroyed.”
“It certainly smells occupied,” Mosiah maintained, frowning. “And how did the Darksword end up here! I threw it through the gate—”
“And damn near made me into a shish kebab,” came a plaintive voice from a dark corner. “Bear-on-a-Spit. Teriyaki Teddy. Lucky for you I was around. Those silver-plated goons would have snapped it up if it hadn’t been for me. As for the cave, it’s hermetically sealed. Like Tupperware. Keeps the rot fresh for centuries.”
Flashing her light around the cavern, Scylla located the source of the voice.
“Teddy!” Eliza cried in delight.
The stuffed bear sat propped up against a stalagmite. “I thought you’d never get here,” he said peevishly. “What have you been doing? Going on picnics, I suppose. Taking bus trips to Brighton. I’ve been waiting and waiting. It’s been frightfully dull, I don’t mind telling you.”
Still carrying the Darksword, Eliza walked over to Teddy, bent down to pick him up.
The bear’s beady black eyes glittered in alarm. The stuffed body squirmed out of her reach. “Don’t bring that ugly thing near me!”
“The Darksword?” Eliza said, wondering, then added, “Oh, of course. I understand.”
“I don’t,” Mosiah said sharply. “The Darksword disrupts his magic. He can’t stand to have it near him. And yet he maintains that he brought it here!”
“You’d be amazed what I can do when I put my mind to it,” Simkin said, sniffing. “And I never said I brought it here. I do have friends left in this world, you know. People who appreciate me. My dear friend Merlyn, for one.”
“Merlyn.Of course.” Mosiah’s lip curled. “Kevon Smythe for another?”
“Sticks and stones may break my bones but Darkswords will never hurt me,” Teddy