Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [115]
“What does it matter how the sword came to be here?” Eliza asked impatiently. “Now that we have it, we must find my father and mother and Father Saryon.”
Startled, I looked at Mosiah.
“Your father. Joram,” Mosiah asked. “He’s alive?”
“Of course he is!” she answered, and repeated emphatically, “Of course he is.”
“Oh, yes, Joram’s alive, all right,” the bear said in languid tones. “In a foul temper, though. Can’t blame him. Locked up in a prison cell with only the elderly bald party for company.”
Eliza grasped the Darksword tightly, her knuckles whitening, on the hilt. “You’ve found him? He’s safe?”
“He’s seen better days, as the Duchess of Orleans said when she discovered her husband impaled on the door knocker. He’s conscious, and taking solid food. Your father. Not the Duke. There was nothing much we could do for him, beyond polish his head every Sunday.”
“What about my mother?”
“Nada. Nothing. Zip. Sorry and all that, but I sighted neither hide nor hair of her. She is not being held captive in the same location as your father and the catalyst, that much I can tell you.”
“You’ve been there.” Mosiah was skeptical.
“Certainly,” replied the bear.
“To the Technomancers’ prison.Where they’re holding Saryon and Joram.”
“If you would remove that black hood from over your head, Mosiah,” the bear said in nasty tones, “you might be able to hear better. Isn’t that what I said? I was just returning from there, in fact, when you hurled that great bloody sword at me.”
“And where is this prison?”
“Right there,” the bear replied, and gave a bored glance upward.
“Above us!” Eliza exclaimed. She had looked pale and downcast at hearing no news of her mother, but now the color came flooding back to her cheeks.
“In the upper chambers of the cave. Not far. A good, brisk walk on a summer’s day, straight uphill, of course, but think what wonders the climb will do for your calves.”
While this may have been good news in one respect, it was certainly chilling in another. We flashed alarmed glances at each other.
“I’ll watch the door,” Scylla offered. “And keep your voices down!”
That warning came a bit late. We hadn’t been shouting, but we hadn’t been talking in whispers, either. And noise echoes in caverns.
“If the Technomancers are in the chambers above us, why did you bring the Darksword here?” Mosiah demanded of Simkin. “Unless you meant to give it to them.”
“If I did, I wouldn’t be down here in this smelly, dank hole with the lot of you, now, would I?” Simkin said, his nose button twitching. “I’d be up there where it’s dry and comfy and stinks of nothing worse than Kevon Smythe’s cheap cologne. He may be a man of the people, but I don’t see why he has to smell like one.
“Why bring the Darksword here?” Mosiah pursued with extraordinary patience.
“Because, my dear thickheaded clodhopper friend, this is obviously the last place they would think to look! Having lost you, they are this moment turning Zith-el upside down searching for you and the sword. You don’t see them searching down here, do you?”
“He’s got a point,” Scylla admitted.
“He always does,” Mosiah grumbled. “Why didn’t we see the Technomancers or they see us when we entered the cave?”
“You would have, if you’d come in the front.”
“You’re saying we came in the back?”
“I didn’t see any flashing signs, exit or egress, don’t you know, but if you want to think of it that way, yes, you came in the back.”
“Is my father in a cell?” Eliza asked. “Is he being guarded? How many guards?”
“Two. As I said, everyone is certain you’re in Zith-el—”
Scylla moved away from the cavern door, back toward us. “We should go now,” she said. “Quickly.”
“I don’t trust him.” Mosiah was grim. “He betrayed Joram once and caused his death—almost caused his death,” he amended. “Whatever Simkin does, he does for his own amusement. Don’t fool yourself, Eliza. He cares nothing for you, nothing for Joram, nothing for any of us. I have no doubt that if he thinks the Hch’nyv would provide him a moment’s entertainment, he’d wave that orange scarf of his and direct