Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [118]
“What’s up there?” Mosiah asked Simkin.
“Rock, air, water.” Simkin waved the orange scarf. “Oh! You want specifics! Well, let’s see.” He frowned in deep thought. “This tunnel ends at the river. At the opening to the tunnel, there is a small chamber, just off to the right as you’re facing the tunnel. Or is it the left, as you’re facing the river? Of course, if you’re in the river, it’s rather behind you and—”
“Simkin, please!” Eliza said, and her voice quavered. “What? Sorry, dear girl. Truly.” Simkin looked very contrite. “Forgot that you’re taking this personally. Let’s see. Where was I? In the river . . . Right. We don’t want to go in the river. Not if it can be avoided. No need to, really. Joram and the Father Skinhead are being held prisoner in the small chamber which is to the right—no, make that left. . . . Anyway, the small chamber. You can’t miss it.”
“No, and they won’t be able to miss us,” Mosiah said grimly. “They’ll spot us the moment we walk into the light. If only I had Life enough—”
“I don’t see what’s stopping you, Enforcer. You have a catalyst right here,” Eliza said. “Father Reuven. He may be a house catalyst and not trained to the specific needs of you warlocks, but he would do in an emergency, I suppose.”
“Father Reuven!” Scylla chuckled. “How funny.” Mosiah and I did not laugh. We stared at Eliza. She had spoken of me as if we were in that other time, using the very same words Scylla had used in a similar situation.
“Why are you looking at me like that? What did I say—oh.” Eliza blinked in confusion. “What did I say? And why did I say it? Father Reuven. House catalyst. But it sounds so natural. . . .”
Mosiah was looking at me now, his expression thoughtful. Suddenly he thrust his black-robed arm out. “Catalyst,” he said softly, “give me Life.”
I would have laughed. My hand lifted to sign that I did not know how. . . . And yet, I did know how. I remembered. I remembered the wonderful feeling as the Life flowed into me. I remembered how to reach out for the magic with one hand while the other held Mosiah’s arm. I was the vessel, the magic ran into me, and for that brief moment I was blessed.
I closed my eyes and willed the Life of Thimhallan to come to me.
At first I felt nothing, and fear that I would fail, fail Eliza, twisted inside me. I concentrated all my effort, praying to the Almin, pleading. . . . The Life came suddenly, in a great surge, as if it had been pent up and was waiting only for release. The energy gave me a severe jolt. My body tingled and burned, as if each drop of blood was a tiny spark. The sensation was excruciatingly painful, not pleasant, as it had been in the alternate time.
Frightened and hurting, I tried to end it, tried to snatch my hand from Mosiah’s arm, but he refused to let me go. The magic leapt between us in a blue arc that twined around his arm and mine.
The flame of the arc crackled out. I was empty, the fire replaced by a sensation of cold that left me numb and shaking. I sank to my knees, my strength sapped.
Eliza knelt and put her arm around me.
“Reuven, are you all right?”
I nodded, though I felt sick and dizzy.
“Blessed Almin,” said Scylla, awed. “I’ve never seen anything like that!”
“I doubt you ever will again,” said Mosiah, massaging his arm. “That was the Life transference of a catalyst to a warlock. We thought such transferences had died with the magic, for it has not been successfully performed since the war ended. Strange,” he murmured to himself. “Very strange.”
“Not so strange if the magic hasn’t died,” Scylla observed.
Simkin yawned. “While you all are playing at being magi, I’m off to reconnoiter. Wait for me here. Do you know, I’m quite enjoying this!”
“Wait—damn!”
Mosiah clutched empty air. Simkin had vanished.
“Now what do we do?” I signed.
“Hand ourselves over to the Technomancers,” Mosiah said bitterly. “We might as well.”
“Nonsense,” Eliza said crisply. “We’ll wait here for him to return. He will return. I have faith in Ted—Simkin.”
“So did your father,” Mosiah said grimly. He glanced around,