Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [125]
“Eliza, you lead the way,” Scylla said. “Hurry now.”
“Wait!” Eliza turned to Father Saryon. “Where is Mother? Was she in that prison with you?”
“No, child,” Saryon said, looking concerned. “She was not. I thought perhaps you might know—”
Eliza shook her head.
“She is not here,” Saryon said. “And that is a hopeful sign. If the Technomancers had made her captive, they would have made use of her by now. I think that somehow she managed to escape them.”
“Then where is she?” Eliza demanded.
“Perhaps I have an idea,” Saryon said. “Do not worry. I believe that wherever she is, she is safe. Safer than we are.”
Eliza gave her father a gentle kiss on his bloodstained cheek, then grabbing hold of Saryon’s hand, she led the way back down the spiraling tunnel. Scylla and I, half carrying Joram, hastened after. He groaned with pain only once, when we first started to move, then gritted his teeth and tightened his lips over his agony.
Behind us, we heard a savage howl and a scream.
It occurred to me to wonder, just as we left the area, what had become of Simkin.
I glanced back. There, lying on an empty pile of silver robes, was a teddy bear. Its head was missing and so were both of its arms. The orange ribbon that had been tied in a jaunty bow around Teddy’s neck lay limply across the body.
I hurried on, thankful that Eliza had been too preoccupied with her father to see.
“It’s very strange,” said Saryon, after we had traveled about a mile down the corkscrew tunnel, “but this place seems familiar to me. And I know I’ve never been here in my life.”
“Not in this life, perhaps, Father,” said Scylla, “but who knows where you’ve been gallivanting around in other lives?”
Saryon glanced back at her with a weak smile, thinking she was joking and politely pretending to be amused, although he must have been thinking that this was not the time for levity. Eliza was endeavoring to find our way, using Scylla’s flashlight as a guide, and paying no attention to what was being said. Joram was too intent on combating his pain to search for hidden meanings.
I alone realized that there might be more to Scylla’s statement than appeared. I glanced at her sidelong, with Joram between us, and caught her looking at me, a smile on her lips. I could not question her; my hands were occupied in supporting Joram.
I had no thought, then, of the truth. I’m not certain I would ever have figured it out, but I began to see how a few small pieces of the puzzle might fit together. I wished that Mosiah were here, to see what he would have made of her peculiar statement.
But for all I knew, Mosiah might very well be dead. We had heard nothing of him since we left. Our only sign that he had lived long enough to perform his task was that we had not been overtaken by the guards.
We continued on. Joram grew heavier as his strength flagged and he relied more on us to support him. Scylla bore most of the weight, but I had my share and my shoulders burned and ached with the strain. I thought of the pain he must be enduring in silence, with no complaint, and I felt ashamed. Resolutely, I put the thought of my own discomfort out of my mind and trudged on.
Saryon came to a sudden halt. “I don’t like this,” he said. “Something lives down here. Can’t you smell it? A dragon,” he added, his brow furrowed. “A Dragon of the Night.”
“Something used to live down here, Father,” Eliza answered, flashing the light around the smooth-sided, smooth-floored tunnel. “I’m not sure what it was, but it’s gone now. It must have died when the magic died. Why do you think it’s a dragon?”
“I don’t know.” Saryon was perplexed. “The thought came to me, that’s all.” He was shrewd and he had lived most of his life in magical Thimhallan. He looked at Scylla, his expression puzzled and uneasy. He was beginning to take her joke more seriously. “Perhaps we should wait here for Mosiah. Not travel any farther until we find out what has happened to him. Are you certain we have to go deeper into this awful place?”