Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [126]
At this, Joram raised his head. His pallor was frightening, the blood formed dark streaks over his face. He had once again lapsed into unconsciousness, his feet dragged, his eyes closed. Except that I could feel the beat of his heart beneath my arm, I might have thought he had died. The word Darksword on his daughter’s lips was perhaps the only thing that could have roused him.
“Where is it?” he gasped, and his voice was little more than a breath. “Is it safe?”
“Yes, Father,” Eliza answered, and her suffering for his suffering choked her. “It is safe. Oh, Father, I am so sorry! I had no right-”
He was shaking his head. “I was the one who had no right,” he said, and then his head lolled. His eyes closed and he sagged in our arms.
“Whatever happens, I have to rest!” I signed urgently, afraid I would drop him.
Scylla nodded and we lowered him to the cavern floor.
Painful warmth flooded through my cramped shoulders. I bit my lips to keep from crying out.
“Is he going to be all right?” Eliza asked fearfully, crouching down beside him. She smoothed the black curly hair from his face, the hair that, but for the streaks of gray at his temples, was the exact match of her own. “He looks so ill.”
“We don’t have much time,” Scylla admitted. “Either for Joram or for ourselves and the rest of those who are counting on us.”
“I am confused,” I signed. “I have lost track of time—any time! How long do we have?”
“Until midnight this night,” Scylla said, consulting a green-glowing watch she wore on her wrist.
“That’s when the last ship leaves the outpost?” Saryon asked.
Scylla gave him a strange look. “The last ship has left,” she replied coolly. “Midnight is when the Hch’nyv will arrive.”
“What?” My frantic gestures revealed my fear and alarm. “How will we return the Darksword to Earth? What good would it do? Why do we persist in this folly? We’re all going to die anyway!”
She was about to answer when the sound of footfalls, moving rapidly, echoed down the tunnel. The noise silenced us all. Scylla was on her feet, placing herself between us and whoever was coming down the tunnel.
“Douse the light!” she hissed.
Eliza shut off the flashlight. We huddled together in the dark, our fear a living thing that seemed to take shape and form around us. Then I heard a voice, a soft voice, Saryon’s voice, speaking to the Almin in prayer. His hand, strong and warm, closed over mine. He was offering me comfort and a gentle reminder that our lives were being guided, watched over, protected by one greater than ourselves. Though this should all come to some terrible end, we would not be alone. I said a prayer myself, asking for forgiveness for my lack of faith and strength to go on.
A figure lurched out of the darkness, nearly ran headlong into Scylla. “What the—” came a voice.
“Mosiah!” Scylla breathed a sigh in relief.
Eliza switched on the light.
Mosiah glared around at us. “What the devil are you all doing?” he demanded angrily. “Having a picnic? Why—”
He caught sight of Joram, lying unconscious on the tunnel floor. “Oh,” Mosiah said, and he shook his head. His gaze shifted back to Scylla. “Is he dead?”
“No, but he’s not doing well,” she answered guardedly, with a glance at Eliza.
“We can’t wait. I took care of the Technomancers, but more will be coming through the teleporter at any moment. I could not prevent them from sounding the alarm. We must recover the Darksword and get out of here quickly! You and I will carry him.”
“You don’t look able to carry yourself,” Scylla said as they bent together to lift up Joram. “Do you have any Life left?”
“Not much.” Mosiah grunted from the exertion. He had changed back to his usual form, but the alteration must have been a draining one. He looked exhausted to the point of dropping.
“Perhaps I could give you Life again,” I said, feeling guilty that I had failed them.
Saryon regarded me with amazement. “You gave Mosiah Life, Reuven? How? When?”
“It will take too long to explain, Father,” said Mosiah. He