Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [132]
“Take the sword to Merlyn’s tomb,” Gwen repeated.
“Why?” Mosiah asked harshly. “Why take it there?”
“Trust me, Daughter,” said Gwendolyn, ignoring Mosiah. “Trust yourself. Follow your heart.”
A cry shattered the darkness. From back in the tunnel, where she was guarding Joram, Scylla shouted, “Mosiah! They’re coming! Look out! I can’t stop—” Her voice was cut short.
We heard scuffling sounds and then the tramping of many pairs of booted feet. The dragon lifted its head, anger rumbled in its chest. The eyes opened wider, the light that drove men to madness gleamed more brightly.
Gwendolyn was gone and so was the image of Eliza.
“Father!” Eliza cried.
“No time!” Mosiah said urgently, catching hold of her. “We have to find a way out. Simkin said there was another exit. Father Saryon! The dragon! It must know another way. You must command it to show us.”
“What? Oh, dear, no!” Saryon was alarmed and appalled. He cast the dragon a sidelong glance and shuddered. “Not again. The spell is slipping. I can feel it.”
“Father Saryon,” Eliza pleaded. She held the Darksword, wrapped in the blanket. “Mosiah is right. This is our only chance. How else can we take the sword to the tomb in time?”
Leaning down, he kissed her on the forehead. “I could never deny you anything. Reuven used to complain that I spoiled you. But then, you two were all I had.”
Saryon left us. He walked over to stand, once more, in front of the dragon. He kept his eyes lowered.
“Make certain the sword is hidden,” Mosiah said to Eliza. “You remember what happened the last time.”
Then it had been the Duuk-tsarith who had attacked us. Then Eliza had wielded the Darksword and its power had broken the spell. Outside, in this time, I could hear the footsteps coming nearer. I wondered what had happened to Scylla and hoped with all my heart that she was safe. I trusted that they would not hurt Joram any more than he’d been hurt already. They needed him alive still, so long as his daughter was in possession of the Darksword.
“Dragon,” said Saryon. “I command you. We are in danger. Help us to escape those who pursue us.”
“You are in danger, old man,” said the dragon, its lip curling to reveal hideous, yellowed, and bloodstained fangs. “Your danger lies ahead of you, not behind.”
The diamond’s light was rapidly dimming. As Saryon had warned, the spell was slipping. The dragon started to crawl toward us. It began to lift the night-dark wings. I could see the sparkle of the deadly stars.
Saryon drew himself up tall. I saw in him now what I had seen in him before, in our living room, facing a king, a general, and the dread leader of the Dark Cultists. His inner strength, his love for us, his faith in his Creator shone brighter than the dragon’s hideous light.
“Dragon, you will obey me,” said Saryon.
The diamond on the dragon’s head flared, glittered with brilliance. The dragon glared at him balefully, but it was constrained by the charm’s unseen force to lower its head. The Dragon of the Night bowed before Saryon. The pale eyes were slits of enmity, but the dragon kept them hooded.
“If you dare, old man, climb upon my back.”
“Quickly, children!” Saryon urged. “Mosiah?”
“I will stay behind to cover your escape,” Mosiah said.
“But they’ll kill you!” Saryon cried.
“Come with them, Duuk-tsarith,’“ the dragon said, its voice grating. “I will deal with those who pursue you. I feel the need to kill something!”
Mosiah did not wait to be asked twice. I now trusted him. He was loyal to his word and would have defended us to the death, but he still had hopes of obtaining the Darksword and was loath to let it out of his sight.
By this time I was climbing up onto the dragon. I followed Saryon, who appeared to have been riding dragons all his life, though I know for certain he had never done such a thing. We crawled up the bony structure of the enormous black wing, being careful—as he warned us—not to step on the membrane or we might tear it. The dragon’s body quivered beneath us, as the ground in the vicinity of a volcano quakes from