Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [18]
“And so, down through the ages, the Four kept their loose-knit organization. Parents would pass on this dark inheritance to their children. Worthy recruits were brought into the circle. Fearful of discovery, the Four worked their Dark Arts in isolation, keeping apart from others. Yet they always knew each other, one mage recognizing a fellow mage by certain secret signs and countersigns.
“A central organization existed, run by the Khandic Sages. So secret was this that few of the members ever knew who was in control. Once a year the Sol-huena, the Collectors, appeared at the door of every Dark Cultist, demanding a tithe, which was used to keep the Council operational. The only time members ever came together was if one of their own had been lax in payment of funds or had broken one of their strict rules. The wizards of the Black Steed, the Sol-t’kan or Judges, sat in judgment and passed sentence. The Sol-huena carried out that sentence.
“Eventually, as time passed, the modern world no longer believed in witches and warlocks. The Dark Cultists were able to leave their cellars and their caves, where they had once practiced their arts, move into apartments and town houses. They entered politics, became government ministers and rulers of nations, and when it suited their purposes, fomented war and rebellion. They delight in suffering and death, for by such is their power enhanced.
“And then came the day when the Darksword was created.”
Mosiah glanced at Saryon, who smiled gently and sighed softly and shook his head. For though he did not regret his part in the creation of the Darksword and the eventual downfall of Thimhallan and often said that he would do it again, he as often added that he wished change could have been accomplished with much less pain and suffering.
“The Four knew of the sword’s creation,” said Mosiah. “Some of them said that they were aware of it from the very hour it came into being.”
Saryon was perplexed. “But how is that possible? They were so far away. ...”
“Not far enough. Like it or not, threads of magic bind us together, like the gossamer strands of a spiderweb. If one strand is broken, the shock is felt throughout the web. The Four had no idea what had happened, but they felt the sword’s dark energy. They had strange dreams and portents. Some saw the shadow of a black sword, shaped like a man, rise out of flames. Others saw the same image of a black sword shattering a fragile glass globe. They took it for a symbol of hope. They believed that its creation would bring magic back to them. They were right.
“Twenty years ago, by Earth time, Joram used the Darksword to shatter the Well of the World. Magic spewed out into the universe. The magic was diluted when it reached Earth, but to the parched members of the Dark Cults, the magic fell upon them like a renewing shower.”
“But I don’t understand why they should want the sword,” Saryon protested. “The Darksword nullifies magic. It was invaluable to Joram in Thimhallan, because he was the only person alive who did not possess any magical powers. It was his only means of defense against a world of magi. But what would these Technomancers do with the Darksword here on Earth? Its power is nothing compared to that of ... of ... a nuclear bomb.”
“On the contrary, Father. The Technomancers believe that the Darksword would give them immense power. Power similar to that of a nuclear weapon, in that they could control entire populations. And the Darksword would provide such power on an individual basis in a handy, compact, and inexpensive form. Far more convenient to use than a nuclear bomb and not nearly so messy.”
“I am afraid I still don’t understand—”
“The Darksword absorbs Life, Father. You have said yourself—and your young friend has written—how the sword drew from you