Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [19]
Saryon paled. He had lifted his teacup, to drink, set it down again with haste. His hand shook. He gazed at Mosiah with sorrowful anguish.
“I am afraid so, Father,” Mosiah answered the look, the unspoken protest. “The Technomancers know that the Darksword has the power to absorb Life. Once the sword is in their possession, they plan to study it, determine how to mass-produce it, and distribute Darkswords to their followers. The swords will absorb magic, then give up that Life, much as a living being gives up life when the being dies. And because the Technomancers are accustomed to taking magic from the dead, they believe they can use Darkswords to fuel their power—a far cheaper and more efficient means than that which they are now using.”
A kind of magic battery, I typed.
“What are they using to fuel their power?” Saryon asked, his voice low. His gaze was on the medallion, which had now gone almost completely dark—a brownish, blackish green.
Mosiah picked up the medallion, held it to the light.
“Imagine these organisms grown in immense vats—vats seven times the size of this house, whose circumference would encompass this block. Various gases are pumped into the vats. An electrical current is passed through the gases. The result is this simple form of life. Great quantities are manufactured. The living mass seethes and bubbles in the vats as it grows and reproduces. Now imagine many more vats, dedicated to the death of these organisms. Again, the electric current. But this time it destroys, it does not create.
“As the catalysts give us Life . . .” Mosiah paused, looked at Saryon. “As you used to give me Life, Father. Do you remember? We were fighting Blachloch’s henchmen and I transformed into a gigantic tiger. ... I was very young,” he added, with a slight smile, “and prone to flaunt my power.”
Saryon smiled. “I remember. And I remember being quite happy to see that tiger at the time.”
“At any rate”—Mosiah shook off memory—”as the catalysts give us Life, drawing the magic from all living beings and pouring it into those of us who use it, so the Technomancers receive their power from the deaths—not only of these manufactured organisms, but from the deaths of all things in this universe. The war with the Hch’nyv has been a blessing to them,” he added, his tone bitter.
“I will never take the Technomancers to Joram,” Saryon said with absolute conviction. “Never. Like you”—he looked at Mosiah—”I would die first. You need have no worry.”
“On the contrary, Father,” said Mosiah. “We want you to take them to Joram.”
Saryon stared at Mosiah, stared a long time in silence. His pain was so great that it grieved me to look at him.
“You want the Darksword,” he said. His brows drew together. “Who sent you?”
Mosiah leaned forward, his hands clasped together. “The Technomancers are extremely powerful, Father. They have seduced a great number of our people, who are now finding it easier and faster to gain what they want in this world by exchanging magic for technomancy. King Garald—”
“Ah!” Saryon exclaimed, and he nodded.
“King Garald dares not openly defy them,” Mosiah continued resolutely. “Not now, not yet. But secretly, we are building our strength, readying our resources. When the day comes, we will take action and—”
“And what?” Saryon cried. “Kill them? More killing?”
“If you do not acquire the Darksword from Joram, what do you think they will do to him and to his family, Father?” Mosiah asked coldly. “The only reason they have left him in peace thus far is due to the laws of the mundane, which prohibit anyone from setting foot on Thimhallan. The Technomancers have not yet been ready to reveal themselves to the mundane.
“All that is about to change, however. Their leader—this man Kevon Smythe—has gained great political power among the mundane, who do not know he is a Technomancer and wouldn’t believe it if they were told. Smythe has convinced the heads of Earth Force that, using