Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [20]
“He will not.” Saryon shook his head, firm with conviction. “You know that, Mosiah. You know him.”
Mosiah hesitated a moment, then said, “Yes, I know him. And so does King Garald. We are counting on the fact that he won’t give up the Darksword. We don’t want the Technomancers to obtain it.”
Saryon blinked in confusion. “You want me to ask him to give up the sword that you don’t want him to give up?”
“In a way, yes, Father. Simply ask Joram to show you where the sword is hidden. Once we know where it is, we will take over. We will retrieve it and keep it in our possession. We will keep it secret and safe, guard it with our very lives, as we will guard Joram and his family. Of that, you can rest assured.”
Saryon’s long hair was quite gray and very thin and lay on his shoulders, soft as a child’s. He had acquired a stoop, and sometimes a slight palsy made his hands tremble. These physical attributes, combined with a generally benign expression, caused people to take him for a weak, gentle old man. There was nothing gentle about him now as he sat bolt upright, his body rigid, the warmth in his eyes igniting to fire.
“You’ve tried before to find the Darksword, haven’t you? Tried and failed!”
Mosiah regarded Saryon steadily. “It would have been better for Joram if we had been able to discover the sword’s location and safely remove it. The Technomancers would then have no interest in him. Rest assured, Father, if you do not acquire the Darksword by peaceful means, they will take it by whatever means they can.”
“And what about the Duuk-tsarith!” Saryon demanded, the fire within him burning bright. “What means will you use to take the sword?”
Mosiah rose to his feet. His black robes fell in folds about him. He clasped his hands together. “Know this, Father. We will not let the Darksword fall into the hands of the Technomancers.”
“Why not?” I signed. “What if they can use it to defeat the Hch’nyv? Wouldn’t it be worth it?”
“The Hch’nyv plan to exterminate humankind, the Technomancers to enslave us. An unhappy choice, wouldn’t you say, Reuven? And, of course, for me and those like me, there would be no choice at all. And, there are those among the Duuk-tsarith who think that we may be able to use the sword in the battle against the Hch’nyv.
“Well, Father?” Mosiah waited for an answer. “Through King Garald’s intercession, we give you this chance to acquire the Darksword by peaceful means. If you do not, the Technomancers will take it from Joram by force. Surely your choice is clear.”
‘“And what of Joram?” Saryon rose to face him. “What of his wife and child? He is the most hated man in the universe. The Duuk-tsarith once pledged his death. Perhaps the only reason you haven’t killed him before now is because you don’t know where he’s hidden the sword!”
Mosiah’s face was stern, pale. “We will protect Joram—”
Saryon gazed steadily at the Enforcer. “Will you? And what about the rest of our people? How many countless thousands have vowed to kill Joram and his wife and child on sight?”
“How many people will the Hch’nyv kill?” Mosiah countered. “You speak of Joram’s child, Father. What of the millions of innocent children who will die if we lose the battle against the Hch’nyv? And we are losing, Father! Every day they draw nearer Earth. We must have the sword! We must!”
Saryon sighed. The fire died within him. He seemed suddenly very old, very frail and feeble. He sank back down into his chair, rested his head in his hands. “I don’t know. I can’t promise.”
Mosiah frowned, appeared prepared to add to his arguments.
I rose from my chair, confronted the Enforcer.
“My master is very tired, sir,” I signed. “It is time you left.”
Mosiah glanced from one of us to the other.