Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [25]
Though four of us remained in the house, it seemed empty and alone, the house of a stranger who has moved away. A chill raised my flesh. It was as if we had already left this house, never to return.
Of the four of us, Saryon was the most at ease. His decision made, he was calm, gracious, and—oddly enough, with a King and General in attendance—it was my master who was in command of the situation.
In fact, when Garald was about to speak, Saryon interrupted him.
“Your Majesty, your emissary Mosiah explained matters quite clearly to me last night. The visit from the Technomancers was also quite instructive.”
At this, King Garald shifted uncomfortably on the couch and would have again spoken, but Saryon continued on, placid and imperturbable.
“I have reached a tentative decision,” Saryon said. “I need more information before I can make my decision final. I hope you two gentlemen, as well as the gentleman who is expected to arrive later, will be able to provide it.”
“About the one expected later,” General Boris said. “There are a few things you should know, Father, in regard to Kevon Smythe.”
“I know quite a bit about him, already,” Saryon said, with a half smile. “I spent the night researching him on the World Wide Weave.”
“Web,” I signed, correcting him.
“Web,” Saryon replied. “I always get that confused.”
The two gentlemen seemed amazed. If they knew Saryon at all, they should not have been. Though the technology of the combustible engine left him baffled, he had adapted to the com--puter world like a duck to water.
“I tapped into various sources,” he continued, and I suppressed a smile, for I knew now he was innocently showing off. “I read articles on Smythe written by political analysts. I read newspaper reports, and even scanned a biography, which is in the works. Not one of these mentioned that Kevon Smythe is a Technomancer.”
“Of course not, Father,” said Garald. “He has taken care to keep that part of his life secret. And, after all, who would believe it? Only those of us who were born and raised on Thimhallan. And,” he added, including General Boris, “those who once visited there. Surely, you don’t doubt it! After last night . . .”
“Indeed, Your Majesty.” Saryon was calm. “As I said, last night was most instructive. All the accounts of Kevon Smythe speak of his ambition, his meteoric rise to fortune and fame, his charismatic ability to sway people to his cause. They all marveled at his luck—what they term ‘lucky breaks’—that gained him wealth, or put him in the right place at the right time, or caused him to make exactly the right decision.”
“What they call luck, some of us call magic,” said King Garald.
“How is it possible that no one knows?” Saryon asked mildly.
“Are you doubting His Majesty?” General Boris’s face flushed.
Garald waved him to silence. “I can understand Father Saryon’s concern. It was difficult for me to believe, at first. But this is how the Technomancers have long worked in this world.
“You’ve heard, undoubtedly, stories of those who practice so-called Black Magic; cults of Satan worshipers, who don black robes and mutilate animals and dance around graveyards at midnight. This is what most of the people on Earth equate with the dark arts. This is not the Technomancer. They laugh at such nonsense and even use it for their own purposes—it deflects attention away from them.
“Who would believe that the businessman in the three-piece suit who is said to be a genius at playing the stock market uses his magical ability to make himself invisible, sits in on board meetings of various companies, and thus gains inside information? Who would believe that the embezzler who left her firm in financial ruin was able to mislead everyone because of the magical hold she had on their minds?”
It sounded ludicrous, even to me, and I had seen with my own eyes the silver-robed Technomancers