Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [33]
We landed on the world he and I had known as Thimhallan, the first ship from Earth in twenty years, not counting those that arrived only to off-load supplies to the station then left again, and not counting those that arrived secretly, carrying the Duuk-tsarith and the Technomancers.
Saryon remained alone in his quarters for so long after the ship settled to the ground that I began to think he had reconsidered his decision, that he was not going to talk to Joram after all. The General’s aide was exceedingly worried and panicked calls were made to both General Boris and King Garald. Their images were on-screen, prepared to badger and plead, when Saryon appeared.
Motioning me to follow him, he walked past the aide without a word, did not even glance at the screens. He moved so swiftly through the ship that I barely had time to grab the knapsack in which I had packed a few necessaries for us both and hurry after him.
By the beatific expression on his face, Saryon was lifted far above the remembrance of such things as clean socks, bottled water, and shaving kits. Blessing the forethought which had prompted me to pack for both of us, I slung the knapsack over my shoulders and was following at his heels when he reached the hatch.
Whatever doubts he may have entertained were gone. The weight of his responsibility and even the weight of the intervening years had fallen from him. This was more than a dream come true, for my master. He had never dared dream the dream. He had never thought this reunion would take place. He had believed that Joram—in his self-imposed exile—was lost to him forever.
When the hatch opened, Saryon shot out the doorway and dashed down the ramp, his robes flapping wildly about his ankles. I clattered down behind, struggling with the heavy knapsack, which was throwing me off balance. We were met at the foot of the ramp by a contingent of people from the research station. Saryon halted only because it was either stop or run them over.
He paid them very little attention, however; his hungry gaze going above their heads to the land beyond, a land that, as he had known it, would have been shrouded in magical, protective mist. The mist was gone. The land was now laid bare for all to see.
Saryon tried to see it, tried to see everything he could of his homeland. Craning his neck and peering above the heads of the group, he made only brief and generally incomprehensible statements and, at length, gave up all attempts at politeness. He walked off, leaving the commander and the urgent message he was trying to impart in mid-sentence.
Saryon walked across the rock-strewn ground, walked toward the land of his birth.
The base commander would have gone after him, but I had seen the tears on my master’s face. I intervened, indicating to the commander by emphatic signs that Saryon wanted to be left alone. The General’s aide had arrived by now. She and the commander and I made the plans necessary for our stay.
“You must make him understand,” said the base commander, frustrated. “As I was attempting to tell the priest, we received our orders to pull out yesterday, evacuate the station. So don’t linger. Remind the priest he’s not on holiday. The last ship leaves seventy-two hours from now.”
I was shocked. I stared at the man, who understood my wordless question.
“Yes. The Hch’nyv are that close,” he said grimly. “We’ll be taking you and the prisoner and his family out of here. I guess you and the priest there are responsible for making him see reason, eh?”
“Well, I don’t envy you.” The commander turned his gaze toward the distant hills. “That Joram—he’s gone insane, if you ask me. He was like a wild man when we went up there to rescue Senator Smythe. Not but what he had cause, I grant you. Still, no harm was done and there was Joram standing over the poor Senator,