Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [34]
I knew that would be out of the question, as far as Saryon was concerned, and so did the General’s aide.
“They do not have far to travel and the catalyst is familiar with this land,” she told the base commander. “The priest is an old friend of Joram’s. They will not be in any danger. And they will have communicators in the air car, which they can use should they run into any unforeseen circumstances.”
She gave me a sideways glance as she said this, to see my reaction. I guessed then that we would have escorts—of an unseen kind. The Duuk-tsarith, perhaps hidden in their folds of time, would be guarding us.
“What about a driver?” asked the commander.
“I will drive—” the aide began.
I shook my head emphatically and tapped myself on the chest. On my handheld computer, I typed out, I will drive.
“Can you?” the aide asked me, clearly dubious.
Yes, I replied stoutly, which was almost the truth.
I had driven an air car once before, at an amusement park, and had just about got the hang of it. It was the other cars, coming every which way at me, which had confused me and caused my driving to be slightly erratic. If mine was the only air car in this part of the solar system, I figured I would be fairly safe.
Besides—I held up the computer for the aide to see what I had written—you know that he will not let anyone else come with us. She did know, but she didn’t like it. My guess was that this had all been arranged—the air car, I mean—with the understanding that she would drive us, keep an eye on us, make her reports. Haven’t you got spies enough? I thought bitterly, but did not put into words. I had won this round and could afford to be magnanimous.
“Keep in contact,” the base commander warned. “Circumstances with the enemy could change. And probably not for the better.”
The aide returned to the ship, to complain to the General. The base commander accompanied me to the air car, gave me quick refresher lessons in operating the thing—lessons which served to confuse me thoroughly. I tossed the knapsack in the backseat and left the air car to fetch Saryon, who, in his eagerness, had started walking in the direction of the distant mountains.
I hadn’t taken six steps when the commander called after me. I turned to see him picking something up off the ground.
“Here.” The commander handed it to me. “The priest dropped this.”
He held out Saryon’s leather scrip, one of the few objects he had brought with him from Thimhallan. I recalled it well, for it was given an honored place in his study, carefully arranged upon a small table near his desk. I always knew when Saryon was thinking about Joram or about the past, for he would rest his hand upon the scrip, his fingers stroking the worn leather.
I thought it touching that he had brought the scrip with him, perhaps as a holy relic, to be rededicated. I couldn’t imagine, though—cherishing the scrip as he did—how he had come to carelessly drop it. Thanking the commander, I placed the scrip in the backseat along with the knapsack. Then I went to retrieve my master.
“Air car,” he said, and gave me a sharp look. “And who’s to be the driver?”
“I am, sir,” I signed. “It’s either that or the General’s aide will drive us, and I knew you wouldn’t like to have a stranger along.”
“I would much prefer that alternative to being splattered against a tree,” said Saryon irritably.
“I have driven an air car before, sir,” I returned.
“In an amusement park!” Saryon snorted.
I was hoping that in his excitement, he would have forgotten the circumstances. Apparently not.
“I will go find the General’s aide, sir,” I signed, and started to head back toward the ship.
“Wait, Reuven.”
I turned around.
“Can you . . . really drive one of those contraptions?” He cast a nervous glance