Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [39]
I continued flying toward the mountains on the horizon, that being our general destination, but I was growing worried. Heavy blue-gray clouds were massing; lightning flickered on their fringes, which dragged the desolate ground. The wind was increasing. One of the fierce storms for which Thimhallan is noted was fast approaching. The mountains were my only guide and I would lose sight of them in the driving rain. The air car was equipped with all manner of devices to assist one in navigation, but I did not know how they worked.
Bitterly I regretted the impulse which had prompted me to turn down the offer of a driver. We would have to stop the air car when the storm hit, not only because we might easily lose our way, but because we ran the risk of slamming into a tree or the side of a cliff. Heavily forested lands lay ahead and, beyond that, the foothills.
A gust of wind hit the car, blew it sideways about three feet. The rain began, large drops splatting into the windshield. I thought of the small, lightweight tent we had brought and shook my head. I couldn’t share my fears and doubts with Saryon, for my hands were my voice and I was forced to keep both hands on the steering mechanism.
There was only one thing to do and that was to turn back before the storm grew any worse. I cut the power, lowered the car to the ground. Saryon turned to look questioningly at me. Once the air car had settled, I was about to explain to him our predicament, when his eyes—looking at me—suddenly widened and shifted their gaze to a point behind me. I turned swiftly and shrank back, startled, at the sight of the apparition which loomed in the window.
I don’t know why I was surprised. I should have known they would be around.
The black-robed and -hooded Enforcer made a motion. I touched the button, the window slid into the side of the car. Rain struck me in my face. The wind blew my hair into my eyes and howled so that I could barely hear. Yet the black robe of the Duuk-tsarith remained dry, its folds still and unruffled. He might have been standing in the eye of the cyclone, while we—only inches from him—were in the teeth of the storm.
He pushed back his hood and I recognized Mosiah.
“What do you want?” Saryon shouted. He didn’t look pleased.
“You are wasting time,” Mosiah said. “Abandon this technological monstrosity. You can be with Joram in an instant if you use the magic.”
Saryon looked questioningly at me.
“We don’t know the way, sir,” I signed to him. “The storms will only grow worse. We dare not travel blind. And we have only seventy-two hours.”
“It seems we have no choice,” Saryon admitted. “How will you take us there?”
“The Corridors,” said Mosiah. “You must leave the vehicle. Bring your things with you.”
I opened the door. The wind nearly pulled it out of my hand. I was instantly soaked. Reaching into the backseat for my knapsack, I lifted it from the floor and looked beneath it for the leather scrip. At least this would be an opportunity to rid ourselves of Simkin.
The leather scrip was gone.
With deep misgivings, I pulled the knapsack out of the backseat. I wondered what strange object I was now carrying inside the knapsack—a teapot, perhaps.
Saryon, his robes whipping about his lean body, stood next to Mosiah. With some difficulty caused by the wind, I hoisted the knapsack onto my shoulders.
“Did you bring my leather scrip?” Saryon shouted.
“No, sir!” I signed back. “I couldn’t find it.”
“Oh, dear,” said Saryon, and looked extremely worried. “It is always better to know where Simkin is than where he isn’t,” he said to me in a low voice.
“Have you lost something?” Mosiah asked.
“Probably not,” Saryon said gloomily. He peered at Mosiah through the rain. “How