Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [50]
I think, all in all, I would have preferred his displeasure.
He strode up the steps very rapidly, taking them two or three at a time. I marveled at his endurance, for the steps went directly up the hill; there must have been seventy-five of them, and I was soon panting for breath. Eliza kept beside me, and she was troubled, for she was silent and her gaze was on her father’s back.
“He is eager to see Father Saryon,” she said abruptly, in apology for Joram’s rudeness.
I nodded yes, that I understood. Pausing to catch my breath and try to ease the cramps in my calves, I signed to her that I was not in the least offended and that she was not to worry about me.
This she didn’t understand. I took out the electronic notepad and typed it in, showing the words to her. She read them, looked at me. I nodded, smiled, reassuring. She smiled back, tentative, and then sighed.
“Things are going to change, aren’t they, Reuven? Our life is going to change. His life is going to change.” Her gaze went again to her father. “And it’s all my fault. I’ve longed for this day, prayed for it to come. I didn’t realize . . . Oh, Papa, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”
Gathering her long skirts, she left me, running up the stairs with the long stride that matched Joram’s. I could not have kept up with her if my life had depended on it. As it was, I was not disappointed to be left behind. I needed time to sort out my own thoughts. I trudged slowly and painfully after them.
Eliza caught up with her father. She twined her arm through his, rested her head on his shoulder. He folded her in a loving embrace, stroked and smoothed her black curls.
His arm around her, her arm around him, they continued up the stairs until they reached their living quarters, where they vanished from my sight.
I kept climbing, my strength sapped by the ache in my legs, the burning in my lungs and my heart. Below, I could hear the sheep, snug and safe in their barn, bleating contentedly as they settled down for the night. In the distance, the rumble of thunder- another storm ravaging the land below.
I wondered, then, what would happen to the sheep when we took Joram and hls family away from their home. Without their shepherd, they would die.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The rounded knob on the sword’s hilt, combined with the long neck of the hilt itself, the handle’s short, blunt arms, and the narrow body of the blade, turned the weapon into a grim parody of a human being.
FORGING THE DARKSWORD
It occurred to me that I would miss the reunion, the first meeting between my master and Joram, and that fear impelled me up the stairs at a much more rapid pace than I would have thought myself capable of. I was gasping for breath when I reached the top. Dusk was falling and the lights had been lit inside the dwelling place and so I was able to find their rooms, when most of the rest of the building was dark and deserted.
Entering a door nearest the lights, I made my way along a shadowy hall into what must have been, in the days of the Font’s grandeur, the dortoir, where lived the young catalysts in training. I say this, because of the innumerable small rooms opening off the central corridor. In each room was a bed and desk and a washstand. The stone walls were chill, the rooms dusty and darkened by the sadness which comes to a place when the life that once filled it is withdrawn.
In this corridor, I lost sight of the lights of Joram’s dwelling, but found them again when I entered a large, open room that had probably been a dining hall. I heard voices through a door to my left. I walked from darkness and chill to light and warmth. A kitchen, which had once fed several hundred, was now not only kitchen but the central living area for Joram and his family.
I could see easily why they chose it. An enormous stone fireplace provided heat and light. Twenty years before, when the Font had teemed with life, magi hired to work with the catalysts would have conjured up fire to cook the food and warm the body. Possessed of no magic whatsoever, Joram cut and hauled wood to the