Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [55]
Finishing the dishes, we joined the others. Eliza lit candles. I added another log to the fire. Eliza went to her own chair, near a table piled with books and another basket of handwork. There not being any more chairs, I retrieved one from the kitchen and placed it near my master.
Joram regarded Saryon with grim expectation, black brows drawn in a straight heavy line above his eyes, his expression stern and impregnable, a solid rock cliff, challenging Saryon to hurl himself against it.
Saryon had known this would not be easy. I don’t believe he imagined it would be this hard. He drew in a breath, but before he could speak, Joram forestalled him.
“I want you to take a message to Prince Garald, Father,” Joram said abruptly. “Tell him that his commands have been thwarted, the law broken. My family and I were to have been left alone and in peace on this world. That peace has been disturbed by a man named Smythe, who came seeking the Darksword. He dared to threaten my family. I threw him out with orders to never return. If he does come back, I take no responsibility for what might happen. That goes for anyone else seeking the Darksword as well.”
This statement obviously included us and made Saryon’s task no easier.
“I cannot think why they have come in the first place,” Joram continued. “The Darksword was destroyed when the world was shattered. They are wasting their time searching for something that doesn’t exist.”
He was not lying, not outright. True, the original Darksword had been destroyed. But what about the new one, the one he had most recently made? Or did it truly exist? Perhaps the Duuk-tsarith were mistaken. Saryon did not dare ask. To do so would be to admit that Joram was being spied upon and that would send him into a rage.
My master had the look of a man about to go swimming in an icy lake. He knows that entering the water little by little will only prolong the agony and so he plunged straight in.
“Joram, Gwendolyn”—Saryon’s compassionate gaze included them both—”my business here does not concern the Darksword. I am here to take you and your family back to Earth, where you will be safe.”
“We are safe here,” said Joram sternly, glowering, “or we would be if Garald would keep his word and enforce his law! Or does he want the Darksword, too? That’s it, isn’t it?” He bounded out of his chair, loomed over us threateningly. “That’s why you’ve come, Father!”
I knew then, of course, that the reports were true. Joram had made another Darksword. He had as good as admitted it.
Saryon stood to face him. His cheeks were flushed, his voice shook, not with weakness, but with anger. “I am not here for the sword, Joram. I have stated as much. You know—or at least you should know—that I would not lie to you.”
Gwendolyn was on her feet, her hands on Joram’s arm. “Joram, please!” she said softly. “You don’t know what you’re saying. This is Father Saryon!”
Joram’s fury subsided. He had the grace to look ashamed of himself and to apologize. But the apology was brief and it was cold. He returned to his chair. Gwen did not go back to hers, but remained standing behind Joram, her presence strong and supportive, defending him, though he had been in the wrong.
Eliza was troubled, confused, and a little frightened. This was not what she had expected.
Saryon sat back down, looked gently, grievingly, on Joram. ‘‘My son, do you think this is easy for me? I see the life you have made for yourself and your family. I see that it is peaceful and blessed. And I am the one telling you it must end. I wish I could add that it would be possible to regain such peace back on Earth, but that I cannot promise. Who knows whether any of us will find peace when we return, or if we will all be plunged into terrible war.
“Smythe spoke to you of the Hch’nyv, the aliens who have one avowed purpose and that is to destroy the human race.