Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [56]
“I cannot even promise that you will be safe on Earth,” Saryon admitted, “I can’t promise that any of us will. But at least there you will have the protection of the combined Earth Forces. Here, you and Gwen and Eliza would be at the aliens’ mercy. And, from what we have seen, they have no concept of mercy.”
Joram’s mouth twisted. “And if you have the Darksword—”
Saryon was shaking his head.
Joram amended his statement, though the twist of his mouth deepened and his tone was bitter and ironic. “If someone has the Darksword, then someone could use it to stop these fiendish aliens and save the world. Still trying to redeem yourself, Father?”
Saryon gazed at him sadly. “You don’t believe me. You think I am lying to you. I am sorry, my son. Very sorry.”
“Joram,” Gwen whispered in gentle reproof, and placed her hand on his shoulder.
Joram sighed. Reaching up, he took hold of her hand and rested his cheek against it. He kept fast hold of her as he talked.
“I do not say you are lying, Father.” Joram spoke in a softened tone. “I am saying that you have been tricked. You were always gullible,” he added, and the bitter smile warmed into one of affection. “You are too good for this world, Father. Much too good. People take advantage of you.”
“I do not know that I am particularly good,” Saryon said, speaking slowly, earnestly, his words gathering force as he went, “but I have always tried to do what I believed was right. This does not mean that I am weak, Joram, nor that I am foolish, though you always equated goodness with weakness. You imply that these aliens do not exist. I’ve seen the news reports, Joram! I’ve seen the pictures of the ships attacking and destroying our colonies! I’ve read the accounts of the terrible slaughter, the senseless butchery.
“No, I have not seen these aliens with my own eyes. Few men have and lived to tell of it. But I have seen the anxiety, the concern, the fear in the eyes of General Boris and King Garald. They are afraid, Joram. Afraid for you, afraid for all of us. What do you think this is—an elaborate hoax? To what purpose? All to trick you out of the Darksword? How is that possible, when you have said yourself that it was destroyed?”
Joram made no response.
Saryon sighed again. “My son, I will be honest with you. I will leave nothing hidden, though what I have to tell will anger you and rightly so. They know you have forged a new Darksword. The Duuk-tsarith have been watching you—only to protect you, Joram! Only to protect you from Smythe and his associates! So the Duuk-tsarith claim, and I ... I believe them.”
Joram was indeed furious, so furious that he was choked by his rage and could not speak. And so my master was able to continue.
“I know why you made the sword, Joram—to protect yourself and those you love from the magic. And that is why you cling to it. And, yes, I admit that they want the Darksword and its secrets, Joram. Bishop Radisovik—you remember him? You know him to be a good, wise man. Bishop Radisovik received a message which he believes came from the Almin concerning the Darksword and how it might be used to save our people. Whether you take the sword to Earth or not is your decision. I will not try to influence you. I care only for the safety of yourself and your family. Do you care about the Darksword so much, my son, that you would sacrifice your family for it?”
Joram rose to his feet. Releasing Gwen’s hand, he stepped away from her placating touch. His voice was deep with anger. “How can I trust them? What have I known from these people in the past, Father? Treachery, deceit, murder—”
“Honor, love, compassion,” Saryon countered. Joram’s face darkened. He was not accustomed to being contradicted. I don’t know what he might have said next, but Gwendolyn intervened.
“Father,