Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [65]
The Darksword had passed out of his life.
Through anger and fear, it had been reforged.
Eliza climbed over the wall. Turning, she held out her hands. I gave the Darksword back to her and the biblical quote about the sins of the fathers came to mind.
We trudged up a long, grass-covered slope, moving cautiously, keeping watch in all directions for the silver-shining Techno-mancers. We didn’t see any; probably—I said to myself—because they are already nearing their goal. We did not make very good time. Clouds moved in, hiding the stars, thickening the darkness, and making it difficult to find our way.
We reached the crest of the hill. Not far from us, I could barely make out the scattered white rocks which marked the trail. I was already winded and Eliza, keeping up gamely, was breathing heavily from the exertion of climbing and carrying the sword. I gazed at the trail in despair. It had not seemed so steep or so long, coming down. Tired as we were, I wondered how we would manage, even without the sword.
I turned to Eliza and saw my dismay reflected on her pale face. Her shoulders and arms must have been burning with fatigue. The point of the sword dropped to the rocky ground, hitting it with a metallic thunk.
“We have to keep going,” she said, and it was not me she was exhorting to further effort but herself.
I was about to offer to take the sword, to give her rest, when a concussive blast rocked the land. The ground shuddered beneath our feet. The blast echoed among the mountains and then finally died away.
“What was that?” Eliza gasped.
I had no idea. Though storms raged in the valley below us, that sound had not been thunder. It was too sharp and I had seen no lightning. I looked up toward the Font, terrified of seeing fire and smoke erupt from the building.
Logic eased my fear. The Technomancers would never destroy the Font if they could not find the sword.
The blast and the concern it brought lent us strength. Eliza and I resumed our climb when, for a second time, a strange sound caused us to halt. This was nearer and more frightening—the sound of footfalls, coming from very close behind us.
We were caught out in the open, with no cover. We lacked the strength to run and would not have been able to run far, in any case, hampered as we were by the heavy sword.
Eliza heard the steps the same moment I did. We both turned, and such are the incongruities of the mind that my first thought was one of relief. At least, if the Technomancers captured us, I wouldn’t have to climb that damn hill!
The person was a dark shadow against the backdrop of the trees, so dark that I couldn’t distinguish features. At least,. I thought, my heart resuming its beat, the person was not clad in silver.
“Wait there a moment, Reuven and Eliza, will you?” called a clear voice, a woman’s voice.
The woman materialized out of the night, and as she came to us she flicked on a flashlight and played it swiftly over us.
We blinked painfully in the harsh light, averted our faces, and she switched the flashlight off us and played it down around her feet.
“What do you want?” Eliza asked, her voice strong and unafraid. “Why do you stop us?”
“Because,” answered the woman, “you should not return home. There’s nothing you can do to help, and much you might do to harm. By great good fortune, the Darksword has been kept out of their hands. It would be folly to cast away this opportunity.”
“Who are you?” Eliza asked coldly, keeping both hands around the sword’s blanket-covered hilt.
The woman stood before us, held the light on herself so that we could get a good look at her. Of all the strange sights we’d seen that night, this woman seemed the strangest, the most incongruous.
She was wearing military-style fatigues and a green flight jacket. Her hair was cut very short, almost a crew cut. Her eyes were overlarge, her cheekbones strong, her jaw and chin jutting, her mouth wide. She was tall—over six feet—and muscular and her age was difficult to guess. Older