Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [69]
Mosiah appeared somewhat taken aback by this direct approach, though I could see he wasn’t pleased with that reference to his file.
“General Boris sent you,” he said.
“I know the General. A good man.” Scylla smiled. “What happened?”
“It was all over in a matter of moments, too fast for me to summon help.” Mosiah’s voice was cold, perhaps to keep from sounding defensive. “I was alone, standing watch unseen, remaining hidden in the corridors, as was our custom, so as not to disturb Joram and his family.”
“And where were the rest of the Duuk-tsarith?” Scylla asked. “You might have been left alone on guard duty, but I know you weren’t alone here in the Font.”
Mosiah’s face darkened. He did not reply. I knew the answer to that question well enough, as I’m sure Eliza did, though she was only now gradually coming to understand. The other Duuk-tsarith had been searching for the Darksword. They knew as well as the Technomancers that Joram had refused to give it up. I thought of all these dread forces, with their dread powers, mundane and arcane, searching for the sword, and of Eliza and me, in our innocence, walking off with it, snatching it out from under their very noses. A shiver crept over me. I had guessed we might be in some danger. I had never realized how great. They needed Joram and the Darksword. The rest of us were expendable.
“And so the other Duuk-tsarith were off on a little treasure hunt of their own, leaving you alone to stand guard. What made them think—wait! I know.” Scylla glanced toward Eliza. “The Darksword had been moved. You sensed its absence, though you could not detect its presence. Very well. You were alone. And then the Technomancers came.”
“Yes, they came,” said Mosiah curtly. “There is not much to tell after that.” He spoke to Eliza, ignored Scylla pointedly, which seemed to afford her mild amusement. “I never thought I’d say this, but we have that fool Simkin to thank for giving us as much warning as we had.”
Eliza and I exchanged glances. “I knew it,” she said softly, so that only I heard her.
“Joram could not sleep,” Mosiah continued. “He had been out walking, down by the sheep, and had just returned. Your mother was waiting up for him. They spoke together. I left them alone,” he said in answer to Eliza’s accusing look. “I did not intrude on their privacy. Perhaps, if I had been there . . .” He shrugged.
“It would have made no difference,” Scylla said quietly.
“I suppose not. I was here in the warming room when I heard Joram cry out the word Simkin! I returned, still inside the magical Corridors, to find what looked like a watered-down version of Simkin waving that ridiculous orange scarf of his and going on about Joram coming under attack from a horde of silver salt-shakers or something equally nonsensical, although I must admit that pretty well describes the D’karn-darah.
“I guessed what was happening and sent out a warning to my brethren. Joram blazed like fire and left the room. I started to follow, when the D’karn-darah stormed the house. It was then I made a mistake.”
Mosiah gazed at us steadily. “I thought . . . Well, you’ll see. Joram had left the room. Where else would he go, but after the Darksword? The one weapon which would protect him and Gwendolyn—”
“Oh!” Eliza gave a smothered cry, covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, no!”
“Don’t blame yourself, Eliza,” Scylla said quickly. “There was nothing your father could have done. They would have captured him and the Darksword and all would have been at an end. At least now there is hope.”
But Eliza was not comforted.
Mosiah was talking, reliving the event, as if trying to figure out what had gone wrong. “I knew he had gone after the Darksword! When he came back almost immediately without it, what was I to think?”
“You thought he was deliberately keeping it hidden,