Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [75]
“You know that you can’t trust Smythe,” Mosiah told her. “He will try to take the sword and make us all prisoners. Or worse.”
“I know that I don’t seem to be able to trust anybody,” Eliza said with a quaver in her voice. She glanced at me, gave me a sweet, sad smile, and added softly, “Except Reuven.”
The pain in my heart was blessed, but it was also too great to bear and overflowed my eyes. I turned away, ashamed of my lack of self-control, when she was so strong.
“I do not see what other choice I have,” Eliza continued, now speaking quite calmly. “I will take the Darksword to Smythe and hope that he will keep his promise to free my father and Father Saryon. I will go alone—”
I made an emphatic gesture, which caught her eye. She amended her statement. “Reuven and I will go together. The two of you will remain here.”
“I have told you the truth, Eliza,” said Scylla. “I do not want the Darksword. There is only one man who can wield it and that is the one who forged it.”
Suddenly, Scylla knelt down on one knee in front of Eliza. Pressing the palms of her hands together, in an attitude of prayer, Scylla raised them. “I promise you, Eliza, I swear by the Almin, that I will do whatever lies in my power to rescue Joram and to restore to him the Darksword.”
The sight of Scylla—her army fatigues and cropped hair— kneeling there, seemed ludicrous at first. Then I was reminded forcibly of a drawing I had once seen of Joan of Arc, pledging her duty to her king. There burned the same holy fervor in Scylla, so bright and clear that her military fatigues disappeared and I saw her clad in shining armor, offering her pledge to her queen.
The vision lasted only an instant, but it was detailed perfectly in my mind. I saw the throne room, the crystal throne room of the kingdom of Merilon. Crystal throne, crystal dais, crystal chairs, crystal pillars—everything in the room was transparent, the only reality was the queen in her gown of gold who stood on that translucent platform, uplifted, exalted. Before her, kneeling, gazing upward, shining in silver armor, her knight.
And I was not alone. Mosiah saw the vision, too, or so I believe. Certainly he saw something, for he stared at Scylla in awe, though I heard him mutter, “What trick is this?”
Eliza clasped her hands over Scylla’s. “I accept your pledge. You will accompany us.”
Scylla bowed her head. “My life is yours, Your Majesty.”
The title seemed so right, that none of us caught it, until Eliza blinked.
“What did you call me?”
Scylla stood and the vision vanished. She was once again wearing the combat fatigues and boots, her ear lined with the tiny earrings.
“Just my little joke.” Scylla grinned and went to refill the teapot. She glanced back at Mosiah. “You are much more handsome in person. Say, why don’t you take the same oath? Pledge yourself to rescue Joram and restore the Darksword to its owner. You must, you know. Otherwise we won’t take you with us to Zith-el.”
Mosiah was angry. “You are fools if you think that Smythe will give up any of the hostages once he has the Darksword! The Technomancers need Joram to teach them how to forge more.” He turned to Eliza. “Come with me back to Earth. Give the sword into the safekeeping of King Garald. We will return with an army to rescue your father and mother.”
“The army is mobilizing to make a last stand against the Hch’nyv,” countered Scylla. “You will get no help from them. And I doubt if they could do much against the Technomaricers anyway. They have long been building up their strength in Zith-el, surrounding it with their defenses. An army could not take it. It’s all in our files,” she added in answer to Mosiah’s flashing look of suspicion. “You’re not the only people keeping tabs on Smythe.”
Mosiah ignored her, continued speaking to Eliza, his tone growing softer. “I am Joram’s friend. If I thought surrendering