Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [78]
Eliza’s head sank to her hands, but she did not cry. She remained standing, her head bowed, so still and rigid that I was frightened. I did what I could, in my poor silence, to comfort her, letting her feel my touch, to know that human warmth and sympathy surrounded her.
The air car slid soundlessly down the hill, pulled up in front of us. Scylla climbed out. Mosiah remained in the car, regarding the slaughter with equanimity.
“Come, Your Majesty,” said Scylla. “There is nothing we can do.”
“Why?” Eliza asked, in muffled tones, keeping her head down. “Why did they do this?”
“They feed off death.” Mosiah’s voice came from the air car. “These are the fiends to whom you are taking the Darksword, Eliza. Think about it.”
I hated him at that moment. She could have been spared this. She knew well enough, having seen the destruction in her own home, what she faced. But I was wrong, as it turned out, and he was right. He gauged her strength and quality better than I.
She raised her face and she was composed, almost serene. “I will go alone. I alone will take the sword to them. The rest of you should not come. It is too dangerous.”
That could not be, as Scylla pointed out with great practicality, refraining from mentioning anything in regard to Eliza herself, but talking only of our own needs. Who would drive the air car? We needed Scylla. As for Reuven, I would not leave Father Saryon to the Technomancers. And Mosiah would never permit the Darksword to venture far from his sight. Each of us had our reasons for going.
Eliza accepted the logic of all this quietly, did not argue. She returned to the air car and slid inside. She glanced once more at the dead sheep and her lips tightened, her hands clasped. She looked away. I climbed in beside her, as Scylla returned to the driver’s seat.
The air car skimmed over the surface of the ground, much smoother than when I had driven a similar vehicle. I fumbled for something which had struck a strange chord in my mind. Not an ill-sounding chord. It was pleasant, in fact. But strange. I tried to remember what it was.
Your Majesty, Scylla had called Eliza twice now. Your Majesty.
How odd. Yet how fitting.
The start of our journey was uneventful. Scylla had brought a map of the land of Thimhallan, obtained from some archives somewhere—she was vague as to details. Mosiah was both intrigued by it and suspicious of it, for it was apparently recently drawn, contained changes in the landscape that had been made by the devastating quakes and storms following the release of the magic.
The two spent several minutes arguing over the map. Mosiah claimed it had been drawn by General Boris’s people, which meant that they had violated the treaty. Scylla countered by saying that the Duuk-tsarith had violated the treaty themselves. Mosiah had better look to his own sins before he accused others.
I’m not sure how much longer the bickering would have continued, but Eliza, who had been sitting in the back, white-faced and silent, asked quietly, “Is the map useful?”
Scylla looked at Mosiah, who muttered something to the effect that he supposed it was.
“Then I suggest we use it,” Eliza said. She curled up in the corner of the seat and closed her eyes.
After that, Scylla and Mosiah spoke to each other only when it was necessary to discuss directions. The air car soared off down the mountainside, heading for the interior of Thimhallan.
I made certain Eliza was comfortable, covered her with my jacket, for which consideration I received a wan smile, but she did not open her eyes. She held Teddy in the crook of her arm, pressed close to her breast for comfort, as a child might. I was certain that Teddy had arranged himself in this enviable position, but I dared not move him for fear of disturbing her rest.
I settled back in my corner, feeling somewhat cramped in the backseat, which—so far as I could tell—was not intended