Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [9]
Then Saryon looked up. “Why me?” he asked. But he knew the answer, as well as I did.
“Joram,” Mosiah replied. “They want Joram. Or perhaps I should say, they want the Darksword.”
Saryon’s mouth twitched. I realized then the subtlety of my master, one might almost say cunning, if a man as gentle and honest could be accused of such a thing. Though he had not known the news Mosiah had imparted, Saryon had known from the outset that this was why Mosiah had come, and yet my master had not mentioned it. He had been stalling, gaining information. I regarded him in admiration.
“I am sorry, Mosiah,” said Saryon, “but you and King Garald and this Kevon Smythe and apparently a great many other people have wasted your time. I cannot take you to Joram and Joram cannot give you the Darksword. The circumstances are all detailed in Reuven’s book.”
Saryon shrugged. “The Darksword no longer exists. When Joram thrust the sword into the altar in the Temple , the sword was destroyed. Joram could not give you the sword if he wanted to.”
Mosiah did not appear astonished or chagrined; nor did he rise to his feet and apologize for having disturbed us over nothing.
“A Darksword exists, Father. Not the original. That, as you say, was destroyed. Joram has forged a new one. We know the truth of this, because an attempt was made to steal it.”
CHAPTER THREE
This is what the Duuk-tsarith are trained for—to be aware of everything going on around them, to be in control of everything, yet manage to keep themselves above and apart from it.
FORGING THE DARKSWORD
Saryon was angry. His hand clenched, his anger flickered in his eyes. “You had no right! If Joram did forge a new sword, it must have been because he felt threatened. Was King Garald behind this? His own law clearly forbids—”
“What care do they have for the law?” Mosiah interrupted impatiently. “They know no laws but their own.”
“They?”
“The Technomancers. Don’t you understand yet, Father?” Slowly, Saryon’s hand unclenched. Fear replaced his anger. “Is Joram safe? He was supposed to send the boy to me to be educated. I’ve heard nothing and I feared—”
“Joram is alive, Father,” Mosiah said, smiling slightly. “And he is well and so is Gwendolyn. As for Joram not sending his son to you, he did not do so because he and Gwen did not have a son. They have a daughter. His only child, she is precious in his sight. He is loath to send such a jewel to this world—and I can’t say that I blame him.” Mosiah sighed.
“How do you know this?” Saryon demanded, his voice sharp. “You are spying on him!”
“Protecting him, Father,” said Mosiah softly. “Protecting him. He doesn’t know of our watchfulness. He doesn’t suspect. How could he know, who has no magic Life within him? We are careful not to disturb him or his family. Unlike others.
“Just recently, an arm of the Technomancers known as the D’karn-darah defied the law which prohibits any person from traveling to Thimhallan. They had read Reuven’s book”—he gave me a wry smile—”and they went to the altar at the Temple of the Necromancers to try to recover the Darksword. They found what one might have expected. As you know, Father, the altar itself was made of darkstone. The sword had fused with the stone.
“The Technomancers used every device known to man to try to free the sword, from the most sophisticated laser cutting tools to old-fashioned blowtorches. They attempted to cut the altar itself into pieces, to haul it back to their laboratories. They did not even scratch its surface.”
Saryon appeared relieved. “Good.” He nodded. “Excellent. Thank the Almin.”
“Don’t be so quick to thank Him, yet, Father,” Mosiah said. “Failing to make a dent in the altar, the Technomancers went to Joram.”
“They were wasting their time. He would have been furious,” Saryon predicted.
Mosiah’s smile twisted. “He was furious. The Khandic Sages had never seen such fury. His anger astonished them, and they are not easily astonished. Kevon Smythe himself talked to Joram, though now Smythe