Triumph of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [11]
“What is it you want, my son?” Radisovik asked in a mild voice that had yet grown suddenly cool and cautious.
“I … I came to ask if you would open a Corridor to me, Holiness.”
“You want to leave Sharakan,” Radisovik said slowly.
“Yes, Holiness.”
“You are aware that travel outside the magical boundaries of this city is forbidden for the good of our citizens. All travel is perilous these days, especially for the citizens of our city. Our own Thon-li currently control our Corridors, with the help of the Duuk-tsarith, of course. But it is possible that the warlocks of Merilon may always attempt to gain entry.”
“I know, Holiness,” Mosiah said respectfully but firmly. “This trip is important to me, however, and I am willing to take the risk. I’ve informed Prince Garald,” he continued, seeing Radisovik hesitate. “He gave me his permission to leave. I have a message from him.” Fumbling in his tunic, Mosiah produced a small crystal globe that, when activated by a spoken word of magic, would produce the image of the young and handsome prince of Sharakan.
“That will not be necessary,” Radisovik said, smiling “If you have discussed this with Prince Garald and he has given his permission, then I will certainly open a Corridor and wish you godspeed. Now, where is it you want to go?”
“The Borderlands,” Mosiah answered.
Radisovik started, looking at the young man with a mystified expression “Why do you—” Then his brow cleared. “Ah,” he said softly. “Today is the anniversary.”
“Yes, Holiness,” Mosiah replied in a low voice. “I’ve never been there. When the Sorcerers found me in the Outland, I was more dead than alive. I didn’t hear what had happened until … long after I wanted to go, but I couldn’t make myself.” He looked at the floor, ashamed. “I know I should have, but I couldn’t bear to see Saryon to see him changed.” Coughing, he cleared his throat.
“I know, my son. I understand.” Radisovik laid his hand upon the young man’s shoulder. “I heard about your ordeal and it must have been a terrible one. None can blame you for not wanting to travel to that awful place until you were stronger.”
“I must go. I need to go,” Mosiah said stubbornly, as though arguing with himself. “I need to make myself realize that it was real. That it all truly happened. Then maybe I can accept it, or understand it.”
“I doubt if we will ever understand,” said Radisovik, watching the young man intently, his eyes noting every nuance of expression in the open, guileless face. “But certainly we must come to accept what has passed, lest rage and bitterness gnaw at us and prevent us from living out our own lives.”
He paused, waiting to see if Mosiah said anything more. The young man, struggling with his emotions, appeared incapable of speech, however. The Cardinal shrugged imperceptively and, speaking a word of prayer, caused a Corridor to open in the room, creating an oval void of nothingness in the air.
“Go with the Almin’s blessing, Mosiah,” Radisovik said as the young man, with a flushed face, mumbled and coughed his thanks. “May you find the peace you seek.”
The Corridor elongated. The young man stepped inside, and the pathway through space and time formed by the ancients long ago closed around him. Mosiah vanished from the room.
Staring after him, his brow creased, Cardinal Radisovik shook his head. “What secret gnaws at your heart, young man?” he murmured. “I wonder….”
The Corridor closed around Mosiah with its familiar squeezing effect, as though he were being dragged through a small, dark tunnel. The young man experienced a terrifying moment of panic, recalling with horrible vividness the last time he had traveled this route….
Her face expressionless, the witch spoke a word and Mosiah caught his breath in fear as the thorns began to grow on the Kij vines again, this time merely pricking his flesh