Triumph of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [13]
Mosiah was skeptical. He hoped it was true, he hoped Saryon had found the faith the priest had lost, but he didn’t believe it. Radisovik had said Garald had one fault—he gloried in warfare. That was true, and if he had another it was that he tended to see in people and events what he wanted to see, not necessarily what was there.
Saryon’s stone form would be staring perpetually into Beyond, the shifting, ever-changing mists of the magical Border that turned in upon themselves in endless swirls and whorls.
“It is a calm and peaceful place, the Borderland,” Garald told the crowd in a grim voice. “To look at it, no one would ever suspect the tragedies that take place upon that Shore of Death.”
Calm….
Peaceful….
Stepping from the Corridor onto the sand, Mosiah was knocked off his feet by a tremendous gust of wind.
He couldn’t see. Sand stung his face and made it nearly impossible to open his eyes. The force of the wind was unbelievable, like nothing he had ever seen before in his life and he had once experienced a thunderstorm conjured up by two warring groups of Sif-Hanar. He struggled to stand, but it was a losing battle and he would have been tossed along the beach like the uprooted plants that were flying past, entangling themselves in his legs, had not a strong hand reached out and grasped his own.
Knowing he wouldn’t be able to endure much more of this, Mosiah quickly activated a magical bubble that surrounded him and the person who had saved him. Instantly, the protective shell enveloped both of them, shutting out the wind, encasing them in quiet and calm.
Rubbing the sand out of his eyes, Mosiah blinked, trying to see who had come to his rescue, wondering what anyone else would be doing on the Border. Catching sight of a flutter of orange silk, his heart sank.
“I say, old chap,” came an all too familiar voice, “thanks awfully. Don’t know why I didn’t think of that shield myself, except I was having a rollicking good time getting tumbled about like those jolly plant things that never take root but go bounding along the sand. And I’ve got a new style. I call it Cyclone. Do you like it?”
4
I Call It Cyclone
Mosiah glared in displeased astonishment at the figure standing next to him in the magical bubble.
“Simkin,” he mumbled, spitting sand out of his mouth. “What are you doing here?”
“Why, it’s Almin’s Day. I always come here on Almin’s Day. What did you say? This is Thursday? Well”—he shrugged—“what’s a day or so between friends.” Raising his arms, he exhibited his clothes. “What do you think?”
Mosiah glanced at the bearded young man in disgust. Everything Simkin wore—from his blue brocade coat to his purple silk vest to his shimmering green trousers—was inside out. Not only that, but he was wearing his undergarments on top of his clothes. His hair stood straight up on his head and his normally smooth beard stuck out in all directions.
“I think you look a fool, as always,” Mosiah muttered. “And if I’d known it was you I would have let you sail off until you smashed headfirst into the mountains!”
“It was I who saved you from sailing off, remember?” Simkin said languidly. “What a foul humor you’re in. Your face will freeze like that, I’ve warned you before. Puts me in mind of the corpse of the Duke of Tulkinghorn who didn’t die but just nastied away. I can’t think what you have against me, dear boy.” Conjuring a mirror, Simkin gazed at himself with pleasure, ruffling up his beard to heighten the effect.
“Oh, can’t you!” Mosiah snapped viciously. “There were only a few people who knew we were to meet in the Grove that night—myself, Joram, Saryon, you, and, as it turns out, the Duuk-tsarith! I suppose that’s just the sheerest coincidence?”
Lowering the mirror, Simkin stared at Mosiah incredulously. “I can’t believe it!” he cried in tragic tones. “All this time you have suspected me of betrayal? Me?” Dashing the mirror to the sand, Simkin clutched at his heart. “Break! Break!” He moaned “Oh, that this too, too sullied flesh would wilt.”
“Stop it, Simkin,” Mosiah said coldly, barely able to control