Triumph of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [135]
Joram and the catalyst both glanced at the Darksword, lying near the base of the altar stone.
“He’ll realize his mistake and try again,” Saryon said coolly. His fear was gone In its place was an unconcerned emptiness. As in the battle with the warlock, he was detached, an observer, watching himself perform his role in this tragic farce.
“He won’t try for a while. He saw me fall, then saw someone else arrive with the sword. This is unexpected. His plan has gone awry. He must rethink it!” Joram yanked Saryon down, huddling over Simkin’s body “Keep low!”
“Why doesn’t he just kill us anyway? Use that … weapon on us?”
“He will—eventually. But he hasn’t a very good aim. He fired four shots, after all, to kill one man. He’ll run out of bullets—projectiles—soon and then he’ll have to reload, if he even brought any more than what the gun holds. He’s probably Duuk-tsarith. This gives us a chance.”
“It’s the Executioner then,” Saryon guessed “He’s the only person Vanya would trust. But I don’t understand how you can be sure it’s a warlock?”
“Because the Sorcerer wants me alive!” Joram hissed, gripping the catalyst’s wrist with painful intensity. “Simkin was hidden in the Sorcerer’s headquarters. He heard them say they were going to take me to the brave, new world—not Simkin! He had to believe they were planning to capture me alive, otherwise he would never have dreamed up this fool scheme! This morning he came to me and tricked me into entering a Corridor. He took me to some godforsaken place, bound my hands with that wretched orange silk of his, and then he became me!”
“He planned to go back to the Sorcerer’s world disguised as you. But why didn’t Simkin take the Darksword?”
“He couldn’t! It disrupts his magic. The Sorcerer wants me alive—to teach him about the sword and show him where he can find more darkstone. Vanya’s the one who wants me dead. He’s the one who’s sent the killer.”
Moving slowly and cautiously, Joram picked up the Darksword.
“What are you doing?” Saryon asked fearfully.
“If it is a warlock, he’s hiding behind an invisibility spell. I’ve got to drain his magic, force him out where we can see him. If I don’t, he can come at us from any direction, get as close as he wants. Then it won’t matter how well he can shoot.”
“But if you’re wrong!” Saryon caught hold of Joram. “If it isn’t a warlock. If it is the Sorcerer trying to kill you—”
“Per istam Sanctam, Father,” Joram answered grimly. Twisting to his feet, he raised the Darksword.
Thirsting for Life, the weapon instantly began to drink up the magic. Saryon felt himself weaken but only slightly; as a catalyst he possessed little magic to feed the sword’s hunger. His Life was enough, however, to send tiny flickers of blue light dancing up the crude, ugly blade.
The sword’s power grew as it absorbed more and more of the magic. The blade began to burn brighter, taking on a hot, whitish blue glow. Suddenly a streak of light arced past Saryon, coming from somewhere behind him. Striking the sword, the light sizzled, a ball of blue flame shot from the hilt to the tip of the blade. Turning, amazed, Saryon saw that the light had come from the altar stone! The rock itself was beginning to glow a luminescent blue; the symbols of the Nine Mysteries gleamed white against it. Another arc of light shot from the stone, followed by another.
Saryon looked to Joram, to see if he noticed, but the man had his back to the altar stone. Holding the sword before him, Joram turned this way and that, staring intently into the empty air around him, searching for his enemy.
And then the air was empty no longer. It shimmered and darkened, and a man appeared, enveloped in long gray robes. He was walking down the pathway, moving toward them under the cover of his magical spell of invisibility, and he stood no more than ten feet from them. Seeing Joram’s eyes focus on him, he realized he had been discovered. The Executioner raised his hand.
“Father, look out!” Joram cried.
Saryon had no time to move or even blink. The air cracked. Dropping the Darksword, Joram staggered