Triumph of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [162]
Saryon fell back into the entryway. He stumbled into me and, so I vaguely recollect, put his arm out as though he would protect me. Me! Who was supposed to protect him!
He pressed me back against the wall of the small entryway, leaving the door standing wide open, with no thought of slamming it in the visitor’s face, with no thought of denying this dread visitor entry. This was one who would not be denied. I knew that as well as Saryon, and though I did make an attempt to put my own body in front of that of the middle-aged catalyst, I had no thought of doing battle.
The Duuk-tsarith glided over the threshold. With a brief gesture of his hand, he caused the door to swing silently shut behind him. He put back the cowl, revealed his face, and stared intently at Saryon for several seconds, almost as if expecting some response. Saryon was too flustered, too upset to do anything except stand on the braided rug and shiver and tremble.
The Enforcer’s gaze shifted to me, entered my soul, caught and held fast to my heart, so that I feared if I disobeyed, my beating heart would stop.
The Duuk-tsarith spoke. “First, I caution you both to remain silent. It is for your own protection. Do you understand?”
The words were not spoken aloud. They were fiery letters, traced across the back of my eyes.
Saryon nodded. He didn’t understand what was going on, any more than I did, but neither of us was going to argue.
“Good,” said the Enforcer “Now I am going to perform a magic spell. Do not be alarmed. It will not harm you.”
The Duuk-tsarith spoke inaudible words, that came to me only in whispers. Fearfully, not terribly reassured by the Duuk-tsarith’s promise, we stared around, waiting for the Almin knew what to happen.
Nothing happened, at least that I could see. The Duuk-tsarith, his finger on his lips, again to enjoin silence, led the way into the living room. We shuffled along behind him, keeping close to each other. Once we were in the living room, the Enforcer pointed one long, white finger.
A painting hung on the wall, a painting which had been acquired along with the flat and which depicted a pastoral scene of cows in a field. From behind that painting now glowed an eerie green light.
The Duuk-tsarith pointed again, this time to the phone. The same green light surrounded the phone.
The Duuk-tsarith nodded to himself, as if he’d expected to find this phenomenon, whatever it was. He didn’t bother to explain. Once again, and this time emphatically, he silently cautioned us not to speak.
And then the Duuk-tsarith did a most peculiar thing. He turned left and entered the darkened living room, with the calm repose of a guest who has been invited to remove his hat and coat and stay to tea. Moving with quiet grace among the furniture, the Enforcer walked to the window, parted the curtain a minuscule crack, and looked outside.
I was overwhelmed by a series of fleeting impressions as my brain tried frantically to grapple with the strange occurrence At first, I thought that the Duuk-tsarith was signaling reinforcements. Logic arrived to remark dryly that the apprehension of one elderly catalyst and his scribe would hardly call for a SWAT team. That first impression was replaced by another.
The Duuk-tsarith was looking outside to see if he had been followed.
Not knowing what else to do and, by now, more curious than fearful, both Saryon and I stayed with the Duuk-tsarith in the living room. Through force of habit, I fumbled for the light switch.
“You needn’t bother. It will not work.”
The voice of the Duuk-tsarith inside the my head was vibrant and sent a mild shock through me, reminding me of the first time I had encountered electricity on this strange world.
“Don’t move,” the inner voice commanded.
We remained standing in the darkened