Triumph of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [25]
“Yes,” said Garald. He was silent, pacing back and forth Then he shook his head decisively “Well, I don’t believe it One man—with the power to destroy a world? Bah!”
“Your Grace—”
“And even if I did give credence to this faery story,” the Prince continued over Simkin’s interruption, “I can’t let it interfere with our plans for war. The fact that something like this could occur at all is simply further proof that Vanya and Xavier must be overthrown! And I must operate on the assumption that Xavier has the Darksword, not some ghost from Beyond. I am returning to the War Room.”
The Prince had spoken and, it was obvious, would not be gainsaid this time. Radisovik bowed in silence and Garald motioned to the Duuk-tsarith, who lifted the seal from the chamber and drifted silently after their Prince as he stalked out of the room. Radisovik remained standing, staring after him, shaking his head. Then, with a sigh and a rueful smile at Mosiah, the Cardinal left the room as well.
“As usual, you botched things nicely.” Mosiah turned on Simkin. “Lucky for you that warlock stepped in. I think Garald was ready to chuck you down a well—”
Simkin didn’t answer. He remained seated in his chair, his arm thrown negligently over the back. The ridiculous sailor suit he was wearing vanished, replaced by the conservative gray silk suit.
“You know, my dear Mosiah,” he said, staring into nothing with casual intensity, “there’s one thing that appears to me to be of the utmost importance and no one will listen to me.”
“What’s that?” Mosiah asked moodily, thinking about the storm on the Borderland.
“I kept trying to tell Garald, but he’s so hungry for war he refuses to eat anything else that’s set before him. Xavier knows, and he’s afraid. That’s why he kept trying to take the sword. Vanya knows, that’s why he had the stroke. The late and unlamented Emperor—Joram’s real father—knew, that’s why he vanished. Joram didn’t flee into Beyond because he was trying to escape the Duuk-tsarith. He didn’t need to.”
“Why? What do you mean?” Mosiah looked up apprehensively, the cold fear creeping over him again.
“Joram had. The Darksword…. Joram was winning …”
7
A Discourse
On The Rules Of War
Fearful that Prince Xavier had. The Darksword and hoping to strike before the warlock learned to use its full powers, Garald accelerated his country’s preparations for war. The catalysts and warlocks began their drills early in the morning and did not end until far late into the evening; many so exhausted that they slept where they collapsed on the floor of the War Room.
The forge of the Sorcerers glared into the night with bright eyes; the gnashing of its metal teeth and the breath of its bellows made it seem as though a monster had been captured and chained up in the center of the city. The Sorcerers as well as the warlocks were learning to work with catalysts; having had only one—Saryon—in the last dark years of their history. Combining magic and Technology, they were able to construct their weapons easier and faster—a fact that not all took as a blessing.
Finally, Garald deemed his city-state ready for war. In a formal, centuries-old ceremony that involved the donning of red robes and odd-looking hats (a source of considerable suppressed merriment and speculation among the nobility for no one remembered where the hats had come from or why), Prince Garald and the high ranking of the land came before their King, read the grievances against Merilon, and demanded war.
The King agreed, of course. There was a grand party that night in Sharakan and then everybody prepared for the next step—the Challenge.
There were strict rules of warfare in Thimhallan, dating back to the time when the people first came to this world. It was hoped by those early residents that a people driven from their birthworld by prejudice and violence could have lived in peace in this new one. Such was not human nature, however, as the wisest of the new inhabitants knew. Therefore they set down Rules of War that had been strictly followed and obeyed (for the