Triumph of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [30]
“Yes, Highness,” Vanya replied, the fingers of his good hand crawling spiderlike over the arm of the chair.
“What took them so long to discover that?” Xavier demanded bitterly.
“The storm on the Border is worsening,” Vanya said, moistening his lips. “By the time the Duuk-tsarith arrived, the statue of the catalyst had been completely covered by sand. The entire landscape has changed, Highness. They could not even recognize the Borderland and they were present during the Execu—”
“I am aware of when they were there, Eminence,” Xavier interrupted impatiently. The man’s hands, clasped correctly before him, were white from the strain of maintaining this semblance of outward calm. “Get on with your report!”
“Yes, Highness,” Vanya muttered. Irritated at the imperious tone, he took advantage of the man’s turned back to glower at him in hatred. “It took the warlocks some time even to discover the location of the statue, then they had to remove the mounds of sand covering it. The Duuk-tsarith were forced to work under magical shields to protect themselves from the storm that blew fiercely about them. It took two warlocks and four catalysts alone just to maintain the shield so that work could proceed. Finally, they dug down to the remains of the statue.”
“Is the catalyst—that Saryon—dead?” Xavier asked.
Vanya paused to mop his sweating forehead with a white cloth. He was either too hot or too cold these days. There never seemed any in-between.
When he finally spoke, it was in a low voice. “Certainly the spell was broken, the spirit fled. But whether to the realm of the dead or the living, no one is certain.”
“Damn!” Xavier muttered beneath his breath, the fingers of one hand clenching. “And the sword is gone?”
“Sword and scabbard.”
“You are certain?”
“The Duuk-tsarith do not make mistakes, Highness,” Vanya replied acidly. “They combed a wide area around the site of the statue and found nothing. What is more important is that they felt no trace of the swords presence as they surely must have if it had been there.”
Xavier made a snarling sound. “The sword was quite capable of concealing its owner from the eyes of the Duuk-tsarith before—”
“Only when it had lost itself and its owner in the crowd. When isolated, the Darksword can be sensed by the Duuk-tsarith due to the minute draining effect it has—even un-wielded—upon their magic. At least, that is what the witch tells me, Highness. They had little time to test the sword, she says, before it was turned to stone in the arms of that wretched catalyst.
“No,” Vanya continued gloomily, “the Darksword is gone…. What’s more, the Duuk-tsarith say that only its power could have been used to break the spell surrounding Saryon.”
The DKarn-Duuk stood in silence, staring out the wall. The Challenge had started. The Corridors surrounding the invisible, magical walls of Merilon gaped open. (Few Corridors provided entry into the city itself. Those that did were located in the Gates, guarded normally by the Kan-Hanar alone. Now, in time of war, the Duuk-tsarith and The DKarn-Duuk—the War Masters—also stood guard over the Gates of Merilon. This was really a formality, however. Besides being an infraction of the Rules of the War, any attempt by the enemy to enter the city through the Corridors would precipitate a magical battle that would endanger both the city and its inhabitants; something neither side wanted—at least at this early stage. The only other Corridors that led into and out of the city were the secret Corridors that connected the palace to the Font.)
The army of Sharakan—hundreds of warlocks, resplendent in their red robes of war, followed by their catalysts—emerged from the Corridors. The warlocks arranged themselves at intervals surrounding the city, their catalysts at their sides. When all were in place, a single trumpet sounded and Prince Garald himself appeared, riding out from the Corridor in a golden chariot drawn by nine black horses. Flame breathed