Triumph of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [81]
“Pull yourself together. Major,” the magician snapped. “You know, of course, the identity of the man with the sword.”
Elbows on the desk, the Major let his head, with its regulation military haircut, sink slowly into his hands. “No,” he muttered in hollow tones. “I don’t …”
“Joram.”
“Joram?” Major Boris looked up. “But they told me he’d stay neutral—” The Major stopped, his mouth twisting bitterly “Oh, I see. He would have remained neutral if we hadn’t started slaughtering his people?”
“I suppose.” Menju shrugged. “Frankly, I always doubted whether he would allow us to conquer this world without reacting in some way to stop us. He played his role well, however, and he can be dealt out of the game. He has, in fact, increased the stakes immeasurably!”
The Sorcerer slid his bottom lip beneath his two white upper teeth, a habit that gave a sinister cast to his handsome face, or so James Boris thought, staring at the magician with a morbid fascination.
“Joram has been able to retrieve his Darksword,” the Sorcerer said, after a pause, during which he put the tips of the index fingers of each hand together, tapping them on his cleft chin. “Blast it!” Though he spoke with emotion, his voice was still soft and controlled. “We must get hold of some of that ore to analyze! Darkstone! According to him, it drains the magical energy from this world. Now it seems it has the capability of draining the physical energy used in our world as well.
“Think of it, Major!” Menju lowered his hands, straightened his tie, adjusted his shirt cuffs in a preoccupied, obviously habitual gesture. “An ore that can drain energy from one source and convert that energy to its own use! Get hold of that weapon, and the battle is won. Not only in this world, but on any other we might choose to invade. Now, Major, how soon will it be before reinforcements arrive?”
“Reinforcements?” Major Boris blinked glazed eyes. “There are no reinforcements! We are an expeditionary force, our mission is … or was”—his voice cracked—“peaceful.”
“Yes, it was peaceful. We attempted to negotiate, but we were viciously attacked, our people mercilessly butchered,” the Sorcerer said coolly.
“So that’s your game, is it?” James Boris responded in lifeless tones.
“That’s the game.” Menju spread his hands. “Led by this Joram—who tricked us into coming here in the first place—the people of this world were lying in wait for us and attacked us without warning. We fought back, of course, but now we are trapped here. We need help, to save ourselves.”
“And once these reinforcements come, they’ll fall under your control, just like my men, just like me,” James Boris continued in the same dull and uncaring voice.
“And on my orders they’ll kill every man, woman, and child in this world, except the catalysts, of course, who—as you can see for yourself,—are helping me increase my magical powers.”
“That’s genocide!” The Major gasped, his face flushed red with anger. “By god, you’re talking about wiping out an entire population! Why?”
“Why?” The Sorcerer smiled the charming smile that caused audiences worlds over to believe in the fabric of illusions he wove before their dazzled eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? I alone will possess the magic. I and my sons and daughters. Which reminds me, I need several young women for breeding purposes. I’ll take charge of that personally. With the magic, my family and I will rule the universe! And there will be no magicians left alive with the power to stop me!”
“I won’t obey you! I’ll denounce you! I’ll break you—” James Boris swore viciously. The words stopped cold on his lips as the Sorcerer, rising slowly to his feet, pointed casually—with one finger—at James Boris’s right hand.
Turning deathly white, the Major snatched his hand back and hid it beneath the desk.
“When we talk of breaking people, Major, I suggest you remember that simply by speaking a few arcane words I can break you,