Legacy of the Darksword

by Margaret Weis

  “Also,” he added, watching the reaction of the other two, “the Darksword is nowhere to be seen. The trees have no knowledge of such a weapon.”

  “Well, I should hope not,” said Scylla. “You don’t suppose it would be lying right out in the open!”

  “I might suppose that, since I threw it in here,” Mosiah said, but his voice was low. I was the only one who heard him.

  “There is one other person inside this part of the Zoo,” Mosiah continued. “A catalyst, by his garb. He is in a clearing about twenty paces to the east of our current position.”

  “Excellent!” Scylla grinned and nodded. “That will be Father Saryon.”

  I gasped and would have signed something, but Mosiah halted me.

  His eyes narrowed with suspicion and displeasure. “What do you mean? You mentioned a rendezvous. Is that with Saryon? How did he escape? Is Joram with him?”

  Now it was Scylla who looked astonished. Eliza drew herself up straight and regarded Mosiah with a cold gaze.

  “What sort of cruel joke do you make, Enforcer?” Scylla demanded angrily. “To ask of Joram!”

  “I make no joke, believe me,” Mosiah returned. “Tell me— what of Joram?”

  “You know the answer very well, Enforcer,” Scylla retorted.

  “The Emperor of Merilon is dead. He died twenty years ago, in the Temple of the Necromancers.”

  “How did he die?” Mosiah asked, and his voice was calm.

  “At the hands of the Executioner.”

  “Ah,” said Mosiah, and he sighed in relief. “Now I know what is going on!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “For returning to this realm and bringing upon it untold danger, the sentence of death is placed upon this man Joram.”

  BISHOP VANYA; TRIUMPH OF THE DARKSWORD

  Scylla frowned, her brow creased. “I fear you have taken serious hurt, Enforcer. A blow on the head, perhaps?”

  Mosiah put his hand to his forehead. “Yes, for a moment I was quite disoriented. I was loath to tell you. I did not want to worry Her Majesty.” Hands folded, he bowed. His tone was respectful, all trace of sarcasm gone.

  Eliza had been cold and withdrawn. At this statement, she warmed and drew near him, looking concerned. “Are you all right now, Enforcer?”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty. I am recovering. I fear, however, that there may be gaps in my memory. If anything that I say or do sounds odd, you must put it down to that account. I beg you to be patient with any questions I may ask.”

  How very clever! I thought. Now he frees himself to ask whatever questions he will and they will think it’s nothing more than the bump on his head.

  “Certainly, Enforcer.” The Queen was gracious. “And now we should be going to meet with Father Saryon. We are already late and he will be worried. Sir Knight, will you lead the way?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Scylla, sword drawn, took a moment to get her bearings, which she did by looking again at the sun, then searched the ground for signs of a trail. She found one, not far distant, which—by the cloven hoofprints—had been made by some sort of beast.

  “This is a centaur trail,” Mosiah warned. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “You said yourself they were off hunting,” Scylla countered. “We have need of speed and this is faster and easier than slogging through the undergrowth. Besides, centaur prefer ambushing lone, helpless travelers—such as Father Saryon.”

  “True,” Mosiah conceded. “If you will take the lead, Sir Knight. I will guard the rear.”

  As she walked near him, to take her place at the head of our small group, Scylla paused and looked Mosiah squarely in the eyes. “Are you certain you’re all right, Enforcer?” she asked, and there was true caring and concern in her voice, softness in her bright eyes.

  “Yes, lady,” he said, astonished. “Thank you.”

  She grinned at him and clapped him on the upper arm with an enthusiasm that made him wince, then she turned and continued moving cautiously and watchfully along the path. Eliza gathered her long skirts and followed.

  Mosiah stood a moment staring after Scylla in confusion, a confusion which did not all arise from the strange and inexplicable situation in which we found ourselves, but which was the confusion experienced by any man in any place in any time when confronted with the strange and inexplicable motives of a woman.

  Shaking his head, he shrugged and gestured to me to join him.

  The trail was wide enough for two people to walk side by side, though, by the prints, the centaurs walked along it in single file.

  I signed to Mosiah, “You seem to have some idea what is happening to us.”

  “So do you, I believe,” he said, glancing at me sidelong.

  I felt called upon to explain. “I’ve caught glimpses of myself in … another life,” was the best way I could describe it. “And I’ve seen Eliza and Scylla there, too. I didn’t say anything before because I wasn’t sure.”

  “Tell me what you saw.”

  I did so, adding that it wasn’t much and wasn’t likely to help us. “It didn’t seem to make any sense.”

  “It doesn’t make sense now,” he said, and his face was grim. “We have been sent to another time, an alternate time. But why? How did we get here? And why do you recall another time and I recall another time, yet neither Scylla nor Eliza seems to. And how do we get back?”

  “The Technomancers?” I suggested. “Perhaps they are responsible. What was that … thing … you attacked out beyond the Wall. The thing in the white mask that looked like Gwendolyn.”

  “She was one of the Kylanistic order of the Technomancers,” Mosiah replied. “They are known as the Interrogators. They have the ability to take on the face and form and voice of another person in order to induce the victim to do precisely what Eliza was about to do—hand over our valuables, our secrets. They can infiltrate any organization by using such disguises.”

  “How did you know it wasn’t Gwendolyn? Could you see through the disguise?”

  “Their disguises are not easy to penetrate. They overplayed their hand by having the woman use magic. In all the time we have kept watch on Joram, I’ve never seen Gwen rely on Life. Not even when she’s alone. Eliza noticed and thought it was odd, but she was too willing to believe it was her mother to question it. Then, I saw Joram’s injuries. I know it was more serious than they let on.”

  “Why did she abandon the disguise?”

  “It takes a great deal of magical energy to maintain the illusion. She could not expend the energy necessary and fight me at the same time, which is why I attacked her.”

  “If you had been wrong?” I hinted.

  “But I wasn’t. If I had been, however, and it really was Gwen, then I would have had a chance of rescuing her.”

  “Do you believe that the Technomancers have her prisoner?”

  “I would say yes, since they were able to create such a realistic illusion. On the other hand, I would say no, since Smythe didn’t mention her as one of the hostages.”

  “But what else could have happened to her?”

  Mosiah shook his head. Either he didn’t know or he wasn’t saying.

  I tried another question. “That thing you called a stasis mine. What was that?”

  “If one of us had stepped on it, it would have trapped us all in a stasis field. We could not have moved until the Technomancers released us.”

  I hesitated to ask my next question, because I feared his answer. Finally, I ventured, “What if this experience is not real—a hallucination. Maybe they’re controlling our minds.”

  “If that is true,” he said with a wry smile, “and they are controlling our minds, then I doubt if they would permit your mind to consider the possibility. The Technomancers may be responsible for this, though I can’t fathom why they would want to send us to another time when they so clearly had us where they wanted us in the last one.”

  He was silent a moment, then said quietly, “There were those
who once practiced the Mystery of Time upon Thimhallan. The Diviners.”

  “Yes, but they perished during the Iron Wars,” I pointed out. “Their kind was never seen or heard of after that.”

  “True. Well, we must keep our eyes and ears open and see if we can solve this mystery. Joram is dead.” Mosiah pondered. “What would Thimhallan have been like if Joram had died at the hands of the Executioner? If Joram had died before he destroyed the Well of Life and released the magic? I wonder… “

  He retreated into his own thoughts, fell back a pace or two behind me to indicate that he wanted to be alone. I was intent on my thoughts for a moment or two and then I noticed that Eliza was glancing at me out of the corner of her eye and that, by her smile, she seemed to invite me to come walk beside her.

  My heartbeat quickened. I drew near her. With a small gesture toward Scylla’s armored back, to enjoin silence, Eliza began to sign to me. It amused me to find that my language of the hands— a poor second to a voice—was becoming a language of intrigue and secrecy.

  “I arn sorry for my part in our quarrel last night,” Eliza signed to me. “Will you forgive me, Reuven?”

  I knew well the quarrel she meant, though I could not have said that a second ago. As words or images will trigger memories of a dream, so her reference brought the entire scene to me, only much more real than any dream. It was not a dream. It had happened—at least in this here and now, it had happened.

  Perhaps it was the influence of the magical Life flowing through my veins, but my other self—the self of Earth—was rapidly fading into the background.

  “There is nothing to forgive, my dear one,” I signed in return.

  I looked at her, the sun glistening on her black curls, the golden shimmer of her crown, the dappled sunlight now sparkling on her jewels, the shadows of the trees now gliding over her, dimming all light but her own.

  I loved her. My love for her flowed out of me to her as the Life had flowed out of me to Mosiah.

  I had loved her since we were children together and I would go on loving her, no matter what happened, until the day came when I would present that love as a gift to the Almin and reside forever in His blessedness.

  The images of our past, our youth, and our present were still confused—I remembered her as a newborn child, I remembered an undercurrent of fear throughout my childhood. I remembered years spent in study at the Font, holiday time spent in my home with the one who was my foster sister, and so much more. I remembered leaving a sassy, willful child and returning to find a beautiful, spirited woman. But who had raised us? Where had we lived? That was hidden from me.

  “Your safety was my only concern,” I signed.

  “You understand that there could be no other way,” she returned. “That this was something I had to do, being my father’s heir.” She regarded me intently, awaiting my answer.

  “I understand,” I signed. “I understood then. I only said those things to provoke you. It worked. I thought you’d take a swing at me again, like in the old days.”

  I was hoping to make her laugh. My mischievous delight as a child, I am sorry to say, had been to tease her until she lost her temper and struck at me with her small fists. Though I always protested that I was the innocent victim, I was not believed and we were both sent to bed without our suppers on those occasions.

  She did not laugh, though she smiled at the memory. Impulsively, she reached out, took hold of my hand, and whispered, “Like in the old days, Reuven, I can count on you and you alone to brush away the glittering faerie dust the rest would scatter over my duties. You alone show me the ugly reality beneath. You force me to look at the ugliness and then to see beyond it, to hope. Admit it”—her eyes gleamed with a hint of triumph— “if I had refused to come, you would have been disappointed in me.”

  “I would have thought that for once in your life you had made a sensible and rational decision,” I signed, attempting to look stern. “As it is, my only disappointment would have been if you had not permitted me to come with you.”

  “And how could I leave you behind?” she asked, smiling and mocking me. Forgetting herself, she spoke out loud. “I’d have to hear you whine about it for days. ‘Eliza got to go and I didn’t!’ “ she concluded in a childish voice, talking through her nose.

  “Hush!” said Scylla, turning. “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. It’s just that—”

  “We’re not on a picnic, Your Majesty,” Mosiah said dourly, gliding up to stand beside us.

  “You are right, both of you,” Eliza murmured, her cheeks flushed. “It won’t happen again.”

  “We are very near the meeting place,” Scylla said. “Enforcer?”

  The oak trees had creaked and rattled their limbs as we walked along and I guessed that they must be continuing to provide Mosiah with information.

  “Father Saryon is in the clearing and he is alone. He has, however, heard our approach and is more than a little unnerved. I suggest we ease his fears.”

  “I will go forth into the glade,” said Scylla. “You remain here with Her Majesty.”

  “Oh, nonsense!” said Eliza, losing patience. “We’ll all go together. If it is a trap, we’ve already walked into it. Come, Reuven.”

  Emerging into a glade, we came upon an elderly priest, who had been looking nervously to his right and left previous to our appearance.

  At the sight of us, he breathed a gentle sigh. He smiled and extended his hands, one to either of us.

  “My children,” Saryon said in heartfelt tones.

  My eyes blurred with tears. I knew then the man who had been father to Eliza and to me, the man who had taken two orphans into his home and into his heart.

  No wonder I had felt the love of a son for a father in that other life. Such love knows no bounds, would stretch across the gulf of time.

  He gave me his hand and looked with pleasure and pride upon my white robes with their red trim. The white marked me a house catalyst, one who is in the employ of some noble family. The red indicated that I was a Lord Father, a high rank for one of my years.

  He would have bowed and kissed Eliza’s hand, but she forestalled him by flinging her arms around his neck and kissing him heartily on the cheek. He hugged her and held her close, all the while keeping firm hold of my hand, and we had a most joyous family reunion there in the glade in the Zoo of Zith-el.

  “It has been so long since I’ve seen both of you,” he said, releasing us to look at us fondly.

  “We do think the Emperor might let you come to visit us in Merilon,” said Eliza, a tiny furrow creasing her forehead.

  “No, no, Emperor Garald is right,” Saryon said, sighing. “The ways are dangerous, very dangerous.”

  “The Conduits are safe.”

  “The Thon-li refuse to guarantee it these days. Menju the Sorcerer has many allies on Thimhallan. Not that I care for any danger for myself, mind you,” he added with a touch of spirit. “I am more than ready to go to my rest, to be reunited with your father and your mother.” He patted Eliza’s hand. “But I cannot put down the great burden I bear. Not yet. Not yet.”

  I blinked my eyes free of the glad tears, and now that I could see Father Saryon more clearly, I was shocked at his appearance. He had aged far beyond his years, was gray and stooped, as if the burden of which he spoke was a physical one. He was not frail or fragile in spirit, only in body.

  Scylla and Mosiah had held back at the edge of the glade, to give us a moment’s privacy for our reunion and also to make certain no one and nothing was lying in wait. Now they walked forward, both making respectful bows to Father Saryon. He greeted Mosiah with pleasure, mentioning that he had heard Mosiah was now in Queen Eliza’s service. Mosiah stood with hands folded before him, silent and observant.

  Scylla was not known to Saryon, apparently, for Eliza introduced her as her knight and captain of her guard. Scylla was polite, but her manner was brisk. She was obviously ill at ease.

  “We should stay here no longer than is n
ecessary, Your Majesty. With your gracious permission, I would suggest that we leave immediately.”

  “Is that well with you, Father Saryon?” Eliza asked him, regarding him anxiously. She, too, was concerned and dismayed at his wan appearance. “You look tired. Did you walk all this way? The journey must have been a strenuous one for you. Do you need to rest?”

  “There can be no rest for me until I have completed my task. Yet,” he added, looking earnestly and searchingly at Eliza, “yet I would go to my grave bearing this secret if you are the least bit unsure, Daughter. Will you take on this heavy responsibility? Have you considered well the perils you will face?”

  Eliza gripped him by both hands. “Yes, Father, dear Father, the only father I have ever known. Yes, I have considered the perils. They’ve been shown to me in vivid detail,” she added with a glance and a smile for me, before she turned back to Saryon. “I am prepared to take the responsibility; to finish, if need be, what my father began.”

  “He would have been proud of you, Eliza,” Saryon said gently. “So proud.”

  “Your Majesty—”

  “Yes, Scylla, we are leaving. Father, you must guide us, for you are the only one who knows the way.”

  Saryon shook his head and I guessed that the way of which he was thinking was not the sun-dappled path through the forest, but the path forever cloaked with darkness which leads into the future.

  Eliza walked at his side, holding on to his arm in a close and confiding manner which pleased him immensely. The trail not being wide enough for three of us to walk side by side, I fell a pace or two behind, which put me between Saryon and Eliza in front and Scylla and Mosiah in back.

  “Perhaps I am still suffering from the effects of my injury,” Mosiah said, “but what is there to fear, besides the usual fears which always attend anyone insane enough to walk through the Zoo of Zith-el? You said yourself that the centaurs would not attack us.”

  Scylla made a disparaging sound in her throat. “Short work to them if they did. No, it is not the centaurs I fear, nor darkrovers, nor giants, nor faeries.” She paused a moment, then said quietly, “I wonder that you cannot guess.”