“You fear the Duuk-tsarith. Of which I am one.”
“True, but you have always been of an independent nature Mosiah, and were not afraid to go your own way, if you thought the other way wrong. That was why Her Majesty chose you to accompany us. You are the only one of her Enforcers she felt she could trust.”
“What is it you fear the Duuk-tsarith will do?”
“Why, try to seize the Darks word, of course,” Scylla responded.
“So that is why we’re here,” Mosiah said thoughtfully. “ ‘I am prepared to take the responsibility,’ the Queen said. Eliza means to use the Darksword. And Father Saryon knows where it is.”
“Certainly. Didn’t Her Majesty explain this to you before we left?”
“Perhaps Her Majesty does not put as much faith in me as you do,” Mosiah said wryly.
Scylla sighed. “One can hardly blame her—after all that’s happened. Emperor Garald believes that the Duuk-tsarith are under his control and will obey his commands. Certainly, they’ve given him no reason to think otherwise, but still …”
“You don’t trust them.”
“The Darksword is a great prize. It could give them enormous power, especially if they discovered the secret to making more swords.”
“I don’t see how. No one with Life can use it. The Darksword would drain them of their magic and leave them helpless.”
“That bump you took must be severe,” Scylla said. “Or maybe it’s a recurrence of those injuries you suffered in the collapse of Lord Samuel’s house during the battle. Whatever it is, you’re obviously not thinking straight. The Dead among the Duuk-tsarith would wield the Darksword. You were the one who told me that is why the Dead were recruited in the first place. And then it’s widely known that the Duuk-tsarith don’t believe in the Bishop’s prophecy. Like many others, they think it’s a political device cooked up by the Emperor and Radisovik to frighten the rebels.”
“My head throbs,” Mosiah said, and he sounded very plaintive. “Remind me of this prophecy.”
Scylla lowered her voice, spoke solemnly. “That the Devil himself was raising an army against us. Demons armed with Hell’s Light would come down on us from the skies and destroy every living thing in Thimhallan.”
So startled and alarmed was I by this prophecy that I turned in consternation and stared at Mosiah.
“The Hch’nyv!” I signed.
“What?” Scylla demanded. “I don’t understand. What is he talking about?”
“A previous conversation we had. It is not important.” Mosiah made a swift motion with his hand, counseling me to keep quiet. “This prophecy … when is it to be fulfilled?”
“This time tomorrow, the demons will launch their attack. Thus Bishop Radisovik was told: ‘Only the Darksword in the hands of Joram’s heir can save us.’ “
“And who gave the Bishop this infor—this prophecy?”
“A being of light,” said Scylla, sounding awed. “An angel sent from the Almin.”
“I can understand how my brethren in the Duuk-tsarith could be skeptical,” Mosiah said. “I must admit I find it hard to believe.”
Scylla drew in a deep breath, seeming about to argue or reprimand. Slowly, however, she released it. “This is not the time for another of our theological debates. Though I do worry about your soul and pray for you nightly.”
Mosiah appeared considerably taken aback by this statement and didn’t seem to know what to say. Scylla was also silent, preoccupied.
I was watching them and listening as best I could while keeping one eye on the path ahead. He started to speak, but she interrupted him.
“I wish Her Majesty had discussed this with you!” she said, then added decisively, “Still, it is only right that you know. But this must be kept secret. The Emperor sent a message to Earth, to General Boris.”
Scylla paused, expecting Mosiah to look shocked. He accepted this news very calmly.
“What is wrong with that? General Boris and King—I mean Emperor Garald are friends, after all.”
“Hush! Never say such a thing aloud! Don’t even think it! It would be worth the price of the Emperor’s life if it were known that he had ties with the enemy.”
“The enemy. I see. What did our enemy General Boris have to say about this heavenly missive?”
“That the Devil is indeed coming, though not perhaps in the form we might expect. Boris went on to add details about an invasion force that had destroyed Earth’s outposts and was now rapidly closing in on Earth. He said that Earth Forces would do what they could to protect Thimhallan, although he added in a closing note that he feared they fought a losing battle and warned us to ready our defenses.”
Mosiah and I again exchanged looks. I turned away with a sigh. The Hch’nyv. It had to be. I had hoped that we had left them behind in that other time, but that apparently was not the case. They were coming and they were right on schedule. We had less than forty-eight hours to stop them.
The Darksword in the hands of Joram’s heir. The Darksword in Joram’s hands. How could a sword in anybody’s hands halt the advance of an alien horde, when neutron bombs, photon missiles, laser cannons—the most sophisticated, powerful killing machines humans had ever devised—had not put even a dent in their armor?
I felt suddenly very tired, my footsteps dragged. This was all so futile! Hopeless! Our feeble struggles were doing nothing more than alerting the spider to the fact that we were tangled in its web. I was thinking it would be far better to sit down beneath these lovely oaks with a couple of bottles of good wine and drink a final toast to humanity, when a hand smote me between the shoulder blades.
“Cheer up, Lord Father!” Scylla said, and after nearly knocking me flat, she very kindly assisted me to keep my balance. “Joram’s heir will soon have the Darksword and then all will be well.”
She strode past me, going to the front of the line in response to a gesture from Eliza, a gesture that I had not even seen, so dark were the thoughts surrounding me.
All during this conversation, our path had been veering downward at a gentle slope. The oaks gave way to poplar and aspen, these gave way to willows. I had long heard the sounds of rushing water, and rounding a bend, we came in sight of a narrow, swift-flowing river. The Hira River , or so I recalled from my research; it cuts right through the heart of Zith-el. Like the inhabitants of Zith-el, the Hira was tame and placid when it was inside the city, but became rough and dangerous and wild when it entered the Zoo.
The sun shone bright on the water, its light warm on my face. Looking into the heavens, I saw the white wisps of clouds drawn like flimsy veils over the blue sky. Cotton from the cottonwoods drifted down around us, a summer snowstorm.
The water was green where it ran smooth, foaming white where it leapt over rocks, black where it ran beneath the overhanging limbs of the trees lining the bank. Some distance from us was one enormous willow, which leaned far out over the river, its arms gracefully outstretched, its leaves trailing through the water. Its exposed roots were gnarled and huge, like knuckles on a boxer, from the effort of keeping fast hold on the soil.
“There.” Father Saryon pointed. “That is our destination.”
We walked along the bank, approaching the willow, and none of us said a word. I do not know what the others were thinking, but in my mind I saw the river red with blood, the willow withering in flame, the blue sky gray with smoke. But whereas before I had been despairing, now I was angry.
We would fight to save this: the sun, the sky, the clouds, the willow. Hopeless though it might be, though no one would be left alive to tell of it, we would fight to the very end.
Father Saryon pointed at something else downstream from our position and said something; I couldn’t hear what, due to the bubbling of the water. I moved closer, coming level with Scylla and Eliza. Mosiah did not immediately join us. When I looked back for him, I saw him kneeling down on the path, in apparent conversation with an enormous raven with bristling black feathers, which gave it a
hunchbacked appearance.
The Duuk-tsarith often used ravens as an extension of the Enforcer’s ears and eyes.
“—not far,” Saryon was saying. “There at the bend. Be careful. The path along the riverbank is muddy and very slippery.”
There was a slight drop-off from the path in the woods to the path along the riverbank, caused by the churning of the water in a small pool below us, which had eroded the bank. Saryon was about to make a clumsy descent. I interceded, offering to go first and stand ready to assist those who came after.
Scylla remained on the highest part of the path, her hand on her sword hilt, keeping watch all around us. I gathered up the skirts of my robes and half jumped, half slid down to the river trail. Once I had regained my feet, I turned and reached out my arms to Eliza. She did not hesitate, but made the jump with skill. She did not really need my help, but she ended up in my arms anyway.
For a brief moment we held fast to each other. She looked up into my eyes and I gazed down into hers. She loved me! I knew then that she loved me, as I loved her. My joy was bright as the sunshine on the water, but the next moment the joy flowed into a shallow, stagnant pool, dark and dismal.
Our love could never come to anything. She was Queen of Merilon and I was her house catalyst, a mute catalyst at that. She had duties and responsibilities to her people, duties in which I could assist her, in my humble calling, but only in my humble calling. She was betrothed. I knew her future husband well; he was the son of Emperor Garald and was much younger than Eliza. They were waiting for the boy to come of age. The marriage would strengthen the Empire, forever bonding the kingdoms of Merilon and Sharakan.
Provided, of course, that the Hch’nyv did not kill us all first.
Eliza slipped out of my grasp. “You help Father Saryon now, Reuven,” she said softly, and walking a slight distance from me, she turned away from me and stared out across the glistening water. I watched her a moment, saw her hand reach up to her eyes, but the movement was swift and was not repeated.
She had accepted her duty and was resigned to it. Could I do less, with her brave example before me?
I held out my hand to Father Saryon, and helped him safely to the bank below.
“It wasn’t this difficult twenty years ago,” he said. “At least not that I remember. I managed by myself without any trouble at all. I was much younger then, of course.” He came level with me and looked at me intently. “Are you all right, Reuven?”
“Yes, sir, I am,” I signed.
He looked from me to Eliza, who remained standing with her back to us all, and his expression grew sad and sorrowful. I saw that he knew, that he must have known for some time.
“I am sorry, my son,” he said. “I wish—”
But I was never to know what he wished, for he was unable to express it. Shaking his head, he went to Eliza and rested his hand gently upon her arm.
Scylla jumped and landed beside me, with a rattle of armor and a thud that shook the ground. She brushed off brusquely my attempt at assistance.
“Where is the Enforcer?” she asked impatiently, and turned back to peer up the bank.
Mosiah stood above us, a dark and ominous figure in his black robes, which fluttered in the wind. The raven hopped on the ground at his side.
“Father Saryon,” he called. “Where are you bound?”
Saryon gazed up at him. “There is a cave in the bend of the river—”
“No, Father,” said Mosiah, and his voice was deep and stern. “You must find some other path. We dare not go near that cave. The raven has warned me. That cave is the dwelling of a Dragon of the Night.”
Scylla looked alarmed. Eliza paled and her eyes widened. Father Saryon was not the least bit disconcerted by this news. He nodded and smiled. “Yes, I know.”
“You know!” Mosiah leapt from the bank. His black robes billowed around him. He drifted like a sooty wisp of cottonwood to the bank and landed in front of Saryon. The raven, taking wing, flapped and fluttered at his shoulder. “You know and you will go anyway?”
“Do you realize, Father,” Scylla added, “the risk we run? An army of warlocks could not win a battle against a Dragon of the Night, should it awake and attack us.”
“I know the risk well,” Saryon said, with a flash of his old spirit. “I ran that risk myself, all alone, twenty years ago. Not out of choice, mind you, but out of desperation. I don’t need you three to remind me.”
He gazed at us, his eyes narrowed. “If you want to recover the Darksword, that is where we must go. The Dragon of the Night is the Darksword’s guardian.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Saryon caught Joratn in his arms. Touching the fabric of the crimson-stained robes, the catalyst felt the warm wetness of life’s blood draining from Joram’s body, falling through Saryon’s fingers like the petals of a shattered tulip.
TRIUMPH OF THE DARKSWORD
Eliza listened gravely to Mosiah’s arguments against going. She asked Father Saryon if there was any way to retrieve the Darksword without facing the dragon. On his replying that there was not, she said it was her intention to go with Father Saryon, but that she would not ask any of the rest of us to go with her. In fact, it was her express command that we remain behind.
Needless to say, that was one command in her reign she could not convince any of us to obey. After some further discussion we headed for the cave—all five of us.
“Now at least,” said Mosiah as he trudged along behind me, “we won’t have to worry about dying at the hands of the Hch’nyv.”
“According to Father Saryon,” I signed, “the dragon is charmed. As I recall, a person is able to control one of these dragons if he touches the charm the warlocks embedded in the dragon’s head.”
“Thank you, Mister Encyclopedia,” Mosiah retorted sarcastically. We had left the sunshine and returned to the shadows, walking beneath the willows and cottonwoods that bordered the river. “It takes a very strong and powerful personality to cast a charm on a dragon. My respect for Father Saryon is vast, but ‘strong’ and ‘powerful’ are not words I would use to describe him.”
“I think you underestimate him,” I signed back defensively. “He was strong enough to sacrifice himself when they would have turned Joram to stone. He was strong enough and powerful enough to assist Joram in fighting Blachloch.”
Mosiah remained unconvinced. “Twenty years have passed since he left the Darksword with the dragon! Even if Father Saryon did actually charm the beast, the charm could not possibly hold it that long!”
I felt regretfully that Mosiah was right. The Dragons of Night had been designed by their creators as killing machines, made to slaughter on command. During the Iron Wars some of these dragons had escaped their creators and wreaked havoc among their own forces. After the war the D’karn-duuk, who had made the dragons and controlled them, were mostly dead. Those who survived were too battle-shocked and exhausted to deal with the Warchanged. The Dragons of Night escaped and fled below ground, seeking to hide from the light of day, which they loathed and feared, in the endless night of tunnel and cave.
They have no love for man, remembering always who had doomed them to this dark life and hating them for it.
We had now arrived at the cavern entrance. Halting on the riverhank, we stared at it bleakly. The opening—dark against the gray rock face—was an enormous archway of gray stone, easy for all of us to enter, or it would have been had not most of it been sunk underwater! A part of the river had branched off, flowed, swift and deep, into the cavern.
“You’re out of luck, Father,” Mosiah said. “The river has changed course. Unless you would have us swim these treacherous currents, we can’t go inside.” The raven, perched on a tree limb, gave a raucous caw.
I am ashamed to say that my first reaction was one of relief, until I saw Eliza.
Up to this time she had borne calmly and courageously all dangers and setbacks. This disappointment was too much for her to bear. She clenched her fists.
/> “We must get inside!” she cried, her face white to the lips, adding wildly, “I will swim if I have to.”
The water flowing into the cave was fast-moving, with small, swirling whirlpools and dangerous eddies that splashed and foamed among sharp rocks. Swimming was not an option.
“We could build a raft,” said Scylla. “Lash together some logs. Perhaps the Enforcer with his magic—”
“I am not a conjurer, nor am I Pron-alban, a craftsman,” said Mosiah coldly. “I am not learned in boatbuilding, and I don’t think you want to wait while I study up on the subject.”
“I wasn’t asking you to build a full-blown sailing vessel,” Scylla returned, her eyes flashing in anger. “But I do think you might be able to use one of your fire spells to burn out the inside of a log so that we could make a canoe.”
“Canoe!” Mosiah snorted. “Perhaps we’ll use your head, Sir Knight. It must be hollow enough! Has it ever occurred to you that I will need to conserve all the Life I have left to extricate us from the clutches of this dragon, which—I have the feeling—isn’t going to be exactly charmed to see us.”
All this time Father Saryon had been attempting to say something. At last, he had his chance. “Do you have so little faith in me, to think I would bring you to a drowned cave?”
He smiled as he said the words, but we felt the rebuke, especially myself and Eliza.
“Forgive me, Father,” Eliza said, looking remorseful. “You are right. I should have had faith in you.”
“If not me, then at least in the Almin,” Saryon said, and he cast a glance at Mosiah which indicated that the elderly priest had also heard at least part of our former conversation.
Mosiah said nothing, made no apology. He stood stoic and silent, his arms crossed, his hands concealed in the black sleeves of his robes.
Saryon continued, adding briskly, “There is a path, over here. A rock ledge runs above the water level. This path leads to a corridor which takes us away from the river, down into the bowels of the cavern.”
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