Legacy of the Darksword

by Margaret Weis

  The blade struck her combat boot and shattered, flying apart in thousands of tiny sparkling shards as if it had been brittle and fragile as ice. I could not see the expression on the silver-hooded head, but I could guess that he was staring at his weapon in astonishment. He quickly recovered, however, shifted his hands to use the scythe’s handle as a club, and tried to jab Scylla.

  She struck out with the heel of her boot, catching the Technomancer full in the nose of his silver-hooded head. I heard a sickening, crackling sound and thought at first it was the silver armor’s defensive shield activating. A smear of blood blossomed on the silver hood. The sound had been the man’s nose breaking. He toppled over backward. A kick to the head while he was on the ground finished him.

  “What’s going on in there?” a voice shouted from outside the cavern. “Is everything all right?”

  “More Technos,” said Mosiah. He had retained his darkrover shape, his eyes glowed red and hideous. “They must be the ones guarding the teleporter. They’ll be here quickly. They’ve got a hover barge! Go!” he urged, waving bloody claws at us. “Take Father Saryon and Joram and go! I will deal with these.”

  Saryon was on his knees, bending over the unconscious Joram. Eliza was at her father’s side, holding his hand. I wondered how we would manage to carry him with us, for he was a tall man and muscular.

  “I won’t leave Joram,” said Saryon firmly.

  “Nor will I,” Eliza said. Tears streamed down her face but I don’t believe that she was aware of them.

  “Smythe has the antidote to the poison.” Saryon’s gaze went to Eliza. “Do you know where the Darksword is?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Then we must find it and give it to him. It is the only way to save your father’s life.”

  “He may not keep his end of the bargain,” Scylla cautioned.

  “Perhaps he will,” Saryon said bleakly. “He must.”

  “We must carry him away from this place,” Scylla urged. “We should not leave him here for them to find. They might take out their wrath at your escape on him.”

  She touched Joram on the forehead. Her deft hands glided smoothly over the broken skin, wiping away the blood.

  Joram opened his eyes, blinked, as if he were looking into a dazzling light.

  “The guards aren’t answering. Something’s wrong,” came the voice from outside the cavern. “I’m going to go check.” .

  “Go!” Mosiah snarled. He bounded over to hide in the shadows near the cavern entrance.

  “I can make it,” Joram said, fending off all offers of assistance. “I don’t need any help.”

  As it was, he stumbled when he tried to rise, but Scylla was there, her strong arm and shoulder supporting him.

  “Reuven,” she called, “take hold of him from the other side.”

  I did as she commanded. Hastening to Joram’s side, I caught hold of him around the waist. He glowered at both Scylla and me and for a moment I thought he was going to defy us.

  “If you don’t allow us to help you, sir,” Scylla said quietly, “you will not move ten paces from this spot. When you fall, your daughter will remain with you, as will Father Saryon. The Technomancers will catch them and that will be an end to all which you have struggled to protect. Is that what you want?”

  Joram’s forbidding expression dissolved. He shook his head. “No. I will accept your help.” He glanced over at me. “And Reuven’s.”

  “Eliza, you lead the way,” Scylla said. “Hurry now.”

  “Wait!” Eliza turned to Father Saryon. “Where is Mother? Was she in that prison with you?”

  “No, child,” Saryon said, looking concerned. “She was not. I thought perhaps you might know—”

  Eliza shook her head.

  “She is not here,” Saryon said. “And that is a hopeful sign. If the Technomancers had made her captive, they would have made use of her by now. I think that somehow she managed to escape them.”

  “Then where is she?” Eliza demanded.

  “Perhaps I have an idea,” Saryon said. “Do not worry. I believe that wherever she is, she is safe. Safer than we are.”

  Eliza gave her father a gentle kiss on his bloodstained cheek, then grabbing hold of Saryon’s hand, she led the way back down the spiraling tunnel. Scylla and I, half carrying Joram, hastened after. He groaned with pain only once, when we first started to move, then gritted his teeth and tightened his lips over his agony.

  Behind us, we heard a savage howl and a scream.

  It occurred to me to wonder, just as we left the area, what had become of Simkin.

  I glanced back. There, lying on an empty pile of silver robes, was a teddy bear. Its head was missing and so were both of its arms. The orange ribbon that had been tied in a jaunty bow around Teddy’s neck lay limply across the body.

  I hurried on, thankful that Eliza had been too preoccupied with her father to see.

  “It’s very strange,” said Saryon, after we had traveled about a mile down the corkscrew tunnel, “but this place seems familiar to me. And I know I’ve never been here in my life.”

  “Not in this life, perhaps, Father,” said Scylla, “but who knows where you’ve been gallivanting around in other lives?”

  Saryon glanced back at her with a weak smile, thinking she was joking and politely pretending to be amused, although he must have been thinking that this was not the time for levity. Eliza was endeavoring to find our way, using Scylla’s flashlight as a guide, and paying no attention to what was being said. Joram was too intent on combating his pain to search for hidden meanings.

  I alone realized that there might be more to Scylla’s statement than appeared. I glanced at her sidelong, with Joram between us, and caught her looking at me, a smile on her lips. I could not question her; my hands were occupied in supporting Joram.

  I had no thought, then, of the truth. I’m not certain I would ever have figured it out, but I began to see how a few small pieces of the puzzle might fit together. I wished that Mosiah were here, to see what he would have made of her peculiar statement.

  But for all I knew, Mosiah might very well be dead. We had heard nothing of him since we left. Our only sign that he had lived long enough to perform his task was that we had not been overtaken by the guards.

  We continued on. Joram grew heavier as his strength flagged and he relied more on us to support him. Scylla bore most of the weight, but I had my share and my shoulders burned and ached with the strain. I thought of the pain he must be enduring in silence, with no complaint, and I felt ashamed. Resolutely, I put the thought of my own discomfort out of my mind and trudged on.

  Saryon came to a sudden halt. “I don’t like this,” he said. “Something lives down here. Can’t you smell it? A dragon,” he added, his brow furrowed. “A Dragon of the Night.”

  “Something used to live down here, Father,” Eliza answered, flashing the light around the smooth-sided, smooth-floored tunnel. “I’m not sure what it was, but it’s gone now. It must have died when the magic died. Why do you think it’s a dragon?”

  “I don’t know.” Saryon was perplexed. “The thought came to me, that’s all.” He was shrewd and he had lived most of his life in magical Thimhallan. He looked at Scylla, his expression puzzled and uneasy. He was beginning to take her joke more seriously. “Perhaps we should wait here for Mosiah. Not travel any farther until we find out what has happened to him. Are you certain we have to go deeper into this awful place?”

  “Yes, Father,” said Eliza. “I’m sorry, but we must go on. The Darksword is down here.”

  At this, Joram raised his head. His pallor was frightening, the blood formed dark streaks over his face. He had once again lapsed into unconsciousness, his feet dragged, his eyes closed. Except that I could feel the beat of his heart beneath my arm, I might have thought he had died. The word Darksword on his daughter’s lips was perhaps the only thing that could have roused him.

  “Where is it?” he gasped, and his voice was little mo
re than a breath. “Is it safe?”

  “Yes, Father,” Eliza answered, and her suffering for his suffering choked her. “It is safe. Oh, Father, I am so sorry! I had no right-”

  He was shaking his head. “I was the one who had no right,” he said, and then his head lolled. His eyes closed and he sagged in our arms.

  “Whatever happens, I have to rest!” I signed urgently, afraid I would drop him.

  Scylla nodded and we lowered him to the cavern floor.

  Painful warmth flooded through my cramped shoulders. I bit my lips to keep from crying out.

  “Is he going to be all right?” Eliza asked fearfully, crouching down beside him. She smoothed the black curly hair from his face, the hair that, but for the streaks of gray at his temples, was the exact match of her own. “He looks so ill.”

  “We don’t have much time,” Scylla admitted. “Either for Joram or for ourselves and the rest of those who are counting on us.”

  “I am confused,” I signed. “I have lost track of time—any time! How long do we have?”

  “Until midnight this night,” Scylla said, consulting a green-glowing watch she wore on her wrist.

  “That’s when the last ship leaves the outpost?” Saryon asked.

  Scylla gave him a strange look. “The last ship has left,” she replied coolly. “Midnight is when the Hch’nyv will arrive.”

  “What?” My frantic gestures revealed my fear and alarm. “How will we return the Darksword to Earth? What good would it do? Why do we persist in this folly? We’re all going to die anyway!”

  She was about to answer when the sound of footfalls, moving rapidly, echoed down the tunnel. The noise silenced us all. Scylla was on her feet, placing herself between us and whoever was coming down the tunnel.

  “Douse the light!” she hissed.

  Eliza shut off the flashlight. We huddled together in the dark, our fear a living thing that seemed to take shape and form around us. Then I heard a voice, a soft voice, Saryon’s voice, speaking to the Almin in prayer. His hand, strong and warm, closed over mine. He was offering me comfort and a gentle reminder that our lives were being guided, watched over, protected by one greater than ourselves. Though this should all come to some terrible end, we would not be alone. I said a prayer myself, asking for forgiveness for my lack of faith and strength to go on.

  A figure lurched out of the darkness, nearly ran headlong into Scylla. “What the—” came a voice.

  “Mosiah!” Scylla breathed a sigh in relief.

  Eliza switched on the light.

  Mosiah glared around at us. “What the devil are you all doing?” he demanded angrily. “Having a picnic? Why—”

  He caught sight of Joram, lying unconscious on the tunnel floor. “Oh,” Mosiah said, and he shook his head. His gaze shifted back to Scylla. “Is he dead?”

  “No, but he’s not doing well,” she answered guardedly, with a glance at Eliza.

  “We can’t wait. I took care of the Technomancers, but more will be coming through the teleporter at any moment. I could not prevent them from sounding the alarm. We must recover the Darksword and get out of here quickly! You and I will carry him.”

  “You don’t look able to carry yourself,” Scylla said as they bent together to lift up Joram. “Do you have any Life left?”

  “Not much.” Mosiah grunted from the exertion. He had changed back to his usual form, but the alteration must have been a draining one. He looked exhausted to the point of dropping.

  “Perhaps I could give you Life again,” I said, feeling guilty that I had failed them.

  Saryon regarded me with amazement. “You gave Mosiah Life, Reuven? How? When?”

  “It will take too long to explain, Father,” said Mosiah. He and Scylla, supporting Joram between them, started moving down the tunnel. He refused my offer, stating that I should conserve my strength, for we were not out of this yet.

  The Hch’nyv would be attacking Thimhallan at midnight. Smythe and his Technomancers would be desperate to find the Darksword. Where could we go that they would not discover us? And how would we fight the massive armies of the Hch’nyv with one sword, however powerful? On a more mundane level, the word picnic reminded me that we had not eaten. Our water supply was running low. All of us were thirsty and hungry and who knew how long it would be before we could find food and water? Joram was near death. Perhaps he was the lucky one among us, I caught myself thinking.

  Of course, I should have faith, as Saryon had silently counseled. But it was very hard for me to trust in the Almin when reason and logic were so overwhelmingly against us.

  I was trying to nurture hope’s flickering flame when I heard a sound that doused it utterly.

  It was a sound I had heard before in this tunnel, a sound I’d heard in that other life, a life that had come to such a horrible end.

  Stentorian breathing rumbled from the cavern that was not all that far below us.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Here’s to folly,” Simkin announced, and together they tottered forward into the fiery illusions, the champagne glasses clinking along behind.

  DOOM OF THE DARKSWORD

  The dragon,” Mosiah said. “A Dragon of the Night.”

  “But that’s impossible!” Saryon gasped. “The dragons were creations of the magic. They must have all died when Life disappeared from Thimhallan.”

  “The Life didn’t disappear, Father. The Well was shattered, but the magic didn’t escape, as we had thought.”

  “We believe that the Well may have been capped, Father,” Scylla added.

  “I don’t believe there’s a dragon. There can’t be,” Eliza argued. “We were just down there.”

  “If you remember, I said that cave smelled occupied,” Mosiah returned.

  “But … I still don’t understand… .” Saryon appeared bewildered. “How do you know that a Dragon of the Night lives in that cavern? It could be anything! A bear, maybe.”

  “A bear? Yes, of course. Dear Teddy! Well, that explains it. Or doesn’t, as the case may be. As to the cavern, we’ve been there before. In fact, we’ve died there before.” Mosiah was looking directly at Scylla. “Haven’t we, Sir Knight?”

  Scylla shrugged. “If you say so.” She rolled her eyes and, leaning over to me, whispered, “Humor him.”

  “The Darksword is there, too,” Eliza reminded us. “We must return to the cavern to recover the sword.”

  “We cannot challenge a Dragon of the Night,” Saryon protested vigorously. “They are terrible creatures. Terrible!”

  “The dragon is before us, but the Technomancers are behind us,” Mosiah pointed out. “We can’t very well go back.”

  At last, as I said, I was beginning to have a glimmer of understanding. I touched Saryon’s arm, to draw attention to myself.

  “You can charm the dragon, Father,” I signed.

  “No,” he returned hurriedly. “Absolutely not.”

  “Yes,” I repeated. “You did it before, in the other life.”

  “What other life?” Saryon stared at me in perplexity. “I charmed a dragon? I am certain I would recall doing such a thing,” he added more testily, “and I assure you that I do not.”

  “If he’s going to do it, he must act swiftly,” Mosiah warned. “While the sun is still shining. When night falls, the dragon .will awaken and go out in search of food. It is twilight now.”

  Eliza kept watch beside her father, her attention divided between ourselves and him. She did not understand completely what we were saying, but she understood the urgency and did not interrupt us with demands for us to explain. She trusted us. I smiled at her reassuringly.

  “I tell you I know nothing about charming dragons!” Saryon was shaking his head.

  “You do,” said Mosiah. “You are the only one of us who does. I cannot.”

  “You are Duuk-tsarith,” Saryon argued.

  “But I was trained on Earth. The only dragons I ever saw were created by special effects. I can’t take time to
explain, but in an alternate time, Father, a time in which Joram died twenty years ago, you came upon a Dragon of the Night—this very dragon, or so I believe—and you were able to charm it. Think, Father! Lessons you learned at the Font. All catalysts were taught the spells of the war wizards.”

  “I … It’s been so long… .” Saryon put his hand to his temples, as if they ached. “If I fail, we would all die. Die most horribly.”

  “We know,” Mosiah said.

  I noticed in all this that Scylla kept silent. She did not venture to persuade or argue. I could not yet understand, but I was beginning to understand, if that makes any sense.

  “Father Saryon.” It was Joram who spoke.

  So intent had we been on our discussion I had not noticed that he had regained consciousness. His head was pillowed in his daughter’s lap. She wiped the sweat from his brow, smoothed back the damp hair, and watched over him anxiously, lovingly.

  Joram smiled. He lifted his hand. Saryon knelt and clasped Joram’s hand to his breast. It was obvious to him, to all of us, that Joram had very little time left to live.

  “Father Saryon,” he said, and it took an effort for him to speak. “You were able to charm me. What is a dragon, compared to that?”

  “I will,” Saryon said brokenly. “I will … try. The rest of you … wait here.”

  He stood up and would have rushed down the tunnel, then and there, if we hadn’t stopped him.

  “You cannot charm the dragon and retrieve the Darksword at the same time,” Mosiah pointed out. “The Darksword would disrupt the charm.”

  “That’s true,” Saryon admitted.

  “I will recover the Darksword—” Mosiah began.

  “I will recover the Darksword,” said Eliza firmly. “It is my legacy.”

  A spasm of agony contorted Joram’s face. He shook his head, but he was too weak to argue or try to stop her. A single tear tracked through the blood on his cheek. A tear that was not wrung from him by his own physical pain, but by the pain of regret, remorse.

  Eliza saw the tear and gathered her father close, hugging him to her. “Don’t, Father!” She wept with him. “I am proud to bear this! Proud to be your daughter. You shattered the world. Perhaps it is left to me to save it!”