Legacy of the Darksword (31 page)

They were all looking at me now.

“Father Reuven, you are hurt!”
Eliza pointed at my hand and I noticed, for the first time, that it was
bleeding. Before I could sign that it was nothing more than a scratch, she had
taken hold of my hand and was stanching the flow of blood with a handkerchief
that she drew from out of the cuff of her long sleeve. The handkerchief was
lacy and appeared to be made of the finest cloth. I drew my hand back.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Father,”
she said in an imperious tone which indicated she was accustomed to being
obeyed. She clasped my hand and dabbed at the wound with the handkerchief,
wiping off the blood and dirt.

“We will send for the
Theldara
when our meeting is concluded and we are safe within the walls of the city,”
she continued.

Her touch was gentle, so as not
to give
me
pain. But her touch
did
give me
pain, a pain that was not of the flesh but shivered through my body as if I had
been pierced with a sword.

She continued, “The cut is not
deep, but it is fouled with dirt and likely to putrefy if it is not treated.”

I bowed my head in humble
acknowledgment of her command and gratitude for the kindness she showed to me.
I noticed that she kept her eyes lowered so as not to look into
mine,
and that her hand holding my hand trembled ever so
slightly.

“Father
Reuven,” said Mosiah sharply. “Why
do you call him that?”

Eliza gazed at Mosiah in
astonishment. “Do you speak, Enforcer, even though no one spoke to you? We
must
have been in danger, to have so loosened your tongue! But, you are right.”
Her cheeks flushed prettily and she glanced up at me from beneath her long
eyelashes. “We should say ‘Lord Father’ now that Reuven has been raised in
rank. You must pardon us, Lord Father,” she added gravely, “for this promotion
was so newly done that we are not yet accustomed to the new title.”

My hand signed the words, “I owe
it all to Your Gracious Majesty’s intercession on my behalf with Bishop
Radisovik.”

She gave me a cool, slight smile
with her lips and a sparkling, pleased smile with her eyes. She understood me!
She understood the sign language, as if we had been speaking it for years, not
for only a few hours to pass the time in the air car. And I had known before I
signed that she would understand me.

I only wished I understood
myself! Who was this Bishop Radisovik I had mentioned? The only Radisovik I
knew of was with King Garald back on Earth. Some part of me was cognizant of
what I was
saying,
some part of me had guided my hand
to sign the words. If I looked deep into myself, I was certain I would see and
understand.

Coward that I was, I turned my
face away. I wasn’t ready to know the truth. Not yet.

Half turning his body, his
motions concealed by his black robes, Mosiah mouthed the words, “Do
you
know
what is going on?”

Slowly, I shook my head.

Scylla looked to the blue
sky, that
was barely visible beneath the oak trees. “It is
midmorning, the time set for the rendezvous. We should make our way to the
meeting place without further delay. Centaurs still roam this forest, or so I
have heard. First, though”—her gaze went to Mosiah—”we should make certain that
we are not being followed.”

Mosiah turned to me and held out
his black-robed arm.

“Open the Conduit. Give me Life,
Catalyst,” he commanded, his tone mocking, as if he would have
added,
Now we’ll see this charade come to an end!

I wanted to run. Nothing I had
yet encountered, not even the Technomancers, had frightened me as much as this
command. It was not the fear that I couldn’t grant Life that daunted me. It was
the knowledge that I
could
do it which made me
want
to flee in panic.

I would have run, I think
,
if Eliza’s eyes had not been on me. She was watching me
with pride and affection. I stretched out a trembling hand and grasped Mosiah’s
arm. I stepped back and allowed the other Reuven to move forward.

“Almin,” he prayed with my
thoughts, “grant me Life.”

The Conduit opened. The magic of
Thimhallan flowed through me.

I felt the Life thrumming beneath
my feet, swelling up from the living organisms underground. I was aware of the
roots of the oak trees digging in the soil, drawing in nourishment and water. Like
the oak, I was drawing in nourishment. I was drawing in the magic.

I breathed it. I heard it
singing. I smelled it and tasted it as it flowed through my being. I
concentrated it within me and then gave it, a wondrous gift, to Mosiah.

His eyes widened with
astonishment as he felt the Life flow into his body. His arm jerked in my
grasp. He wanted at first to break the connection. He didn’t want to believe
this any more than I did. But common sense prevailed. We were in danger. He
needed Life and I was supplying it. He held his arm still in my grasp.

And then it was over. The Life
was drained from me. As a catalyst, I could neither use magic nor retain it. I
could act only as the intermediary. I was exhausted. It would take many hours
of rest for me to recover, still more before I would be able to open the
Conduit again. Yet I knew that I had been blessed, for I felt within me the
touch of this world and all its beings, a touch which would never leave me.

Suffused with Life, looking
considerably confused by it all, Mosiah stared from one to the other of us—from
me, drained and tired, but left with a feeling of serenity; to Scylla, who was
frowning with impatience and tapping the hilt of her sword with her fingers; to
Eliza, calm and aloof, standing somewhat apart from the rest of us, in a shaft
of sunlight that glittered on the golden circlet she wore in her black hair.

“I wish I knew what the hell was
going on,” he muttered to himself, and then, shrugging, he placed his hand on
the nearest of the oak trees, bent his head near it as if he were conversing
with it.

Branches above my head began to
creak and rattle together as if in a high wind, rubbing against the
intermingled branches of the tree’s neighbor, who stirred and began
conversation with its neighbor. Soon all the trees around us were shifting
branches and dropping twigs and reaching out their long arms to touch other
trees.

The leaves rustled and shadows
shifted. Mosiah stood beside the oak, his cheek pressed against its rough
trunk. At length the rustling and creaking seemed to die down somewhat.

“This part of the Zoo is safe to
walk in,” he reported, “for the time being. A band of centaurs live near here,
but they are out hunting and will not be back before nightfall. Because of
them, no one else dares enter. That includes the mob, Your Majesty,” he said,
with a slight touch of cynical disbelief remaining in his voice. “Your knights
entered the West Gate safely, though I fear your carriage is destroyed.”

Eliza received this news with
equanimity, bowing her head in gracious appreciation and smiling to hear those
who risked their lives to protect her had not met with any harm.

“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!”

“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

S
cylla 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.”