Legacy of the Darksword (25 page)

Kevon Smythe smiled his
ingratiating smile. “Since you come so swiftly to the point, mistress, I will
myself be brief. Your father is with us. He is our guest. He has come with us voluntarily,
because he knows our need is great. He left home in haste and unfortunately
neglected to bring with him an object of which he is quite fond. That object is
the Darksword. Its absence distresses him greatly. He fears it could fall into
the wrong hands and cause inestimable harm. He would like to have it safely
back in his possession. If you tell us where to find the Darksword, Mistress
Eliza, we will secure it and deliver it to your father.”

Half of me believed him. I knew
the truth. I had seen the wreckage, the
destruction,
I
had seen the blood on the floor. He was so persuasive that I saw, in my mind,
exactly what he wanted me to see—Joram, concerned, willingly going with them. I
was certain Eliza must believe him. Mosiah thought so, too, apparently, for he
glided forward, prepared to confront the Technomancer. Scylla did not move, but
watched Eliza.

“I want to see my father and
mother,” Eliza said.

“I am sorry, mistress, that is
not possible,” said Smythe. “Your father had a long journey and he is fatigued,
plus being most anxious over the fate of the Darksword. He fears for your
safety, my dear. The blade is sharp, the sword unwieldy. You might cut
yourself. Tell us where to find it and perhaps, by that time, your father will
have recovered sufficiently to be able to talk to you.”

His smooth voice and benign
manner slid over his threats like a silken scarf.

“Sir,” Eliza stated calmly, “you
lie. Your minions took my father and mother and Father Saryon by force. Then
they destroyed our home, searching for the object which my father would never
give to you, so long as he lived. And the same may be said of his daughter. If
that is all you came for, you have my leave to go.”

Kevon Smythe’s expression
softened. He seemed truly grieved. “It is not my place to chastise you,
mistress, but your father will not like to hear of your refusal. He will be
angry with you and will punish you for your disobedience. He has warned me that
you are sometimes a willful, stubborn child. We have his authorization to take the
sword from you by force, if that becomes necessary.”

Eliza’s lashes were wet with
tears, but she maintained her control. “You do not know my father if you think
he would say such a thing. You do not know me if you think I would believe it.
Get out.”

Kevon Smythe shook his head
resignedly,
then
shifted his head to gaze at me. “Reuven,
it is good to see you again, though, I regret to say, under sad circumstances.
It seems that Father Saryon has been afflicted with a terrible disease, which
will cause his death unless he receives prompt treatment back on Earth. Our
physicians give him thirty-six hours to live. You know the good father, Reuven.
He will not leave without Joram and Joram will not leave without the Darksword.
If I
were
you, I would do my best to find it, wherever
it may be hidden.”

His gaze shifted back to Eliza. “Bring
the Darksword to the city of Zith-el. Come to the Eastroad Gate. Someone will
be waiting for you.”

The image went out. Mosiah
removed the holographic projector, which had been stashed inside the fireplace.
A stone had been pried loose, the projection machine placed inside. He tossed
it on the floor.

“You knew that was there,” Scylla
said.

“Yes. They had to have some means
to communicate with us. I found it before you arrived.”

Scylla stomped on it with her
heavy boot, crushed it. “Are there any listening devices?”

“I removed them. I decided to
leave this. We needed to hear what they had to say.
Zith-el.”
He mused. “So they have taken Joram to Zith-el.”

“Yes.” Scylla slapped her hands
on her thighs. “Now we can make plans.”

“We!”
Mosiah looked at her very
balefully. “What do
you
have to do with this?
With any
of this?”

“
I’m here,” said Scylla, with a
sly smile. “And the Darksword is in my air car. I’d say I have a lot to do with
this.”

“I was right. General Boris did
send you,” Mosiah said, his tone harsh. “You’re one of his people. Damn it, he
promised he would leave this to us!”

“You’ve done such a wonderful job
so far,” Scylla commented wryly.

Mosiah flushed, stiffened. “I
didn’t see you around when the
D’karn-darah
attacked.”

“Stop it!” Eliza said sharply. “You
both want the Darksword.

That’s all you care about. Well,
you can’t have it. I’m going to do what he says. I’m going to take it to Zith-el.”

Eliza’s defiance might have
seemed childish and silly, but her grief and her own self-recrimination loaned
her the strength she lacked. She spoke with dignity and resolve, and those two
people, older and stronger and more powerful, both regarded her with respect.

“You know that you can’t trust
Smythe,” Mosiah told her. “He will try to take the sword and make us all
prisoners.
Or worse.”

“
I know that I don’t seem to be
able to trust anybody,” Eliza said with a quaver in her voice. She glanced at
me, gave me a sweet, sad smile, and added softly, “Except Reuven.”

The pain in my heart was blessed,
but it was also too great to bear and overflowed my eyes. I turned away,
ashamed of my lack of self-control, when she was so strong.

“I do not see what other choice I
have,” Eliza continued, now speaking quite calmly. “I will take the Darksword
to Smythe and hope that he will keep his promise to free my father and Father
Saryon. I will go alone—”

I made an emphatic gesture, which
caught her eye. She amended her statement. “Reuven and I will go together. The
two of you will remain here.”

“I have told you the truth,
Eliza,” said Scylla. “I do not want the Darksword. There is only one man who
can wield it and that is the one who forged it.”

Suddenly, Scylla knelt down on
one knee in front of Eliza. Pressing the palms of her hands together, in an
attitude of prayer, Scylla raised them. “I promise you,
Eliza,
I swear by the Almin, that I will do whatever lies in my power to rescue Joram
and to restore to him the Darksword.”

The sight of Scylla—her army
fatigues and cropped hair— kneeling there, seemed ludicrous at first. Then I
was reminded forcibly of a drawing I had once seen of Joan of Arc, pledging her
duty to her king. There burned the same holy fervor in Scylla, so bright and
clear that her military fatigues disappeared and I saw her clad in shining
armor, offering her pledge to her queen.

The vision lasted only an
instant, but it was detailed perfectly in my mind. I saw the throne room, the
crystal throne room of the kingdom of Merilon. Crystal throne, crystal dais,
crystal chairs, crystal pillars—everything in the room was
transparent,
the only reality was the queen in her gown of gold who stood on that
translucent platform, uplifted, exalted. Before her, kneeling, gazing upward,
shining
in silver armor, her knight.

And I was not alone. Mosiah saw
the vision, too, or so I believe. Certainly he saw something, for he stared at
Scylla in awe, though I heard him mutter, “What trick is this?”

Eliza clasped her hands over Scylla’s.
“I accept your pledge. You will accompany us.”

Scylla bowed her head. “My life
is yours, Your Majesty.”

The title seemed so right, that
none of us caught it, until Eliza blinked.

“What did you call me?”

Scylla stood and the vision
vanished. She was once again wearing the combat fatigues and boots, her ear
lined with the tiny earrings.

“Just my little joke.”
Scylla grinned and went to
refill the teapot. She glanced back at Mosiah. “You are
much
more
handsome in person. Say, why don’t you take the same oath? Pledge yourself to
rescue Joram and restore the Darksword to its owner. You must, you know.
Otherwise we won’t take you with us to Zith-el.”

Mosiah was angry. “You are fools
if you think that Smythe will give up any of the hostages once he has the
Darksword! The Technomancers need Joram to teach them how to forge more.” He
turned to Eliza. “Come with me back to Earth. Give the sword into the
safekeeping of King Garald. We will return with an army to rescue your father
and mother.”

“The army is mobilizing to make a
last stand against the Hch’nyv,” countered Scylla. “You will get no help from
them. And I doubt if they could do much against the Technomaricers anyway. They
have long been building up their strength in Zith-el, surrounding it with their
defenses. An army could not take it. It’s all in our files,” she added in
answer to Mosiah’s flashing look of suspicion. “You’re not the only people
keeping tabs on Smythe.”

Mosiah ignored her, continued
speaking to Eliza, his tone growing softer. “I am Joram’s friend. If I thought
surrendering the Darksword would free him, I would be the first to advocate
such a venture. But it won’t. It can’t possibly. Surely you can see that?”

“What you say makes sense,
Mosiah,” Eliza agreed. “But the Darksword is not mine and so any decisions
concerning it are not mine to make. I am taking the sword back to my father. I
will make that clear to this Smythe. My father will make the decision as to
what to do with the sword.”

“Place the Darksword in the hand
of its gloomy and doomy creator, and you might be surprised at what happens,”
advised a sepulchral voice from underneath my stool. “Personally, I think he
should give it to my friend Merlyn. I did mention that I knew Merlyn, didn’t I?
You’ll find him hanging around down by that moldy old tomb of his.
Quite a depressing place.
I can’t think what he sees in it.
Merlyn’s been looking for a sword for a number of years now. Some dolt tossed
his into a lake. This isn’t it, but the old boy’s a bit dotty now and he
probably wouldn’t know the difference.”

We had forgotten Teddy.

I fished him out, dusty and
indignant, but otherwise unharmed.

I signed, “Simkin has a point.
Not about Merlyn,” I added hastily.
“About Joram.
Once
the Darksword is in Joram’s hand, it might be used to defeat the Technomancers.”

“Have you forgotten that this
Darksword is not magically enhanced? No catalyst has given it Life. The
Darksword stands no chance of getting anywhere near Joram’s hand,” Mosiah
stated bitterly. “Kevon Smythe will take hold of it and that will be an end. We
go upon a fool’s journey.”

“Just like old times,” Teddy
remarked with a nostalgic sigh.

“YowYe not coming!”
Mosiah said firmly.

“I wouldn’t leave me behind,”
Teddy warned us. “I can’t be trusted. Not in the slightest. Much better to have
me where you can keep an eye on me as the Duchess of Winifred said regarding
the table where she kept her eyeball collection. She had one for every day of
the year, different colors.
Used to pop them out after
breakfast.
I recall the day one got loose and rolled across the marble
floor. The house catalyst mistakenly trod upon it. You can’t imagine the squi—”

“I’ll take him,” Eliza said
hurriedly. Snatching Teddy from me, she tucked him securely into the pocket of
her skirt. “He can stay with me.”

Mosiah glared around at all of
us. “Are you determined to do this?
Reuven?”

I nodded. My duty was to Father
Saryon. And even if it had not been, I would go wherever Eliza went, support
her in whatever she did.

“I go with Eliza,” said Scylla.

“And I am going to Zith-el,” said
Eliza.

“If you are resolved on this, we
should leave. You said you have an air car?” Mosiah looked at Scylla. His
expression was not friendly.

“You’re coming with us?” she
asked, delighted.

“Of course.
I will not leave Joram and his
wife and Father Saryon in the hands of the Technomancers.”

“You will not leave the Darksword
in our hands, isn’t that what you mean?” Scylla said with a sly grin.

“Take my words however you want,”
Mosiah returned. “I am tired of arguing with the lot of you. Well, are you
coming? Even with the air car, we will be lucky to arrive in Zith-el before
dark.”

“And will your friends, the rest
of the
Duuk-tsarith,
be joining us there?” Scylla asked, raising the
eyebrow that was pierced with the tiny gold ring.

Mosiah stared out the window,
into the distance, a far distance, that only he could see. “There is no Life in
Zith-el,” he said softly.
“Only death.
Countless of
our people died there when the quakes struck and the ground shifted, toppling
the buildings. They lie unburied, their spirits troubled, demanding to know the
reason why they died. No, the
Duuk-tsarith
will not go to Zith-el. There
they would suffocate and their magic would be stifled, smothered.”