Legacy of the Darksword (11 page)

At this, I saw King Garald pause
in his attempt to speak. He was keeping close watch on Saryon. The King knew,
as well as I, that Smythe had made a mistake. His vaunted charm—be it of
magical origin or born in his blood—would not cover his error. He would have
done much better to have read my books, not left his research to underlings. He
would have then known the nature of the man with whom he dealt.

Saryon’s face grew shadowed.

But if King Garald thought that
he had gained a victory by his enemy’s mistake, he, too, was mistaken. I knew
my master’s decision, even before he spoke it. I, alone in that room, was not
surprised.

Saryon rose to his feet. His gaze
encompassed all three men. His voice was rebuking.

“Joram and his wife and child
live alone on Thimhallan now. They are under the protection of Earth Forces.
They are not to be hounded, or bothered, or mistreated in any way. That is the
law.” He turned to Kevon Smythe. “You speak very glibly of redemption, sir.
Redemption is the Almin’s province. He alone will judge Joram, not you, not me,
not the King, nor any other mortal!”

Saryon took a step backward,
raised his head,
regarded
them all with a gaze that
was steady and unwavering. “I have made my decision. I made it last night. I will
not
go to Joram. I will
not
be part of any attempt to trick him
into revealing the whereabouts of the Darksword. He has suffered enough. Let
him live out the remainder of his days in peace.”

The three men were bitter
enemies, yet they had the same desire. They glanced at each other.

Kevon Smythe spoke. “The Hch’nyv
will not permit Joram to live in peace.”

“They will slay him,” General
Boris said, “as they have already slain tens of thousands of our people. All
the outposts that remain in our system are being evacuated, their people
brought back to Earth for protection. Our fleet is too decimated to be divided.
Here, on Earth, we will make our final stand against the invaders.”

Saryon regarded them gravely,
troubled. “I had not heard the situation was that critical.”

Garald sighed. “We have made a
mistake with you, Father. We have put our worst argument first and we have done
it badly. Now you don’t trust us, and I can’t say that I blame you. But very
few people on Earth know just how desperate the situation is. We want to keep
it that way, for as long as possible.”

“The panic that would follow, the
damage it would do our cause, is incalculable,” said the General. “We need
troops prepared to fight the enemy, not used to quell riots in the streets.”

“What you have heard here,
Father,” said Kevon Smythe, “you must not repeat, except to one person, and
that is Joram. You may tell him the truth, if only to make him understand the
danger. Then it is my hope and my prayer,
Father, that he
will relinquish the Darksword willingly—to
whomever he chooses. We are
fighting for the same cause, after all.”

He looked like a saint, in his
self-sacrificing humility, and the King and General came off shabbily by
contrast. Yet the charm, once dispelled, could not be recast.

Saryon sank down in his chair. He
looked ill from worry and anxiety. It wasn’t proper etiquette or protocol, but
I was past caring. Ignoring the three, I went to Saryon and, leaning over his
chair, asked him with a sign if I should bring him some tea.

He smiled at me and thanked me,
shook his head no. He kept his hand on mine, however, indicating that I was to
remain at his side. He sat and thought a long time, in distraught, unhappy
silence.

The King and General returned to
their seats. Smythe had not left his. All three tried to look sympathetic, but
they could none of them hide an air of smugness. They were certain they had
won.

At length, Saryon raised his
head. “I will go to Joram,” he said quietly. “I will tell him what you have
told me. I will warn him that he and his family are in danger and that they
should evacuate to Earth. I will say
nothing
to him of the Darksword. If
he brings it with him, you may each go to him and present your own need. If he
does not, then you may each go to Thimhallan—once Joram and his family have
departed—and search for it.”

It was a victory for them—of
sorts. They were wise enough not to continue to argue or cajole.

“And now, gentlemen,” said
Saryon, “you have been kept here past your time. I don’t mean to seem rude, but
I have travel arrangements to make—”

“All that has been taken care of
for you, Father,” said General Boris, adding lamely, “on the ... er ... off
chance that you would decide to make this trip.”

“How convenient,” said Saryon,
and one corner of his mouth
twitched.

We were to
leave that
night.
One of the General’s aides would remain with us and assist us with packing,
drive us to the spaceport, escort us on board ship.

Kevon Smythe left with gracious
words and seemed to take the sunlight with him. General Boris hurried out,
relieved to have it all over with, and was immediately surrounded by his staff,
who had been impatiently awaiting his release. King Garald remained a moment
behind.

Saryon and I had gone to the door
to see our guests out. King Garald looked almost as ill as my master, and he,
at least, had the grace to apologize.

“I am sorry to put this burden on
you, Father,” he said. “But what could I do? You’ve met the man.” We knew who
he meant. There was no need to name him. “What could I do?” he repeated.

“You could have faith, Your
Majesty,” said Saryon gently.

King Garald smiled, then. Turning
to Saryon, there on the doorstoop, the King reached out his hand and clasped my
master’s. “I do, Father. I have faith in you.”

Saryon was so extremely startled by
this response that it was difficult for me to hide my smile. Garald left,
walking tall, with his shoulders back; a kingly air. General Boris was waiting
in the limousine. Kevon Smythe had already departed.

Saryon and I ducked hastily back
inside, narrowly avoiding a mob of reporters, who clamored for interviews. The
General’s aide was skilled in handling the press, and all in all, they did not
give us too much trouble. After breaking only one window and trampling the
flower beds, they eventually left us in peace. I saw several interviewing Mrs.
Mumford.

I suppose that a birthday
celebration for one elderly cleric was not considered worth the expenditure of
time and money. Had they known the true story, they would have stormed the
house.

Another of the General’s aides
was in the study, on the phone, confirming and updating arrangements for our
transport to Thimhallan.

Saryon paused a moment in the
hallway. Noting the expression on his face, I touched his arm, drew his
attention.

“You did the right thing,” I
signed, and added, a little teasingly, I’m afraid, hoping to cheer his mood. “You
must have faith.”

He smiled, but it was a wan, pale
smile.
“Yes, Reuven.
So I must.”

Sighing, his head bowed, he went
to his room to prepare for our journey.

The Watchers had guarded the
Border of Thimhallan for centuries. It was their enforced task, through
sleepless night and dreary day, to keep watch along the boundary that separated
the magical realm from whatever lay
Beyond
.

What did lie
Beyond
?

TRIUMPH
OF THE DARKSWORD

I
will spare you the details of our
journey, which was, I suppose, the same as any other interplanetary flight,
with the exception that we were in a military ship with a military escort. For
me, the trip into space was awe-inspiring and exciting. This was only my second
flight and the first I remembered clearly. I had only the vaguest recollection
of leaving Thimhallan, traveling on the evacuation ships.

Saryon kept to his quarters, on
the pretext that he had work to do. He was, as I believe I have neglected to
mention, developing a mathematical theorem having to do with light-wave
particles or something of the sort. Not being mathematically inclined, I knew
little about it. The moment he and his tutor began to discuss it, I began to
feel a throbbing in my temples and was glad to leave. He claimed to be working
on this, but every time I entered his room, to see if he needed anything, I
found him staring out the porthole at the stars gliding past us.

He was reliving his life in
Merilon, I guessed. Maybe he was once more in the court of the faerie queen or
standing, a stone statue, on the border of Beyond. The past was for him both
painful and blessed. At the expression on his face, I silently withdrew, my
heart aching.

We landed on the world he and I
had known as Thimhallan, the first ship from Earth in twenty years, not
counting those that arrived only to off-load supplies to the station then left
again, and not counting those that arrived secretly, carrying the
Duuk-tsarith
and the Technomancers.

Saryon remained alone in his
quarters for so long after the ship settled to the ground that I began to think
he had reconsidered his
decision, that
he was not
going to talk to Joram after all. The General’s aide was exceedingly worried
and panicked calls were made to both General Boris and King Garald. Their
images were on-screen, prepared to badger and plead, when Saryon appeared.

Motioning me to follow him, he
walked past the aide without a word, did not even glance at the screens. He
moved so swiftly through the ship that I barely had time to grab the knapsack
in which I had packed a few necessaries for us both and
hurry
after him.

By the beatific expression on his
face, Saryon was lifted far above the remembrance of such things as clean
socks, bottled water, and shaving kits. Blessing the forethought which had
prompted me to pack for both of us, I slung the knapsack over my shoulders and
was following at his heels when he reached the hatch.

Whatever doubts he may have
entertained were gone. The weight of his responsibility and even the weight of
the intervening years had fallen from him. This was more than a dream come
true, for my master. He had never dared dream the dream. He had never thought
this reunion would take place. He had believed that Joram—in his self-imposed
exile—was lost to him forever.

When the hatch opened, Saryon
shot out the doorway and dashed down the ramp, his robes flapping wildly about
his ankles. I clattered down behind, struggling with the heavy knapsack, which
was throwing me off balance. We were met at the foot of the ramp by a
contingent of people from the research station. Saryon halted only because it
was either stop or run them over.

He paid them very little
attention, however; his hungry gaze going above their heads to the land beyond,
a land that, as he had known it, would have been shrouded in magical,
protective mist. The mist was gone. The land was now laid bare for all to see.

Saryon tried to see it, tried to
see everything he could of his homeland. Craning his neck and peering above the
heads of the group, he made only brief and generally incomprehensible
statements and, at length, gave up all attempts at politeness. He walked off,
leaving the commander and the urgent message he was trying to impart in
mid-sentence.

Saryon walked across the
rock-strewn ground, walked toward the land of his birth.

The base commander would have
gone after him, but I had seen the tears on my master’s face. I intervened,
indicating to the commander by emphatic signs that Saryon wanted to be left
alone. The General’s aide had arrived by now. She and the commander and I made
the plans necessary for our stay.

“You
must
make him
understand,” said the base commander, frustrated. “As I was attempting to tell
the priest, we received our orders to pull out yesterday, evacuate the station.
So don’t linger. Remind the priest he’s not on holiday. The last ship leaves
seventy-two hours from now.”

I was shocked. I stared at the
man, who understood my wordless question.

“Yes. The Hch’nyv are that close,”
he said grimly. “We’ll be taking you and the prisoner and his family out of
here. I guess you and the priest there are responsible for making him see
reason, eh?”

“Well, I don’t envy you.” The
commander turned his gaze toward the distant hills. “That Joram—he’s gone
insane, if you ask me. He was like a wild man when we went up there to rescue
Senator Smythe. Not but what he had cause, I grant you. Still, no harm was done
and there was Joram standing over the poor Senator, fists clenched, seeming
ready to bash the life out of him. And such a look Joram gave me, when I asked
him if his wife and daughter were well? He fair roasted me with those black
eyes of his and told me that the health of his family was none of my concern.
No, sir.
I don’t envy you and the priest. I recommend an
armed escort.”

I knew that would be out of the
question, as far as Saryon was concerned, and so did the General’s aide.