Legacy of the Darksword (37 page)

“How you and King Garald lived
the lives of outlaws in the wilderness. You don’t remember that?” Saryon gazed
anxiously at Mosiah, who merely smiled and remained silent.

“And then Simkin returned from
Earth—”

“Ah,” said Mosiah, and then he
again fell silent.

“Simkin returned. He told Garald
how the Well of Life had not been destroyed. It had been merely capped—”

At this, which was exactly the
theory we had postulated, I made a sign to Mosiah, who made me a sign to keep
silent.

“The Dark Cultists had a secret
source, however. They were bleeding off the magical Life, using it for
themselves
. In a daring raid, you, Mosiah, Garald, and his
friend James Boris broke open the Well and released the magic back into the
world. We were then able to fight Smythe and the Dark Cultists. Smythe fled
back to Earth.

“Garald returned to the rulership
of Sharakan and also that of Merilon. I traveled to Sharakan to congratulate
him and to present to him my wards.” Saryon looked fondly at Eliza and me. “King
Garald was struck by Eliza’s beauty and was deeply touched to hear that she was
Joram’s daughter. He granted her the right to claim the throne of Merilon, as
Joram’s heir.

“Garald made Eliza Queen of
Merilon. Reuven traveled to the Font, to enter into his training as a catalyst.
Merilon and Sharakan became allies. Cardinal Radisovik was made Bishop,
following the death of Vanya. The Bishop was kind enough to appoint me as Eliza’s
adviser until she came of age.” Saryon smiled, shook his head. “I considered
myself most unsuited to the task, but Radisovik turned all my noes into yes
before I truly knew what was happening. Besides, Eliza needed very little
advice.”

Eliza reached out, pressed Saryon’s
hand gratefully.

“Times are difficult,” Saryon
said, sighing. “Magic has been restored, but it is weak. Though the barrier
around Thimhallan has been rebuilt, we know that magic is seeping out of it and
there doesn’t appear to be anything we can do to stop it. Undoubtedly, Smythe
and his Dark Cultists are responsible.

“We are forced to live on a
combination of sorcery and steel. The
Duuk-tsarith
have
grown ever more powerful, since they are capable of absorbing more Life than
anyone else in the world. Emperor Garald trusts them, but I—” Saryon halted,
somewhat confused.

“I understand, Father,” Mosiah said
quietly. “Now that you talk, much of my own memory returns. You have good
reason not to trust many among the
Duuk-tsarith.”

“I trust you, Mosiah,” Saryon
said. “And that is what is important. Knights”—he smiled at Scylla—”now guard
the realm. Though at first Garald was viewed as a savior, he has come to be
reviled. Smythe, in exile on Earth, has his followers upon Thimhallan. They are
managing to foment unrest among the lower classes, foretelling the coming of
the end of the world unless Smythe is permitted to return to save it.

“You heard about the warning
which came to Bishop Radisovik?”

We nodded in silence.

“The Darksword must be returned
to the maker of the world. That was the message, though we are not certain what
it means. The maker of the world was Merlyn, but he’s been dead and gone these
many years . . .”

Not according
to Simkin! I thought suddenly
and, pondering this, I lost, for a moment, the thread of wha.t Saryon was
saying.

“. . .
recovered
by Joram’s descendant. Emperor Garald came to me in person”—Saryon flushed,
embarrassed—”to ask for the Darksword. I agreed, but only if I were permitted
to seek it in secret and, in secret, give it directly into the hands of Eliza,
Joram’s daughter. The Emperor gave me his word of honor that we would not be
followed, that no one would attempt to take the sword from us.”

“The Emperor’s word is not the
word of the
Duuk-tsarith,”
said Mosiah.

“But, surely, they would be
constrained to obey,” Saryon said, and it seemed to me that he was pleading for
reassurance.

“Since when, Father?
There is a saying on Earth. ‘They
have their own agenda.’ I do not see them being impressed by a visitation from
an angel.”

“Do you think we were followed?”
Eliza asked him.

“I think we should be very
careful,” Mosiah answered her gravely. “And that we have taken enough time.”

We resumed our journey, moving
with greater caution but more speed. It was already late afternoon. We had less
than twenty-four hours before the arrival of the Hch’nyv. The part of me that
remembered Earth wondered, with a pang, if our planet was now under attack.

No use fretting about events over
which I had no control. I would do my part here. We continued following the
corkscrew tunnel, which delved straight down and which had perhaps been shaped
by the warlocks who had brought the Dragons of Night into being.

We walked at a good pace, for the
way was easy, and we made good time. Still, our walk lasted over an hour from
our starting point, which leads me to believe that we must have descended at
least three or four miles below the surface of Thimhallan.

Though we could neither see nor
hear the dragon, which would be slumbering during the daylight hours, we could
smell it and its refuse. The air grew fetid and various odors of a most
unpleasant nature—stale urine and dung and decay—soon caused us to gag and
cover our noses with handkerchiefs or whatever cloth came to hand.

The one consolation we had, if
you could call it such, was Mosiah’s pronouncement. “The dung smells fresh,” he
observed. “This must mean that your dragon is still alive, Father, and still
making this cave its residence.”

“I don’t remember the smell being
this bad,” Saryon said, his voice muffled by the sleeve of his robe.

“The dragon’s had twenty years to
add to it,” Scylla observed. “I don’t like to think of what else we’ll find in
that lair.
Mounds of rotting corpses, among other things.”

“
Fortunately, dragons will not eat
humans,” Eliza said, shivering, “or so we’ve heard. We taste bad.”

“Don’t believe all you hear, Your
Majesty,” Mosiah said, and that effectively ended that conversation.

Our enthusiasm had begun to wane,
though not our hope and hope is what carried us on. We were tired, our legs
ached, and we were all of us half-sick with the stench, which tainted
everything, even the water we had brought with us. We rounded yet another
corner, our feet dragging, when Scylla, who was in the lead, came to a sudden
halt, her hand raised.

The torchlight that had before
gleamed off curve after curve in the rock wall now illuminated nothing. A vast
yawning darkness gaped before us.

“This is the dragon’s lair,”
Saryon whispered, and so quiet were we that his whisper carried clearly.

We hardly dared breathe, for we
could hear the sound of other breathing, stentorian breathing, as if someone
were pumping a giant bellows.

We hesitated, at that tense point
when the gambler at the craps table breathes on the dice, then clutches them in
his hand for a single, heart-stopping instant, asking for the win. And then
throws.

“I will go first,” Saryon said. “Do
not come until I call that all is safe. If the dragon attacks me, Scylla,
Mosiah”—he gazed at them intently—”I expect you two to do everything possible
to protect my children.”

“I promise, Father,” Scylla said
reverently, and raised her sword, hilt first.

“I promise, as well, Father,”
Mosiah said, his hands folded. “Good luck. I’m sorry . . .” He paused, and did
not finish his sentence.

“Sorry?” Saryon repeated mildly. “Sorry
for what, my son?”

“I’m sorry about Joram,” Mosiah
said.

Saryon lifted his eyebrows. Joram
had, after all, been dead twenty years.

He had been dead to them, but not
to Mosiah.

Eliza hugged Saryon close.
Blinking back her tears, she managed a smile. “The Almin go with you, Father,”
she whispered. “My father, the only father I have ever known.”

I, too, embraced him in the name
of father. It was right, eminently right.

He asked the Almin’s blessing on
us all and he alone entered the chamber.

We waited in the tunnel, ears
strained to hear the slightest sound. I was so
tense,
I no longer noticed the stench.

“Dragon of the Night,”
came
Saryon’s voice from the darkness. “You know me. You
know who I am.”

Scraping sounds, as of a massive
head sliding along the rock floor, a gigantic body shifting position.
And then a pale, cold white
light lit the chamber.

We could see Saryon, a stark
black silhouette against that white light. We could not see the dragon, for its
head was far, far above Saryon, out of our view. I remembered that I was not to
look directly into the dragon’s eyes.

We held our breath for the
answer, which might be instant death. Eliza and I clasped each other by the
hand.

“I know you,” said the Dragon of
Night, hating him. “Why have you come to disturb my rest?”

We breathed again. The charm had
held! Impulsively, Eliza hugged me. I put my arm around her.

Mosiah flashed us a stern,
reproving glance. Neither he nor Scylla had lowered their guard. She stood with
the torch held high in one hand, her sword in the other. He had his hands
clenched, magic spells in his mind and on his lips. He reminded us silently
that there was still great danger.

Accepting the rebuke, Eliza and I
drew apart, yet our hands again found each other’s in the darkness.

“I come to relieve you of your
burden,” Saryon said.
“And to free you of the charm.
This young woman is Joram’s heir.”

“I am here,” Eliza called.

Releasing my hand, she walked
into the chamber. Scylla and I both would have followed, but Mosiah held out
his arms, blocking the way.

“Neither of you were mentioned in
the charming!” he said swiftly. “You could break it!”

His caution was sensible. He
certainly knew more about charms and spells than I did. I was forced to stay
behind, though it took every ounce of self-control I possessed to remain there
in the tunnel and watch Eliza walk away from me, walk into deadly peril.

Scylla was pale, her eyes dark
and huge. She, too, understood the wisdom of Mosiah’s words, yet she was in
agony at the thought of her charge going where her knight could not follow.
Sweat beaded on the knight’s brow. She bit her nether lip.

We could do nothing but wait.

Eliza and Saryon stood in
silhouette before the dragon, bathed in that pale, white light, which did not
illuminate, but turned all it touched a ghostly gray.

“She is Dead,” said the dragon.
And then, in a terrible voice, the dragon repeated the Prophecy.
“ ‘There
will be born to the Royal House one who is dead yet
will live, who will die again and live again. And when he returns, he will hold
in his hand the destruction of the world.’ “

“That was spoken of my father,”
said Eliza, proudly, calmly.

“You are indeed what you claim.
Take that which is yours. Remove it from my lair. It has troubled my sleep
these past twenty years.”

The two walked to a large mound
of rocks, which stood just to the left of our line of sight. With Eliza’s help,
Saryon began to shift the rocks, working swiftly.
Neither
wanted to stay in there any longer than they had to.
The three of us,
waiting for them, dared not stir. Though we could not see the dragon, we knew
that it was aware of our presence. Its hatred and loathing were almost
palpable. It longed to slaughter us, not for food, but for revenge. The charm
held it back, but just barely.

And then the work was finished.
Saryon and Eliza stood above the cairn. She saw for the first time her father’s
creation. Repulsed, her courage failed her. Then, jaw tightening, she reached
down and picked up the Darksword.

Without warning, black-robed
figures materialized out of the darkness. Five surrounded us. More appeared in
the dragon’s lair, their black robes and hoods standing out in stark contrast
to the white light.

“Keep still!” Mosiah warned
softly, urgently. “Go quickly before it is too late! You will destroy us all!”

“
Silence,
traitor.”

One of the
Duuk-tsarith
raised
his hand and Mosiah doubled over in wrenching pain and fell to his knees. Still
he was defiant.

“Fools!” he managed to gasp.

Scylla advanced a step, her sword
raised.

The same
Duuk-tsarith
again
moved his hand. Scylla’s steel blade changed to water, ran down her upraised
arm, and dripped upon the stone at her feet. She stared, in openmouthed
astonishment, at her empty hand.

“What is the meaning of this?”
Father Saryon demanded angrily.