Legacy of the Darksword (32 page)

“
She was one of the Kylanistic
order
of the Technomancers,” Mosiah replied. “They are known
as the Interrogators. They have the ability to take on the face and form and
voice of another person in order to induce the victim to do precisely what
Eliza was about to do—hand over our valuables, our secrets. They can infiltrate
any organization by using such disguises.”

“How did you know it
wasn’t
Gwendolyn?
Could you see through the disguise?”

“Their disguises are not easy to
penetrate. They overplayed their hand by having the woman use magic. In all the
time we have kept watch on Joram, I’ve never seen Gwen rely on Life. Not even
when she’s alone. Eliza noticed and thought it was odd, but she was too willing
to believe it was her mother to question it. Then, I saw Joram’s injuries. I
know
it was more serious than they let on.”

“Why did she abandon the
disguise?”

“It takes a great deal of magical
energy to maintain the illusion. She could not expend the energy necessary and
fight me at the same time, which is why I attacked her.”

“
If you had
been wrong?”
I hinted.

“But I wasn’t. If I had been,
however, and it really was Gwen, then I would have had a chance of rescuing
her.”

“Do you believe that the
Technomancers have her prisoner?”

“I would say yes, since they were
able to create such a realistic illusion. On the other hand, I would say no,
since Smythe didn’t mention her as one of the hostages.”

“But what else could have
happened to her?”

Mosiah shook his head. Either he
didn’t know or he wasn’t saying.

I tried another question. “That
thing you called a stasis mine. What was that?”

“If one of us had stepped on it,
it would have trapped us all in a stasis field. We could not have moved until
the Technomancers released us.”

I hesitated to ask my next
question, because I feared his answer. Finally, I ventured, “What if this
experience is not real—a hallucination. Maybe they’re controlling our minds.”

“If that is true,” he said with a
wry smile, “and they
are
controlling our minds, then I doubt if they
would permit your mind to consider the possibility. The Technomancers may be
responsible for this, though I can’t fathom why they would want to send us to
another time when they so clearly had us where they wanted us in the last one.”

He was silent a moment, then said
quietly, “There were those who once practiced the Mystery of Time upon
Thimhallan.
The Diviners.”

“
Yes, but they perished during the
Iron Wars,” I pointed out. “Their kind was never seen or heard of after that.”

“True. Well, we must keep our
eyes and ears open and see if we can solve this mystery. Joram is dead.” Mosiah
pondered. “What would Thimhallan have been like if Joram had died at the hands
of the Executioner? If Joram had died before he destroyed the Well of Life and
released the magic? I wonder. . . “

He retreated into his own
thoughts, fell back a pace or two behind me to indicate that he wanted to be
alone. I was intent on my thoughts for a moment or two and then I noticed that
Eliza was glancing at me out of the corner of her eye and that, by her
smile,
she seemed to invite me to come walk beside her.

My heartbeat quickened. I drew
near her. With a small gesture toward Scylla’s armored back, to enjoin silence,
Eliza began to sign to me. It amused me to find that my language of the hands—
a poor second to a voice—was becoming a language of intrigue and secrecy.

“I arn sorry for my part in our
quarrel last night,” Eliza signed to me. “Will you forgive me, Reuven?”

I knew well the quarrel she
meant, though I could not have said that a second ago. As words or images will
trigger memories of a dream, so her reference brought the entire scene to me,
only much more real than any dream. It was not a dream. It had happened—at
least in this here and now, it had happened.

Perhaps it was the influence of
the magical Life flowing through my veins, but my other self—the self of
Earth—was rapidly fading into the background.

“There is nothing to forgive, my
dear one,” I signed in return.

I looked at her, the sun
glistening on her black curls, the golden shimmer of her crown, the dappled
sunlight now sparkling on her jewels, the shadows of the trees now gliding over
her, dimming all light but her own.

I loved her. My love for her
flowed out of me to her as the Life had flowed out of me to Mosiah.

I had loved her since we were
children together and I would go on loving her, no matter what happened, until
the day came when I would present that love as a gift to the Almin and reside
forever in His blessedness.

The images of our past, our
youth, and our present were still confused—I remembered her as a newborn child,
I remembered an undercurrent of fear throughout my childhood. I remembered
years spent in study at the Font, holiday time spent in my home with the one
who was my foster sister, and so much more. I remembered leaving a sassy,
willful child and returning to find a beautiful, spirited woman. But who had
raised us? Where had we lived? That was hidden from me.

“Your safety was my only concern,”
I signed.

“You understand that there could
be no other way,” she returned. “That this was something I had to do, being my
father’s heir.” She regarded me intently, awaiting my answer.

“I understand,” I signed. “I
understood then. I only said those things to provoke you. It worked. I thought
you’d take a swing at me again, like in the old days.”

I was hoping to make her laugh.
My mischievous delight as a child, I am sorry to say, had been to tease her
until she lost her temper and struck at me with her small fists. Though I
always protested that I was the innocent victim, I was not believed and we were
both sent to bed without our suppers on those occasions.

She did not laugh, though she
smiled at the memory. Impulsively, she reached out, took hold of my hand, and
whispered, “Like in the old days, Reuven, I can count on you and you alone to
brush away the glittering faerie dust the rest would scatter over my duties.
You alone show me the ugly reality beneath. You force me to look at the
ugliness and then to see beyond it, to hope. Admit it”—her eyes gleamed with a
hint of triumph— “if I had refused to come, you would have been disappointed in
me.”

“I would have thought that for
once in your life you had made a sensible and rational decision,” I signed,
attempting to look stern. “As it is, my only disappointment would have been if
you had not permitted me to come with you.”

“And how could I leave you
behind?” she asked, smiling and mocking me. Forgetting herself, she spoke out
loud. “I’d have to hear you whine about it for days
. ‘
Eliza
got to go and I didn’t!’
“ she
concluded in a childish
voice, talking through her nose.

“Hush!” said Scylla, turning. “I
beg your pardon, Your Majesty. It’s just that—”

“We’re not on a picnic, Your
Majesty,” Mosiah said dourly, gliding up to stand beside us.

“You are right, both of you,”
Eliza murmured, her cheeks flushed. “It won’t happen again.”

“We are very near the meeting
place,” Scylla said.
“Enforcer?”

The oak trees had creaked and
rattled their limbs as we walked along and I guessed that they must be
continuing to provide Mosiah with information.

“Father Saryon is in the clearing
and he is alone. He has, however, heard our approach and is more than a little
unnerved. I suggest we ease his fears.”

“I will go forth into the glade,”
said Scylla. “You remain here with Her Majesty.”

“Oh, nonsense!” said Eliza,
losing patience. “We’ll all go together. If it is a trap, we’ve already walked
into it. Come, Reuven.”

Emerging into a glade, we came
upon an elderly priest, who had been looking nervously to his right and left
previous to our appearance.

At the sight of us, he breathed a
gentle sigh. He smiled and extended his hands, one to either of us.

“My children,” Saryon said in
heartfelt tones.

My eyes blurred with tears. I
knew then the man who had been father to Eliza and to me, the man who had taken
two orphans into his home and into his heart.

No wonder I had felt the love of
a son for a father in that other life. Such love knows no bounds, would stretch
across the gulf of time.

He gave me his hand and looked
with pleasure and pride upon my white robes with their red trim. The white
marked me a house catalyst, one who is in the employ of some noble family. The
red indicated that I was a Lord Father, a high rank for one of my years.

He would have bowed and kissed
Eliza’s hand, but she forestalled him by flinging her arms around his neck and
kissing him heartily on the cheek. He hugged her and held her close, all the
while keeping firm hold of my hand, and we had a most joyous family reunion
there in the glade in the Zoo of Zith-el.

“It has been so long since I’ve
seen both of you,” he said, releasing us to look at us fondly.

“We do think the Emperor might
let you come to visit us in Merilon,” said Eliza, a tiny furrow creasing her
forehead.

“No, no, Emperor Garald is right,”
Saryon said, sighing. “The ways are dangerous, very dangerous.”

“The Conduits are safe.”

“The
Thon-li
refuse to
guarantee it these days. Menju the Sorcerer has many allies on Thimhallan. Not
that I care for any danger for myself, mind you,” he added with a touch of
spirit. “I am more than ready to go to my rest, to be reunited with your father
and your mother.” He patted Eliza’s hand. “But I cannot put down the great
burden I bear. Not yet. Not yet.”

I blinked my eyes free of the
glad tears, and now that I could see Father Saryon more clearly, I was shocked
at his appearance. He had aged far beyond his years, was gray and stooped, as
if the burden of which he spoke was a physical one. He was not frail or fragile
in spirit, only in body.

Scylla and Mosiah had held back
at the edge of the glade, to give us a moment’s privacy for our reunion and
also to make certain no one and nothing was lying in wait. Now they walked
forward, both making respectful bows to Father Saryon. He greeted Mosiah with
pleasure, mentioning that he had heard Mosiah was now in Queen Eliza’s service.
Mosiah stood with hands folded before him, silent and observant.

Scylla was not known to Saryon,
apparently, for Eliza introduced her as her knight and captain of her guard.
Scylla was polite, but her manner was brisk. She was obviously ill at ease.

“We should stay here no longer
than is necessary,
Your
Majesty. With your gracious
permission, I would suggest that we leave immediately.”

“Is that well with you, Father
Saryon?” Eliza asked him, regarding him anxiously. She, too, was concerned and
dismayed at his wan appearance. “You look tired. Did you walk all this way? The
journey must have been a strenuous one for you. Do you need to rest?”

“There can be no rest for me
until I have completed my task. Yet,” he added, looking earnestly and
searchingly at Eliza, “yet I would go to my grave bearing this secret if you
are the least bit unsure, Daughter. Will you take on this heavy responsibility?
Have you considered well the perils you will face?”

Eliza gripped him by both hands. “Yes,
Father, dear Father, the only father I have ever known. Yes, I have considered
the perils. They’ve been shown to me in vivid detail,” she added with a glance
and a smile for me, before she turned back to Saryon. “I am prepared to take
the responsibility; to finish, if need be, what my father began.”

“He would have been proud of you,
Eliza,” Saryon said gently.
“So proud.”

“
Your
Majesty—”

“Yes, Scylla, we are leaving.
Father, you must guide us, for you are the only one who knows the way.”

Saryon shook his head and I
guessed that the way of which he was thinking was not the sun-dappled path
through the forest, but the path forever cloaked with darkness which leads into
the future.

Eliza walked at his side, holding
on to his arm in a close and confiding manner which pleased him immensely. The
trail not being wide enough for three of us to walk side by side, I fell a pace
or two behind, which put me between Saryon and Eliza in front and Scylla and
Mosiah in back.

“Perhaps I am still suffering
from the effects of my injury,” Mosiah said, “but what is there to fear,
besides the usual fears which always attend anyone insane enough to walk
through the Zoo of Zith-el? You said yourself that the centaurs would not
attack us.”

Scylla made a disparaging sound
in her throat.
“Short work to them if they did.
No, it
is not the centaurs I fear, nor darkrovers, nor giants, nor faeries.” She
paused a moment, then said quietly, “I wonder that you cannot guess.”