Legacy of the Darksword (40 page)

“Not so strange if the magic hasn’t
died,” Scylla observed.

Simkin yawned. “While you all are
playing at being magi, I’m off to reconnoiter. Wait for me here. Do you know, I’m
quite enjoying this!
”

“Wait—damn!”

Mosiah clutched empty air. Simkin
had vanished.

“Now what do we do?” I signed.

“Hand ourselves over to the
Technomancers,” Mosiah said bitterly. “We might as well.”

“Nonsense,” Eliza said crisply. “We’ll
wait here for him to return. He
will
return. I have faith in Ted—Simkin.”

“So did your father,” Mosiah said
grimly. He glanced around, stiffened. “We’re missing someone else.”

We could see a short distance
down the tunnel by the light reflecting off the rocks. Scylla was nowhere in
sight.

“Back!”
Mosiah urged, and he started
herding Eliza and me down the tunnel. “Back the way we came! We can hold out—”

“Psst! Over here!” came a
piercing whisper.

A hand waved at us from the
darkness.

An arm attached to the hand
appeared and Scylla emerged from the shadows. “I’ve found another chamber. We
can hide in here and keep watch!”

Eliza gave Mosiah a reproachful
glance and went to join Scylla. I started after her. Mosiah clamped hold of my
arm.

“Do you remember another chamber
in the cave the last time we were inside it?”

I shook my head. “But it was dark
and confused.”

“Wasn’t it,” Mosiah said coolly.

The chamber Scylla had found was
located directly across the tunnel from where we had been standing. It provided
a clear view of a small cavern. Two Technomancers, in their silver masks and
robes, stood guard outside the entrance.

Long minutes passed. Nothing
happened, and the thought occurred to me that Simkin had been right about one
thing, at least. The Technomancers must have felt their prisoners were secure
and that we were far away. Either that or the prisoners were not in there at
all. I was wondering if Simkin had led us on a wild-goose chase when one of the
Technomancers spoke.

“Time to check on them,” he said.

The other nodded and turned on
his heel, took a step, and fell headlong, sprawling on the cavern floor.

“Son-of-a-bitch!” the man swore
as he picked himself up.

“What the hell happened to you?”
his companion asked, turning to stare.

“I fell over a rock! That rock!”
The Technomancer glared and pointed.

“Well, watch where you’re going
next time.”

The Technomancer stared balefully
at the rock.
“I’ll swear, that wasn’t there before.”

“You’re just clumsy,” said the
other Technomancer, shrugging.

“No, I’m serious. I’ve been in
and out of this blasted prison cell thirty times today and I’ll swear that rock
wasn’t there!” The Technomancer picked it up. “I’ll be damned!” he said,
amazed. “This rock has . . . eyes!”

Those of us hunkered down in the
chamber exchanged glances. None of us said the word, but we were all thinking
it.

Simkin.

“What the devil are you two
doing? Standing there discussing a rock,” came another voice. I recognized it
and so did Mosiah.

“Smythe!” he whispered.

“If you’ve taken up geology,”
Smythe continued, “do it on your time. Not mine.”

The two Technomancers snapped to
attention. Smythe appeared, coming from the direction of the cavern entrance.
He was not wearing the business suit in which I’d last seen him, but was
dressed in the robes, trimmed in gold, that he’d worn in the hologram. His face
was in the light and it was a good thing I had recognized him from his voice. I
might not have done so otherwise. The face that had been so handsome and
charming was grim and contorted with suppressed rage. Four bodyguards in silver
trooped after him.

“But, sir, look at this rock—”

“Is it darkstone?” Smythe
demanded impatiently.

“No, sir, it doesn’t appear to
be.
Ordinary limestone, maybe.
But it—”

“Darkstone is the only rock in
which I’m interested. Toss it in the river.”

The Technomancer looked again at
the rock and seemed to want to argue. A glance at Smythe’s scowling face, and
the Technomancer gave a heave, flung the rock into the dark, swiftly flowing
water.

I could swear that I heard a
faint indignant shriek as the rock sailed through the air. It hit the water
with a splash and sank . . . like a rock.

“How are the prisoners?” Smythe
asked. “Any change?”

“That Joram’s growing worse, sir.
He won’t be with us long if he doesn’t get help.”

Eliza, beside me, made a choked
sound. “Hush!” Scylla breathed.

Mosiah cast them both a warning
glance. I found Eliza’s hand. Her flesh was chill to the touch. Her fingers
tightened convulsively around mine.

“I’m going to talk to Joram,”
Smythe was saying. “If he’s that bad off, he may be willing to cooperate. Two
of you come with me. The rest of you wait outside.”

Smythe entered the chamber where
the prisoners were being held. Two of his guards followed after him. The others
took up positions out in the corridor.

There was nothing we could do but
wait. Not only would we endanger ourselves if we tried to fight such
overwhelming numbers, we would place the prisoners’ lives in jeopardy. There
was every possibility the Technomancers would kill their prisoners rather than
let them be rescued.

We hid in the darkness, straining
to hear. The first voice we heard was Father Saryon’s. His tone was strong and
indignant, which meant that he was well. I closed my eyes and breathed a prayer
to the Almin in thankfulness.

“Joram is very ill, as you can
see, Mr. Smythe. My friend needs medical attention immediately. I insist that
you take him to the outpost. They have a medical facility there—”

“Certainly,” said Smythe, and his
voice was smooth and eager to please. “We will provide him with the antidote to
the poison— as soon as he tells me where to find the Darksword.”

“Poison?”
Saryon was horrified. “You
poisoned him?”

“A slow-acting variety.
We use the same to cause the
deaths of the organisms in our perpetual generators. Death comes very slowly
and very painfully, I am told.
Now, my friend.
Where
is the Darksword? Tell us that, and you will feel much better.”.

“He does not know!” Saryon said
angrily.

“Ah, but I think he does,” said
Smythe. “He gave it to his daughter to hide. We saw her in possession of the
sword, so you needn’t trouble to lie about it. We are on her trail—”

“If you hurt her . . .” The voice
was weak, but it was definitely Joram’s.

We heard scuffling sounds and a
stifled cry.

Eliza turned her head into my
shoulder. I held her tightly and the rage I felt toward Smythe at that moment
appalled me. I had always thought of myself as a pacifist. Now I knew I had it
in me to kill.

“Don’t! Leave him alone!” Saryon
cried, and we heard a rustling sound, as if he threw himself protectively in
front of Joram. “He is weak and ill.”

“He will be far more ill if he
does not cooperate.”

“He can be of no use to you dead!”

“He isn’t going to die.
At least not yet.
As you say, I have need of him. Give him
the stimulant. There. That will keep him alive a little longer. He won’t feel
very good, but he’ll live, which is more than I can say for you, Father Saryon.
You are of no use to me whatsoever. I have catalysts of my own, prepared to
give the Darksword Life, once it is recovered.

“Listen to me, Joram. You have
five minutes to reconsider your stubborn refusal to tell me where your daughter
is hiding. If you do not, Father Saryon will be flayed alive, a particularly
nasty way to die. Bind his feet and his hands.”

We four stared, horrified, at
each other. We had five minutes to act, five minutes to rescue the hostages, or
Father Saryon would most certainly be tortured and murdered. There were six
guards, plus Kevon Smythe, and only four of us.

“Scylla, you have your gun,”
Mosiah began, speaking in a tense whisper. “You—”

“Gun,” she said. “I don’t have a
gun.”

Mosiah glared at her. “You don’t
carry a gun! What kind of agent are you?”

“A smart one,” Scylla returned. “From
what I’ve seen, carrying a gun is an open invitation for someone to shoot you.”

Mosiah was grim. “We have no
choice, I guess. We have to take on all six of the
D’karn-darah
—”

“Make that seven,” Scylla said.

Another silver-robed Technomancer
had apparently entered the cavern. I say “apparently” because I had been
watching the cavern entrance and I had not seen anyone come inside. The new
arrival glided up behind the two guards waiting at the entrance. Reaching out a
silver-gloved hand, the
D’karn-darah
tapped one of them on the shoulder.

It was the Technomancer who had
thrown the rock in the river. He jumped, turned. His robes flowed around him
like liquid mercury.

“What the devil—who are you?” he
demanded. “What do you want? And don’t come sneaking up on someone like that.
It’s bad enough being on this blasted planet, with rocks that have eyes and God
knows what else! What do you want?” he repeated nervously.

“A message from HQ for the
master.”

“He’s inside the prison cell.”

“It’s urgent,” said the
D’karn-darah.

“I’ll go tell him,” volunteered
the other Technomancer.

“Wait,” said the first. His tone
was suspicious. “Why didn’t they just send the message the usual way—using the
seerstones?”

“None of your seerstones are
working. Try them.”

The first Technomancer put his
wrist to his ear. The second did the same. The second looked at the first, who
shrugged and jerked his head toward the prison cell. The Technomancer left to
report.

Smythe emerged. His choleric face
was a fierce red, his brows drawn tight in a vicious scowl.

“What do you mean the seerstones
aren’t working?” he demanded.

“We don’t know, sir,” returned
the newly arrived Technomancer. “Perhaps it’s this cave, blocking the signal. I
have an urgent message for you, sir.”

“Deliver it!” Smythe snapped.

The silver-hooded head revolved,
glanced in the direction of the other
D’karn-darah.
“It is for you
alone, Master. We should speak in private. It is most urgent, sir.”

Smythe looked back in frustration
toward the prison. His unhealthy choler increased.
“Of all
the damn luck.
I just about had, him broken! This better be good!” He
turned to one of the guards. “Remind the good father that he has three minutes
left. Three minutes.”

“Come over here, Master,” said the
messenger, and he gestured—alarmingly—in the direction of our small hidden
cavern.

The two walked toward us. The
silver robes of the
D’karn-darah
swished about his ankles, revealing his
silver-slippered feet, and I suddenly noticed that this Technomancer was
wearing orange socks.

“Simkin!”
Mosiah breathed into my ear.

Beyond all reason, it was, it had
to be Simkin, disguised as a Technomancer and leading Kevon Smythe straight
toward our hiding place.

“That bastard!”
Mosiah whispered. “If it’s the
last thing I do, I’ll—”

“Shhh!” Scylla hushed him.

Eliza gripped my hand tightly. We
didn’t dare move, for fear he’d hear us. We went completely immobile in the
darkness, every breath seeming to whistle loud as a cyclone, our heartbeats
booming like thunder. Mosiah’s body tensed. He was readying his magic for one
gigantic, lethal burst.

Desperate, frantic plans rushed
through my mind, none of them making any sense, or offering any hope.

Four more paces and Kevon Smythe
would bump right into us. At the second pace, the
D’karn-darah
that was
Simkin came to a halt.

Smythe stopped, turned to face
him.

“What’s all this about?” he asked
irritably.

“Sir,” said Simkin, “the
representatives of the Hch’nyv have arrived in Zith-el.”

I heard a soft gasp, as if Mosiah
had been punched in the solar plexus. Scylla exhaled softly.

Smythe’s color went from red to
sallow yellow, as if someone had opened a major artery and drained all his
blood in an instant. Such stark terror was on his face that I could almost have
felt sorry for him. He quickly recovered his equanimity, but the vestiges of
that fear remained.