Legacy of the Darksword (7 page)

“The Four knew of the sword’s
creation,” said Mosiah. “Some of them said that they were aware of it from the
very hour it came into being.”

Saryon was perplexed. “But how is
that possible? They were so far away.
...”

“Not far enough.
Like it or not, threads of magic
bind us together, like the gossamer strands of a spiderweb. If one strand is
broken, the shock is felt throughout the web. The Four had no idea what had
happened, but they felt the sword’s dark energy. They had strange dreams and
portents. Some saw the shadow of a black sword, shaped like a man, rise out of
flames. Others saw the same image of a black sword shattering a fragile glass
globe. They took it for a symbol of hope. They believed that its creation would
bring magic back to them. They were right.

“Twenty years ago, by Earth time,
Joram used the Darksword to shatter the Well of the World. Magic spewed out
into the universe. The magic was diluted when it reached Earth, but to the
parched members of the Dark Cults, the magic fell upon them like a renewing
shower.”

“But I don’t understand why they
should want the sword,” Saryon protested. “The Darksword nullifies magic. It
was invaluable to Joram in Thimhallan, because he was the only person alive who
did not possess any magical powers. It was his only means of defense against a
world of magi. But what would these Technomancers do with the Darksword here on
Earth? Its power is nothing compared to that of ... of ... a nuclear bomb.”

“On the contrary, Father. The
Technomancers believe that the Darksword would give them immense power.
Power similar to that of a nuclear weapon, in that they could
control entire populations.
And the Darksword would provide such power
on an individual basis in a handy, compact, and inexpensive form.
Far more convenient to use than a nuclear bomb and not nearly so
messy.”

“
I am afraid I still don’t
understand—”

“The Darksword absorbs Life,
Father. You have said yourself—and your young friend has written—how the sword
drew from you the magic that you were drawing from the world. ‘The magic surged
through him like a blast of wind,’ is, I believe, how Reuven phrased it.”

Saryon paled. He had lifted his
teacup, to drink, set it down again with haste. His hand shook. He gazed at
Mosiah with sorrowful anguish.

“I am afraid so, Father,” Mosiah
answered the look, the unspoken protest. “The Technomancers know that the
Darksword has the power to absorb Life. Once the sword is in their possession,
they plan to study it, determine how to mass-produce it, and distribute
Darkswords to their followers. The swords will absorb magic,
then
give up that Life, much as a living being gives up life when the being dies.
And because the Technomancers are accustomed to taking magic from the dead,
they believe they can use Darkswords to fuel their power—a far cheaper and more
efficient means than that which they are now using.”

A
kind of magic battery,
I
typed.

“What are they using to fuel
their power?” Saryon
asked,
his voice low. His gaze
was on the medallion, which had now gone almost completely dark—a brownish,
blackish green.

Mosiah picked up the medallion,
held it to the light.

“Imagine these organisms grown in
immense vats—vats seven times the size of this house, whose circumference would
encompass this block. Various gases are pumped into the vats. An electrical
current is passed through the gases. The result is this simple form of life.
Great quantities are manufactured. The living mass seethes and bubbles in the
vats as it grows and reproduces. Now imagine many more vats, dedicated to the
death of these organisms.
Again, the electric current.
But this time it destroys, it does not create.

“As the catalysts give us Life .
. .” Mosiah paused, looked at Saryon.
“As you used to give me
Life, Father.
Do you remember? We were fighting Blachloch’s henchmen and
I transformed into a gigantic tiger. ... I was very young,” he added, with a
slight smile, “and prone to flaunt my power.”

Saryon smiled. “I remember. And I
remember being quite happy to see that tiger at the time.”

“At any rate”—Mosiah shook off
memory—”as the catalysts give us Life, drawing the magic from all living beings
and pouring it into those of us who use it, so the Technomancers receive their
power from the deaths—not only of these manufactured organisms, but from the
deaths of all things in this universe. The war with the Hch’nyv has been a
blessing to them,” he added, his tone bitter.

“I will never take the
Technomancers to Joram,” Saryon said with absolute conviction.
“Never.
Like you”—he looked at Mosiah—”I would die first.
You need have no worry.”

“On the contrary, Father,” said
Mosiah. “We
want
you to take them to Joram.”

Saryon stared at Mosiah, stared a
long time in silence. His pain was so great that it grieved me to look at him.

“You
want the Darksword,” he said. His
brows drew together. “Who sent you?”

Mosiah leaned forward, his hands
clasped together. “The Technomancers are extremely powerful, Father. They have
seduced a great number of our people, who are now finding it easier and faster
to gain what they want in this world by exchanging magic for technomancy.
King Garald—”

“Ah!”
Saryon exclaimed, and he nodded.

“King Garald dares not openly
defy them,” Mosiah continued resolutely.
“Not now, not yet.
But secretly, we are building our strength, readying our resources. When the
day comes, we will take action and—”

“And what?” Saryon cried. “Kill
them?
More killing?”

“
If you do not acquire the
Darksword from Joram, what do you think they will do to him and to his family,
Father?” Mosiah asked coldly. “The only reason they have left him in peace thus
far is due to the laws of the mundane, which prohibit anyone from setting foot
on Thimhallan. The Technomancers have not yet been ready to reveal themselves
to the mundane.

“All that is about to change,
however.
Their leader—this man Kevon Smythe—has gained great political power among the
mundane, who do not know he is a Technomancer and wouldn’t believe it if they
were told. Smythe has convinced the heads of Earth Force that, using the power
of the Darksword, the Technomancers can defeat the Hch’nyv. At this juncture in
the war Earth Force is desperate enough to try anything. Tomorrow, Kevon
Smythe, King Garald, and General Boris will call on you, Father Saryon. They
will urge you to go to Joram and, speaking in the name of all the people of
Earth, beg him to hand over the Darksword.”

“He will not.” Saryon shook his
head, firm with conviction. “You know that, Mosiah. You know him.”

Mosiah hesitated a moment, then
said, “Yes, I know him. And so does King Garald. We are counting on the fact
that he won’t give up the Darksword. We don’t want the Technomancers to obtain
it.”

Saryon blinked in confusion. “You
want me to ask him to give up the sword that you don’t want him to give up?”

“In a way, yes, Father. Simply
ask Joram to show you where the sword is hidden. Once we know where it is, we
will take over. We will retrieve it and keep it in our possession. We will keep
it secret and
safe,
guard it with our very lives, as
we will guard Joram and his family. Of that, you can rest assured.”

Saryon’s long hair was quite gray
and very thin and lay on his shoulders, soft as a child’s. He had acquired a
stoop, and sometimes a slight palsy made his hands tremble. These physical
attributes, combined with a generally benign expression, caused people to take
him for a weak, gentle old man. There was nothing gentle about him now as he
sat bolt upright, his body rigid,
the
warmth in his
eyes igniting to fire.

“You’ve tried before to find the
Darksword, haven’t you? Tried and failed!”

Mosiah regarded Saryon steadily. “It
would have been better for Joram if we
had
been able to discover the
sword’s location and safely remove it. The Technomancers would then have no
interest in him. Rest assured, Father, if you do not acquire the Darksword by
peaceful means, they will take it by whatever means they can.”

“
And what about
the
Duuk-tsarith!”
Saryon demanded, the fire within him
burning bright. “What means will
you
use to take the sword?”

Mosiah rose to his feet. His
black robes fell in folds about him. He clasped his hands together. “Know this,
Father. We will not let the Darksword fall into the hands of the Technomancers.”

“
Why not?”
I signed. “What if they can use it to defeat the Hch’nyv? Wouldn’t it be worth
it?”

“
The Hch’nyv
plan to exterminate humankind, the Technomancers to enslave us.
An
unhappy choice, wouldn’t you say, Reuven? And, of course, for me and those like
me, there would be no choice at all. And, there are those among the
Duuk-tsarith
who think that
we
may be able to use the sword in the battle against
the Hch’nyv.

“Well, Father?” Mosiah waited for
an answer. “Through King Garald’s intercession, we give you this chance to
acquire the Darksword by peaceful means. If you do not, the Technomancers will
take it from Joram by force. Surely your choice is clear.”

‘“
And what
of
Joram?”
Saryon rose to face him. “What of his wife and child? He is
the most hated man in the universe. The
Duuk-tsarith
once pledged his
death. Perhaps the only reason you haven’t killed him before now is because you
don’t know where he’s hidden the sword!”

Mosiah’s face was stern, pale. “We
will protect Joram—”

Saryon gazed steadily at the
Enforcer. “Will you?
And what about the rest of our people?
How many countless thousands have vowed to kill Joram and his wife and child on
sight?”

“How many people will the Hch’nyv
kill?” Mosiah countered. “You speak of Joram’s child, Father. What of the
millions of innocent children who will die if we lose the battle against the
Hch’nyv? And we
are
losing, Father! Every day they draw nearer Earth. We
must have the sword! We must!”

Saryon sighed. The fire died
within him. He seemed suddenly very old, very frail and feeble. He sank back
down into his chair, rested his head in his hands. “I don’t know. I can’t
promise.”

Mosiah frowned, appeared prepared
to add to his arguments.

I rose from my chair, confronted
the Enforcer.

“My master is very tired, sir,” I
signed. “It is time you left.”

Mosiah glanced from one of us to
the other.

“This has been an unnerving
experience for you both,” he said. “You’re not thinking clearly. Go to bed,
Father. Sleep on your decision. The Almin grant that it be the right one.”

To our intense astonishment,
two
Duuk-tsarith
materialized. Black-hooded,
black-robed, faces hidden, they appeared, one on either side of Mosiah.

Bodyguards, reinforcements, witnesses
. . . Perhaps all of these.
Certainly they had been here this entire time, watching, guarding, protecting,
spying. The three formed a triangle. They raised their
hands,
each placed the palm of one hand on the palm of the hand of the person beside him.
Thus linked, their power merged, they vanished.

Saryon and I stared at the place
where they had been standing, both of us shaken and disturbed.

“They planned this!” I signed,
when I was over my shock enough to be able to give expression to my thoughts. “They
had advance knowledge that the Technomancers were coming here this night. King
Garald could have sent us warning, told us to leave.”

“But he didn’t. Yes, Reuven,”
Saryon agreed. “It was all staged for our benefit, to make us fear the
Technomancers and force us to join sides with the
Duuk-tsarith.

“Do you know, Reuven?” my master
added, glancing at the chair in which Mosiah had been sitting. “I grieve for
him. He was Joram’s friend, when it was not easy to be Joram’s friend. He was
loyal to Joram, even to death. Now he has become like all the rest. Joram is
alone now.
Very much alone.”

“
He has you,” I said, touching my
master very gently on his breast.

Saryon looked at me. The sorrow
and anguish on his pale and haggard face brought tears to my eyes.

“Does he, Reuven? How can I say
no to them? How can I turn them down?” He stood up, leaning heavily upon the
chair. “I am going to bed.”

I bid him have a good night,
though I knew that was impossible. Taking my computer, I went up to my room and
entered all that had happened while the incidents were still fresh in my mind.
Then I lay down, but I could not sleep.