Part 3 (1/2)
”Mosiah!” he cried, reaching out to clutch the young man thankfully. ”How did you esca -” Glancing at the guard, he broke off. ”That is, we were worried -”
”Father,” said Mosiah, interrupting gently, ”I must speak to you. In private. It is a ... spiritual matter,” he said, looking at the guard. ”It will not take long.”
”All right,” the guard said grudgingly, conscious of the smith watching him closely. ”But don't get out of my sight, either of you.”
Mosiah drew Saryon into the shadows of a stable where they kept the horses for shoeing. ”Father,” the young man whispered, ”where are you going?”
”To - to talk with Joram. I have something ... we need to discuss ...” Saryon stammered.
”Is it about this rumor?”
”What rumor?” the catalyst asked uneasily.
”Blachloch.... He's missing.” Mosiah regarded Saryon intently. ”Hadn't you heard?”
”No.” Saryon averted his eyes and drew further back into the shadows.
”They've sent a search party into the wilderness.”
”How - how do you know?”
”I was at Blachloch's house when Simkin came to tell the warlocks men the news.”
”Simkin?” Saryon stared at Mosiah. ”When? What did he say?”
”Early this morning. You see, Father,” Mosiah continued hurriedly, his eyes on the guard, ”last night, after you and Joram left, the guards came and took me away. Blachloch wanted to question me, or something like that, they said. When we arrived at the house, he wasn't there. Someone said he'd gone with you to the forge. We waited, but he never came back. Some of his men went to the forge looking for him and couldn't find him. Then, near morning, Simkin turned up with a story about how Blachloch had gone into the woods to settle an old score with centaurs -”
Saryon groaned.
Mosiah looked at the catalyst intently.
”This isn't news to you, Father, is it? I didn't think it would be. What's going on?”
”I can't tell you now!” Saryon said in a low voice. ”How did you get away?”
”Just walked off in the confusion. I came to warn Andon. Blachloch's men are gathering up there, making plans to take over the village and crush any rebellion before it starts. They've got weapons - clubs and knives and bows -”
”Hey, come along! I ain't got all day,” the guard shouted, obviously eager to escape the smith's wrathful gaze.
”I've got to go,” Saryon said, starting for the forge.
”I'm coming with you,” Mosiah said firmly.
”No! Go back to the cell! Keep an eye on Simkin!” Saryon ordered desperately. ”The Almin knows what he'll say or do next!”
”Yes,” Mosiah said, after an instant's consideration, ”that's probably a good idea. You'll be coming back?” Mosiah said, after an instant's consideration, ”that's probably a good idea. You'll be coming back?”
”Yes, yes!” Saryon answered hastily. He saw the guard glance at the young man uncertainly, as though thinking it odd that Mosiah was free to walk the streets. But if the guard had any intentions of stopping Mosiah, another glance at the frowning smith caused him to reconsider.
”The priest here says he's come to help you with some special project,” the guard said to the smith, each eyeing the other darkly.
”You know ... the special project, for Sharakan,” Saryon added, licking his dry lips. The sound of hammering from the back ceased. The catalyst saw Joram looking at him, his black eyes gleaming as red as the coals in the pit. ”The project the young man Joran is working on ...” Saryon's voice gave out, his well of lies run dry.
A smile twitched on the smith's lips, but he only shrugged and said, ”Aye, that project.” He made a gesture with a blackened hand. ”Go on back, Father. Not you!” he ordered in a stern voice, glaring at the guard. The guard's face flushed, but the smith lifted his gigantic hammer, holding it easily in one huge fist. With a muttered curse, the guard backed off. Turning on his heel, he headed up the street toward the house on the hill.
”Better hurry, Father,” the smith said coolly. ”There's going to be trouble and you don't want to be caught in the middle, I'll wager.”
The smith struck a horseshoe he was holding in his tongs a ringing blow with his hammer. Saryon, glancing at it, saw that the horseshoe was stone cold, already shaped and finished, in fact. The crowd of young men had reappeared, converging in front of the cavern entrance. Their numbers appeared to be growing.
”Yes, thank you,” the catalyst said. ”I - I'll be quick.”
Hardly able to hear himself think over the hammering, Saryon made his way through the clutter of the forge. Memories of last night a.s.sailed him. His gaze went involuntarily to the place on the floor where the warlocks bleeding body had rested - ”Almin's blood! What are you doing here?” Joram swore through clenched teeth. A red-hot, glowing spear-point lay on the anvil before him. He started to lift it with the tongs, to plunge it into a bucket of water. But Saryon stopped him with a hand on his arm.
”I must talk to you, Joram!” he yelled over the sound of the smith's hammer blows. ”We are in danger!”
”What? Have they discovered the body?”
”No. Another danger. A more deadly one. I - You know that I was sent by ... Bishop Vanya to ... bring you back. I told you that, when I first came.”
”Yes,” returned Joram, his heavy black brows coming together to form a thick black line across his face. ”You told me - after Simkin had told me, but you told me.”
Saryon flushed. ”I know you don't trust me, but ... listen! Bishop Vanya has contacted me again. Don't ask how, the means are magical.” The catalyst's hand went to a pocket in his robes where he had secreted the darkstone. Taking hold of it, he clasped it rea.s.suringly. ”He demands that Blachloch and I bring you to the Font, you and the Darksword.”
”Vanya knows about the Darksword?” Joram hissed. ”You told -”
”Not I!” Saryon gasped. ”Blachloch! The wizard is - was - the Bishops agent - Duuk-tsarith - Duuk-tsarith. I don't have time to explain everything now, Joram. The Bishop will soon find out that Blachloch is dead and that you killed him, using the darkstone. He will send the Duuk-tsarith Duuk-tsarith here to apprehend you. He must, he fears the power of the Darksword -” here to apprehend you. He must, he fears the power of the Darksword -”
”He wants wants the power of the Darksword,” Joram amended grimly. the power of the Darksword,” Joram amended grimly.
Saryon blinked; that was something he had not considered. ”Perhaps,” he said, swallowing, his throat raw from the need to shout to be heard. ”But we must leave, Joram! Every moment that pa.s.ses, our danger grows!”
”Our danger!” Joram smiled the half-smile that was nearer a twisted, bitter grimace. danger!” Joram smiled the half-smile that was nearer a twisted, bitter grimace. ”You ”You are in no danger, Catalyst! Why don't you just hand me over to your Bishop?” He turned his head away from the catalyst's intense gaze, thrusting the cooling spear-point back into the coals. ”You're afraid of me, after all. You're afraid of the darkstone. It was my hand that killed Blachloch. You're innocent of that.” Bringing the spear-point back out with his tongs, Joram rested it upon the anvil. For long moments, he stared at it, unseeing. ”We'll be going into the Outland,” he said, his voice so soft that Saryon had to lean close to hear above the pounding behind him. ”You know the danger, the risks we'll face. Especially since neither of us is powerful in magic. Why? Why do you want to go with me?” are in no danger, Catalyst! Why don't you just hand me over to your Bishop?” He turned his head away from the catalyst's intense gaze, thrusting the cooling spear-point back into the coals. ”You're afraid of me, after all. You're afraid of the darkstone. It was my hand that killed Blachloch. You're innocent of that.” Bringing the spear-point back out with his tongs, Joram rested it upon the anvil. For long moments, he stared at it, unseeing. ”We'll be going into the Outland,” he said, his voice so soft that Saryon had to lean close to hear above the pounding behind him. ”You know the danger, the risks we'll face. Especially since neither of us is powerful in magic. Why? Why do you want to go with me?”
Joram returned to his work, keeping his face averted.
Why indeed? Saryon asked himself, staring at the bent head; the strong shoulders, naked in the heat of the forge; the crisp, black hair that had fought loose of its braid and hung down in s.h.i.+ning tendrils around the cold, stern young face. There was something in the voice.... Thick with fatigue, it was thick with fear. And something else - hope?
Joram is afraid, Saryon realized. He plans to leave the village and he's been trying to get up the courage to go into those strange, savage lands by himself.
Who do I want to go with you, Joram? A burning lump formed in the catalysts throat, as though he had swallowed one of the hot coals. I could tell you that I held you once in my arms. I could tell you that you rested your small head upon my shoulder, that I rocked you to sleep. I could tell you that you are the Prince of Merilon, heir to the throne, and that I can prove it!
But no, I cannot tell you that now. I don't think I can ever tell you. With this dangerous knowledge and the bitter anger inside you, Joram, you would bring tragedy down upon all of us - your parents, the innocent people of Merilon ...
Saryon shuddered. No, he repeated. At least I will not be guilty of that that sin! I will carry the secret to my death. Yet what other reason can I give to this young man? I want to go with you, Joram, because I care about you, what happens to you? How he would sneer at this ... sin! I will carry the secret to my death. Yet what other reason can I give to this young man? I want to go with you, Joram, because I care about you, what happens to you? How he would sneer at this ...
”I am going with you,” answered Saryon finally, ”because I seek to regain my own faith. The Church once stood, for me, as strong as the mountain fastness of the Font. Now I see it crumbling, falling in deceit and greed. I told you that I could not go back to it. I meant that.”