Part 4 (1/2)
Mosiah ignored him. Both fascinated and repulsed, he stared at the sword, unable to withdraw his gaze. It was, in truth, a crude and ugly weapon. Once, long ago, the Sorcerers had made swords of s.h.i.+ning beauty and graceful design, with flas.h.i.+ng steel blades and gold and silver hilts. Magical swords, they were endowed as well with various properties laid on them by rune and spell. But all swords had been banished in Thimhallan following the Iron Wars. Weapons of evil, they were called by the catalysts, demonic creations of the Dark Art of Technology. The making of steel swords pa.s.sed out of knowledge. The only swords Joram had seen were pictured in the books he found. And although the young man had some skill in metal work, he was not skilled enough, nor did he have the time or the patience, to craft a weapon such as men of ancient days had carried with pride.
The Darksword that Mosiah held in his hands was made of darkstone, an ore that is black and unlovely. Given life in the fires of the forge, and granted magical Life by the reluctant catalyst Saryon, the Darksword was nothing nothing more than a shaft of metal beaten and pounded and clumsily sharpened by Joram's inexperienced hand. He had no knowledge of how to craft hilt and blade and then join the two together. The sword was made out of one piece of metal and - as Simkin said - it did resemble a human being. The hilt was separated from the blade by a crosspiece that looked like two arms outstretched. Joram had added the bulbous-shaped head at the hilt in an attempt to weight it, causing it to look very much like the body of man turned to stone. Mosiah was about to slide the ugly and unnerving object back beneath the mattress when the door slammed open. more than a shaft of metal beaten and pounded and clumsily sharpened by Joram's inexperienced hand. He had no knowledge of how to craft hilt and blade and then join the two together. The sword was made out of one piece of metal and - as Simkin said - it did resemble a human being. The hilt was separated from the blade by a crosspiece that looked like two arms outstretched. Joram had added the bulbous-shaped head at the hilt in an attempt to weight it, causing it to look very much like the body of man turned to stone. Mosiah was about to slide the ugly and unnerving object back beneath the mattress when the door slammed open.
”Put that down!” came a harsh voice.
Startled, Mosiah nearly dropped the weapon.
”Joram!” he said guiltily, turning around. ”I was just looking -”
”I said put it down,” Joram said gruffly, kicking the door shut behind him. Crossing the cell in a bound, he s.n.a.t.c.hed the sword from Mosiah's unresisting hands. ”Don't ever touch it again,” he said, glaring at his friend.
”Don't worry,” muttered Mosiah, standing up and wiping his hands on his leather breeches as if to wipe off the touch of the metal, ”I won't. Ever!” he added feelingly. Giving Joram a dark glance, Mosiah turned from him and went to stare moodily out the window.
The silence of the streets flowed into the cell, settling over them all like an unseen fog. Joram thrust the weapon into a leather sling he had fas.h.i.+oned in a crude imitation of the sword sheaths he had seen in the books. Casting a sideways glance at Mosiah, Joram started to say something, then checked it. He pulled a bag from beneath his bed and began to fill it with his few clothes and what little food there was in the cell. Mosiah heard him but did not look around. Even Simkin was quiet. Contemplating his shoes, he was in the act of changing one to red and the other to purple when there came a soft knock and the door opened.
Saryon stepped inside. No one spoke. The catalyst looked from the flushed, angry face of Joram to the pale face of Mosiah, sighed, and carefully shut the door behind him.
”They've found the body,” he reported in low tones.
”Smas.h.i.+ng!” cried Simkin, sitting up and swinging his multicolored feet over the side of the bed. ”I must go watch -”
”No,” said Joram abruptly. ”Stay here. We've got plans to make. We have to get out! Tonight!”
”The devil you say!” Simkin wailed in dismay. ”And miss the funeral? After I took such pains -”
”I'm afraid so,” Joram said dryly. ”Here, Catalyst.” He handed Saryon a crude chain from which dangled a piece of dark rock. ”Your 'good luck' charm.”
Saryon accepted the chain with a grave expression. He held it for a moment, staring down at it, his face growing increasingly pale.
”Father?” asked Mosiah. ”What's wrong?”
”Too much,” the catalyst replied softly, and, with the same solemn look upon his face, he hung the darkstone around his neck, being careful to tuck the rock beneath the collar of his robes. ”Blachloch's men have sealed off the town. No one is to go in or out.”
Joram swore a bitter oath.
”Dash it all!” Simkin burst out. ”The very devil! It'll be such a wonderful funeral, too. Highlight of the year around here. And the best part,” he continued gloomily, ”is that the townspeople will undoubtedly take the opportunity to whack a few of Blachloch's henchmen. I was quite looking forward to a nice round of lout-whacking.”
”We have to get out of here!” Joram said grimly. Tying his cloak around his neck, he arranged the folds so that the fabric covered the sword, hiding it from sight.
”But why should we leave?” Mosiah protested. ”From what Simkin's told me, everyone will believe Blachloch was killed by centaurs. Even his henchmen. And they won't be hanging around long to ask questions. Simkin's right. I've seen how the townspeople are looking at that sc.u.m. That's why Blachloch's men have sealed off the town. They're scared! And with good cause! We'll fight them! Drive them out, and then there won't be anything to fear from anyone -”
”Yes, there will,” Saryon said, his hand lingering on the amulet. ”I have been contacted by Bishop Vanya.”
”I bet he he gets to go to the funeral,” sulked Simkin. gets to go to the funeral,” sulked Simkin.
”Shut up, fool,” Mosiah growled. ”What do you mean, 'contacted', Father? How could he?”
Speaking hurriedly, with frequent glances out the window, Saryon told the young men of his conversation with the Bishop, leaving out only what he knew about Joram's true ident.i.ty.
”We must be gone by nightfall,” Saryon concluded. ”When Bishop Vanya cannot reach either me or Blachloch, he will know something dire has happened. By nightfall, the Duuk-tsarith Duuk-tsarith could be here.” could be here.”
”See? Everyone who's anyone will be at that funeral,” said Simkin moodily.
”The Duuk-tsarith Duuk-tsarith, here!” Mosiah paled. ”We must warn Andon -”
”I have just come from Andon,” Saryon interrupted with a sigh. ”I tried to make him understand, but I'm not certain I succeeded. Frankly, he's not worried half as much about the Duuk-tsarith Duuk-tsarith as he is over the people getting into a fight with Blachloch's men. I don't think the as he is over the people getting into a fight with Blachloch's men. I don't think the Duuk-tsarith Duuk-tsarith will bother the Sorcerers if they do come,” Saryon added, seeing Mosiah's concern. ”We can a.s.sume now that the Order was in constant touch with Blachloch. Had they wanted to destroy the village, they could have done so at a moments notice. They will be searching for Joram and the darkstone. When they discover he is gone, they will follow his trail. They will follow us....” will bother the Sorcerers if they do come,” Saryon added, seeing Mosiah's concern. ”We can a.s.sume now that the Order was in constant touch with Blachloch. Had they wanted to destroy the village, they could have done so at a moments notice. They will be searching for Joram and the darkstone. When they discover he is gone, they will follow his trail. They will follow us....”
”But these people are my friends, like my family,” Mosiah persisted. ”I can't leave them!” He stared worriedly out the window.
”They're my friends, too,” Joram said abruptly. ”Its not like we're running out. The best thing we can do for them is to leave.”
”Believe me, there's nothing we could do if we stayed, except perhaps bring greater harm to them,” Saryon said gently, resting his hand on Mosiah's shoulder. ”Bishop Vanya told me once that he wanted to avoid attacking the Sorcerers, if possible. It would be a bitter battle and, no matter how quiet the Church kept it, word would get out and throw the people into a panic. That was why Blachloch was here - to lead the Sorcerers to their own destruction along with Sharakan. Vanya still hopes to carry out his plan. There's not much else he can do.”
”But surely Andon won't let them now that he knows -”
”It's not our problem anymore!” Joram interrupted tersely. ”It doesn't matter to us. At least, not to me.” He cinched the bundle together tightly and slung it over his back. ”You and Simkin can stay here if you want.”
”And let you and the bald-headed wonder go traipsing off into the wilds alone?” said Simkin indignantly. ”I couldn't sleep nights, thinking of it.” With a wave of his hand, he s.h.i.+fted his attire. His red clothes changed to an ugly greenish brown. A long gray traveling cloak settled over his shoulders, hip-high leather boots crawled slowly up his legs. A c.o.c.ked hat with a long, drooping pheasant feather appeared on his head. ”Back to Muck and Mud,” Muck and Mud,” he said gloomily. he said gloomily.
”You're not going with us!” Mosiah said.
”Us?” Joram repeated. ”I didn't know we we were going anywhere?” were going anywhere?”
”You know I'll go,” Mosiah retorted. ”I'm glad,” Joram said quietly.
Mosiah flushed in pleasure at the unexpected warmth in his friend's voice, but his pleasure didn't last long.
”Of course, I'm I'm going,” Simkin struck in loftily. ”Who else do you have to guide you? I've come and gone safely through the Outland for years. How about you? Do you know the way?” going,” Simkin struck in loftily. ”Who else do you have to guide you? I've come and gone safely through the Outland for years. How about you? Do you know the way?”
”Perhaps not,” Mosiah said, eyeing Simkin darkly. ”But I'd a d.a.m.n sight rather be lost in the Outland than guided to wherever it is you've you've got in mind. got in mind. I I don't want to end up the husband of the Faerie Queen!” he added, with a glance at the catalyst. don't want to end up the husband of the Faerie Queen!” he added, with a glance at the catalyst.
Saryon appeared so alarmed at this reminder of a near disastrous adventure he'd had with Simkin as guide, that Joram cut in. ”Simkin goes,” he said firmly. ”Perhaps we could make it through the Outland without him, but he's the only one who can get us in to where we want to go.”
The catalyst regarded Joram with concern, having a sudden chilled feeling he knew the young man's destination. But before he could say a word, Joram continued, ”Besides, Simkin's magic can help us get past Blachloch's men.”
”That's nothing to worry about!” Simkin scoffed. ”There's always the Corridors, after all.”
”No!” Saryon cried, his voice hoa.r.s.e with fear. ”Would you walk into the arms of the Duuk-tsarith?” Duuk-tsarith?”
”Well, then, I could change us all into rabbits,” Simkin offered after a moment's profound thought. ”Get away in a hop, skip, and -”
”Father?” called a quavering voice from outside the prison window. ”Father Saryon? Are you in there?”
”Andon!” cried the catalyst, flinging open the door. ”Name of the Almin, what's the matter?”
The old Sorcerer appeared ready to drop on the spot. His hands trembled, the usually mild eyes were wild, his clothes disordered. ”Joram, bring a chair,” Saryon ordered, but Andon shook his head.