"Weis, Margaret & Hickman, Tracy - Darksword 02 - Doom of the Darksword UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weis Margaret)
have said it was there by the god's will. Could he break it, betray it?
What will happen to Joram? His words to the Bishop echoed in his mind. And he knew the answer. Bishop Vanya had taken the baby away to die. He could do no less with the man.
Saryon opened his eyes, facing the gray dawn in which there was no warmth but in which there was truth Ч cold though it might be.
If I take Joram back, I take him back to death.
The false peace seeped out of the catalyst, leaving behind the same bleak, dark void. There were too many unanswered questions, too many lies. Bishop Vanya had lied to the Emperor and Empress, who believed their baby dead. He'd lied to Saryon when he sent him out after Joram. And he would have continued to lie if Saryon had not caught him. Of that, the catalyst felt certain. He could not trust Vanya. He could trust no one. The only truth Saryon had to ciing 'to was within himself. He sighed heavily. He would follow that truth, and hoped it would guide him through the morass surrounding him.
And where was Joram, anyway? He should have been back by now. Something must have gone wrong. . . .
The sunlight was blotted out by two dark shapes materializing within the center of the room like the ghosts of Saryon s conscience. Fearfully, the catalyst stared-at them, his heart in his throat, until one spoke.
"I say," remarked a voice, as bright and mocking as the sun, "look here, Joram. You and I are out there, braving the peril of the wilds, and here lies the Priest of Bald Pates, sleeping like the dead as the Baron of Dunstable Manor was wont to do before they buried him by mistake."
Stain Removal
"I
loram?" Saryon said hesitantly.
Sitting upright, the catalyst stared at the two young men standing in the center of the cell. They had come so suddenly, appearing out of nowhere, that Saryon wondered if they were real or were a manifestation of his thoughts.
But the voice that answered was real enough, as was the irritation. "Who the hell else would it be?" snapped Joram, further proving his reality by walking over to the table and grabbing the water pitcher. Upon discovering the ice inside, he set it back down with a bitter curse.
"Hush!" Saryon warned, but it was too late.
At the noise, a guards face suddenly peered in the barred window, causing the other young man accompanying Joram to shout in alarm.
"Egad! Run for your iives! A loathsome beast is upon us Ч Oh, beg your pardon" Чas the guard's face twisted into a scowlЧ " 'tisn't a loathsome beast. Just one of Blachlochs men. My mistake. Must have been the smell that confused me." The guard disappeared with a snarl, and Simkm, sniffing, covered his nose with his hand.
Saryon hurried across the small room. "Are you ail right?" he asked Joram, looking at him in concern.
20
WEIS AND HICKMAN
DOOM OF THE DARKSWORD
21
The young man raised dark eyes that were shadowed with fatigue; his stern face was haggard. His clothes were torn and stained with dirt and a substance Saryon realized with sick horror was blood. There were traces of blood upon his hands as well.
" "I'm fine," Joram responded tiredly, sinking down in a chair.
"But . . ." Saryon laid a hand upon the slumped shoulder. "You look dreadful Ч "
"I resent that remark!" Simkin said, drawing a bit of orange silk from the air with a flourish and dabbing at his nose. "Please don't lump me in amongst you rabble."
Indeed, Simkin appeared to have just come from an evening with the Emperor. The only change noticeable in the foppish young man was the somewhat startling fact that his usually colorful clothes were now completely black Ч even to the lace that covered his wrists.
Sighing, Saryon drew away from Joram. Rubbing his cold hands, he wrapped them in the sleeves of his shabby robe in a futile endeavor to warm them.
"Did you have any trouble getting back here last night?" Joram asked the catalyst.
"No. The guards knew I was with . . . Blachloch." Saryon coughed, choking over the name. "I told them he had finished with me and . . . sent me back. They shut me up in here without question. But you?" The catalyst stared at Joram, then Simkin, in wonder. "How did you get here? And where have you been? Did anyone see you?" He glanced involuntarily out the window at the house across the street where Blachlochs guards lived, keeping watch on the prisoners.
"See us! Gad, how insulting!" Simkin sniffed. "As if I would appear in public in this garb!" He raised a black sleeve contemptuously. "I'm wearing this now only because it seems suited to the occasion."
"But how did you get here?" Saryon persisted.
"The Corridors, of course." Simkin shrugged.
"But . . . that's impossible!" Saryon gasped, almost incoherent in his amazement. "The Thon-Li, the Corridor Masters!
They would have stopped Ч You had no catalyst to grant you sufficient Life or ... or open themЧ"
"Technicalities." Simkin waved a black lace-covered hand. He took a turn about the room, admiring his black shoes and continuing to talk. "I was speaking of something when we came in, and between you and the appearance of that loutish face in the window, which has, by the way, completely taken away my appetite for breakfast, it's been quite driven from my mind. What was it?"
"Joram," Saryon began, trying to ignore Simkin. "Where were Ч "
"Oh, yes. I recall." Simkin frowned, hand to his head. "Burying the baron by mistake. He took it all quite well. Thought it a capital joke, in fact. He did have a small problem crawling out from beneath the marble slab and then there were a few tense moments when we mistook him for a vampire and attempted to drive a stake through his heart. Discovered he was flesh and blood, however, and sent for the Tbeldara at once. Patched up the hole in his chest. Never better. Understandable mistake. But the grieving widow, a different story." Simkin heaved a sigh. "Never forgave him for ruining the funeral."
"Joram! Where have you been? What happened?" Saryon asked insistently when Simkin paused for breath.
"Wheres the Darksword?" Joram demanded abruptly.
"Where you keep it hidden. I brought it back, as I promised. It is safe," Saryon added, seeing Joram's dark eyes rest on him with sudden suspicion. "As you said, I could not destroy what I had helped create."
Joram stood up. "Simkin, watch the window," he ordered.
"Must I? If that lout looms up at me, I'll vomit. I swear Ч "
"Just watch the window!" Joram said grimly.
Placing the orange silk firmly over his mouth and nose, Sim-kin moved obligingly
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WEIS AND HICKMAN
Saryon. The pale sunlight cast a gray glow upon the face of the older man, who was regarding him with a solemn, grave expression.
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