Legacy Of The Darksword Part 3

"Death," said Mosiah.

CHAPTER FOUR.

Like a Living being, the sword sucked the magic from him, drained him. dry, then used him to continue to absorb magic from all around it.

FORGING THE DARKSWORD.

"Death!" Saryon tried to s.n.a.t.c.h the object from me, but I was too quick for him. I clasped my hand over it tightly.

"I do not mean for any of us, here and now," Mosiah said. His voice held a note of gentle rebuke. "I would not have allowed this to remain in this room if it had been dangerous."

Saryon and I exchanged glances, both considerably ashamed.

"Of course, Mosiah," Saryon said. "Forgive me-forgive us us-for not trusting you. . . . It's just ... it has all been so strange. . . . Those dreadful people. . . ." He s.h.i.+vered and drew his robe closer around his tall, spare form.

"Who were they?" I gestured. "And what is this?"

I opened my palm. In it lay a round medallion about two inches in diameter made of very hard, heavy plastic. The medallion had what appeared to be a sort of magnet on the back. One side was clear. I could see inside and what I saw was very strange. Encased in the medallion was some sort of bluish-green, thick, and viscous sludge. As I held the medallion in my hand the sludge began undulating, surging against the sides of the medallion, as if it were trying to escape. It was not a pleasant sight and made me feel queasy to watch it.

I was loath to hold on to the medallion longer and I fidgeted with it in my hand.

"It ... it looks as if it's alive!" Saryon said, frowning in disgust.

"They are," Mosiah answered. "Or rather they were. Most are already dead, which is why the D'karn-darah D'karn-darah gave this up. The rest will be dead shortly." gave this up. The rest will be dead shortly."

"The rest of what! What's trapped in there?" Saryon was horrified and looked about vaguely, as if for something he could use to crack the medallion open.

"I will explain in a moment. I am first going to remove the listening devices which the D'karn-darah D'karn-darah placed in your living room and in the phone. They made their presence known. There is no longer any reason to keep up the pretense." placed in your living room and in the phone. They made their presence known. There is no longer any reason to keep up the pretense."

He left the room, returned a moment later. "There. Now we may speak freely."

I handed over the medallion, thankful to be rid of it.

"A very elemental organism," Mosiah said, holding it to the light. "A sort of organic soup, if you will. Single-celled creatures, who are born and bred by the Technomancers for one purpose- to die."

"How terrible!" said Saryon, shocked.

"But not much different from calves," I pointed out, "who are born only to become veal."

"Perhaps," Saryon said with a a smile and a shake of his head. smile and a shake of his head.

The only disagreements-I can't even call them arguments- he and I have ever had have been over the fact that I am a vegetarian, while he enjoys a bit of chicken or beef on occasion. Early in my arrival, I made the attempt-in my zeal-to convert him to my way of thinking. I made life very unhappy for us both, I am sorry to say, until we reached an agreement to respect each other's opinions. He now views my bean curd with equanimity and I no longer stage a protest over a hamburger.

"The living always feed off the dead," said Mosiah. "The hawk kills the mouse. Big fish eat their smaller cousins. The rabbit kills the dandelion it devours, if it comes to that. The dandelion feeds off the nutrients in the soil, nutrients which come from the decomposing bodies of other plants and animals. Life thrives on death. Such is the cycle."

Saryon was quite struck by this. "I never looked at it that way."

"Nor have I," I signed, thoughtful.

"The Dark Cultists have, for generations," Mosiah continued. "They carried their beliefs one step further. If death was the basis for life-"

"Then Death would be the basis for Life!" Saryon said, suddenly understanding.

It took me a moment longer to understand, mainly because I did not, at the time, hear the capital letters in his words.

Of course, when he spoke of Life, he was referring to magic, for the people of Thimhallan believe that magic is Life and that those born without the ability to use magic are Dead. And that, one might say, was the beginning of the story of Joram and the Darksword.

The magic-or Life-is present in all things living. The dandelion possesses its tiny share, as do the rabbit and the hawk, the fish, and we humans ourselves. In very ancient times certain people discovered how to take the Life from things around them and used it to perform what others considered miracles. They termed such miracles "magic" and those who could not use the magic feared and distrusted it immensely. Wizards and witches were persecuted and slain.

"But who are the Dark Cultists?" Saryon asked.

"Recall your history lessons, Father," Mosiah said. "Recall how the magi of ancient times came together and determined to leave Earth and find another world-a world where magic could flourish and grow, not wither and die as it was bound to do on this one.

"Recall how Merlyn, the greatest of us all, led his people into the stars and how he founded the new world, Thimhallan, where magic was concentrated, trapped, so that it seemed to have disappeared from Earth completely."

" 'Seemed to have'?" Saryon repeated.

"Excuse me," I signed, "but if we are going to stay up for the rest of the night, may I suggest that we move to the kitchen? I'll turn up the heat and make tea for everyone."

We had been standing, s.h.i.+vering-at least Saryon and I were s.h.i.+vering-in Saryon's bedroom. He looked haggard and weary, but neither he nor I could sleep now, after so many astounding and puzzling events.

"That is," I added, "unless you think those terrible beings will return."

Saryon translated my gestures, but I had the feeling that wasn't necessary. Mosiah understood me-either my thoughts or the sign language.

"The D'karn-darah D'karn-darah will not come back this night," Mosiah said with confidence. "They thought to ambush me, to take me by surprise. They know now that I am aware of them. They will not face me in direct battle. They would be forced to kill me and they do not want my death. They want to capture me-they will not come back this night," Mosiah said with confidence. "They thought to ambush me, to take me by surprise. They know now that I am aware of them. They will not face me in direct battle. They would be forced to kill me and they do not want my death. They want to capture me-they must must capture me-alive." capture me-alive."

"Why?" Saryon asked.

"Because I infiltrated their organization. I am the only disciple of the blood-doom knights to have ever escaped their clutches alive. I know their secrets. The D'karn-darah D'karn-darah want to find out how much I know and, most importantly, who else knows. They hope, by capturing me, that I will tell them. They are wrong," he said simply, but with firm conviction. "I would die first." want to find out how much I know and, most importantly, who else knows. They hope, by capturing me, that I will tell them. They are wrong," he said simply, but with firm conviction. "I would die first."

"Let us have some tea," Saryon said quietly.

He put his hand on Mosiah's arm, and I knew now that my master trusted this man implicitly. I wanted to, but it was all so strange. It was hard for me to trust my own senses, let alone trust another person. Had what happened really happened? Had I truly left my body? Had I hidden away in a fold of time?

I filled the teakettle with water, put it on the burner, brought out the teapot and cups. Mosiah sat at the table. He declined to have tea. He held, in his hand, the medallion. None of us spoke, the entire time we waited for the water to boil, the tea to steep. When, at last, I poured my master's tea, I had begun to believe.

"Start at the beginning," said Saryon.

"Do you mind," I indicated, "if I take notes?"

Saryon frowned and shook his head, but Mosiah said he did not mind and that our experiences might, someday, make an interesting book. He only hoped people would still be left alive on Earth to read it.

I retrieved my small computer from my bedroom, and seated with the computer in my lap, I wrote down his words.

"The Dark Cultists have existed down through time, although we, in Thimhallan, had no record of them. What we knew as the Council of Nine on Thimhallan, representing the nine magical arts, was once the Council of Thirteen here on Earth. At that time the Council believed that all magi should be represented, even those who held diverse ethical views, and so those who practiced the dark side of magic were included. Perhaps some of the more naive members hoped to turn their brothers and sisters who walked in the shadows back to the light. If so, they did not succeed and, in fact, they incorporated their own eventual downfall.

"It was the Dark Cultists who poisoned the mundane of Earth against magi. Life did not come from life, for them. Life-or magic-came from death. They engaged in human and animal sacrifice, believing that the deaths of others enhanced their power. Cruel and selfish, they used their arcane arts only to indulge themselves, to further their own ambition, to enslave and seduce, to destroy.

"The mundane fought back. They held witch trials, inquisitions. Magi were rounded up, tortured until they confessed, and were burned or hanged or drowned. Among these were many members of the Council who had used their magic for good, not evil. Shocked and saddened by their losses, the Council of Thirteen met to consider what to do.

"The Four Dark Cults-the Cult of the White Steed, the Black Steed, the Red Steed, and the Pale Steed-all advocated war and conquest. They would rise up and destroy those who opposed them, enslaving all who survived. The Nine Cults of Light refused even to consider this option. Furious, the Four members stormed out of the meeting. In their absence, the other members made their decision. They would leave Earth forever. Realizing now the danger the Dark Cultists represented to their order, the Council took care that the Dark Cultists were excluded from all their plans.

"In A.D. 1600, when Merlyn and the Council of Nine left this world, the Dark Cultists found out about the exodus, but-so well kept was the secret-they were too late either to impede the exodus or to force their way along. They were left behind on Earth.

"At first, they welcomed the change, for the Council of Nine had long curtailed the activities of the Dark Cultists. They saw themselves as rulers of the people of Earth and so they set out to advance their goals. But during this time on Thimhallan, Merlyn established the Well of the World, which drew magic from Earth and concentrated it within the boundaries of Thimhallan. The Dark Cultists found themselves bereft of their magical power.

"They were enraged, but helpless. They knew well what had happened, that magic was being kept within Thimhallan. Their powers dwindled, except for times of famine or plague or war, when Death stalked the world and increased their power. Even then, they could perform only small magicks, mostly for their own personal benefit. They never lost their ambition, nor their memory of how powerful they had once been. They believed that there would come a time when they would rise again.

"And so, down through the ages, the Four kept their loose-knit organization. Parents would pa.s.s on this dark inheritance to their children. Worthy recruits were brought into the circle. Fearful of discovery, the Four worked their Dark Arts in isolation, keeping apart from others. Yet they always knew each other, one mage recognizing a fellow mage by certain secret signs and countersigns.

"A central organization existed, run by the Khandic Sages. So secret was this that few of the members ever knew who was in control. Once a year the Sol-huena, Sol-huena, the Collectors, appeared at the door of every Dark Cultist, demanding a t.i.the, which was used to keep the Council operational. The only time members ever came together was if one of their own had been lax in payment of funds or had broken one of their strict rules. The wizards of the Black Steed, the the Collectors, appeared at the door of every Dark Cultist, demanding a t.i.the, which was used to keep the Council operational. The only time members ever came together was if one of their own had been lax in payment of funds or had broken one of their strict rules. The wizards of the Black Steed, the Sol-t'kan Sol-t'kan or Judges, sat in judgment and pa.s.sed sentence. The or Judges, sat in judgment and pa.s.sed sentence. The Sol-huena Sol-huena carried out that sentence. carried out that sentence.

"Eventually, as time pa.s.sed, the modern world no longer believed in witches and warlocks. The Dark Cultists were able to leave their cellars and their caves, where they had once practiced their arts, move into apartments and town houses. They entered politics, became government ministers and rulers of nations, and when it suited their purposes, fomented war and rebellion. They delight in suffering and death, for by such is their power enhanced.

"And then came the day when the Darksword was created."

Mosiah glanced at Saryon, who smiled gently and sighed softly and shook his head. For though he did not regret his part in the creation of the Darksword and the eventual downfall of Thimhallan and often said that he would do it again, he as often added that he wished change could have been accomplished with much less pain and suffering.

"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 gla.s.s 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 ma.s.s-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, kind of magic battery, I typed. 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 circ.u.mference would encompa.s.s this block. Various gases are pumped into the vats. An electrical current is pa.s.sed through the gases. The result is this simple form of life. Great quant.i.ties are manufactured. The living ma.s.s 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 p.r.o.ne 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 want you to take them to Joram." 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?" 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 a.s.sured."

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 had been able to discover the sword's location and safely remove it. The Technomancers would then have no interest in him. Rest a.s.sured, Father, if you do not acquire the Darksword by peaceful means, they will take it by whatever means they can." been able to discover the sword's location and safely remove it. The Technomancers would then have no interest in him. Rest a.s.sured, 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!" Duuk-tsarith!" Saryon demanded, the fire within him burning bright. "What means will Saryon demanded, the fire within him burning bright. "What means will you you use to take the sword?" 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?"