Legacy Of The Darksword Part 27

Four more paces and Kevon Smythe would b.u.mp right into us. At the second pace, the D'karn-darah D'karn-darah that was Simkin came to a halt. that was Simkin came to a halt.

Smythe stopped, turned to face him.

"What's all this about?" he asked irritably.

"Sir," said Simkin, "the representatives of the Hch'nyv have arrived in Zith-el."

I heard a soft gasp, as if Mosiah had been punched in the solar plexus. Scylla exhaled softly.

Smythe's color went from red to sallow yellow, as if someone had opened a major artery and drained all his blood in an instant. Such stark terror was on his face that I could almost have felt sorry for him. He quickly recovered his equanimity, but the vestiges of that fear remained.

"What do they want?" he asked, his voice under tight control.

"The Darksword," said Simkin laconically.

Smythe cast a furious glance back toward the prison. "We haven't recovered it yet. We will. They must give us more time."

"Earth Forces are in retreat. Earth takeover is beginning. You haven't much time. Such were their words to us. It is their religious leaders that are pushing the issue, sir. Their G.o.ds or whatever it is they worship have warned them that the Darksword is a distinct threat."

"I know all about their blasted G.o.ds!" Smythe said, his voice shaking with fury and fear. Once again, he clamped down hard on himself. "We made a deal. Remind them of it. They have Earth in exchange for the Darksword. We have Thimhallan. They provide us with Death. We provide them with Life. We will recover the Darksword and we will give it to them, but in our own good time. Tell them that."

Simkin shook his silver-hooded head. "They will not listen to those they consider underlings."

Smythe fumed, glanced again at the prison, in an agony of indecision. "Very well. I'll go deal with the matter." He turned on his heel, stalked away, shouting orders. "My guards! Come with me. I'm needed back at HQ. You two. Kill the priest. I don't care how. Do it slowly and make certain Joram has a ringside seat."

"What if he decides to talk, Master?"

"Get his information, then transport him immediately to me at HQ. Use the teleporter."

"Yes, sir. Do we still kill the priest?"

"What do you think?" Smythe demanded impatiently. "He's of no use to me."

"Yes, sir. Could you leave someone to help us, sir? The tele-porter is not functioning efficiently on this planet."

"I'll stay here and give them a hand," said Simkin from beneath his silver hood.

"Very well." Smythe was obviously anxious to be gone. He left the cavern, his four bodyguards trooping after him.

I looked at the others, to see my own feelings of revulsion, horror, and fury reflected on their faces. I could not comprehend how any human could be so consumed with power that he would make a deal with a heinous enemy, a deal sacrificing millions of his fellow humans on the altar of his own ambition.

The two Technomancers went into the prison to retrieve the captives. Simkin remained outside, rocking back and forth on his heels and humming to himself. The humming was off-key and extremely jarring to the nerves. He did not once look in our direction or give us the slightest sign.

I was beginning to think that we had been mistaken. Perhaps the Technomancer wasn't Simkin, after all. Perhaps it was merely a Technomancer with an odd taste in footwear.

Mosiah shared my doubts. "That fool! What's he doing? If it is is him . . ." him . . ."

"Whether it is or it isn't, he got rid of Smythe," Scylla pointed out. "And four of the guards. We should attack now."

"Let them bring the hostages out of the cell first," said Mosiah. "They're probably using a stasis field to hold them and we'd never be able to remove it ourselves."

"Good point, Enforcer," said Scylla admiringly. "What's the plan?"

"Plan!" Mosiah snorted. "I'm "I'm the only one with a weapon and that's my magic." the only one with a weapon and that's my magic."

"Not even a laser pistol would have any effect on that protective armor of theirs," Scylla returned in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. "Besides, I have my own weapons."

"Which are?"

"You'll see. I guarantee you that I'll put one out of commission, if you can handle the other."

Mosiah didn't like it, but this was no time to argue. We could hear scuffling sounds from inside the prison. Simkin's humming grew louder and more nerve-racking, if that was possible.

"At my signal, Scylla, you attack," Mosiah ordered. "Reuven, you and Eliza rescue Joram and Father Saryon."

"Where do we take them?" Eliza asked.

"Down the tunnel.Back to the cavern where you hid the Darksword."

"What then?"

"Let's get that far first," Mosiah said.

Simkin's humming was setting my teeth on edge. I've never heard such a strange and ear-piercing sound come from any living human throat. But then, this was Simkin. The two Technomancer guards emerged. One had hold of Father Saryon. He looked upset and anxious, but I knew that his anxiety was for Joram, not for himself, though he was the one who was about to be put to death. Saryon kept twisting his head, trying to see over his shoulder, trying to see Joram, who was being dragged out behind him.

At the sight of her father, Eliza gave a small moan and immediately covered her mouth with her hand to prevent any further cries from escaping her.

Joram's skin was a grayish white, beaded with sweat. Blood matted his hair and was caked on one side of his face, where a deep, ugly wound crossed over his cheek, almost laying the bone bare. His right hand was clasped over his left arm, which hung limp. His shirt was torn, blood covered the shirtfront, and the sleeve of the left arm was saturated. The stimulant, his fever, and his anger gave his eyes an unnatural l.u.s.ter. He was weak, but grimly alert and defiant.

"Release Father Saryon. Then and only then will I tell you where to find the Darksword."

"You'll tell us," said one of the Technomancers. "When you see the priest lying there with half his flesh flayed from his body, screaming for us to end his torment in death, you'll tell us."

The Technomancer flung Father Saryon to the ground. His hands were bound, he was unable to break his fall, and he landed heavily, crying out in pain. I would have rushed forward then and there, but common sense and Mosiah's whispered warning prevailed.

Simkin approached Father Saryon, looked down at him.

There was a sharp snapping sound.

The Technomancer standing nearest Simkin stared wildly, gasped, and backed away.

"What are you doing?" he cried shrilly.

"Following orders," said Simkin. "Giving you a hand."

He held out his own hand, which he had broken off at the wrist.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX.

The magic that Joram longed for and sought every morning to feel burning in his soul never came to him.

When he was fifteen, he stopped asking Anja when he would gain the magic.

Deep inside of him, he already knew the answer.

FORGING THE DARKSWORD.

" I In addition, I'll help you get ahead," Simkin added. He lifted his head from his shoulders-unscrewed his head would be more precisely the term-and flung it straight at one of the Technomancers.

The man may have had some small magical powers, although from what I had seen, the Technomancers were so beholden to Technology as to make the magic almost irrelevant. Certainly he had never seen magic in such maniacal form. He gaped when Simkin broke off his own hand. But when Simkin's head, covered with a silver hood, the ends flapping, flew through the air at him, the Technomancer gave a strangled cry and flung his arms over his face. Simkin's head exploded with a force that stopped my heart, shook the cave . . . and resulted in a shower of daisies.

"Now!" Mosiah yelled. Mosiah yelled.

The Life flowed through him and transformed him as he ran. His black robes writhed around him, flattened to cover his body in spiky black fur. His head elongated, changed to a muzzle with yellow fangs protruding from beneath black, curled lips. His legs transformed into the legs of a beast, his forearms were covered with black fur, claws sprouted from the fingernails. The hem of his robes twisted into a tail with a barb sharp as a razor. Mosiah had become a darkrover, the type known as a hunterkill, one of the most feared of all the creations of the ancient war masters.

The Technomancer uncovered his eyes, gazed in bafflement at the daisies drifting down around his head. They might have been scattered over his grave. The next sight he saw was a terrible one-a hunterkill bounding across the cavern floor, running upright on its powerful hind legs, jaws snapping, its claws reaching for the Technomancer's throat.

His silver robes acted as armor, capable-as Scylla had said- of deflecting all attacks by conventional weapons. The darkrover was certainly not a conventional weapon, however. Mosiah hurled himself on the Technomancer. The silver robes crackled and the darkrover shrieked in pain, but Mosiah's claws scratched and tore. His weight carried the Technomancer to the ground.

The other Technomancer guard was not quite as befuddled by the magic surging around him as his fellow. A weapon appeared in his hand, a scythe, that gleamed with a fell energy. He stood over Father Saryon, swinging the scythe in a vicious arc. The blade sang as it whipped through the air, reminding me of Simkin's off-key humming.

Eliza and I held back, agonized, afraid for the captives. But there was nothing we could do. Saryon lay flattened on the ground. Every sweep of the scythe came a little closer to him. Joram was behind the scythe-wielding Technomancer, leaning up against the cavern wall, his eyes bright and burning with the effects of the poison. He lurched forward, with the idea of knocking down the Technomancer from behind.

The guard heard him, however. Whipping the scythe around, he struck Joram on the side of the head with its handle. Joram fell, landed near Father Saryon. Even then, defiantly, Joram raised his head. Blood, fresh blood, covered his face. His head sank between his arms. He lay still.

Eliza cried out and would have run to her father, regardless of her own danger. I caught hold of her, held her.

"Allow me, Your Majesty," said Scylla, and advanced, barehanded, on the Technomancer wielding the scythe.

"Be careful, Scylla!" the darkrover shouted, using Mosiah's voice.

The jaws of the hunterkill dribbled blood and saliva, its claws were red, blood smeared its black fur. I glanced over at its prey and was sorry I did. Hastily, I averted my gaze from what was left of the Technomancer's body. It was covered with blood and daisies.

"That scythe can drain a person of Life," Mosiah cautioned.

"I don't know why you think that would affect me," Scylla said, flashing Mosiah a grin and a wink.

She advanced on the Technomancer, watching his movements, and suddenly kicked out her leg in the path of the swinging scythe. Eliza covered her eyes. I watched in horror, expecting to see Scylla's leg hacked off by the vicious blade.

The blade struck her combat boot and shattered, flying apart in thousands of tiny sparkling shards as if it had been brittle and fragile as ice. I could not see the expression on the silver-hooded head, but I could guess that he was staring at his weapon in astonishment. He quickly recovered, however, shifted his hands to use the scythe's handle as a club, and tried to jab Scylla.

She struck out with the heel of her boot, catching the Technomancer full in the nose of his silver-hooded head. I heard a sickening, crackling sound and thought at first it was the silver armor's defensive shield activating. A smear of blood blossomed on the silver hood. The sound had had been the man's nose breaking. He toppled over backward. A kick to the head while he was on the ground finished him. been the man's nose breaking. He toppled over backward. A kick to the head while he was on the ground finished him.

"What's going on in there?" a voice shouted from outside the cavern. "Is everything all right?"

"More Technos," said Mosiah. He had retained his darkrover shape, his eyes glowed red and hideous. "They must be the ones guarding the teleporter. They'll be here quickly. They've got a hover barge! Go!" he urged, waving b.l.o.o.d.y claws at us. "Take Father Saryon and Joram and go! I will deal with these."

Saryon was on his knees, bending over the unconscious Joram. Eliza was at her father's side, holding his hand. I wondered how we would manage to carry him with us, for he was a tall man and muscular.

"I won't leave Joram," said Saryon firmly.

"Nor will I," Eliza said. Tears streamed down her face but I don't believe that she was aware of them.

"Smythe has the antidote to the poison." Saryon's gaze went to Eliza. "Do you know where the Darksword is?"

"Yes, Father."

"Then we must find it and give it to him. It is the only way to save your father's life."

"He may not keep his end of the bargain," Scylla cautioned.

"Perhaps he will," Saryon said bleakly. "He must."

"We must carry him away from this place," Scylla urged. "We should not leave him here for them to find. They might take out their wrath at your escape on him."

She touched Joram on the forehead. Her deft hands glided smoothly over the broken skin, wiping away the blood.

Joram opened his eyes, blinked, as if he were looking into a dazzling light.

"The guards aren't answering. Something's wrong," came the voice from outside the cavern. "I'm going to go check." .

"Go!" Mosiah snarled. He bounded over to hide in the shadows near the cavern entrance.

"I can make it," Joram said, fending off all offers of a.s.sistance. "I don't need any help."

As it was, he stumbled when he tried to rise, but Scylla was there, her strong arm and shoulder supporting him.

"Reuven," she called, "take hold of him from the other side."

I did as she commanded. Hastening to Joram's side, I caught hold of him around the waist. He glowered at both Scylla and me and for a moment I thought he was going to defy us.

"If you don't allow us to help you, sir," Scylla said quietly, "you will not move ten paces from this spot. When you fall, your daughter will remain with you, as will Father Saryon. The Technomancers will catch them and that will be an end to all which you have struggled to protect. Is that what you want?"

Joram's forbidding expression dissolved. He shook his head. "No. I will accept your help." He glanced over at me. "And Reuven's."

"Eliza, you lead the way," Scylla said. "Hurry now."

"Wait!" Eliza turned to Father Saryon. "Where is Mother? Was she in that prison with you?"

"No, child," Saryon said, looking concerned. "She was not. I thought perhaps you might know-"

Eliza shook her head.