Legacy of the Darksword Read Online Free PDF
Author: Margaret Weis
of weakness. You recall the effort it took him to ask me to help him
create the Darksword. He was—”
Saryon paused. I had been
wondering when this would occur to him.
“Joram could not have forged
a Darksword,” he said excitedly. “Not without a catalyst. I drew Life from the
world, gave Life to the Darksword, which in turn used that Life to drain Life
from those who possessed it.”
“He didn’t need you to forge the
sword itself, Father. He only needed you to enhance its abilities.”
“But without a catalyst to do
that, the sword is no more dangerous than any other sword. Why would the
Technomancers still want it?”
“Consider the number of catalysts
among our people, Father. Catalysts living in poverty in the relocation camps,
who would be more than willing to exchange their gifts for the promise of
wealth and power from the Technomancers. Though the corrupt Bishop Vanya is now
dead, his legacy lives on among some of his followers.”
“Yes, I can see how that could be
true,” said Saryon sadly. “How did Joram manage to escape the
watchful eye of the Duuk-tsarith long enough to forge the sword?”
Mosiah shrugged and spread his
hands. “Who knows? Such a feat would be relatively simple, especially if he had
an amulet made of darkstone. Or, for all we know, he forged this sword years
ago, before we began to keep watch. None of that matters now, however. We
attempted to keep word of this new Darksword secret, but the Technomancers
found out. Their interest has been rekindled.”
“Are Joram and his family in
danger?” Saryon asked anxiously.
“Not for the moment, mainly
because of the efforts of the Duuk-tsarith. Ironic, isn’t it, Father.
Those who once sought Joram’s death now risk death themselves to guard his life.”
“ You?” Saryon asked. “You’re risking death?”
“Yes,” Mosiah replied, very
calmly. He gestured around the darkened room. “Thus the
reason for these precautions. The T’kon-Duuk are eager to get their hands on me. I know too many of their secrets, you see, Father.
I am a great danger to them. I have come to warn you of them, of the techniques
they will try to use to persuade you to take them with you to Joram—”
Saryon raised a hand to halt the
flow of words. Mosiah ceased speaking instantly, with a quiet respect for the
elderly catalyst which did much to increase his favor with me. I could never
trust him completely, not while he wore the black robes of the Enforcers. The Duuk-tsarith never worked for just one end. They worked for several and sought to gain the
middle into the bargain.
“I will not go,” Saryon said
firmly. “Have no fear of that. I would be of no use. I don’t know what you or
they or anyone else thinks I could do.”
“Joram respects and trusts you,
Father. Your influence with him is—” Mosiah broke off.
He was staring at me. They were
both staring at me. I had made a noise. It must, I realize, have sounded very
strange—a guttural sort of croak in my throat. I made a signal to my master.
“Reuven says that there is
something out there,” Saryon said.
The words had not yet left Saryon’s
lips before Mosiah was standing next to me. This sudden movement of his was at
least as startling as the apparition I thought I had seen outside the window.
One moment he was across the room from me, sitting in the darkened hallway, and the next instant he was by my side, peering out
the window. In his fluid, silent motion, he was one with the shadows. Imagine
my astonishment when, glancing back at my master to be certain he was all
right, I caught a glimpse of Mosiah, seated in his chair!
I realized, then, that the
Enforcer next to me was insubstantial. Mosiah’s shadow, so to speak, had been
sent on an errand by its master.
“What did you see? Tell me!
Immediately!” he demanded. The words blazed in my mind.
I signaled with my hands. Saryon
translated.
“Reuven says he thinks he saw a
person dressed all in
create the Darksword. He was—”
Saryon paused. I had been
wondering when this would occur to him.
“Joram could not have forged
a Darksword,” he said excitedly. “Not without a catalyst. I drew Life from the
world, gave Life to the Darksword, which in turn used that Life to drain Life
from those who possessed it.”
“He didn’t need you to forge the
sword itself, Father. He only needed you to enhance its abilities.”
“But without a catalyst to do
that, the sword is no more dangerous than any other sword. Why would the
Technomancers still want it?”
“Consider the number of catalysts
among our people, Father. Catalysts living in poverty in the relocation camps,
who would be more than willing to exchange their gifts for the promise of
wealth and power from the Technomancers. Though the corrupt Bishop Vanya is now
dead, his legacy lives on among some of his followers.”
“Yes, I can see how that could be
true,” said Saryon sadly. “How did Joram manage to escape the
watchful eye of the Duuk-tsarith long enough to forge the sword?”
Mosiah shrugged and spread his
hands. “Who knows? Such a feat would be relatively simple, especially if he had
an amulet made of darkstone. Or, for all we know, he forged this sword years
ago, before we began to keep watch. None of that matters now, however. We
attempted to keep word of this new Darksword secret, but the Technomancers
found out. Their interest has been rekindled.”
“Are Joram and his family in
danger?” Saryon asked anxiously.
“Not for the moment, mainly
because of the efforts of the Duuk-tsarith. Ironic, isn’t it, Father.
Those who once sought Joram’s death now risk death themselves to guard his life.”
“ You?” Saryon asked. “You’re risking death?”
“Yes,” Mosiah replied, very
calmly. He gestured around the darkened room. “Thus the
reason for these precautions. The T’kon-Duuk are eager to get their hands on me. I know too many of their secrets, you see, Father.
I am a great danger to them. I have come to warn you of them, of the techniques
they will try to use to persuade you to take them with you to Joram—”
Saryon raised a hand to halt the
flow of words. Mosiah ceased speaking instantly, with a quiet respect for the
elderly catalyst which did much to increase his favor with me. I could never
trust him completely, not while he wore the black robes of the Enforcers. The Duuk-tsarith never worked for just one end. They worked for several and sought to gain the
middle into the bargain.
“I will not go,” Saryon said
firmly. “Have no fear of that. I would be of no use. I don’t know what you or
they or anyone else thinks I could do.”
“Joram respects and trusts you,
Father. Your influence with him is—” Mosiah broke off.
He was staring at me. They were
both staring at me. I had made a noise. It must, I realize, have sounded very
strange—a guttural sort of croak in my throat. I made a signal to my master.
“Reuven says that there is
something out there,” Saryon said.
The words had not yet left Saryon’s
lips before Mosiah was standing next to me. This sudden movement of his was at
least as startling as the apparition I thought I had seen outside the window.
One moment he was across the room from me, sitting in the darkened hallway, and the next instant he was by my side, peering out
the window. In his fluid, silent motion, he was one with the shadows. Imagine
my astonishment when, glancing back at my master to be certain he was all
right, I caught a glimpse of Mosiah, seated in his chair!
I realized, then, that the
Enforcer next to me was insubstantial. Mosiah’s shadow, so to speak, had been
sent on an errand by its master.
“What did you see? Tell me!
Immediately!” he demanded. The words blazed in my mind.
I signaled with my hands. Saryon
translated.
“Reuven says he thinks he saw a
person dressed all in