Legacy of the Darksword Read Online Free PDF Page B

silver—”
    Mosiah—the Mosiah seated in the
chair—was on his feet. His shadow had returned to its body.
    “They are here,” he said. “The D’karn-darah. Blood-doom
knights. Either they followed me or they have come for their own
reasons. I fear it is the latter. You are not safe here, either of you. You
must come with me. Now!”
    “ We’re not dressed!” Saryon
protested.
    It must be a very real and
present danger which sends an elderly man dashing out into the cold winter
night clad only in his nightshirt and bedslippers.
    “You don’t need to be,” Mosiah
replied. “Your bodies aren’t going anywhere, except to bed. Follow my
instructions exactly. Father, remain where you are. Reuven, go upstairs to your
room and climb into your bed.”
    I was not happy at the thought of
leaving my master, though what I could have done against the power of the Duuk-tsarith was open to question. Saryon indicated with a nod that we were to obey
Mosiah and that is what I did. I urged Mosiah to care for my master and left to
go upstairs to my small room.
    Saryon always waited until he
heard me in the bedroom, which was on the level above his, before turning out
the downstairs light. Tonight was the exception since his light was already
off. As I have said, it was usually my practice to spend some time writing,
but—acting on Mosiah’s orders—I abandoned this custom and retired immediately
to my bed. I turned out my light and the house was dark.
    Lying alone in the darkness, I
began to be afraid. It is easy to frighten oneself at this time of night. I
recalled childhood terrors of monsters lurking in the closet. The fear I
experienced could not be banished by a flashlight, however. I wondered why I
was experiencing this feeling of dread and I realized it was because I felt
Mosiah’s fear.
    Whatever is out there in the
night must be terrible, I thought, to have frightened someone as powerful as
the Duuk-tsarith.
    Ilay in my bed, ears
stretched to catch every sound. The night had its usual noises, I suppose, but
they were all alarming to me, who had never before paid them much heed. The bark of a dog, the whine and snarl of fighting cats, a lone
automobile traveling up the street. I invested these with such sinister
meanings that when Mosiah’s words again lit up my mind, I was so startled that
my shudder shook the bed frame.
    “Come to me,” said Mosiah. “Not
your body. Leave that behind. Let your soul rise from its shell and walk with
me.”
    I had no idea what the man was
talking about.
    I think I would have laughed—in
fact, I am afraid that I did giggle, perhaps from nervous tension—except that I
felt his dire urgency. Bewildered, I lay in my bed, wondering what I was supposed
to do, wondering if my master knew what to do. Mosiah—or perhaps I should say
the “shadow” of Mosiah—took form in the darkness, standing at the foot of the
bed.
    He held out his hand to me. “It
is quite simple,” he said. “You are coming with me. Your body is staying
behind. My body is downstairs right now. Yet here I stand before you. Picture yourself rising up out of bed and walking with me. You are a
writer. You must have traveled like this in your imagination many times. When I
read your description of Merilon, I could see it again in my mind, it was so
vivid. You are a professional day-dreamer, one might say. Simply concentrate a
little bit more.”
    And when I did not immediately
move, Mosiah’s tone sharpened. “Saryon will not leave without you. You are
putting him in danger.”
    He knew that would rouse me. It
would have roused me from my grave. I closed my eyes and imagined myself rising
up from my bed and joining Mosiah. At first, nothing happened. I was in such a
flutter of excitement and fear that it was difficult to concentrate.
    “Relax,” Mosiah said softly,
hypnotically. “Relax and slough off the heaviness of the body that weighs you
down.”
    His words no longer burned in my
mind, but seemed to flow