Legacy of the Darksword Read Free

those catalysts
who rebelled against the Church’s authority. Why one of these people should
drop by Saryon’s house for a chat in the small hours of the night was beyond
him. He could only stare and stammer and whisper to me something to the effect
that, if the person would permit us to turn on the lights and let us see a
face, such an act would aid recognition considerably.
    “All will be made clear soon
enough,” said the Enforcer, and it seemed to me that there was a sad quality to
his words, as if the man—it was a man, I had at last ascertained that much—was
disappointed that Saryon had not recognized him. “Now, follow my instructions.
Return to the kitchen and prepare your tea, as you normally do. Take the cup to
your bedroom, as you normally do, and lie down to read to this young man, as
you normally do. Don’t deviate from your nightly habits in even one instance,
either of you. You can be seen from the bedroom window. I do not think that I
was followed, but I can’t be certain.”
    This last sentence was not
conducive to relieving our apprehension. We did as we were commanded, however.
As a catalyst, Saryon was accustomed to obedience, as was I, having been raised
a servant in the royal household. In this case, it made no sense for my master
to stand around in his nightshirt, arguing. We went to the kitchen.
    The Duuk-tsarith remained
in the darkened living room, but I could feel the man’s eyes on me. It was
extremely unnerving. Until now, neither Saryon nor I had realized that we had
developed “nightly habits.” Consequently, when this fact was brought to our
attention, and we were forced to think about what we did every night, we couldn’t
remember doing any of it.
    “Don’t think,” came the voice of the Duuk-tsarith. “Let your body take over. When you are
settled in your bed, Father, then we will talk.”
    This was not exactly the way we
would have chosen to spend our evening, but we didn’t have much choice. Saryon
took the Enforcer’s advice and tried not to think about what he was doing. He
turned off the kettle, which had been whistling loudly, though we’d been too
distraught to notice. He poured the water, stirred the tea. I added to it a
plate of digestible biscuits. We tottered—tea and biscuits in hand—off to his
bedroom.
    The Duuk-tsarith glided
along silently behind.
    Saryon, remembering the duties of
a host, paused, turned, and held up the teacup, asking in dumb show if his
visitor would like to share our repast.
    “Keep moving!” The voice in my
head was urgent. Then it added, in softer tones, “No, thank you.”
    Saryon went to his small bedroom,
where he placed the tea and the biscuits on the nightstand beside his bed. I
pulled up the chair. Picking up the book, I found the place where we had left
off reading last night.
    Saryon climbed into bed and it
was only when he was safely tucked beneath the sheets that he remembered he
usually brushed his teeth at this point. He looked at me, made a motion of
using a toothbrush. I shrugged my shoulders, helpless to advise or assist.
    Flustered, he was about to
mention it to the Enforcer, then changed his mind. Giving me another glance, he
settled himself. He opened the book, and drank a sip of tea. I usually ate a
biscuit, but at that moment, due to the dryness in my mouth, I couldn’t have
swallowed one and I feared I would choke.
    The Duuk-tsarith, watching
us from the shadowed hallway, appeared satisfied. He left momentarily, returned
with a chair from the kitchen, and sat down in the hall. Again came the whispered
words of magic, and both Saryon and I looked about expectantly, wondering which
of the pictures on the wall was going to turn green.
    None did.
    “I believe,” said the silent
voice, “that you usually listen to music, do you not?”
    Of course! Saryon had forgotten.
He switched on the CD player, which was, as far as he was concerned, one of the
most miraculous and wondrous devices of this technological