Forging the Darksword by Margaret Weis Read Free Book Online Page B

not cer-certain,” stammered the Deacon in answer. “I—I heard a noise.”
    The
Duuk-tsarith
inclined his head, as the Deacon could see by the tip of the black, pointed hood shivering slightly. “It—it sounded rather large, not the noise, that is. I mean, as if it were made by something rather large and—and I
thought
I heard a door shut.”
    A breath of warm, moist air whispered from the black hood.
    “Of course not!” The Deacon appeared shocked. “It is Resting Time. No one is allowed in here. I have dispen—dispensation,” he added, fumbling over the word in his nervousness.
    The hooded head turned to look into the shadowy corridors formed by the crystalline shelves and their valuable contents.
    “Th-there,” quavered the Deacon, pointing toward the very back of the Library. “I didn’t see anything. I only heard a sound, sort of a rustle, and then—then the door—”
    He paused, at another whisper of breath. “What’s back there? Just a moment. Let me think.” His entire bald head wrinkled as he laboriously traversed the Inner Library in his mind. Eventually his halting mental footsteps evidently led him to a startling realization, for his eyes grew wide, and he stared at the
Duuk-tsarith
in alarm. “The Ninth Mystery!”
    The Enforcer’s black hood snapped around.
    “The Chamber of the Ninth Mystery!” The Deacon wrung his hands. “The forbidden books! But the door is always sealed. How—What—”
    But he was talking to empty air. The warlock had vanished from his sight.
    It took a moment for the Deacon, in his rattled state, to assimilate this occurrence. Thinking at first that the
Duuk-tsarith
might have fled in terror, the Deacon was about to join him when more rational thought took over. Of course. The Enforcer had gone to investigate.
    Visions of the giant rat loomed into the Deacon’s view. Perhaps he should stay here and keep watch on the doorway. Then a vision of the Master Librarian replaced the giant rat. With a sigh, the Deacon grasped the skirts of his white flowingrobes in his hands, to keep them out of the dust, and hastened through the Library toward the forbidden room.
    Momentarily losing himself in a maze of crystal shelving, he heard the sound of voices to his right and somewhat ahead. This showed him the way, and he scurried on, arriving at the door to the forbidden chamber just as another silent, black-robed, black-hooded
Duuk-tsarith
materialized out of the air. The first Enforcer having removed the seal from the door, the second entered immediately. The Deacon started to follow, but the Enforcer’s unexpected appearance had so unnerved him that he was forced to lean against the doorway for a few moments, his hand pressed over his palpitating heart.
    Then, feeling more himself and not wanting to miss the sight of two
Duuk-tsarith
battling a giant rat, the Deacon cautiously peered into the chamber. Although its ancient shadows had been driven back into their corners by the light of a candle, they seemed to be waiting for any chance at all to leap out and once more take possession of their sealed home. As he stared into the room, the giant rat wafted away into the thin air of the Deacon’s imagination, replaced by a horror more real and profound. He knew now that he had to deal with something much darker, much more terrible.
    Someone had entered the forbidden room. Someone was studying its dark and arcane secrets. Someone had been seduced by the dread power of the Ninth Mystery.
    Blinking, trying to accustom his eyes to the bright beam of candlelight, the Deacon could not recognize, at first, the figure that cowered in the grasp of the two dark warlocks. He could see only a white robe with gray trim like his own. A Deacon of the Font, then. But who—
    A gaunt and miserable face looked up at him.
    “Brother Saryon!”

5
The Chamber of the Bishop
    R ising ponderously to his feet from performing the Ritual of Dawn, Bishop Vanya smoothed his red robes and, walking to his