Legacy of the Darksword by Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman Read Free Book Online

like.”
    “I will do so, sir,” I signed,
and swooped down upon the object, gathering it into my hand before Saryon could
touch it.
    Mosiah watched me with a slight
smile, which was, I think, approving. Saryon just shook his head with fond
exasperation.
    When I was certain that the
object was benign, not likely to explode or burst into flame or—I don’t know
what I’d expected exactly—I opened my hand and held it out. Saryon and I peered
down on it wonderingly.
    “What is it?” he asked, puzzled.
    “Death,” said Mosiah.

CHAPTER FOUR
    Like a Living being, the sword
sucked the magic from him, drained him. dry , then used
him to continue to absorb magic from all around it.
    FORGING
THE DARKSWORD
    “D eath!” Saryon tried to snatch the
object from me, but I was too quick for him. I clasped my hand over it tightly.
    “I do not mean for any of us,
here and now,” Mosiah said. His voice held a note of gentle rebuke. “I would
not have allowed this to remain in this room if it had been dangerous.”
    Saryon and I exchanged glances,
both considerably ashamed.
    “Of course, Mosiah,” Saryon said.
“Forgive me—forgive us —for not trusting you. . . . It’s just ... it has
all been so strange. . . . Those dreadful people. . . .” He shivered and drew
his robe closer around his tall, spare form.
    “Who were they?” I gestured. “And
what is this?”
    I opened my palm. In it lay a
round medallion about two inches in diameter made of very hard, heavy plastic.
The medallion had what appeared to be a sort of magnet on the back. One side
was clear. I could see inside and what I saw was very strange. Encased in the
medallion was some sort of bluish-green, thick, and viscous sludge. As I held
the medallion in my hand the sludge began undulating, surging against the sides
of the medallion, as if it were trying to escape. It
was not a pleasant sight and made me feel queasy to watch it.
    I was loath to hold on to the
medallion longer and I fidgeted with it in my hand.
    “It ... it looks as if it’s
alive!” Saryon said, frowning in disgust.
    “They are,” Mosiah answered. “Or
rather they were. Most are already dead, which is why the D’karn-darah gave
this up. The rest will be dead shortly.”
    “The rest of what! What’s trapped
in there?” Saryon was horrified and looked about vaguely, as if for something he could use to crack the medallion open.
    “I will explain in a moment. I am
first going to remove the listening devices which the D’karn-darah placed
in your living room and in the phone. They made their presence known. There is
no longer any reason to keep up the pretense.”
    He left the room, returned a
moment later. “There. Now we may speak freely.”
    I handed over the medallion,
thankful to be rid of it.
    “A very elemental organism,”
Mosiah said, holding it to the light. “A sort of organic soup, if you will.
Single-celled creatures, who are born and bred by the
Technomancers for one purpose— to die.”
    “How terrible!” said Saryon, shocked.
    “But not much different from
calves,” I pointed out, “who are born only to become veal.”
    “Perhaps,” Saryon said with a smile
and a shake of his head.
    The only disagreements—I can’t
even call them arguments— he and I have ever had have been over the fact that I
am a vegetarian, while he enjoys a bit of chicken or beef on occasion. Early in
my arrival, I made the attempt—in my zeal—to convert him to my way of thinking.
I made life very unhappy for us both, I am sorry to say, until we reached an
agreement to respect each other’s opinions. He now views my bean curd with
equanimity and I no longer stage a protest over a hamburger.
    “The living always feed off the
dead,” said Mosiah. “The hawk kills the mouse. Big fish eat their smaller
cousins. The rabbit kills the dandelion it devours, if it comes to that. The
dandelion feeds off the nutrients in the soil, nutrients which come from the
decomposing bodies of other