Free Triumph of the Darksword by Margaret Weis

Empress and if he was Dead—”
    The warlock paused. Prince Garald, after a moments profound consideration, acquiesced to both with a nod.
    “—then you see why it would be impossible to have him put to death. The Turning would be the ideal solution, for it would keep him alive, yet rendered harmless. Apparently,that didn’t work. Knowing himself near to being captured, he chose to die by casting himself into Beyond—thus fulfilling the beginning of the Prophecy.”
    “Captured? But he wasn’t! If you’d only listen!” Simkin struck in “I keep telling you I’m not finished—”
    “But, surely, he
is
dead, then, isn’t he?” Garald interrupted in a low, shaking voice. “No one has ever returned from Beyond!”
    The
Duuk-tsarith
did not reply. It was his duty to impart information, not speculate on its veracity.
    “Your Grace,” Simkin tried again.
    “Do you believe this, Radisovik?” Garald asked abruptly, ignoring Simkin who, with a sigh, folded his arms and sat languidly back in his chair.
    “I’m not certain, Your Grace,” said the Cardinal, obviously shaken. “The matter needs further study.”
    “Yes,” said Garald. He was silent, pacing back and forth Then he shook his head decisively “Well, I don’t believe it One man—with the power to destroy a world? Bah!”
    “Your Grace—”
    “And even if I did give credence to this faery story,” the Prince continued over Simkin’s interruption, “I can’t let it interfere with our plans for war. The fact that something like this could occur at all is simply further proof that Vanya and Xavier must be overthrown! And I must operate on the assumption that Xavier has the Darksword, not some ghost from Beyond. I am returning to the War Room.”
    The Prince had spoken and, it was obvious, would not be gainsaid this time. Radisovik bowed in silence and Garald motioned to the
Duuk-tsarith
, who lifted the seal from the chamber and drifted silently after their Prince as he stalked out of the room. Radisovik remained standing, staring after him, shaking his head. Then, with a sigh and a rueful smile at Mosiah, the Cardinal left the room as well.
    “As usual, you botched things nicely.” Mosiah turned on Simkin. “Lucky for you that warlock stepped in. I think Garald was ready to chuck
you
down a well—”
    Simkin didn’t answer. He remained seated in his chair, his arm thrown negligently over the back. The ridiculous sailor suit he was wearing vanished, replaced by the conservative gray silk suit.
    “You know, my dear Mosiah,” he said, staring into nothing with casual intensity, “there’s one thing that appears to me to be of the utmost importance and no one will listen to me.”
    “What’s that?” Mosiah asked moodily, thinking about the storm on the Borderland.
    “I kept trying to tell Garald, but he’s so hungry for war he refuses to eat anything else that’s set before him. Xavier knows, and he’s afraid. That’s why he kept trying to take the sword. Vanya knows, that’s why he had the stroke. The late and unlamented Emperor—Joram’s real father—knew, that’s why he vanished. Joram didn’t flee into Beyond because he was trying to escape the
Duuk-tsarith.
He didn’t need to.”
    “Why? What do you mean?” Mosiah looked up apprehensively, the cold fear creeping over him again.
    “Joram had. The Darksword…. Joram was winning …”

7

A Discourse
On The Rules Of War
    F earful that Prince Xavier had. The Darksword and hoping to strike before the warlock learned to use its full powers, Garald accelerated his country’s preparations for war. The catalysts and warlocks began their drills early in the morning and did not end until far late into the evening; many so exhausted that they slept where they collapsed on the floor of the War Room.
    The forge of the Sorcerers glared into the night with bright eyes; the gnashing of its metal teeth and the breath of its bellows made it seem as though a monster had been captured