The Broken Blade

8

Sorak awoke with a start. He sat up and glanced around quickly, not knowing what had awakened him. It was several hours before dawn. The camp was perfectly still as he opened the tent flap, stepped outside, and looked around. The fires had burned down to embers, save for the watchfires tended by the guards around the cargo area, directly in front of him. Except for the quiet sounds of their conversation, nothing seemed amiss. So what had awakened him so suddenly?

He was aware of a strange vertiginous sensation, and he felt a little lightheaded. Whatever it was, it had snapped him awake with a jolt, and he was apparently feeling its aftereffects. It hadn’t been a nightmare. He had been sleeping soundly for a change, after a long day on the trail. He rubbed his forehead, moist with sweat.

“Sorak?” Ryana poked her head out of their tent. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

He frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t know,” he said in a puzzled tone. “Something woke me up, but I have no idea what it was. It was as if—” Suddenly, the jolt came once again, even stronger this time, and he staggered, as though struck from behind. For a moment, his vision swam, and he shook his head and blinked to clear it. When his gaze focused again, the campsite was gone.

He stood motionless, feeling confused and disoriented. One moment, he was looking at the caravan tents and the watchfires by the cargo, and the next, he was standing in the middle of a street in an unfamiliar town.

Neat rows of one and two-story adobe buildings lined both sides of the dirt street, which curved away from him around a bend. The time of day had not changed, but everything else had. He stood frozen to the spot, startled and unable to comprehend what had happened. It was as if he had suddenly been transported to another place.

He spun around, looking for Ryana, but though she had stood just behind him a moment earlier, she wasn’t there. The tent was gone, as well. What he saw instead was the dark mouth of a narrow alleyway between two buildings… and just inside the alleyway, he saw a large figure standing in the shadows, partially concealed from view.

From behind him came the sounds of footsteps. He turned around again and saw another figure, wrapped in a dark cloak and walking down the hard-packed dirt street, heading directly toward him. The stranger’s path would take him right past Sorak, the mouth of the alleyway, and the shadowy figure waiting in ambush.

Sorak opened his mouth to speak, to warn the approaching man, but no sound came forth. The man kept on walking steadily, right toward him. He gave no sign of being aware of Sorak’s presence, just as he was completely unaware of the ambusher. He was only several feet away now and coming straight at him. Again, Sorak tried to speak, but no sound came out. The man in the cloak passed right by him, mere inches away, but apparently without seeing him. And as he drew even with the alley, it happened.

A powerful arm snaked out and grabbed the man’s cloak, jerking him back into the shadows of the alley. Sorak heard a startled gasp of surprise, followed by a brief cry, and then the sickening crunch of the man’s spine being snapped.

The body collapsed to the ground, lifeless. No, it hadn’t simply collapsed, the killer had thrown it, tossing it into the street at the entrance to the alleyway. The murderer stood over the hapless victim, but Sorak could not see the killer clearly. He was dressed in a long, ankle-length black cloak with a voluminous hood that completely concealed his features. The killer reached inside his cloak, and Sorak saw something white flutter down on the body. A veil.

Abruptly, the killer turned, and Sorak thought he was about to see his face, but his vision blurred again, as if he were looking through shimmering heat waves, and the peculiar falling sensation came over him once more.

Sorak shook his head and blinked, and when his vision came back into focus, he saw several guards sitting around the watchfire, talking quietly among themselves. He was back at the caravan campsite, and someone was shaking him.

“Sorak! Sorak!”

It was Ryana. He turned toward her, a confused expression on his face.

“Sorak, what’s wrong?”

“I… I don’t know,” he said slowly. He shook his head to clear it. “What just happened?”

“You seemed to go into a trance,” Ryana replied, looking at him with concern. “You stumbled and grabbed your head, as if you had been struck. You looked as if you were about to fall, only you didn’t. You simply stood there, motionless, staring off into the distance. I spoke to you, but you acted as if you couldn’t hear me. Your eyes were open, but it was as if you couldn’t see me, either.”

“I was standing right here all this time? I didn’t… go anywhere?”

She stared at him, puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I just saw a man killed,” he said.

“What? Where?”

“I… don’t know,” he replied, frowning with confusion. “One moment, I was standing here, looking at the watchfire, and then the next…” He told her what he had seen. “It was like a dream, only I was awake… or was I?”

“You had a vision,” said Ryana.

He frowned. “How can that be? I am not villichi. I do not have the gift of Sight.”

“One does not have to be villichi to have the Sight,” Ryana said. “Anyone can have the talent, but it is very rare, even among villichi. I have never had it, nor did any of the other sisters, but Mistress Varanna said she had it sometimes, though she could not control it. She said no one can. It simply comes upon you. You saw something that has happened somewhere else… or is about to happen.”

“I tried to warn the man,” he said, “but I could not speak.”

“You were not there,” she said. “You couldn’t have warned him. It was a vision. You were right here all this time.”

He shook his head. “But it makes no sense. How could something like this happen all of a sudden? I thought people who had the Sight were born with it.”

Ryana shook her head. “No, it comes when a child starts to mature.”

“But I am not a child.”

“No, but you have changed. The spell that took away your inner tribe may have left something of them behind… or perhaps given you something else. We both know what you were, but there is as yet no way of telling what you have become.”

Sorak frowned with confusion. “Perhaps, but if my grandfather had bestowed the gift of Sight upon me, why wouldn’t he have told me? How long was I… gone?”

“Only a moment,” she said.

“It seemed longer.” He rubbed his forehead. It ached slightly. “I don’t know what it means.”

Ryana’s eyes grew wide, and she gasped. “Sorak…look!”

She was staring at him, pointing at his waist. He looked down.

Galdra.

The broken blade was tucked into his belt. He drew it out, staring at it with astonishment. As he touched the silver wire-wrapped hilt, a faint, sparkling aura of blue thaumaturgic energy crackled briefly around the blade.

“How can this be?” he said with wonder. “You saw me throw it into the pool back at the oasis!”

She nodded.

“We both saw it sink!”

She nodded again. “It has come back to you,” she said. “It is an omen.”

“Of what?” he said, with dismay. “I don’t want the cursed thing!” He tossed it aside on the ground.

Ryana picked it up. “That won’t do any good,” she said. “You threw it into a bottomless pool and it came back to you. What makes you think you can simply throw it away now?”

“I don’t understand any of this,” said Sorak. “I thought the spell was broken.”

“Broken it may be,” Ryana said, “but there is still magic in the blade. Apparently, much more than you knew.” She offered it back to him.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t want it.”

“Take it,” she insisted.

“You take it.”

“It is not for me to carry,” she replied. “Galdra was meant for you.”

“Then leave it. Throw the damned thing away.”

“If you really want me to, I will,” she replied, “but I’ll wager it will only come back to you again. It served you well, Sorak. It was wrong of you to dispose of it in the first place. Galdra is part of your destiny. That much is clear.”

“What does it want from me?” he asked irritably.

Ryana shook her head. “I do not know that it is capable of wanting anything. It does not live. It merely is.”

“It has to be the Sage,” said Sorak, with a grimace. “He must be responsible for this.”

“Whether he is or not,” Ryana said, “it seems you are stuck with it.” She offered him the blade again. “Take it. Things like this do not occur without a reason.”

“But why must they happen to me?” he asked, throwing his arms out in exasperation.

“Because you are Sorak, and it is your fate. Mistress Varanna knew that when she gave you the blade.”

Sorak sighed and took the broken blade from her reluctantly. “All it brings is trouble.”

“What sort of trouble?” asked a voice from behind them.

They turned to see a figure coming toward them, silhouetted against the light from the watchfire behind him.

“It is only I, Edric the Bard,” he said as he came closer. “I did not mean to intrude. It seems that I was not the only one who could not sleep tonight.” His gaze fell on the blade. “What have you there? A dagger?” He held his hands up, palms out. “There is no need for that, my friend. I am unarmed, as you can see.”

Sorak glanced down at the blade in his hand. “Sorry,” he said, tucking it away into his belt. “It was not meant to threaten you.” He wished he had his cloak to cover it, but he had left it back inside the tent. He saw Edric staring intently at the blade.

“You carry a broken sword?” asked Edric. “Why?”

Sorak shrugged, wishing the bard would go away. “It has sentimental value to me.”

“It looks like steel!” said Edric, still staring at the broken sword in Sorak’s belt. “And those are elvish runes upon the blade, are they not?”

Sorak was growing impatient. The last thing he wanted was to pursue this conversation. “Are all you bards so curious?” he asked in a surly tone.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to pry,” said Edric, placating. “But there is an old legend about a sword made of elven steel, with runes upon the blade—”

“It is merely a broken sword and nothing more,” said Sorak. “It is an heirloom of my family, scarcely worth the price of a few drinks now that it is broken, but I have an attachment to it.” Or, more to the point, it has an attachment to me, he thought.

“How is Cricket?” asked Ryana to change the subject.

“Sound asleep, my lady,” said Edric. “She is not accustomed to riding such long distances and was complaining that her legs and seat were sore.”

“She seemed fit enough to me,” Ryana said.

“Well,” said Edric, “perhaps one uses different muscles for dancing than for riding.” He shrugged. “I know little of such things. She will doubtless be a bit stiff in the morning, and there will be some soreness, but another day or so and she should work it out. In the meantime, I can put up with her whining and complaining.” He grinned. “Bards are accustomed to that sort of thing, you know.”

“Perhaps I could be of some assistance,” said Ryana. “I have some skill at healing.”

“I am certain she would be grateful for your help, my lady,” Edric said with a slight bow. “I will pass on your kind offer. Well, I have intruded on your time enough. There is yet some time until dawn, and I think I shall go stretch out for a while before the camp is abustle.” He shook his head. “Never could get used to keeping normal hours. Good night to you, or perhaps I should say good morning. Well, you know what I mean.”

He gave them a slight bow and left.

Sorak scowled at his retreating form. “I don’t like that elf,” he said in a low voice.

“He seems harmless enough,” Ryana said.

“He has a duplicitous streak,” said Sorak. “He recognized Galdra, all right. He knew exactly what it was. It was as if he dared me to deny it.”

“And deny it you did,” she said. “So who was being duplicitous?”

“I had no wish to get into a long, drawn out debate about the legend of the Sword of Alaron and the Crown of Elves,” said Sorak. “That was why I tried to dispose of Galdra in the first place.”

“Well, he did not press you on the subject.”

“Only because you diverted him. But he was rather easily diverted, wasn’t he?”

“Maybe it’s my charm,” Ryana said with a smile.

“I doubt your charms would work upon the likes of him,” said Sorak. “It was no accident Cricket picked him to ride with. He’s probably the only male in the caravan that she can trust not to take advantage.”

“Including you?” Ryana asked innocently.

“You know what I mean,” said Sorak. “Still, there’s something about him that bothers me. And I am not referring to his manner or his tastes.”

“What then?”

Sorak shook his head. “I don’t know. I wish I still had the Guardian to help me look into his mind and find out what he’s really thinking.”

“You really do distrust him, don’t you?”

Sorak nodded. “I do not think I would want to turn my back on that one.”

“Then maybe you should follow your intuition,” said Ryana. “A part of you was the Guardian, remember. Maybe you cannot read his mind, but you seem to sense something about him.”

“And you do not?”

She shrugged. “He seems a bit elaborate, but then he’s a bard.”

Sorak shook his head. “It’s been an ill-omened night, all around,” he said. “And I understand none of what is happening. I only know I do not like it.”

“Well, there’s no point in trying to go back to sleep,” Ryana said. “Why don’t we take a stroll around the camp and talk about it while we stretch our legs a bit? We have a long ride ahead of us.”

“I have a feeling there will be trouble before it’s through,” said Sorak. “And something tells me Edric will be part of it.” He sighed. “I just wish I knew why I felt that way, and why I had that vision. I used to wonder what it would be like not to be a tribe of one, to be just one individual, like everybody else. Well, now I am. And I’ve never felt so much uncertainty.”

Ryana smiled. “You’ll get used to it,” she said. “But you must stop thinking that you’ve been diminished somehow by the loss of your inner tribe. They may not be with you anymore, but they were a part of you for a long time, and you shared what they knew. Remember what they taught you. And remember what you learned back at the convent. You are almost villichi, and that is no small thing.”

“No, it’s not,” he agreed. “Thank you for reminding me.”

She put her arm around him. “You’re welcome. Now, tell me again about that vision, and we’ll see if we can’t make some sense of it.”

Edric did not return to his tent, as he had said he would. Instead, he furtively headed away from the cluster of tents toward the rear of the encampment. There were no guards posted back there and no fires lit, since the banks of the estuary guarded that edge of the camp. Silt monsters did not venture ashore, and the camp was well away from any habitation of giants. Neither would desert raiders attack across the silt. Raiders did not use boats; they depended on speed, and boats were slow. So all that lay in wait along the estuary shore were deep shadows in the moonlight, and as Edric approached the silt, one of those shadows moved.

Edric stopped. “Shadows have talons.”

“Talons have claws,” came the low response.

Edric glanced quickly over his shoulder, then hurried toward the small rock outcropping from which the voice had come. A tall, lean, dark shape rose from the ground beside the outcropping. It was an elf, dressed all in black, from head to toe. Black boots, black breeches, black tunic covered with a smooth black breastplate of kank armor, black gloves, black veil, and black hooded cloak. His sword was sheathed in a black leather scabbard, as were his knives, and the hilts of all the weapons were black-stained pagafa wood. Even on a moonlit night, he could blend so artfully with the shadows from which his tribe took its name, the Shadows. Not even Edric would have seen him had he not moved, and if Edric had not spoken the proper phrase identifying himself, he would have been instantly, efficiently, and silently killed.

“You had no trouble getting past the guards on the flank outpost?” asked Edric softly.

The black-clad elf snorted with derision. “You must be joking. I came so close to one of them that I could have reached out and touched him, but he was none the wiser.”

“When is the attack planned?” Edric asked.

“The night after the caravan leaves Grak’s Pool,” the black-clad elf replied. “Will they tarry long?”

Edric shook his head. “I doubt it. This captain is in a hurry to reach Altaruk. They’re carrying large profits from their trip to Balic, in addition to a new shipment of cargo, and the captain’s new superior is among the passengers. He is a mercenary named Kieran, journeying to Altaruk to accept a post as captain of the Jhamri House Guard.”

“Does he bring troops with him?”

Edric shook his head. “No, there is only the normal complement of caravan guards and roustabouts.”

The black-clad elf smirked. “They shouldn’t be much trouble.”

“Watch out for Kieran,” Edric said. “He knows his business. You cannot miss him. He’s a tall, strapping blond man who dresses in rare hides. Do not dismiss him for his flamboyant costume. He’s deadly. I’ve seen him fight.”

“A well-aimed arrow will put an end to that.”

“Just be careful of him. But there’s something else, perhaps even more important,” Edric said. “Among the passengers is an elfling who rides with a villichi priestess.”

“An elfling?”

“A half-breed,” Edric said. “Elf and halfling.”

“Disgusting! I did not know such an abomination was even possible!”

“Never mind that,” Edric said. “His name is Sorak. Or so he styles himself.”

“The Nomad?” said the black-clad elf.

“He may have adopted the persona from the ballad, for reasons of his own,” said Edric, “but he carries a sword that has been broken, so that a little less than half its length remains. I saw it. It is made of steel.”

“Steel!”

“And engraved with elven runes,” said Edric, “though I was not close enough to read them.”

“Are you saying it is Galdra?” the black-clad elf asked with disbelief.

“At the very least, it seems meant to pass as Galdra, though when I questioned him about it, indirectly, he said the blade was merely an old heirloom of his family, something he carries for sentimental reasons only.”

“But you said it was broken.”

“That could be part of his ruse,” said Edric, “to explain why the enchantment does not work. According to the legend, if the Sword of Alaron is touched by a defiler, it will shatter and the enchantment will be broken.”

“And the prophecy with it, I should think,” the Shadow replied.

“Perhaps,” said Edric. “Or perhaps not. The legend is vague upon that point.”

“So this Nomad is passing himself off as the so-called Crown of Elves?”

Edric shook his head. “No, not at present, anyway. He appears to be posing as a mercenary. Perhaps he really is, I do not know. He seems to have struck up a friendship with this Kieran. But then, that would be logical, if he intends to strike a bargain with the House of Jhamri.”

“What sort of bargain?”

“I am not sure,” said Edric, “but I have an idea. He joined the caravan in South Ledopolus, as I did, but he came from across the estuary. I suspect he may have come from Bodach.”

“Bodach!”

“Both he and the priestess carry heavy packs,” said Edric. “I have not had an opportunity to examine them, but I believe it’s possible they may contain some of the lost treasure.”

“That would be very interesting if it were true. What makes you think so?”

“A hunch,” said Edric. “I have heard some stories of this Nomad’s exploits. And if those stories are true, it may be possible he has discovered the secret of the lost treasure’s location. He may have gotten his hands on a small part of it, but he could never hope to remove it all alone. That would take an army.

“An army of elves, perhaps?”

“Exactly,” Edric said, nodding. “And what better way to recruit such an army from among the desperate elves and half-elves of the cities than to pose as the embodiment of one of their most cherished myths? The Crown of Elves will lead an army to secure the lost treasure of Bodach and finance the coming kingdom.”

“And where does the House of Jhamri fit into all of this?”

“What better custodian for the lost treasure? Who better to invest it for him?”

“Ah,” the Shadow replied. “So he brings the treasure to the Jhamris, cuts them in for a share to convert it into ready assets, and then disappears with his profits.”

“Those were my thoughts, precisely,” Edric said.

“A bold and risky venture,” said the Shadow. “Aside from the risks involved in stealing Bodach’s treasure, if he proclaims himself the Crown of Elves, pretender or not, he still risks the wrath of the sorcerer kings, who would see him as a threat.”

“Not if he moved quickly enough,” said Edric. “If he absconded with the treasure, there would be no elvish king to threaten anyone. Merely a bold rascal who had cheated his gullible followers and then disappeared.”

“A fascinating theory,” said the Shadow. “But you have no proof that this is what he plans.”

“Why else would he adopt so dangerous a pose?

The rewards would have to be significant. Either way, the talonmaster must be told. If the Nomad can be taken alive, we can get the truth from him. If he really does know where the lost treasure of Bodach can be found—”

“Then we can take it for ourselves,” the Shadow finished. “I will pass on what you’ve told me. The talonmaster will decide what is to be done. Meanwhile, see what else you can learn. Do they suspect you?”

Edric snorted. “Not a chance. I have laid the groundwork for my part too well. They all discount me as an effete, limp-wristed bard en route to Altaruk to sing songs. I have even taken up with a gorgeous half-elf dancing girl, who shares a tent with me and treats me like an older sister. She does not suspect the truth, of course, and it helps maintain the fiction. However, it is all I can do to keep my hands off her. And that is another thing. She is not to be harmed in any way. Her name is Cricket, and she may have fallen on hard times, but she was tribal once.”

“I will make it known,” the Shadow replied with a smile. “So, Edric, have you lost your heart, then? I did not think you even had one.”

“Keep your jests to yourself, little brother. If you saw her, you would understand.”

“No doubt. I am looking forward to it.”

“Well, I’d best get back,” said Edric. “It will soon be sunrise, and we will making ready to get under way. I will look for you at Grak’s Pool tomorrow night.”

“Until tomorrow then, my brother.” They clasped arms, and Edric headed back toward camp. He glanced back over his shoulder once. His brother had disappeared. Edric smiled. No one moved as silently or as swiftly as the Shadows. And no one was more adept at espionage, assassination or intrigue.

The Crown of Elves? The elfling half-breed who called himself the Nomad would soon discover what a real elf was, not the pathetic, weak-willed elves who lived among the humans in their cities or the half-savage desert wanderers the remaining tribal elves had now become, but elves who still retained the former glory of their ancestors and bowed to no one save the grand master of the talons. The Shadows would teach the Nomad a lesson he would not soon forget—assuming he survived it.