The Broken Blade

10

It was shortly before dawn when they saw Edric leave his tent and make for the oasis pool. He walked casually, with no appearance of stealth, sauntering slowly with his cloak draped over his shoulders and a short clay pipe clamped between his teeth. He looked as if he had simply risen early and was out to enjoy a short walk and a smoke and refresh himself at the pool. Sorak and Kieran followed at a distance, staying low and keeping to the shadows, mindful of the fact that elves had good night vision.

If Edric was concerned about being watched, he gave no outward sign. He simply continued down the slight slope to the pool, where he stopped by a stand of pagafa trees and broom bush at the water’s edge. He crouched and gently tapped out his pipe with the heel of his palm, then set it on the ground beside him. On his knees, he leaned forward with hands cupped and splashed some water onto his face, then dried off with his sleeve, took a drink, and sat back to refill his pipe from a small, rolled pouch. Just an early riser taking his ease.

“There!” whispered Sorak, grasping Kieran’s upper arm as they lay beside each other on the ground, watching from about thirty yards away. He pointed. “By the broom bush. Do you see?”

Kieran shook his head. “Your elfling eyes are better than my mine,” he said in a low voice. “What do you see?”

“A dark form crouches in the bushes to the bard’s right,” Sorak said. “Well concealed, but I can just make him out. Edric isn’t looking at him, but I think they’re talking.”

“As I thought,” said Kieran. “A final conference before the attack.”

“Very bold,” said Sorak. “The raider managed to get inside the walls and sneak right up to the camp.”

“Not as bold as you may think,” said Kieran. “Grak will allow anyone within the walls, so long as they pay the toll and cause no trouble. He probably came in just after we arrived and mingled with the crowd.”

“There, he’s moved,” said Sorak. “Can you see him now?”

Kieran squinted, staring intently. “Yes, I see him now. But if I didn’t know just where to look, I’d never spot him. He’s a Shadow, all right. He’ll probably leave right after we depart and ride out to join his friends.”

“You want to take him?”

Kieran shook his head. “No, let him go. If we take him now, the Shadows will know we’ve been alerted. That might prevent the attack, but I doubt it. You saw it in your vision. And unless your vision played you false, that means it will take place. Better to let them think they still have the advantage of surprise. Come on, we’ve seen what we came to see. You were right about the bard. We’d best go see the captain and make plans to receive our visitors.”

They made their way back to the tents and found the captain already up and dressed, having a light breakfast of herbal tea and bread spread with kank honey before starting his morning tasks of preparing the caravan. He rose to his feet at once as they entered the tent, but Kieran waved him back down.

“Sit down, Captain, please,” he said. “Do not let us interrupt your breakfast.”

“Is something wrong, sir?” the man asked anxiously, as he resumed his seat.

“We are going to be attacked by the Shadows tonight.”

“Gith’s blood!” the captain swore. “The Shadows!”

“Lower your voice,” said Kieran calmly. “We have been infiltrated. The bard, Edric, is one of their agents. There may be others. How well do you know your men?”

“I have had the same crew for close to a year now,” the captain replied, “and some have been with me even longer. I trust them, but I cannot speak for the passengers.”

“They can be watched,” said Kieran. “However, there may be some last minute additions. Anyone who books passage this morning must be especially suspect.”

“Then we’ll take no passengers from here.”

Kieran shook his head. “No, that would not be wise. There would be no reason to refuse except that we may be expecting trouble. Accept anyone who wants to go, but point them out to me.”

“Understood,” the captain said. “How do you wish me to proceed?”

“Your crew seems efficient,” Kieran said. “We’ll tell them nothing until we make camp tonight. But in the meantime, I want you to select half a dozen mercenaries and inform them individually during the day. They shall report to me at the midday stop. Now, here is what we are going to do…”

By midday, the caravan approached the northern tip of the Estuary Mountain range. The broad Estuary of the Forked Tongue thrust deep into the desert Tablelands from the Sea of Silt, curving slightly from the coast and terminating roughly two hundred miles inland, just a few miles east of the Estuary Mountains. Where the mountain range straddled the estuary, it formed a small valley in a natural pocket, with a pass leading through the mountains to the west. It was in this small valley that Altaruk stood.

“From here on in,” said Kieran as they rode together at the head of the formation, “we will be traveling with the estuary on our right flank and the mountains on our left, which makes the terrain ideally suited to an attack.”

Sorak nodded. “By late afternoon, the mountains to our left will cast shadows toward us. Together with the rolling terrain of the foothills, that will make any approaching party difficult spot. By nightfall, even if the moons were full-and tonight, they won’t be—there will be little visibility.”

“Precisely,” Kieran said. “That means the outriders will not be able to range far from the camp without exposing themselves to danger, but bringing them in closer reduces their effectiveness.”

“There seems no point in exposing the outriders,” Sorak replied. “They could be ambushed before giving the alarm. It would be wise to bring them in. That way, they will not be so exposed and shall be more useful when the attack comes.”

“Good thinking,” Kieran said, nodding. “Did you happen to notice that three new passengers joined us at Grak’s Pool?”

“Mercenaries,” Sorak said. “One half-elf and two humans. But tribal elves do not accept half-breeds, and certainly not humans.”

Kieran shook his head. “No, these are merely hired blades. I asked Grak about them before we left. They arrived at the oasis the day before we did. And they came in from the north, which means from Altaruk. They’re going back the way they came. No one comes to Grak’s Pool just for a short visit.”

“It does seem rather a long way to go for a drink,” said Sorak.

“Especially when Altaruk offers much better entertainment,” Kieran said. “So, it seems we shall have at least four people to take into custody.” He smiled. “I do hope they resist.”

“What do you want me to do?” Ryana asked.

“I appreciate the offer of assistance, my lady,” Kieran said. “We will require every fighter we have to ward off the attack, for we do not know how many raiders to expect. With any luck, we may learn that information shortly, but the safety of the passengers must be considered. And for all we know, there may yet be other infiltrators among them. To guard against that possibility, and to keep the others safe from harm, I would like to place you in charge of the roustabouts who will be protecting them. They are a hardy lot, but there’s not a trained fighter among them.”

“Some might resent taking orders from a woman,” said Ryana.

“If any of them are fool enough to question the abilities of a villichi priestess,” Kieran said, “then you have my wholehearted encouragement to point out the error of their thinking.”

Ryana grinned. “I would be happy to.”

As they stopped for their midday break, the outriders came in, and six of them came at once to Kieran. He quickly instructed them in what they were to do. As the passengers dismounted, the outriders quickly closed in on the three mercenaries who had joined the caravan that morning. Two of them took each of the three, disarmed them, and took them into custody. It was all done so quickly and efficiently that the three men never had a chance to put up a struggle. As they were being taken, Sorak and Kieran positioned themselves close to Edric, and Ryana stood by to watch Cricket, just in case.

Edric showed only the barest flicker of alarm when the three mercenaries were seized, then quickly got himself under control and turned to Kieran with a frown. “What’s happening?” he asked. “What have these men done?”

“Oh, nothing—yet,” Kieran replied casually. “We are merely taking your confederates into custody as a preventive measure.”

Edric frowned. “My what?”

“Exactly how many Shadows may we expect in the attack tonight?” asked Kieran conversationally.

“I do not understand,” said Edric, trying to brazen it out. “Shadow elves? Attack?”

“Save your breath, friend,” said Kieran. “We witnessed your rendezvous this morning.”

“There must be some mistake,” said Edric. “I met no one this morning. I had merely gone to the pool to—” Even as he spoke, Edric launched a fast kick at Kieran’s privates. Kieran managed to twist aside slightly, but Edric still caught him a glancing blow and Kieran doubled over in pain. But before the bard could do anything more, Sorak was on him, wrestling him to the ground. A moment later, two of the caravan guards joined in, pinning him down. They raised the struggling bard to his feet and one placed a knife against his throat, ending his resistance.

Gritting his teeth, Kieran straightened up, still smarting from the blow. Had the kick caught him squarely on target, there was no question that it would have incapacitated him. “I must be getting slow,” he said, his voice strained. He gave Edric a look of withering contempt, and then turned to gaze briefly at the three captured mercenaries. “Now,” he said, “I am going to ask you four some questions. If you cooperate, you can spare yourselves some pain, but I promise you, I will get answers, one way or another.”

The caravan guards led their captives away as the passengers stood around, murmuring among themselves.

Wide-eyed, Cricket turned to Ryana in confusion.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Why have they taken Edric and those men? What have they done?”

“You pretend you do not know?” Ryana said.

“But I do not know!” Cricket protested. “I have no idea!”

Her confusion and concern seemed genuine. “The Shadows plan to attack the caravan tonight,” Ryana said. “Edric was their spy, and the others his confederates.”

“But… that cannot be!” said Cricket. “I know Edric! We worked together at the Damsel! You were there! Surely, you must have seen him!”

“How long did he work at the Desert Damsel before the caravan came to South Ledopolus?” Ryana asked.

“Why… a week or so.”

“And before?”

Cricket shook her head. “I do not know.”

“He arrived in town and established his identity as a wandering bard,” Ryana said. “That provided a good cover for him when he joined the caravan. You were part of it. He used you.”

Cricket did not want to believe it. She shook her head. “No, you must be mistaken. What proof do you have?”

“There is no mistake,” Ryana said. “Sorak and Kieran both saw him meet in secret with one of the raiders at Grak’s Pool shortly before dawn this morning. He was doubtless informing him of the strength and disposition of our guard and what type of cargo we carry. He and the other three who joined us this morning were to strike at us from within when the attack occurred. They would have killed the cargo guards and handlers and driven off the beasts, then probably taken hostages among the passengers.”

Cricket shook her head with dismay. “Then it was all a lie,” she said in a dull voice. “His friendship, everything he told me… Just when I had finally met a man I thought I could trust…”

“I’m sorry, Cricket,” said Ryana, putting a hand on her shoulder in sympathy.

Cricket shook it off. “Leave me alone.”

Accompanied by a squad of the caravan guard, Kieran and Sorak led the captives away from the others, going off a distance and down a slope toward the bank of the estuary. The four prisoners were bound securely, their hands behind their backs. When they reached the shore of the estuary, Kieran signaled the guards to push the captives to a sitting position on the ground. Edric looked perfectly calm and composed, but the other three were clearly frightened. They were painfully aware that they were completely at the mercy of their captors.

“Now, I do not wish to waste time,” said Kieran, turning to face them. He glanced over his shoulder at the sluggish brown silt. “I will ask one question. If I do not get an answer, or one that satisfies me, I will have one of you thrown into the silt, and we’ll watch him drown. I will leave your legs free, so I imagine you will be able to stay up for at least a few moments, but a few moments is all you’ll have before you get sucked down. Drowning in silt is not a pleasant experience. When the first of you is gone, I’ll ask a question of the second. And so forth, until I have the answers I want.”

Two of the mercenaries immediately began protesting that they didn’t know anything beyond what they were told to do. The third simply started sobbing and wet himself. Edric alone remained calm and silent. Kieran fixed him with a steady gaze. “I’ll save you for last.”

“I have no wish to die or suffer pain,” said Edric, meeting his gaze steadily. “These three hirelings are telling you the truth. They know nothing beyond their assigned tasks when the attack takes place. I have the information you want, but how do I know you will not kill me anyway as soon as I divulge it?”

“You do not,” said Kieran. “But you know I will kill you if you say nothing.”

Edric smiled wryly. “I readily concede the point,” he said. “Very well then, I’ll do my best to bargain from a poor position. What do you wish to know?”

The watchfires created small, bright spots of illumination around the camp as midnight approached. The cookfires by the tents had burned down to embers, and all was still. The outriders had been pulled in earlier, even before the caravan had camped. As the shadows lengthened in the afternoon, they were brought closer, to ride along the left flank of the column until the caravan stopped. They ranged close to the camp until the guards had been posted and the fires were lit, and then they were brought in.

The handlers had staked the beasts down, and the roustabouts had stacked the cargo in the center of the camp. The passengers and most of the caravan crew had all retired for the night. From outward appearances, everything looked perfectly normal; the caravan had stopped to camp within less than a day’s ride from its destination, taking token precautions on the last night of their journey. However, Kieran had made sure appearances would be deceptive.

He had positioned the camp within the shelter of some large, natural rock outcroppings near the banks of the estuary. The tents had been pitched near the base of the rocks, as if for protection from the wind. To the watching raiders—and Kieran was sure they would be watching—it must have looked absolutely perfect. An attack from the southeast would leave them trapped in a pocket formed by the estuary in their rear and the big rocks on their flank—caught like a fly between a hammer and an anvil. Which was precisely what Kieran wanted the raiders to think.

The handlers had staked the beasts at the rear of the camp, as usual, by the slope leading to the estuary. It was the logical place to put them, but at the same time, it served another purpose. As the passengers and crew retired for the night, gradually, in ones and twos, they entered their tents and were taken out through slits cut in the backs, then led by roustabouts between the rock outcroppings and the backs of the tents, so that they were concealed from view. They were then taken down the slope behind the beasts, where they huddled together, wrapped in blankets against the chill. In this manner, masked from any observation, all the passengers were removed from the camp and secreted by the estuary, where they were protected by Ryana and a group of armed roustabouts. All the tents stood empty.

At the advance guard outpost to the southeast, the direction from which Kieran invited attack, the three captive mercenaries sat in a circle by a watchfire. They were bent over slightly, as if gaming with dice. Only on close observation could it be seen that they were gagged and bound, with hands in front of them, staked down to the ground. Kieran nodded with satisfaction as he checked their bonds and grinned.

“Well, does this match your vision?” he asked.

Sorak nodded. “It seems to.”

“Good. Let’s take our places and see if it all unfolds the way you saw it.”

They moved off about a dozen yards and lay down to wait behind some scrub brush. The movements of the mercenaries as they struggled to pull themselves free and their panicked shouts into their gags merely made it look as if they were going about their game. Kieran chuckled softly. “They don’t seem very happy, do they?” he said in a low voice.

“No, this wasn’t quite what they bargained for when they signed on for this journey,” Sorak replied. “Still, I suppose it’s better than being thrown into the silt.”

“True,” said Kieran. “You never know, one or two of them might still survive.” He shrugged.

They did not have long to wait. Shortly after midnight, the attack came with devastating swiftness, just as Edric said it would. A black arrow came whistling out of the darkness and struck one of the captive mercenaries with a soft thump. It was immediately followed by several more arrows, in rapid succession. The second mercenary was struck down. The third managed, with a desperate effort born of panic, to pull his stake free of the ground. He jumped up and started running back toward the camp, but didn’t get more than several yards before an arrow in his back brought him down.

“Here they come,” Sorak murmured.

They heard them first, but it wasn’t until the raiders were almost upon them that they became visible. A squadron of soot-blackened crodlu came galloping out of the darkness in tight formation, bearing black-clad riders armed with bows, wooden spears, and obsidian swords. Sorak and Kieran stayed low, hidden behind the brush as the Shadows rode by, storming into the camp, confident they had the element of surprise.

Kieran peered hard into the darkness as they went past. “How many do you estimate?”

“Perhaps thirty,” Sorak said, his night vision sharper than the human’s.

Kieran nodded. “The bard told the truth. Well, I may have to let him live, after all. Pity.” As the elves thundered past them toward the camp, Sorak and Kieran jumped to their feet and drew their swords.

“Now! Charge!” Kieran shouted as he ran forward with Sorak at his side.

Armed men leapt up from behind shrubs and rocks where they had dug in to await the attack. They quickly closed ranks behind the raiders as the black elves charged unsuspecting into the camp. One by one, the tents burst into flame, torched by roustabouts, and the resulting blaze clearly illuminated the attackers. Archers appeared atop the rocks and started firing down at the Shadows, who suddenly realized that, rather than trap their victims against the rocks, it was they who had been trapped.

More than a dozen of the black elves fell in the first volley of the archers before they wheeled their mounts to retreat, but they found themselves cut off. Thrown spears from the caravan guards unseated about half a dozen more, and then the crodlu were rearing about in panic and confusion, the riderless beasts colliding with the others. Kieran shouted out the command to move in and finish them off before the survivors could regroup.

However, several of the elves recovered quickly and got their beasts back under control. They wheeled around and rode straight for the rear of the camp, hanging off the sides of their mounts to avoid the arrows of the archers.

They were heading straight for the passengers… and Ryana.

“Kieran!” Sorak called, and without waiting for a reply, he gave chase.

The elves swung around the kanks staked down at the rear of the camp and headed down the slope, hoping to escape, but then spotted the passengers clustered behind the roustabouts and made straight for them.

Sorak heard the alarmed cries of the passengers from behind the line of kanks staked at the crest of the slope, and he knew he would never have time to circle the kanks, as the raiders had. Running at top speed, twice as fast as any human could, he leapt ten feet into the air and landed atop one of the kanks. As he fought to maintain his balance on the giant beetle’s slippery carapace, he drew one of his daggers and hurled it.

An elf raider cried out and fell from his crodlu as the blade stuck home, but by then, the others were already atop Ryana’s group.

As Sorak leapt down from the kank and tumbled down the slope, the passengers fled in panic toward the silt.

Ryana moved in with her roustabouts to meet the attack. She brought one elf down with her crossbow, then tossed it aside, drew a dagger and hurled it in one smooth motion, felling another. As she drew her second dagger from her boot, one of the mounted raiders hurled his spear at her. She twisted aside, and it missed her by scant inches. Then she threw her dagger as the elf thundered down upon her, bringing up his blade.

It took him squarely in the chest, and he fell backward off his mount. It was only by diving to one side that Ryana avoided being trampled by the riderless crodlu. She hit the ground, rolled, and came up with her blade in her hands, just as another raider closed with her. She went down to one knee and parried his downward slash, then came up and swept her blade around, opening a deep gash in the raider’s leg as he rode by. He screamed, and blood fountained from the wound, but by then, Ryana was already engaging another opponent.

Several of the roustabouts had fallen, slain or wounded, by the time Sorak reached the scene. He ran straight into the melee and leapt, carrying a Shadow off his mount. He landed on top of the raider and heard the breath whoosh out of his lungs. Before the elf could recover, Sorak grabbed his large, pointed ears and twisted his head sharply.

He heard the sharp crack as the raider’s neck snapped, then felt the breeze of a blade slashing down at him, missing his head by a hair. He ducked down and rolled, came up to his feet, and drew his sword, but by then the raider had already ridden past. And an instant later, Sorak saw why.

Edric stood perhaps a dozen yards away, his hands bound behind him and his ankles tied together. He had been unable to run off toward the rocks with the other passengers, but then he had not wanted to. He hopped toward the raider, and Sorak saw the black-clad elf lean down from his saddle to sweep him up.

But before Sorak could react, he heard another crodlu pounding the ground behind him and turned to meet the attack. He met the Shadow elf’s blade on his own, then ducked and rolled as the raider tried to ride him down. The elf wheeled his mount, and Sorak ran up behind it, slashed the crodlu’s legs. With a screeching cry, the crippled bird went down, and the raider tumbled from the saddle. As he fell, one of the roustabouts pounced on him and brought down his knife.

Sorak turned back to see that the other raider had already hoisted Edric up onto his saddle and slashed his bonds. Edric straddled the crodlu, sitting in front of the rider and bending low, grasping the beast’s long neck for support. The rider urged his mount up the slope on a diagonal path, away from Sorak. There was no way to stop them. As they galloped up the slope, Kieran appeared at the crest.

“Kieran!” Sorak shouted. “Edric is getting away!”

The mercenary drew his dagger as the riders thundered by him, and he threw. The knife struck the raider between the shoulder blades, and he tumbled from his mount, but Edric seized the reins as the crodlu surged up the slope.

Sorak shifted his sword to his left hand and pulled Galdra from his belt. The broken blade glowed with a bright blue aura as he grasped it, flipped it around, and threw it with a powerful, overhand motion. It seemed to leave a blue contrail in its wake as it flew toward Edric and struck him in the shoulder. Sorak heard him cry out, but he retained his seat, slumping in the saddle. The crodlu and its rider disappeared over the crest of the slope.

Sorak spun around, looking for Ryana. He saw at least half a dozen roustabouts lying on the ground, some moving, some perfectly still. He felt a knot forming in his stomach, but then saw her, bending over one of the roustabouts and tearing a strip from his cloak to use as a tourniquet. He exhaled heavily with relief.

Then Kieran was at his side.

Sorak asked, “How goes the battle?”

“It’s over,” Kieran said. “A number of them got away, but at least a score won’t be doing any more raiding. We’ll take the bodies with us into Altaruk and present them to the Jhamris. They may wish to display them as an object lesson to other would-be raiders. Every man who fought tonight will win a reputation. There aren’t many mercenaries who can boast surviving an encounter with the Shadows.”

“How many of ours died?” asked Sorak, glancing back at the bodies littering the shore.

Kieran shook his head. “We’ve made no count as yet, but we lost some good men.” He set his teeth, and Sorak saw a tic in his jaw muscles. “I should have killed that bard.”

“You gave your word you would let him live if he cooperated,” Sorak said. “And he did give us an accurate account of what to expect. Still, now he’ll have to answer to his friends, the Shadows, and only he could have betrayed them.”

Kieran nodded. “They will hold him to accounts, all right, but he’s a slippery character. He may yet talk his way out of it. I hope he does, for I would dearly like to encounter him again. A pity about that special blade of yours.”

“It was broken, anyway,” said Sorak. “It’s no great loss.” But even as he spoke, he wondered. It had returned to him once before; it could yet return to him again. Only time would tell.

“We had best see to the wounded,” he said, then suddenly, he staggered against Kieran as everything started to spin. He felt the mercenary catch him.

“Sorak! Are you wounded?”

Kieran’s voice sounded as if it were coming from the bottom of a well. The sounds around him receded and Sorak’s vision blurred; he gasped for breath.

Then, slowly, everything came back into focus… but he was elsewhere. And this time, it was not only his body that seemed to have been transported. It was his mind, as well.

He stood in a dark room, illuminated only by one thick candle standing on a wooden table. There was someone seated at that table, a robed figure cloaked in darkness. And he heard a low, raspy voice say, “He is coming. I can feel it.”

The robed figure leaned forward into the light and Sorak tensed inwardly as he saw the shaved skull of a templar. It was an old woman, and on her head she wore a chaplet of beaten silver bearing the crest of Nibenay. She sat in a peculiar posture, with one arm hanging limply at her side, favoring her shoulder as if it were injured.

“It will not be long now,” she said, looking up at him, “but he will surely come. And it will be up to us to stop him.”

The feeling was surreal. It was as if the templar were looking straight at him and speaking to him directly. At the same time, he felt not himself at all. It was as if his body had somehow become alien to him. It felt large, grotesque and… but then the templar’s next words mesmerized him.

“Valsavis is dead. The Nomad has fulfilled his mission. Somehow, he must have managed to make contact with the Sage. Now, he will be truly dangerous.” The templar smiled wanly. “You haven’t the faintest idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

Sorak felt his head shake slowly.

“No matter. You do not need to understand. Your needs are simple. That must be reassuring. In a way, I envy you your simplicity. You eat, drink, sleep, defecate, and kill. But then, that is what you were bred for. The subtleties of life escape you, and yet it concerns you not. How refreshing, in a primitive way. Does my conversation bore you?”

Another head shake.

“No? Well, I rather doubt you would admit it if it did. Perhaps it truly does interest you in some way. I do not imagine anyone has ever bothered to converse with you before. What would be the point? You could not answer, anyway. Doubtless, the only words anyone ever spoke to you were commands… or pleas for mercy. And those last fell on deaf ears, of course. No one ever taught you mercy. I doubt you even understand the concept.

Still, I’ve come to find our one-sided conversations comforting. Do you know why?”

Brief head shake.

“Because a templar has no one in whom she can confide. Oh, when she’s young, she can share confidences with her senior sisters, but as she grows older, she learns about such things as palace intrigue and political maneuvering and soon realizes she can profit best by keeping her own council. Her life becomes a maze of ritual and duty, and she becomes isolated, commanding of respect and fear and yet, a lonely woman. Do you know what it means to feel lonely?”

This time, a nod.

“Ah. Of course. I thought you would. Then perhaps you can understand. Have you ever mated? No? Not even once? Well, who knows, that may be for the best. That means you cannot have unreasonable expectations. Do you know how old I am?”

Head shake.

“I am almost two hundred years old. That surprises you. I look old, but not that old, eh? Well, I am. Magic can extend one’s life, if one knows how to use it.” The templar sighed. “My husband’s magic. A power so great it makes me tremble, even after all these years. I was brought to him when I was just fifteen, but I had already learned something of love. Oh, I was a virgin, else I would not have been acceptable, but I was not entirely innocent, you see. There was a boy, a lovely boy of seventeen… I can still see his face as clearly as if he were standing right here in front of me. I can still recall our cautious rumblings, clumsy and yet tender. We swore we would always love each other, but we were afraid to go much further than sweet kisses and intimate caresses. And then I was chosen for the harem of the Shadow King and I never saw him again.

“No, not true,” the templar continued, after a brief pause. “I saw him once, many years later. I chanced across him in the street. He was afraid even to look me. I imagine he found himself a fat little wife and sired fat little sons, and lived his life… and died. This is the first time I have even spoken of him in over a hundred and fifty years, and yet, even though his bones now molder in a grave, he has never left my thoughts. I think back to those bygone days of girlhood and wish just once, we could have had the courage to…”

The templar fell into a long, contemplative silence. Finally, she looked up, and the wistful look was gone, replaced by the cold, regal demeanor of a servant of the Shadow King.

“Memories. They serve no useful purpose. And we are here to serve a useful purpose.”

Sorak felt an unwholesome thrill of anticipation run through him. It was not his feeling at all. It made his skin crawl, and yet, at the same time, he somehow felt what the other was feeling, and it repelled him.

“Let us go, my silent friend,” the templar said, rising to her feet. “It is time for you to do what you do best. You will not have the sort of audience you are accustomed to, but I will be close by. An audience of one, but one who has a true appreciation of your craft. And soon, very soon, you will have an opportunity to test your skills against one who should, by all accounts, provide a proper challenge to your abilities. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

An eager nod.

“Yes. I rather thought you would. But tonight, if our reports have been correct, there will be some fine amusement for you. And by tomorrow, all of Altaruk will be abuzz with talk of your doings… and the Veiled Alliance will know the meaning of fear.”

“Sorak! Sorak! Oh, Sorak, wake up, please!”

Ryana bent over him anxiously. He blinked several times and brought his hands up to his forehead. It felt as if his head were splitting, and he was covered with sweat.

He was lying on his back on a bedroll spread out on the ground. The first orange-tinted light of dawn was visible on the horizon as the dark sun slowly rose over the Sea of Silt. He sat up slowly, with a groan.

Kieran came and knelt at his side. “You had us worried, my friend,” he said. “You were gone for a long time. Over four hours. And whatever it was you saw, it must have been a nightmare, judging by the way you thrashed and moaned.”

Sorak took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, sitting with his head in his hands.

Ryana put her arm around him. “It’s all right,” she said softly. “Whatever it was, it’s over now.”

He shook his head. “No, it is not over,” he said in a dull voice. “It is only just beginning.”

“What did you see?” asked Kieran, gazing at him intently.

“Death,” said Sorak.

“Whose?” asked Kieran, frowning. “One of us?”

Sorak shook his head. “No. I did not know them.”

“Them?” Ryana said. “How many?”

“At least half a dozen,” Sorak said. “Members of the Veiled Alliance. We must get to Altaruk with all speed,” he said. “They are being butchered.”

“Who is doing this?” asked Kieran.

Sorak shook his head. “I could not tell. But this time, it was different. I think it was the same killer I saw before, but this time I was seeing through the killer’s eyes, feeling what the killer felt, and it was…” He shuddered, unable to complete the thought.

“Can you can recall any more?” asked Kieran.

Sorak nodded. “Yes. A templar. One of the senior templars of the Shadow King.”

“In Altaruk?” said Kieran.

“She seemed to be directing the killer,” Sorak said. “And she knew about the Shadows’ attack on us. I think she was involved somehow. It may have been because of me. I’m the one they’re after. But I am not the only one.”

“So,” said Kieran, “the defilers are making their bid to control Altaruk. And I thought this was going to be a simple, boring job. But where do you fit in? Why do they want you?”

“Because of who I am,” said Sorak. “And what I represent.”

“Then the bard’s tale was true?” said Kieran.

“In part,” said Sorak. “But there is much more to it. Have you ever heard of the avangion?”

“The myth of the preserver dragon?” Kieran said. “The legend of the Sage?”

“The avangion is neither myth nor dragon,” Sorak said. “And the Sage is more than legend.”

“You mean to say he actually exists?”

“He was once called the Wanderer,” said Sorak.

“The pilgrim who wrote that journal of his travels? He is an adept?”

Sorak nodded. “He is also my grandfather.”

Kieran exhaled heavily. “Gith’s blood,” he swore softly. “I knew there was more to you than met the eye, but this…” He shook his head. “You know where he is, don’t you?”

Sorak nodded.

“Who else knows?”

“Only the pyreen elders. And Ryana, of course. It is my task to do what my grandfather cannot. Not only to serve the cause, but to make it known. And in some ways, ways that I still do not understand, he has prepared me for it.”

“You mean the Sight?” said Kieran.

Sorak nodded again. “And the blade. And I do not know what else. There is much about myself I have yet to discover. It would be difficult to explain. I had hoped there would be more time, but it seems I’ll not have that luxury. The Shadow King has other plans.”

“More than just the Shadow King, if all you say is true,” said Kieran.

“You doubt him?” asked Ryana. “I can attest to the truth of everything he says. I was there.”

“Oh, I would not question your word, my lady,” Kieran said. “But it does strain one’s credulity. I wish I did not believe it, for it means you will both be targets for every defiler on Athas. You must admit, that argues against a long life, for you and anyone with you.”

“You still want me for your lieutenant?” Sorak asked wryly.

“Well, it will make things interesting,” Kieran replied with a smile. “I was getting bored in retirement, anyway.”

“Well make a preserver of you yet,” Ryana said with a grin, punching him in the shoulder.

“We should all live so long, my lady,” Kieran said. “I have no magic blade, and your friend here just threw his away.”

“I did that once before,” said Sorak, “but there are some responsibilities one simply can’t avoid.” Kieran’s eyes grew wide as Sorak reached down and drew Galdra from his belt. He held the broken blade up before him, and it sparkled with a faint blue aura.

“Now that was a neat trick,” said Kieran.

Sorak smiled. “Just don’t ask me how it’s done,” he said. “A moment ago, it wasn’t there. And then I felt it pressing against my side. It seems no matter what I do, I cannot get rid of it.”

“What else does it do?” asked Kieran.

Sorak shrugged. “It makes me wish I had been born someone else. In fact, I used to be someone else every now and then.”

Kieran frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It’s a long story,” Sorak said. “But we still have about a day’s ride ahead. I’ll tell you all about it on the way to Altaruk.”

“Well then, let’s ride,” said Kieran. “I’d like to see just what’s waiting for us when we get there.”

“It’s me they’re waiting for,” said Sorak. “You do not need to involve yourself.”

“In case you have forgotten,” Kieran said, “you’ve saved my life twice, and my caravan once. The way I see it, I’m involved.”

“I did what I chose to do,” said Sorak. “You are under no obligation to me, Kieran.”

“That’s not the way I see it. And I will brook no arguments. I am still your superior officer, if you’ll recall.”

Sorak smiled. “Whatever you say, Captain.”

“I say we’ve wasted enough time,” Kieran replied. “Mount up.”