The Broken Blade

5

“That girl was very beautiful, wasn’t she?” Ryana asked.

Sorak ran his fingers lightly down her bare thigh. “Yes, she was.”

They lay together wrapped in a blanket on a rug in front of the fireplace. After they had returned to Tajik’s home, the captain had diplomatically withdrawn, saying he would see them in the morning. The servants had prepared a spare room for them, lit a fire, and brewed a pot of tea, then retired to their own quarters, wishing them goodnight. And Sorak and Ryana had made love.

Though they had known each other almost all their lives, they were still only recent lovers, still discovering things about themselves in their new physical relationship. The first time they made love, in Sanctuary, it had been a gentle, tentative, profoundly emotional experience. This time, it had been passionate and energetic. Ryana had showed a side of herself Sorak had never seer before. And he thought he knew why.

“Did you find her desirable?” Ryana asked, her face inches from his own as they lay with legs intertwined.

“I was affected by her beauty,” Sorak replied.

“And her dancing?” asked Ryana.

“She was very good,” said Sorak.

“You found her exciting.”

“Yes. She was beautiful, and I thought her dancing very sensual and seductive.”

Ryana sighed. “At least you’re honest. I wish I could dance for you like that.”

“You don’t have to,” Sorak said, kissing her.

“But I’d like to,” she replied. “I saw the way you were watching her.”

“I’ve seen women dance before,” said Sorak, “but never like that. She’s very skilled. She has a gift.”

“Do you recall her name?”

“Cricket.”

“I was going to call you a liar if you claimed not to remember,” said Ryana wryly.

“I would never lie to you.” He kissed her lips and squeezed her leg between his own. “Besides, it’s an unusual name.”

“And I suppose that is the only reason you remembered it.”

“Are you jealous?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“No,” she replied. Then grimaced and said, “Yes.”

“You have no reason to be,” Sorak said. “Besides, she left with Kieran.”

“Mmmm. He’s very handsome, isn’t he?”

“Yes, I suppose he is.”

“And a great body.”

“I agree.”

“And he’s very dashing.”

“I can see that, yes.”

“A girl could do far worse.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Damn you,” she said, poking him.

Sorak chuckled. “I have no reason to feel jealous. I do not doubt your love. Do you doubt mine?”

“No,” she said, snuggling against him and kissing his neck. “But I still wish I could dance for you the way she did.”

“I would enjoy seeing you dance.”

Ryana made a face and shook her head. “My body would not move like hers. I am too muscular and lack the flexibility. Besides, I do not have her skill. If I tried, I would look foolish and clumsy. You would only laugh at me.”

“Never.”

She sighed. “In a way, it was easier before, when your female aspects prevented you from lying with a woman. I knew you could never lie with me, but neither would you lie with others. Now, I cannot help but wonder if I will be enough for you.”

“You are more than enough woman for me,” said Sorak.

“But I’m the only woman you have ever been with.”

“And I’m the only man that you have ever been with,” he replied. “Unless there’s something you have kept from me.”

She poked him again. “You know better. But it’s different with a man. A woman loves. A man has appetites.”

Sorak frowned. “Who told you that?”

“It’s what the sisters always said.”

“Ah, and they, of course, are vastly experienced in such matters,” he said in a gently mocking tone.

“They are not all virgins. You know that.”

“Yes, I know,” he agreed, “but those who are not have experienced only the physical side of love, and that merely as a curiosity. When it came their turn to make a pilgrimage, they took the opportunity to find a man and satisfy their curiosity, and they did so in a manner that only validated their preconceptions.”

Ryana frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“What prevented me from experiencing physical love before is what helps me understand it better now,” he said. “I used to resent the interference of my female aspects, but in a way, I’m grateful for it now. I wanted you, but my female aspects would not allow it, because if I made love to you, they would have experienced it with me. They would have been repelled by it, as I would have been had one of them made love with a man. Well, perhaps not all of them would have been repelled. Kivara always found the possibility intriguing.”

“Yes, I remember,” said Ryana with a smile. “She was always a creature of sensation, entranced with excitement, attracted to the unpredictable.”

“And so, through her, I knew that side of female behavior,” Sorak said. “With the Guardian, I knew the stable, maternal, nurturing side. The Watcher taught me yet another side of women, that which observes and protects and evaluates. I may be male, but because of them, I also know what it’s like to be female. To say that women love while men have only appetites is to deny that women also have appetites and men can also love. And the sisters stand as living proof of that.”

“They do?” Ryana asked, with surprise.

“Of course,” said Sorak. “If a sister goes out on a pilgrimage and takes a man to bed to satisfy her curiosity, then is that love? Or is it not an appetite she is indulging?”

“But… doing it merely to find out what it’s like, that is not really lust,” Ryana said.

“Perhaps not, but if curiosity must be indulged and satisfied, then it’s an appetite, just as lust is. And if you were to take a man to bed without loving him, merely to satisfy your curiosity, then how would that be any different from my taking Cricket to bed simply because she aroused me with her beauty and her dancing? Those sisters who spoke to you of men so knowledgeably, did any of them ever say they were in love?”

“No, they didn’t,” Ryana admitted.

“So, if women love and men only indulge their appetites, then what were they doing?”

“I never really thought of it that way,” Ryana said. “I never questioned it.”

“If I were a young girl, listening to my older sisters, I probably would not have questioned it, either,” Sorak said with a shrug. “But I was a young boy, and though the sisters never spoke to me of such things, I heard them talk among themselves, and saw them give me sidelong glances, and it did not sit well with me. So I consulted with my female aspects, especially the Guardian, for she was the oldest and the wisest. And she helped me see that what the sisters said was not entirely true.”

“How did she do that?” Ryana asked.

“Well, she rather irritably pointed out that I could have seen it for myself if I had only thought more clearly,” he replied. “I loved you long before I ever felt desire for you, not because I wanted you, but because of who you are. I felt frustration and regret because I believed my love for you could not be consummated, but I still loved you nonetheless. The Guardian said an appetite diminishes with satisfaction, but love never does. If it is truly love, then it grows stronger. And now I know that she was right. And, in a way, so were you. You will never be enough for me. I shall always want more… of you.”

“I love you,” said Ryana, hugging him.

The fire flared abruptly, unnaturally. The thick wood normally burned steadily, but slowly. Even when the flames hit pockets of the resinous sap, they did not normally flare up, they merely sparked and burned a little faster, with a crackling and popping sound. But the flames in the adobe brick fireplace shot up suddenly with a whoosh, several feet high, turning a bright blue and licking up the chimney, and a cloud of blue-green smoke appeared, shot through with tiny, shimmering lights. It did not go up the chimney, but hovered over the brightly burning flames, then moved out into the room and started to spread out like mist.

Sorak and Ryana sat up as the cloud hovered over them, sparkling with dancing pinpoints of energy. As they watched, a brightly glowing shape appeared within the cloud, indistinct, shifting and transparent. It started to resolve into a face, then flowed and shifted once again, moving and sparkling with bright lights, like tiny stars, only vaguely suggesting features. The glow emanating from it was too bright to make out any detail. And then a voice spoke.

Sorak… The voice spoke with a ghostly echo, and it seemed to come from all around them. It was a voice Sorak knew, though it had never spoken to him before. He felt the familiar ethereal presence, serene and powerful. Several times before, it had descended on him and possessed him, but now it served the Sage.

“Kether,” he said, softly.

You are needed in Altaruk, Sorak. Go there. Contact the Alliance. Waste no time. They are in grave danger. Guard yourself. Trust no one. Death comes across the desert. Go. For the avangion.

The glow faded and the cloud started to dissipate.

“Kether, wait!” said Sorak, but even as he spoke, the cloud dissolved until there was only a sprinkling of bright pinpoints in the air, like fireflies seen from a distance, and then those, too, were gone. The flames in the fireplace burned normally once more, and all was as before.

“What was that?” Ryana asked.

“A message,” Sorak said. “A message from the Sage.”

“But… I heard nothing,” said Ryana.

“You did not see the glowing cloud? You did not hear Kether speak?”

“I saw the cloud, but I heard no one speak.”

“Strange,” said Sorak.

“What was the message?” Ryana asked, staring at him.

“That I must go to Altaruk and contact the Alliance. They are in danger. Death comes across the desert.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I do not know. But it seems I shall be accepting Kieran’s offer, after all. We will go and see him first thing in the morning. We must be on that caravan when it departs.”

Edric the bard stood out in the street, staring at the house. All was quiet. He had seen them go in, and then he had found out whose house it was. It belonged to Tajik, captain of one the dwarven ferries that plied the estuary. He had heard some of the mercenaries talking in the club earlier that night, about how the giants had attacked Tajik’s boat and how one of the passengers had saved everyone aboard with an incredible feat of bravery.

Could he be the one?

That mercenary who had gone with Cricket called him Sorak. Sorak. Elvish for nomad. And he traveled with a villichi priestess.

For a long time, Edric simply stood out in the street and watched the house. He was tempted to go and knock upon the door, but could not bring himself to do it. What could he say? “Are you the one? Are you the Nomad? Are you the one they call the Crown of Elves?”

What would he be doing in a place like South Ledopolus? Perhaps he came to join the caravan to Altaruk. Yes, that had to be it. And if he had crossed with Tajik from North Ledopolus, then he must have come across the desert, from the Great Ivory Plain. What would he be doing out there? There was nothing… unless he came all the way from the Mekillots. A long, harsh journey. Yet, there was nothing else out that way except…

Bodach. The city of the undead.

Edric swallowed hard. Only fools would go to Bodach. Only fools… or heroes. What could be in Bodach that the Crown of Elves would want? Edric moistened his lips as he stood there, thinking. The lost treasure, obviously. That was the only reason anyone would go to Bodach, and even so, they would have to be insane. No one in his right mind would willingly face an army of undead.

But the Nomad was said to be no ordinary man. Part elf, part halfling, and the living embodiment of an ancient prophecy. A prophecy the fulfillment of which might be hastened if he had the lost treasure of Bodach to finance it.

Edric leaned back against a wall, thinking. Perhaps he was jumping to conclusions. He thought about how he had sung the Song of Alaron for Cricket only the previous night. He had always liked the myth, the charming sentiment of it, but he had never believed in the prophecy. That a Crown of Elves would arise to reunite the tribes after all these years… it did not seem even remotely possible.

The elves had been scattered for too long. Few were even tribal anymore, and those that were competed violently among themselves. It was the way of survival in the desert. The rest all lived in towns and cities now, and each year, more and more interbred with humans. Cricket was a lovely girl, but half-elves weren’t really elves. Full-blooded elves looked down on them, even in the cities, where they had fallen from the old ways and were merely shadows of their ancestors.

Most elves had no use for a king. Not anymore. Still, there were many who believed the myth. Or wanted to believe it. It gave them hope. And now that this Nomad had appeared…

Was it really possible that the prophecy was true? Or was it more likely that this Nomad was merely some adventurer who chose to take advantage of it? No, thought Edric, he would be no mere adventurer. To put a scheme like this into effect required boldness of an unprecedented nature. And if only half the things they said of him were true, then he had more than amply demonstrated his courage and abilities. But then, it would take someone like that to even consider such an audacious scheme. Especially given the odds against its succeeding.

Galdra. What of Galdra? He would need a sword to pass off as the legendary blade of elven kings. That would be no easy task. The legend gave a good description of the sword, so that part would be no problem, but it also said the blade was made from elven steel, which had not been seen in over a thousand years. At the same time, however, that very fact would make it easier to fake. Who would know the genuine article anymore?

With a steel blade that could be passed off as Galdra, what remained was the getting of a reputation. Some daring feats would have to be performed to capture the imagination of the people— feats such as rescuing a princess of the Royal House of Nibenay and taking her across the Barrens and back to Nibenay, where he could tweak the noses of the templars and their city guard in a very public way. Yes, it certainly required boldness, perhaps even a death wish, but if the plan succeeded…

What could be his final goal? Was it possible that he really aspired to reunite the elves under his kingship? No, thought Edric, that would be insane. Even if he could accomplish such a thing, which did not seem possible, it would take many years, and the dragon kings would never stand for it. Then he would truly bring down their wrath. So it couldn’t possibly be that. What then?

And then it hit him. Of course. The lost treasure of Bodach. It all came back to that. If this Nomad had somehow stumbled on the secret of the treasure’s location, he would need help in removing it. He would never be able to do it by himself. Even a heavily armed party would risk death. The only way it could be done would be if he knew exactly where the treasure was. Then he could go in with a party large enough to load it and remove it, working swiftly during the daylight hours so they could be out again before then sun went down, when the undead of Bodach would attack with a frightening, unrelenting fury.

And to be sure of success in such a task, he would have to be certain of the loyalty of those he took with him, because the treasure would tempt anyone to seize it once it was safely removed from Bodach. And how better to command such loyalty than to go in with a small army of elves who had been duped into thinking he truly was the king the prophecy foretold?

He could tell them that the treasure would be safely hidden, or perhaps invested with a merchant house to grow in value and finance the coming kingdom. Something like that, anyway. And then the riches would be his, converted into merchant bonds he could take anywhere on Athas and use to buy himself a title and a palace and private guard of mercenaries to protect him from those whom he had duped.

It was plausible, thought Edric, but could that really be what he intended? If the Nomad joined the caravan—well, of course he would do that; why else come here—Edric could observe him. And when they arrived in Altaruk, if he went directly to one of the great merchant houses…

The treasure. It came back to that again. If he really knew where the treasure was hidden, he would have brought out some piece of it to show the merchant houses. Which meant that he was probably carrying it with him.

Edric took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He could be wrong, of course. All this was merely supposition. But what if he was right? The trip to Altaruk just might let him find out for sure. Perhaps he could arrange for some distraction somewhere along the way, so he could examine what this Nomad carried with him.

He hurried back to the Desert Damsel to fetch Cricket’s belongings. The caravan would be leaving in the morning, and it promised to be a very interesting journey.