The Nomad

12

“So my quest is finished,” Sorak said as he awoke and saw Kara looking down at him.

“Life is a quest,” Kara replied. “A quest for answers and for meaning. And yours is far from over.”

“The only answer I have ever sought was who my parents were and what became of them,” said Sorak. “And the only meaning in my life that I have ever found was in my search for the Sage.”

“You have found the answer that you sought, and you have found the Sage, as well. That is more than most people could hope to do in their entire lifetimes. But that is still merely a beginning. There is more meaning in your life than you may realize. It is found in your dedication to the Way of the Druid and the Path of the Preserver. And you can also find meaning in the bond that exists between you and Ryana, which your search has only strengthened. You can find it in yourself, as well, as you explore the new meaning of who you are, and who you may yet become.”

Sorak moistened his lips. “They are gone now,” he said, thinking of the tribe. “It feels so strange. It feels ... lonely. Is this what it means to feel as others do, this loneliness?” He shook his head. “I never knew.”

He sighed. “They were afraid that if I found the Sage and asked his help, then he would somehow make them go away. And yet, throughout my quest, they helped me, despite knowing that it might mean their deaths.”

“Not their death, but their release, and yours,” said Kara. “And in that, you can find even more meaning.”

“So what happens now?”

The pyreen smiled. “Life happens. The Path of the Preserver is a long one, and often difficult, but the Way shall guide you. The sorcerer-kings grow stronger, and with each passing day, the planet is despoiled and the threat of dragons grows greater. All of us must face our dragons, in due time. But for now, let time stand still. The gateway is now closed. Those stairs now lead down not to Bodach, but to a garden where Ryana waits, to learn what you have discovered. She has pestered me with countless questions, wanting to know what had happened while she slept, but it is not for me to tell her. Go to her.”

Sorak swallowed hard and held his breath as he stared at the pyreen. “What of the Sage?”

“He rests now,” Kara said. “He shall rest for a long time. He has completed a difficult stage in the metamorphosis, and it shall take him much longer to recover than it has taken you. He will sleep for days, perhaps even weeks, and he must not be disturbed. He asked me to wish you well, and to say good-bye. For now.”

“I just hope they are happy now,” Sorak said, thinking of the tribe. “I miss them. I feel a curious ... emptiness.”

“Yes,” said Kara, “it is a feeling known by all, males and females alike. I am sure Ryana can tell you all about it. Go to her, Nomad. She has waited long enough.”

He descended the stone stairs, past tower rooms that looked completely new, not even remotely like the ruin with the rotted floors that he had seen when first he climbed the steps up to the top. When he reached the ground floor, he saw a heavy wooden door where before there had been only a crumbling stone archway. He opened it and stepped out into a lovely garden filled with fragrant flowers and green plants with large fronds waving gently in the summer breeze. There was grass beneath his feet, lush and thick, green grass such as he had never seen before, and the song of birds filled the air.

At the far end of the garden stood a stone wall over which he could see a rolling plain stretching out before him. And, from behind him, the wind blew an unfamiliar odor, sharp, bracing, and refreshing. As he turned around and gazed out past the tower, he realized it was the odor of the sea. Its blue-green vastness stretched out before him, not a sea of silt, but a sea of water, more water than he could ever have imagined. There was no sign at all of Bodach. They were in a time so ancient, the city had not yet even been built. There was just the tower, with nothing else around it. Nothing but the sea on one side, and a world that he had only imagined in his childhood dreams. A green world. A world untouched and unspoiled by defiler magic. It was so beautiful, it took his breath away. “It is lovely, is it not?” Ryana said. He turned and saw her standing a short distance away, holding a red flower in her hand. She held it out to him.

“It is called a rose,” she said. “I never imagined that anything could smell as sweet.”

She held it out to him, and he sniffed it, savoring its delicate perfume.

“It is wonderful,” he said. “I never imagined that it could be anything like this.”

“We cannot stay, you know,” Ryana said. “Kara says we must go back. We do not belong here, in this time.”

“I know,” said Sorak.

“If only we could stay,” she said wistfully. “When I see that this is how the world once was and think of what it has become, it makes me want to weep.”

“Perhaps, one day, we can come back,” he said. “And now that we know what the world can be, we shall know why we walk the Path of the Preserver. It shall have new meaning for us.”

“Yes,” she said. “The desert can be beautiful, even in its desolation, but there is room on Athas both for the desert and for this.” She hesitated. “How do you feel now?”

“Strange,” said Sorak. “Very strange. There is an emptiness inside me that I have never known before.”

“They are all gone then?”

“Yes. All gone. I shall miss them terribly. I did not realize what it felt like, to be ... normal. I feel like a mere shadow of my former self. Or selves,” he added wryly. “Yes, I shall miss them. But I shall have to learn to live without them.”

“You still have me,” she said, gazing at him, then looking down at the ground. “That is, if you still want me.”

“I have always wanted you, Ryana,” he said. “You know that.”

“Yes, I know. And I knew what stood between us. So ... what stands between us now?”

“Nothing,” he said as he took her in his arms and held her close, kissing her neck softly. “And now nothing ever will.”

“It is time,” said Kara, as they stood in the top chamber of the tower. “The gateway is about to open.”

“Can we not say our farewells to the Sage?” asked Ryana.

Kara shook her head. “We are between the worlds now. If you go down those stairs now, it will take you back to Bodach. You cannot reach the Sage’s chambers, where he sleeps. And even if you could, you could not wake him. Someday, there will be another time. But for now, we must return back to the time from which we came.”

“Very well, then,” Sorak said. “We are ready.” Kara glanced out the window as the dark sun slowly dipped below the horizon and the last rays of its light faded from view. “The gateway is now open,” she said.

They started down the stairs. As they descended, the stone walls seemed to age, and a thick layer of dust appeared upon the steps. They passed the lower levels, which no longer had floors, and the fresh smell of the sea was gone now, replaced by the harsh odor of the silt that blew in through the narrow apertures. They were back in their own time once again, and it suddenly seemed even more desolate than they had remembered.

“It will be night outside,” Ryana said. “What of the undead?”

“We shall wait within the tower until sunrise,” Kara said. “They will not come in, and we will be safe

“You are a most persistent man, Valsavis,” Sorak said. “But you are too late. I have already fulfilled the object of my quest.”

Valsavis stared at him for a moment, and then he started laughing. Sorak and Kara both gaped at him with astonishment while Ryana hung limply in his powerful grasp.

“You know,” Valsavis said, “this is the first time in my life I have ever truly found something to be funny. So, you have crowned your wizard king, have you? And what a splendid palace he resides in! Hail the mighty druid king, hiding in a ruin, like a cowering rodent among the rotting corpses of Bodach. I had assumed this place held more than met the eye when I saw that the undead would not come in here. What a wail they set up outside when I came in. It seems they wanted me to come outside and play. It was a shame to disappoint them, but I had already killed some of them two or three times, and there’s a limit to my patience. So, you have found what you were searching for. And to think, I could have fulfilled the object of my quest, as well... if only I had possessed the strength to climb those damned stairs.” He started chuckling once again.

“Let her go, Valsavis,” Sorak said. “There is nothing to be gained from this.”

“There is always something to be gained,” Valsavis replied. “It all depends on what you want, and what you will settle for. I was half dead when I came in here. But never have I fought so fiercely. You should have seen me, elfling. I was a bloody marvel. I waited here all night, and then throughout the day. I did not know what posed the greater danger, those corpses coming in here or you coming back down and finding me asleep. Still, I napped a little here and there, when I passed out from the pain.” He chuckled again. “You know, it truly is amusing. Nibenay would give anything to see this, but right now, some walking corpse is chewing on his yellow eyeball, along with my left hand. Of course, the Shadow King has doubtless withdrawn the enchantment from the ring and cannot feel it. Pity. I would so like to share some of my discomfort with him.”

“Valsavis ...” said Sorak. “It is finished. Let her go.”

Valsavis snorted. “You realize that I came here to kill you,” he said.

“Well, your success seems somewhat doubtful at the moment,” Sorak said. “You can scarcely stand. Give it up, Valsavis. The Shadow King cares nothing for you. He has only used you, and look what it has brought you.”

“It could have brought me everything,” Valsavis said. “It still can. Nibenay would give much to know where he can find your master. He did not tell me who it was. He pretended not to know, but I am not a fool. There can only be one preserver wizard whom a sorcerer-king would fear. You see, elfling, even if Nibenay did not discover the location of the Sage through me, I still succeeded. I am here. And neither you, the priestess, nor the pyreen, nor even an army of undead could stop me.”

“Indeed,” said Kara. “Your tenacity is without peer. I must congratulate you.”

“I failed only in one thing,” Valsavis said, glancing at Ryana. And then he grinned with bloody teeth. “If I’d only had more time, priestess. Too bad. We would have made quite a pair, you and I. It really is... too bad.”

“If you harm her, Valsavis,” Sorak said through gritted teeth, “then I swear you shall not leave this place alive.”

“Do you, indeed?” Valsavis said. “And what about you, shapechanger? I will have you swear, as well. Swear by your vows as a preserver that if I release the priestess, you shall do nothing to interfere. Swear, or I will drive this point right through her lovely throat!”

“I swear by my vows as a preserver that I shall not interfere in any way, if you release Ryana unharmed,” said Kara.

“You have my word,” Valsavis said. “But first, the elfling must give up his magic sword.”

“It would not do you any good, Valsavis,” Sorak said. “You serve a defiler. Galdra’s enchantment would not work for you.”

“Give it to the pyreen, then,” Valsavis said. “We will fight like men, with daggers and without enchantment, so we can see each other’s eyes.”

Without hesitating, Sorak removed his sword belt and scabbard, then handed them to Kara. Valsavis released Ryana, and she collapsed to the floor. He put his knife between his teeth, drew his own sword and tossed it aside, then grasped his dagger once again with his one remaining hand.

As Sorak drew his own knife, he realized that, for the first time, he would not have the tribe behind him. The Shade would not be there to storm forth like a juggernaut from his subconscious. The Guardian’s gifts were no longer his to call on. The Ranger, Eyron, Kether ... all were gone. He was deprived of Galdra, and Kara had sworn not to interfere.

He faced Valsavis alone.

But at the same time, the mercenary was seriously injured. He had even lacked the strength to climb the stairs. True, he had rested some, but he had also lost a lot of blood. How could he hope to prevail in such a weakened condition?

“I have no wish to kill you, Valsavis,” Sorak said, shaking his head.

“You must,” Valsavis replied emphatically. “You have no choice. I have found the sanctuary of the Sage. If I fail to return, then Nibenay shall just assume that I was killed by the undead and joined their ranks, and that you have gone on with your quest. But if I live, then I shall take what I have learned and sell it to him. And he shall pay whatever price I ask. One way or the other, Sorak, one of us shall not leave here alive.”

“It does not have to be that way,” said Sorak as they slowly started circling. “You have seen the treasure room. There is more wealth there than you could ever hope to spend. Surely, there would be enough to buy your silence.”

“Perhaps, if my silence could be bought,” Valsavis said. “But there would never be enough to buy my pride. I have never yet failed to complete a contract. It is the principle of the thing, you know.”

“I understand,” said Sorak.

“I thought you would.”

They circled each other warily, crouched over slightly, watching for an opening. Each held his blade sideways, close to his body to avoid the possibility of having it kicked away or trapped by a quick grasp at the wrist. Valsavis lifted his arm out in front of him slightly to block, as did Sorak. They each held the other’s gaze, watching the eyes carefully, for by watching the eyes, the entire body could also be seen, and the eyes were often the first to telegraph intent.

Sorak feinted slightly with his shoulder, and Valsavis started to lunge, but quickly recognized the feint and caught himself. They continued circling, cautiously, moving their blades, neither one offering the other an easy opportunity. It resembled a curious sort of dance, each of them moving, watching, feinting, reacting, and recovering, neither making the slightest mistake. And the longer it continued, the more the tension and stress increased, the greater grew the likelihood that one of them would make a slip.

The odds should have been in his favor, Sorak thought, for Valsavis was badly wounded, but he had at least a day to recover his strength while he waited for them at the bottom of the tower, and his long experience and iron determination had taught him to ignore pain and exhaustion.

Yet, at the same time, for Sorak, the experience was completely new. He could not depend, as he had learned by force of habit, on the alertness of the Watcher, nor could he summon forth the Guardian to probe his opponent’s mind. And even if he could, Valsavis had already proved himself immune to telepathic probes. Sorak also knew the sharp instincts of the Ranger were now lost to him, and Eyron’s abilities at calculation and strategy were gone, as well. He could rely on just one thing-the training he had received at the villichi convent.

“Do not try to anticipate,” Sister Tamura had told them over and over during weapons training. “Do not think about the outcome of the fight. Do not allow your emotions to rise to the surface, because they will defeat you every time. Find a place of stillness in yourself, and place your awareness completely in the present.”

In the present, Sorak reminded himself as he felt his concentration start to slip, and in that moment, Valsavis lunged. Sorak barely brought up his blade in time to parry, and the mercenary reacted swiftly, lifting his knife in a vicious, slashing stroke. Sorak countered it, and what had been a tense, slow, and silent dance suddenly exploded into a frenzied flurry of flashing, clinking blades as they moved together, then sprung apart, neither scoring a cut.

Valsavis was breathing heavily, but he had drawn upon his inner reserves and was moving lightly on the balls of his feet, weaving his knife around in quick, complicated patterns as Sorak continued to move his own blade in response, each of them standing a bit closer now, waiting for the one faulty or slightly delayed countermove that would leave an opening.

Suddenly, Valsavis came slashing in and Sorak took the stroke on his own blade, and once again, their knives flashed in a rapid blur and a staccato symphony of metal upon metal. Sorak winced as one of the cuts struck home, opening a gash in his right forearm.

He sprang back quickly, before Valsavis could move in to pursue the advantage. Once again, they began to circle, their knife blades describing rapid, flowing arabesques in front of them. Gith’s blood, he’s quick, thought Sorak. He had never seen anyone so fast. After all he had been through, where was he getting the energy? He had barely been able to stand moments before. What was holding him up?

“You fight well, elfling,” said Valsavis, weaving his blade through the air. “It has been a long time since I have had an opponent worthy of my skill.”

“Pity you put your skill to such base uses,” Sorak said.

“Well, one goes where the work is,” Valsavis said and immediately moved in, slashing at his face.

Reacting purely by instinct, Sorak jerked his head back, giving a sharp hiss of pain as the knife opened a cut on his cheek, just below his eye, and at the same time, he brought up his own knife and slashed Valsavis across his forearm.

Instead of moving back, Valsavis took the cut and aimed another slash at Sorak’s face, in the opposite direction, and the blades clinked together two, three, four, five, six times before Sorak and Valsavis moved apart again, both bleeding from fresh wounds.

On the floor, behind them, Ryana stirred slightly and groaned.

Without taking his eyes off Sorak, Valsavis leapt backward, pivoted quickly, and kicked her in the head. She collapsed again with a grunt as Valsavis turned to face Sorak, who was moving in.

Don’t get angry, Sorak told himself, keeping his gaze locked with his opponent’s. Don’t get angry, that’s what he wants. Concentrate, stay in the present. ...

“If you kill me, she will come after you,” he told Valsavis as their blades danced.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Valsavis said.

“Kara has sworn not to interfere in this, but her oath does not bind her after the fight is over.”

“That was thoughtless of me, wasn’t it?” Valsavis said, feinting toward him.

Sorak ignored the feint and tried one of his own. Valsavis didn’t fall for it.

“Even if you kill me, you will never reach the Shadow King with what you know.”

“But if I kill you, I shall only have two to worry about, not three.” He saw an opening and darted in.

Sorak tried to block, but was too late. He cried out as the knife opened a deep gash in his upper arm. Valsavis kept coming. As he stepped in and Sorak took the slash on his blade, Valsavis brought his knee up and drove it into Sorak’s groin. Sorak grunted, and his eyes bulged with the shocking pain. His knees started to give. Valsavis struck him a sharp blow alongside his head with the elbow of his handless arm.

As Sorak started to go down, he slashed at Valsavis and drove his left thumb hard into the mercenary’s solar plexus, collapsing his diaphragm.

The wind whooshed out of Valsavis, and he staggered back, gasping for breath. Before he could move out of reach, Sorak, striking out from a kneeling position, opened a deep gash in his thigh. For several moments, the fight came to a standstill as they scrambled apart.

Doubled over, Sorak fought to block the waves of dizzying pain. Valsavis, also crumpled, tried to get his wind back.

Groaning, Sorak put his head down, and the knife slipped from his fingers. Valsavis immediately lunged toward him, exactly as he had expected. With a smooth motion, Sorak drew a dagger from the sheath tucked into his high-topped moccasin and threw it. The blade struck Valsavis in the shoulder. He grunted with pain and instinctively brought his hand up, dropping his knife.

As Sorak tried to get back up, the huge mercenary kicked out at him and caught him in the head. Sorak fell to one side, then rolled as Valsavis kicked at him again. He twisted and lashed out with his leg, sweeping the warrior off his feet.

Valsavis went down hard, falling backward, but immediately brought his legs back and kicked up to his feet once more. The move threw him within reach of Kara, and before the startled pyreen could react, he quickly grasped Galdra by the hilt and pulled it free of the scabbard she was holding. “No!” she cried out.

But he turned to bring it down on Sorak. It flashed with a blinding, eldritch light and shattered into fragments.

“Aaah! My eyes?” Valsavis cried out. He reached up and pulled the knife from his shoulder and started slashing out all around him, still blinded by the brilliant flash.

Sorak backed away from him, and then his foot struck something behind him and he tripped and fell over Ryana’s prostrate body.

Immediately, Valsavis lunged toward the sound, but he tripped over Ryana as well and went down on top of Sorak.

For a moment, Kara watched anxiously as they struggled on the ground. Then there was a soft, thumping sound, a knife plunged into flesh and someone gave out a wheezing gasp. And silence.

Kara stood, immobile, her breath caught in her throat. Finally, Valsavis moved. Her heart sank for a moment, but then she saw him roll over onto his back and Sorak slowly emerge from beneath the body. Kara expelled her breath in a long sigh of relief and rushed to his side.

Valsavis was still alive, but the knife protruding from his chest gave clear evidence that he would not be for long. Already, his eyes were starting to unfocus. His breaths came in ragged wheezes, and blood frothed on his lips.

“Well fought... elfling,” he said, struggling to get the words out. “I... wouldn’t have... wanted... to live out... my life ... as a ... cripple ... anyway. Sorry about... your sword.”

“It’s just as well,” said Sorak, leaning on Kara for support as he gazed down at him. “I never wanted to be king.”

“You would . . . honor me ... if you . . . took mine.”

“As you wish.”

“Did you ... ever... learn ... your truename?”

“It’s Alaron,” said Sorak.

“Alaron,” Valsavis repeated, his eyes starting to glaze. “Don’t let... the corpses.. . chew ... my bones....”

“I won’t.”

“Thank you . . . uhhh! Damn. . . .” His breath escaped him in a long and rattling sigh, and then he breathed no more.

“Ohhh, my head ...” Ryana said, regaining consciousness.

Sorak turned and crouched beside her. “Are you all right?”

She looked at his bloody face, scared by a deep slash, and her eyes grew wide. “What happened?”

“Valsavis.”

He helped her sit up, and she saw him, lying stretched out on his back.

“Is he... ?”

“Dead,” said Sorak.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” she said.

Kara turned and went over to where the pieces of the elven sword lay scattered on the floor. She bent down and picked up the largest remaining fragment. It was the silver wire-wrapped hilt, with about a foot of broken blade remaining.

Ryana saw it, and her eyes widened once again. She gasped and turned to look at Sorak questioningly.

“The legend was true,” he said. “Valsavis tried to strike me down with it, but Galdra would not serve a defiler.”

“For generations, it was kept safe,” said Kara. “And now ...” She merely shook her head sadly as she held the broken blade.

“It served its purpose,” Sorak said. “Besides, I have another now.” He picked up the sword that had belonged to Valsavis. “A handsome and well-balanced blade,” he said. “Fine steel, very rare. I will try to put it to better use than he did.”

“Take this, just the same,” said Kara, handing him the broken sword. “Keep it as a symbol of what you have achieved, and what we struggle for.”

Sorak took it from her, holding Valsavis’s handsome sword in one hand and the broken blade in the other. He gazed at it thoughtfully. When it had been whole, there had been a legend engraved on it in elvish. “Strong in spirit, true in temper, forged in faith.” Now, only part of that legend remained.

“Strong in spirit,” he read aloud. He nodded. “A sentiment more true now than it ever was before. I have found my own unique spirit, at long last.”

“Then it will always have deep meaning for you,” Kara said. “Carry it with you, Alaron.”

He glanced up at her, then smiled and said, “My name is Sorak.”