The Outcast

Epilogue

Timor stopped just inside the entrance to the small council chamber and looked around. All the councilors were already present, sitting at the table. Everyone was silent, staring at him. All except for Kor, who pointedly gazed down at the surface of the table before him.

“You have heard what the people are saying,” Sadira began without preamble, even before he had sat down. “The entire city is outraged over the defiling of the graves in the cemetery,” she continued. “The count is still inexact, but we know that over three-score dead were raised. Raised by defiler magic,” she added redundantly, merely to emphasize the point. Rikus sat beside her, glaring at him.

Timor was about to reply, but Sadira continued without pause. “The entire hillside and plateau where the city cemetery is located was rendered completely barren by the foul spell,” she said, her gaze never wavering from him. “Moreover, the walking dead were sent into the city itself—into the city itself! There are scores of witnesses. People barricaded themselves in their homes in panic. Children were traumatized, to say nothing of those whose loved ones were buried in that cemetery, and were raised to walk again as foul flesh imbued with deadly and repellent purpose. An entire complement of guards was murdered at the Crystal Spider gaming house before members of the Veiled Alliance neutralized the threat.”

“Yes, a tragic thing,” Timor began smoothly, shaking his head as if in commiseration. “It is fortunate that—” but he never finished, for Sadira’s next words brought him up short.

“The people are saying it was you who are responsible,” she said, drilling him with her gaze.

“I?” said Timor. “Surely, it was the city guard who were responsible, for being derelict in their duties. The templars—as you well know, since you were the one to draft the edict—no longer bear an active role in law enforcement in the city. We support the city guard, of course, but—”

“They are saying it was you, Timor, who raised the dead,” said Sadira flatly.

Timor felt a chill, but he recovered quickly. “That is absurd,” he said. “Everyone knows we templars lost our powers when Kalak was slain. Surely you, of all people, do not believe such nonsense?”

“What I believe or do not believe is not at issue here,” Sadira said.

“What, precisely, is at issue?” he demanded, but she ignored him and went on.

“Also found dead upon the scene was one Rokan, said to be the leader of the Nibenay marauders, and one of the spies arrested by the city guard and given over to your custody. How is it, Timor, that a criminal in your custody, a known murderer and spy, was not only free to walk the streets of Tyr, but was able to do so armed with dagger, sword, and crossbow? Why was he not brought forthwith before the council?” Crossbow? I gave him no crossbow, Timor thought.

He must have obtained that for himself. Doubtless because he feared to meet the elfling face-to-face. Still, no matter. It was clear now how things stood. They were seeking to pin it all on him. Obviously, they had their suspicions, but if Rokan was dead, they could not possibly have any proof.

“Rokan...” Timor said, as if trying to place the man. “I am not certain I recall which one he was. In any case, I was not informed that he had managed to escape. Clearly, the fault lies with those who were in charge of him, and I shall be sure to ascertain who was responsible.”

“It is clear who was responsible,” said Rikus, his voice a growl.

“What are you suggesting?” Timor countered in an affronted tone. “Your remark implies some sort of accusation.”

“I don’t need to imply anything,” said Rikus. “It is all clear to me. All five of the Nibenese spies were apprehended by the city guard. All five were given over to the custody of the templars. Specifically, they were brought directly to your estate. All five conveniently escaped to make an attempt on the life of Sorak, the elfling. Their remains have all been positively identified.”

“That they escaped is regrettable,” said Timor smoothly, “and they clearly sought to take their revenge on the man responsible for their capture. It is fortunate the elfling knows how to take care of himself. He would seem to be quite a fighter for a mere herdsman. But I fail to see what all this has to do with me, unless you are seeking to hold me personally responsible for the regrettable escape of those spies. Granted, I did interrogate them, but then—”

“We are holding you personally responsible for turning those spies loose with orders to kill Sorak,” Rikus said. “And for a great deal more, as well.”

“You must be insane. Why should I do such a thing? Moreover, I do not know who began the pernicious rumor about my being responsible for the undead plague, but it is clearly ludicrous, nothing but malicious and totally unfounded gossip. I am no sorcerer.”

“So then you deny practicing defiler magic?” Rikus asked.

“Of course I deny it! It is against the law!”

“And you deny using coercion, magical or otherwise, to set the marauders on the elfling?”

“I repeat, why should I wish to do such a thing? What could I possibly have to gain?”

“The elfling’s death, if you saw him as a threat to some plot you were hatching,” Rikus said.

“Ridiculous!” said Timor. “I coerced no one, magically or otherwise! I refuse to sit still for these ludicrous and insulting accusations! It is no secret that you have both long harbored resentment for the templars. This is merely a ploy to make the templars fall into disfavor with the people and to oust me from the council!”

“The man Rokan was badly disfigured when he was found,” Sadira said. “So? What of it?”

“Bring in the first witness,” said Sadira. “Witness? Witness to what?” asked Timor angrily. A soldier of the city guard entered. “You were one of those who took the Nibenese marauder, Rokan, into custody?” Sadira asked him. “Yes, my lady, I was.”

“Was he in any way disfigured at the timer “No, my lady, he was not”

“Was he in any way disfigured during your capture of him?”

“No, my lady.”

“Was he in any way disfigured when you left him in the private quarters of the senior templar?”

“No, my lady.”

“Thank you. You may go.”

The soldier turned and left.

“So what?” said Timor scathingly. “What does that prove? Merely that he was not disfigured when he was brought to me. Obviously, it must have happened to him during his escape, or else soon afterward.”

“Send in the next witness,” said Sadira.

A man entered whom Timor had never seen before.

“You are a healer in the elven market?” asked Sadira.

“I am, my lady.”

“And you treated the marauder named Rokan?”

“He never told me his name, my lady, but I recognized him from being shown his body. He came to me in the middle of the night and threatened to slit my throat if I did not treat him for an arrow wound. A bolt shot from a crossbow, to be precise.”

“For the record, this was the same night that the attack took place on the elfling, Sorak,” said Sadira, glancing around at the other council members, “to which other witnesses have already testified.” She turned back to the healer. “Was Rokan disfigured when he came to you for treatment?”

“Yes, my lady, most terribly so,” the healer said.

“His face was as I saw it when I was shown his body.”

“Did he happen to mention how he came by this disfigurement?”

“He asked if I was able to restore his normal appearance,” the healer said. “I told him that was beyond my skill. He replied that it was a sorcerer who had disfigured him, but he did not name the sorcerer.”

“So you treated him for his arrow wound and then he left?” Sadira asked.

“We had one other small transaction,” said the healer. “He wanted to know about poisons. Something very strong, that would kill quickly. I told him that I was a healer and did not deal in poisons, but as I did not wish my throat slit, I named one that would serve. He could easily have been able to obtain it in the elven market, so I did not tell him anything he would not have found out somewhere else, in any case. I saw no point in withholding mere information.”

“What was the poison that you named to him?” Sadira asked, ignoring the healer’s equivocation.

“Venom from a crystal spider, my lady. He wanted something with which an arrow could be envenomed.”

“An arrow such as this crossbow bolt?” Sadira asked, carefully holding up the object. “Yes, my lady.”

“This arrow was recovered from the carcass of the tigone belonging to the elfling,” said Sadira. “It was fired at the elfling by Rokan, but missed him and killed his beast, instead. Healer, would you examine this pasty substance left upon the bolt?”

The man came up to her, bent over, and cautiously sniffed the arrow. “It is venom from a crystal spider, my lady.”

“Thank you. You may go.” The healer nodded to her and left the chamber. “What is the point of all of this?” demanded Timor.

“So Rokan tried to kill the elfling. What have I to do with it? You have proven nothing with these so-called ‘witnesses.’ You merely produce them to add the appearance of some weight to your baseless insinuations.”

“Rokan was disfigured by sorcery,” said Sadira. “He was not disfigured when he was brought to you.”

“Well, so he was disfigured by sorcery! That proves I could not possibly have done it! I am not a sorcerer! My power came from Kalak during his reign. I knew nothing of magic myself. I know nothing of defiler spells!”

“Send in Captain Zalcor,” said Sadira.

A moment later, the captain of the city guard came into the chamber.

“Captain Zalcor, you have conducted your search?”

“I have, my lady.”

“Search?” Timor said uneasily. “What search?”

“And what have you found?”

“This, my lady,” Zalcor said, withdrawing a small chest from beneath his cloak.

Timor’s eyes grew wide when he saw it.

“And where was it found?”

“In the private chambers of the senior templar, my lady.”

“And what did it contain?”

“After the hinges on the lid were broken and the chest was opened, it was found to contain a spellbook, my lady. This spellbook.” He tossed it on the table so that it landed in front of Timor.

“lies!” said Timor. “This is a conspiracy! That chest was planted in my home!”

“You mean it is not yours?” Sadira asked, raising here ye brows.

“I never saw it before in my life!” She nodded to Zalcor, and the soldier suddenly seized Timor from behind, pinning his arms. As Timor cried out in protest, Rikus got up from his chair and started searching him.

“Zalcor found no key,” said Rikus. “With what that chest contained, if it were mine, I would not let the key out of my sight. Aha! What have we here?”

He tore open Timor’s tunic and revealed the key the templar wore around his neck. With a jerk, Rikus tore it off and inserted it into the lock on the chest. It fit perfectly. He turned it, and the lock snapped open. “I suppose that key was planted on you, as well?” Sadira said dryly. She closed her eyes a moment, inhaled deeply, muttered something under her breath and made a pass with her hand. The spellbook opened by itself, and the pages fluttered for a moment. Then they stopped, and the spellbook remained open on the table.

“Captain Zalcor, if you will be so kind as to look upon the page at which the book has remained open?”

Zalcor glanced down over Timor’s shoulder. “It is a spell to raise the dead, my lady.”

“I never knew he planned this,” Kor said, still staring down at the tabletop. He swallowed hard and shook his head. “I swear, I never knew that he would go this far!”

“Kor!” cried Timor. “Shut up, you imbecile!”

“Whatever he says could make no possible difference now,” Rikus said. “You already stand convicted.”

From outside the building, there came the sounds of a commotion. Many voices shouting angrily. The tramp of many feet. The sound of ominous chanting, growing closer and closer. Timor froze. They were chanting his name.

“Ti-mor! Ti-mor! Ti-mor! Ti-mor!”

“News travels fast, it seems,” Sadira said. “Can you hear them, Timor? The very mob you sought to turn against us. The voice of the people, Timor. And they are crying out for you.”

Timor paled. “You won’t turn me over to them? You can’t! You mustn’t! They would tear me limb from limb!”

“And what a pity that would be,” said Rikus, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The crowd was rapidly growing closer. The chanting was louder now, and more insistent. Rocks were hurled through the open windows. Those sitting in the line of fire quickly moved away as more missiles struck the table and the walls behind them. The council members scrambled out of the way. One of them risked a quick glance out the window.

“There is going to be riot,” he said., “There are hundreds of them out there! The guard will not be able to keep them out!”

“I should be with my men,” said Zalcor.

A fresh fusillade of rocks came through the windows, and everybody ducked. Everyone except Timor, who seized the opportunity to break away from the distracted Zalcor. He shoved the soldier hard, then bolted. Rikus started after him, but the barrage of stones through the windows slowed him down. Several large rocks struck Rikus in the head, and he stumbled, throwing up his arms to protect his face.

Timor ran out into the hall. He had no idea where he would escape to, he only knew he couldn’t let that crowd get their hands on him. Behind him, Kor cried out his name.

“Timor! Timor, quickly! This way!” Timor turned and swore. Then, hearing footsteps running out of the small council chamber, he realized he had no other alternative but to follow Kor. They ran around a corner and Kor grabbed him by the arm, pulling him down a corridor.

“This way!” he said. “Quickly, quickly!”

“Where are you taking me?” demanded Timor. “To that screaming mob out there?”

“I’m only trying to help you,” Kor protested.

“You’ve helped me enough! All you care about is saving your own miserable skin!”

“There was nothing I could do. You were finished before you walked into the chamber.” Kor pulled him into a small sitting room. “Here, quickly!”

“This leads nowhere, fool! We’re trapped!”

“No, watch,” said Kor. He pressed a hidden stud by the mantlepiece, and the back wall of the fireplace swung aside to reveal a secret passageway. “Through there, hurry!”

“Where does this lead?”

“It’s an old escape route leading beyond the city walls,” said Kor as they ducked through, shutting the entrance to the passageway behind them.

“I never knew of this,” said Timor, hurrying through the narrow passageway, bent to keep from striking his head on the low ceiling.

“It was kept a secret from Kalak and the templars,” Kor said. “When Kalak ruled, the council had much to fear. This passageway was built to allow them an escape route from the sorcerer-king’s wrath in the event he ever turned on them.”

“How did you know of this?” asked Timor, cursing as he swept away the cobwebs in his path. “My grandfather was the architect who designed the small council chamber,” said Kor. “He was a prudent man.”

“If you know of this passage, then the others will know of it, also!”

“No, Rikus and Sadira know nothing about it, and I am the only one left now on the council whose family had served in Kalak’s time.”

“I cannot see a thing in this infernal darkness!”

“Just follow the passageway,” said Kor. “It leads to a hidden door concealed in a rock outcropping, outside the wall of the king’s gardens.”

“Why help me now, Kor, when you threw me to the carrion eaters back there?”

“Because I, myself, would have been next,” said Kor. “They knew I was your man, and they would have made me share your punishment.”

“So, craven coward to the very end, eh?” Timor said.

“You ran as well,” said Kor. “Besides, I do not find a desire for survival to be cowardly. And it was not I who brought you down, Timor. You did that to yourself. I supported you, but I never dreamed you’d go so far as to release a plague of undead upon the city!”

“I did not release them on the city, you fool! I sent them after that misbegotten elfling!”

“You should have left well enough alone,” said Kor. “That elfling was your downfall.”

“And I fully intend to be his,” Timor replied through gritted teeth. “I shall not rest until I find him and make him pay for his interference! His death will be a slow and excruciating one!”

“Wait, slow down,” said Kor from just ahead of him. “I think we are almost there. Yes, here is the doorway!” Timor waited.

“It sticks,” said Kor. “It has not been used for years. Here, help me push...”

Positioning himself beside Kor, Timor put his shoulder to the door. “If it wasn’t so close in here, I’d blow this blasted door right off its hinges!”

“And give away our position to anyone who might be watching from the city walls?” asked Kor. “Now who’s being the fool? Push!”

Both men grunted with effort, and the door slowly gave way. A crack of daylight appeared, and then grew wider as the door swung open on protesting hinges. Timor felt a fresh breeze on his face and inhaled deeply. The stale, musty air inside the passageway had made him feel faint. He stepped out through the door and straightened up. “Ahhh! My back was beginning to ache from being hunched over like—”

With a creaking, scraping sound, the door swung closed behind him. Kor had not come out. He was still inside the passageway, behind the door. “Kor! Kor! Come out! What are you doing?” Timor looked for a way to open the door, but he could find nothing that would open it from the outside.

“Kor! Open this door! Can you hear me? Kor!”

“Your friend is gone,” said a voice behind him. “He has performed his task, and has returned the way he came.”

Timor spun around. Behind him, just beyond the outcropping, stood a group of white-robed, hooded figures, gathered around him in a semicircle. All of them wore veils. Timor’s eyes bulged. The Alliance! Kor, that miserable traitor....

“If you think to fight us with your defiler spells, then try,” said the preserver wizard who had spoken.

“We would welcome the test.”

Timor licked his lips and glanced around fearfully. He no longer had his spellbook, and his memory suddenly refused to give up any spell that would serve this horrible occasion. Besides, they outnumbered him. He might get two or three of them, if he was lucky, but the others would quickly finish him. His mind raced to find a way out of this predicament, but he could find no solution. There was no escape.

Several of the hooded figures moved aside, and the elfling came forward, accompanied by a beautiful young villichi priestess.

“You!” said Timor.

Sorak simply stood there and gazed at the templar with a puzzled expression. “Why?” he said. And as he spoke, the Guardian probed the templar’s mind, and Sorak had his answer.

Timor gave an inarticulate scream of rage and launched himself at Sorak. Ryana quickly stepped forward and clubbed him down with her staff.

“So that was all it was?” said Sorak. “A mistaken assumption?”

“He attributed his own foul and devious motives to everyone around him,” said the Guardian. “He plotted against the others, so he believed they plotted against him. He was drunk with the idea of power, so he believed that others were no different.”

“He has only received his just desserts,” said Sorak, looking down at the templar, on his hands and knees upon the ground.

Timor gazed up at him, blood running from the cut on his head where Ryana had struck him. “Go ahead, you misbegotten, bastard, half-breed spawn! Go ahead and finish it! Kill me, damn you, and have done with it!”

Sorak gazed down at him and shook his head. “No, templar, not I,” he said. “You have brought me more pain than you could ever know, but their cause takes precedence.” He glanced around at the men in the white robes and veils.

“No!” said Timor. “Not them! I know only too well what they can do!” He grasped at Sorak’s leg. “Kill me! Strike me down! It was I who raised the dead against you! It was I who sent Rokan and his men to cut your throat!”

Sorak jerked his leg out of the templar’s grasp and turned away.

“Nooo!” screamed the templar. “Kill me! Use your sword! Kill me, damn you! For pity’s sake, kill me!”

Sorak kept on walking, away from the city, with Ryana at his side. Neither of them looked back as the hooded men closed in around the templar and he began to scream in earnest.

On a hill overlooking the city, Sorak and Ryana sat before a fire. Ahead of them, the desert tablelands seemed to stretch out into infinity.

“Why did you follow me?” asked Sorak softly as he held the scroll the Veiled Alliance had given him.

“Need you ask?” Ryana said.

“The mistress gave you leave?”

Ryana looked down and shook her head. “When I came out of the tower and learned that you had gone, I knew I had to follow.”

“You mean you left the convent without permission from the high mistress?”

“Yes,” she said. “I broke my vows. I cannot be a priestess any longer. Nor do I want to be. I just want to be with you.”

“You tracked me? All the way to Tyr?”

She smiled. “I am villichi. Following your trail through the mountains was not very difficult, but it took a while to find you once I reached the city. However, your reputation had spread quickly. Many spoke about the fearsome elfling fighter and master of the Way who worked at the Crystal Spider gaming house. I knew that it could only be you. But when I saw you with that half-elf girl, I thought...” Her voice trailed off.

“You of all people should have known better,” Sorak said.

She nodded. “Yes, I know. I know only too well. Still, you left without even telling her good-bye. I am sure she pines for you.”

Sorak glanced down at his sword. “If she pines at all, it is for an ideal, not for me.”

“You cannot always walk alone, Sorak, despite your name. No one can. You need me.”

“It would be better if you were to go back.”

“I cannot.”

“Cannot, or will not?”

“Both,” she replied. “You can tell me that you do not want me to go with you, Sorak, but it will make no difference. I will follow you whether you want me to or not. No one knows you as I do. No one understands you as I do. No one cares for you as I do. And no one can watch your back as well as I,” she added, thinking about the two men she had killed back in the alley as they waited to attack him. She would not tell him about that. She did not want him to feel obligated. She only wished her aim with the crossbow had been better, and that she had killed Rokan, as well. Then Tigra would not have died. She would not tell him about that, either.

He smiled wanly. “Why waste yourself on a male who cannot love you properly?”

“Why waste myself in a villichi convent, where I would never even see a male, much less love one?” she countered.

“But you have forsaken your vows, and you are no longer a priestess. You have no more vows to keep, while I have a vow I cannot break, no matter how much I might wish I could.”

“I will be satisfied with whatever you can give,” she said. “If I cannot be your lover, then I shall be your sister, as I once was.”

“And always shall be,” Sorak said. “Very well then, little sister. Since I cannot dissuade you, we shall both go out to seek the Sage together. Somewhere out there.”

He looked out across the vast Athasian desert, slowly fading from golden orange to bloody red as the dark sun sank on the horizon.