The Seeker

8

It wasn’t very difficult for Sorak to trail Torian and his mercenaries without being seen. He did not even need to allow the Ranger to the fore to do it. Torian was an experienced tracker, but Sorak was an elfling, and not only did he have the training of the villichi to aid him in his task, he also had certain genetic advantages. He possessed superior senses and greater powers of endurance and could move more silently than a human ever could.

Torian, of course, would know that he was out there. He was no fool. He had threatened to take it out on Ryana if he caught even a glimpse of Sorak, but Sorak was reasonably confident even a man as experienced as Torian would not suspect just how close he could come without alerting them. He never allowed them out of his sight.

He did not trust Torian. What he had told Ryana was the truth: he was sure he could trust Torian to look after his own interests, but Torian’s interests did not necessitate leaving them alive. He had tried putting himself in Torian’s place in an effort to anticipate what he might do. That task proved as easy as allowing the cynical, self-centered Eyron to the fore.

“Simple,” Eyron had said. “If I were Torian, I would consider the available alternatives and choose whichever course was the most convenient and involved the least risk to myself, and I would act on that.”

“And what course would that be?” asked Sorak.

“Well, assuming you kept your part of the bargain, of course, then I, being Torian, would do likewise. Up to a point,” said Eyron. “I would make my way toward Gulg, taking care to keep a careful watch for you. How far do you suppose it is?”

“Four or five days, I would think. Perhaps a little more. If he makes good time, he should reach the mountains in another two or three days. Once there, he said he knew the country. The Barrier Mountains are not very high. It should lake him no longer than two days to cross them, and Gulg lies in the valley at their foot.”

“Then he will always make certain to leave a guard on watch when he makes camp,” said Eyron, “for he has no more reason to trust you than you have to trust him. He will doubtless bind his captives carefully and thoroughly, taking care there is no way they can work their bonds loose, and he will keep a bright fire burning because he knows it would reflect within your eyes should you approach. He will take no chances and make certain Ryana is always close at hand so that he may threaten her should you make any attempt at rescue.”

“And if I make no such attempt and allow him to reach Gulg? What then?” asked Sorak. “What would you do in his place?”

“Why then, the simplest matter would be to proceed directly to my family estate after first issuing orders to the guards at the gate to be on the watch for you. Once I had reached safety with my captives, I would then do exactly as I had promised. I would release Ryana and give her the reward I promised you, but first I would make certain a full complement of guardsmen were stationed at the city gate, not in full view, of course, and perhaps I would arrange to have some more concealed outside. The moment Ryana came out of the city gates and you came forth to meet her, they would strike. You would both be dead, and my problem would be neatly solved, with no inconvenience to myself.”

“You have a devious turn of mind, Eyron.”

“Well, it is your mind, too,” Eyron replied.

“True,” said Sorak. “Sometimes I wonder how there is room for all of us.”

“You could always leave,” said Eyron. “I would not object to being the primary.”

“Somehow, I suspect the others would have a word or two to say about that,” said Sorak wryly. “Nevertheless, I am grateful for your presence, oppressive though it may sometimes be.”

“Whatever would you do without me?”

“I don’t know. Cultivate a brighter outlook upon life?” said Sorak.

“And go through it trusting people blindly, I suppose.”

“I never trusted Torian. But I trust him now to do exactly as you suppose he will. The question is, will he expect me to anticipate his plans?”

“If I were Torian, I would weigh matters very carefully and plan for every possible eventuality,” said Eyron.

“And Torian is a clever man,” said Sorak. “If we have anticipated what he shall do, then chances are that he will have anticipated that, as well. So then, what are we to do about him?”

“Something very final, I should think,” Eyron replied.

“I was hoping for an answer that was somewhat more specific,” Sorak said.

“You will have to excuse me,” Eyron replied, “you so rarely ask for my opinion about anything, much less my recommendations, that I am unaccustomed to all this sudden attention. The answer is obvious. You must overcome Torian before he reaches Gulg.”

“I could have thought of that myself,” said Sorak. “The question is, how do I accomplish that without risking the safety of Ryana or the princess?”

“Torian will not harm the princess save as a last resort,” said Eyron. “He was quite prepared to kill her in the grotto, for he had nothing left to lose. He had to convince you of the earnestness of his intent, and he knew the only way he could do that was to be prepared to carry out his threat. He gambled that you would be unwilling to gain victory at the cost of her life.”

“And he was right,” said Sorak.

“Obviously,” Eyron replied, “or else we would not now be in this position. Yet Torian knows that all he gained is time... and another hostage. And he would strike at Ryana before he would harm the princess.”

“If he did that, then nothing could save him,” Sorak said.

“Perhaps he knows that,” Eyron said. “So he would not kill her, then. However, there are many things that he could do short of killing her. And Torian strikes me as an imaginative man. Therefore, we must plan to strike at him in such a manner that neither he nor his two mercenaries would have the opportunity to act.”

“So then speed is of the essence,” Sorak said. “But that, too, is obvious. He will expect me to attack, and he will know that swiftness would be my only chance.”

“Precisely,” Eyron said. “He will expect you to attack. So the attack must come from someone ...or something .. else.”

“Any sign of him?” asked Torian.

Rovik turned and shook his head. “No. Gorak and I have been keeping careful watch, but there has been no sign that he is following us.”

“Oh, he is out there; you may be sure of that,” said Torian. “And doubtless closer than you think.”

“In this open country, if he was close, we surely would have seen—”

“You would have seen nothing,” Torian said, his voice a whip crack of authority. “The Nomad is not a man. He is an elfling, with all the attributes of both his cursed races! He could find cover in a place that would not conceal a child, and he can move more softly than a shadow. And when he comes at you, if you so much as pause to blink with surprise, he will be on you with dazzling speed. What is more, he is a master of the Way. Do not underestimate him merely because he appears human. Observe. ...”

He indicated the obsidian blade he had taken from the man slain by Ryana at the grotto. It had a hide thong fastened around its hilt, with a loop through which his hand could fit. “He shall not disarm me quite so easily again,” said Torian, “though this blade would be of little use against that cursed sword of his.”

“So what is the point, then?” Gorak asked.

“The point, you brainless fool, is not to use it against him, but against the priestess,” Torian said scornfully. “He values her. Doubtless, they are lovers.”

“But I had heard that villichi priestesses do not take—” Gorak began, but Torian cut him off impatiently.

“She is a woman, is she not?” he said. “And he is a comely-looking bastard, for all his coarseness and roughshod appearance. Indeed, many women are attracted to such things.”

“But... he is not even of her race!” said Rovik.

“So? You have never heard of a human female being bedded by an elf? Where do you think half-elves come from, you idiot? Fruit is often all the sweeter for its being forbidden. Did you mark the way she looked at him? No, of course not. That is because you are a simpleton. Make no mistake: he will attack us before we reach the city. That is why we must press on with all possible speed and clear the barrens before sundown.”

“Not that I would dream of questioning your judgment, my lord,” said Gorak, “but why?”

“Do you relish the thought of being out here at night without a fire?” Torian said. “There is nothing out here to burn, and the moons will not be full tonight. The elfling can see in the dark. Can you?”

“Oh,” said Gorak lamely.

“Once we clear the barrens near the foothills, there will be scrub to burn,” said Torian. “If he approaches, you will see the firelight reflected in his eyes. They will be lambent, like a cat’s, and you will see them. That is, you will see them if you remain alert. And by the time you see them, it may already be too late. Still, some warning is better than none at all.”

“If I were the elfling, I would wait to make my move until we reached the mountains,” Rovik said confidently. “There will be more cover there,”

“If you were the elfling, I would feel more confident about our chances,” Torian replied dryly. “Doubtless, he will deduce that we will think that and try to make his move before then, hoping to take us by surprise.”

“You would have made a good general, my lord,” said Rovik.

“Generals serve kings,” Torian replied. “My ambitions are considerably higher. Yours, if you have any, should be concerned with survival for the present. We were nearly a dozen when we started out. Now, we are only three. And we still have at least four days’ journey ahead of us.”

“But he is only one,” said Gorak. “He can no longer depend on the sword arm of the priestess. Do you truly think he alone can best the three of us, even if he is a master of the Way?”

“Even if he weren’t, I would prefer not to take the risk,” said Torian.

“What do you really think our chances are, my lord?” asked Rovik, uneasily.

“That would depend on just how badly you two want to live,” said Torian. “The priestess is our best chance to make it back alive. Look upon her and remember that she alone is your security. Keep closer to her than her shadow, for so long as there is a chance that she may come to harm, the Nomad will not dare strike.”

Ryana heard him, gagged and trussed up as she was, and shot a venomous look in his direction. Torian saw it and grinned.

“Now there’s a look!” he said. “If a gaze could burn, I would be incinerated on the spot.” He shifted his gaze to Korahna. “And as for you, my princess, I owe you a debt of gratitude. If not for your timely fit of royal temper, this journey would have ended for me at the grotto.”

Korahna was both gagged and bound, as Ryana was, but her eyes clearly conveyed her misery and self-recrimination.

She recalled what had happened only too well. She had played the incident over and over in her mind, tormenting herself with it, and the guilt she felt was worse because the consequences of her act had fallen not only on her, but on Ryana as well.

Seeing Torian disarmed, she had believed he was defeated. All she could think of were the insults she had suffered from him. When he had referred to her as his property, as something that belonged to him, all she could feel was her outrage, all she could think of was backhanding him across the face and humiliating him before his men—as he had humiliated her. It had never occurred to her that he could raise his hand against her, that he would seize her, that he was no less dangerous for having been disarmed. No one had ever laid a hand on her. No one would have dared. She was a princess of the Royal House of Nibenay.

I have been a fool, she thought miserably—a spoiled, pampered, arrogant little fool, and I deserve whatever happens to me. But what has Ryana ever done except offer me her hand in friendship? Even her friends among the Veiled Alliance were her friends only because she was of use to them. She was of use to Sorak, too, though she knew that his motives were not entirely selfish. But Ryana . . . Ryana had nothing to gain from befriending her. Indeed, she had done it at first against her better judgment. Ryana was the only true friend she ever had, and after the bond Kether forged between them, she knew no one could ever be as close to her as the villichi priestess. And this was how she had repaid her for her friendship. Korahna knew this was all her fault, and for that, she could not forgive herself.

Tears flowed softly down her cheeks and soaked into her gag. She could not even raise a hand to wipe them away.

How far the princess of the Royal House of Nibenay has fallen, she thought. And when they reached Torian’s estate, she had no doubts she would fall further still. In the beginning, Torian had treated her with deference as befitted a woman of her station, and had hoped to win her over with solicitude and gentlemanly manners. But now the border had been crossed, and he had laid hands on her. He had shown her his true colors, and there was no longer any point to the facade of his aristocratic charm. She knew him now beyond a doubt for what he was, and he would no longer bother with pretense. She had no doubt that he would now take by force what he could not win the other way.

But what of Ryana? She had seen the way the mercenaries looked at her. She was a beautiful, young villichi priestess—a virgin. And they gazed at her as if she were a piece of meat and they hungry carrion-eaters. So Torian had promised her to them. Whatever untender ministrations she would suffer at the hands of Torian, Ryana would know worse. Korahna couldn’t bear the thought. Somehow, she had to do something! But what could she do? If Ryana, who was so much stronger and so much more capable than she, could not escape, then what hope did she have?

And in her desperation, in her anxiety about her friend, a spark ignited deep within the princess. It was a small spark, barely a glow, but slowly, it began to burn. It was the sort of fire ignited within those who had nothing left to lose.

Only those to whom life meant less than some goal, some ideal, would ever feel its flame. As the spark ignited a fire that began to spread within her, Korahna resolved that somehow, even if it was at the cost of her own life, she would find a way to escape her bonds and help Ryana. And as her gaze burned into Torian, who had contemptuously turned his back on her, Korahna swore silently that she would find a way to kill him.

“They are moving quickly,” Sorak said.

“Torian is anxious to he out of the barrens before nightfall,” Eyron replied. “He does not wish to risk making camp without a fire.”

“You think he will push on instead of making camp?”

“I would not, if I were in his place,” said Eyron. “The darkness favors you. Making camp will slow him down, but a camp fire would also render your approach more difficult.”

“Our approach,” said Sorak.

“Well, when it comes to that, then leave me out of it,” said Eyron. “I find violence unsettling.”

“You mean you find fear unsettling,” said Sorak. “Call it what you will,” Eyron replied. “The fact remains that I will not be of much use to you if you can feel my ... unsettlement. You have asked for my advice, shocking as that may seem, and I have given it to the best of my ability. I have done my part. When the time comes, I would much prefer to be asleep and out of your way. I have had quite enough excitement on this journey, thank you.”

“Wouldn’t you want to know what happens?” Sorak asked.

“If you execute my plan well, I know what will happen” Eyron replied. “And if you do not, well, I would prefer to die quietly in my sleep.”

“You think the Shade and Kether and the others would allow us to die?” asked Sorak.

“It would take you time to summon Kether, time you may not have,” said Eyron pointedly. “As for the Shade, even he is not invulnerable, fearsome as he may be.”

“You have too strong a sense of your mortality, Eyron,” Sorak said.

“And you have too frail a sense of ours,” Eyron replied. “And since your mortality is mine, as well, it seems rather in my interest to remind you of that every now and then.”

“You have a point,” admitted Sorak, smiling to himself.

“And do not give me that condescending little smile,” said Eyron, irritably. “I have not always shirked my part whenever we are all in danger. It is just that this time....”

“You are worried about Ryana,” Sorak said with some surprise. “I had always thought you found her presence irksome.”

“Well. . . in the beginning, perhaps . ..” Eyron replied somewhat hesitantly, as if reluctant to admit he truly cared about anyone except himself. “I suppose I have grown accustomed to her. And if, by chance, something should go wrong...”

“You would rather not be there to see it,” Sorak completed the thought for him. “And you think I would? My feelings for Ryana are considerably stronger than yours.”

“I know,” said Eyron sympathetically. “I suppose I really am a coward, after all.”

“If you are, then you are that part of me that is cowardly,” said Sorak. “Besides, feeling afraid does not make one a coward. It is allowing fear to become that which controls you in everything you do that makes a coward. Isn’t that right. Guardian?”

“Everyone feels fear at one time or another,” she replied. “It is but the natural way of things.”

“Even you?” asked Eyron.

“Even me,” she replied. “I fear for Ryana’s safety as much as you do. I fear also for the princess. She may be a defiler’s daughter, but her heart is pure, and she has chosen the Path of the Preserver. A life as Torian’s concubine is a fate as bad as death. And I fear for all of us, as well.”

“But what of the Shade?” asked Eyron. “Surely, the Shade does not know fear.”

“I cannot speak for the Shade,” the Guardian replied. “He is that part of us that is driven by the elemental, primal force of survival. He is the beast within, and we all know how terrible he is to behold. When he is awake, we tremble. When he slumbers, we are nevertheless grateful for his presence. Yet as powerful as the Shade is, consider the sources from which that power stems. The instinct to survive is, in Part, driven by fear. So even though the Shade may appear utterly fearless, to some degree, fear must be a part of that which drives and motivates him. No one is completely without fear, Eyron. Fear is a part of every living creature. It is one of those things that enables us to understand what it truly means to be alive.”

Eyron withdrew for a while to contemplate the Guardian’s words, and the Guardian withdrew as well, so as not to intrude on Sorak’s thoughts. However, she was never very far beneath the surface, and Sorak knew he could always depend on her protective, maternal strength and on the wisdom of her perceptions. Eyron, too, for all of his contentiousness, was often a source of comfort to him, irritating though he could be. Eyron’s negativity and cynicism were valuable to him in that they were traits he lacked himself. In the past, he had found them to be hindrances, but now he understood that Eyron’s character traits were essential as a balance to his own and those of all the others—the Ranger, with his strongly pragmatic sensibilities, his stoic self-containment, and his Jove of and affinity with nature; Lyric, with his childlike sense of wonder and his innocent spirit; the Watcher, whose ever-aware, cautious presence was set off by her almost constant silence; the mysterious and ethereal Kether, who was, in a sense, a part of them and yet was more like some sort of spiritual visitation from another plane; even Kivara, with her amoral impulses and irrepressible desire for sensual stimulation and excitement. Separately, all of them were incomplete, but together, they achieved a balance that preserved the tribe of one.

And now, the delicate balance of the tribe was absolutely essential to the success of Eyron’s plan. If Ryana and the princess were to be saved, they would all have to work together, and the timing would be crucial, for they could not all come to the fore at the same time. Even if Sorak could call upon all of their abilities at once, the plan would still be dangerous. But he could not. Much of the plan would depend on the ones among them who were the least humanoid, the ones who were the living embodiments of the animal sides of their nature. And it would all begin with Screech.

Torian stopped and looked around. “We shall make camp here,” he said. Wearily, he dismounted and ordered the two mercenaries to start gathering dry scrub brush for the fire. Both Gorak and Rovik looked exhausted, and Torian knew exactly how they felt. As fit as he was, he scarcely had any energy left.

The priestess and the princess looked half dead. For them, bound and gagged as they were, the journey had been still more difficult. No matter, Torian thought. The priestess would survive for the short time still left to her, and Korahna would have time to recover from the journey once they reached his family estate in Gulg. This ordeal would break her rebellious, independent spirit, Torian thought. By the time he brought her home, she would be meek and docile, with no more fight left in her. He smiled to himself as he thought that women were, in many ways, like kanks. By nature unruly and difficult to handle, once they were broken to the saddle they obediently did the master’s bidding. Korahna would make a handsome little kank, and he could use her at his pleasure. As for the priestess ... well, perhaps it was bad luck to kill a priestess, but it would not be accomplished by his hand.

At least they were finally quit of the cursed Stony Barrens. Torian felt a great sense of accomplishment. Not only had he trailed the elfling and succeeded in wresting the princess back from him, but he had crossed the barrens and survived, the first man ever to have done so. The mercenaries, of course, did not really count. Besides, they would have turned back long before if he had not been there to instill fear in them and drive them. For generations to come, bards would sing songs about his feat. In fact, as soon as he returned to Gulg, he would commission a bard to compose an appropriate ballad. “The Quest of Lord Torian.” Yes, that had a noble ring to it.

As the mercenaries gathered fuel for the campfire from the surrounding countryside, Torian pulled Korahna from her kank and carried her to a nearby pagafa tree. The stunted, blue-green tree with its multiple trunks and scrubby branches provided little in the way of shelter, but it would serve to keep his captives secure. Korahna did not move or protest as he carried her over to the tree and propped her up against one of the trunks. Her eyes were closed, and she uttered only a small moan as he began to tie her to the tree. Once he had her firmly secured, he then went to get the priestess.

She seemed worn out, offering no more resistance than Korahna as he took her down, but as he was carrying her over to the tree, she suddenly began to thrash and squirm furiously in his grasp. Torian lost his balance and fell, dropping her to the ground. However, he instantly regained his feet and, as Ryana was struggling to rise, he rushed up and kicked her in the side. She collapsed with a muffled groan, and Torian added one more kick for good measure. This time, she lay still.

“I am much too tired to be forbearing, Priestess,” Torian said. “And when I am tired, my temper grows quite short. I remind you that you are of use to me alive, but not necessarily in one piece.”

He then reached down and grabbed a fistful of her hair, dragging her by it to the tree. Once there, he bent down and took her by the shoulders, then jerked her hard, smashing her head against the trunk. He repeated the process three times more, until her head lolled forward on her chest. Then he bound her securely with her back against the tree trunk, next to the princess.

Straightening up, he breathed deeply several times, rolled his neck and shoulders to get out some of the kinks, then went over to his mount and took a long drink from his water bag.

“Could we have some water, too, my lord?” asked Rovik, coming up behind him.

“Have you gathered enough fuel to keep the fire fed throughout the night?” he asked.

“Not yet, my lord,” said Rovik, moistening his lips nervously, “but we have enough to keep it going for a while. We shall gather more, but the work would go easier if our thirst were slaked.”

“Very well,” said Torian curtly, “but be quick about it. And keep your eyes open. That cursed elfling is sure to be around here somewhere.”

Rovik did not like the sound of his voice, but he said nothing as he went over to his mount and untied one of his water skins. He took a long drink as Gorak came up beside him to wait his turn. When Rovik finished drinking, he handed the skin to his companion.

“Lord Torian’s nerves are drawn tight as a bowstring,” he said softly, watching out of the corner of his eye as Torian went to sit beside his captives, his sword held ready.

Gorak took a pause for breath. When he spoke, he carefully kept his voice low. “If you ask me, we should just slit his throat, take the women for ourselves, and be done with it.”

“And be hunted for the remainder of our lives for killing an aristocrat?” said Rovik. “Don’t be a fool.”

“Who is to know?” asked Gorak. “There are no witnesses save for the women. And they are hardly in a position to give testimony.” “What would you do, kill them?” “After we have had our pleasure. Why not?” “And have nothing to show for all that we have gone through? Are a few moments of pleasure enough to make up for all of that? Besides, Torian would not die easily. He has trained throughout his life with master swordsmen. And then, don’t forget, there is still the elfling.”

“Aye, I have not forgotten,” Gorak said, “but there has been no sign of him. How do we know he has not simply given up or been killed by some damn beast?”

“He is much more at home out here than either you or I,” said Rovik. “And it is no easy thing to kill a master of the Way. No, our best chance is to stick with Torian. Three are much stronger than two, especially with the women as our hostages. When we reach Gulg, we shall be well rewarded. And then I shall quit Torian’s service with no end of pleasure.”

“Enough!” shouted Torian from his resting place by the pagafa tree. He waved his sword toward them. “Get back to work! And keep alert for that damned elfling!”

“It would almost be worth it to cut his throat and return the women to the elfling,” Gorak said. “It might leave our purses empty, but there would still be satisfaction in the deed!”

“I might be tempted to agree with you,” said Rovik, “if I thought the elfling would be satisfied with that and would let us walk away. But I have no illusions about that, my friend. Even if we manage to complete Torian’s commission and leave Gulg never to return, we would still be looking over our shoulders for the remainder of our lives. I would rather die a quick death than live a lingering one. One way or another, it ends here.”

They returned to collecting more fuel for the fire, all the while keeping a wary eye on the countryside around them.

Sorak had decided not to wait. He would make his move tonight. Three more days at most and Torian would reach Gulg. And the closer he came to his city, the more the odds favored him. Torian had pushed hard to be clear of the barrens by nightfall. He and his mercenaries would be tired, and that worked in Sorak’s favor.

However, Torian undoubtedly knew that, too, and so he would expect a rescue attempt.

Sorak’s only chance for success was to perform the rescue in a way that Torian would not expect.

He slipped back slightly and allowed Screech to come forth. Screech never spoke except to beasts. If he knew the language of humans or elves or halflings, he had never given any sign of it. But Screech knew how to communicate with beasts. On the rare occasions when he came forth, he preferred animal company, speaking only to them and never to any of the others in the tribe. Screech was more animal than humanoid, but he possessed the cunning of a halfling.

As Sorak gave way to him, not ducking under completely, but sharing consciousness with Screech, their body under-went a subtle change in attitude.

Screech crouched down very low and began moving on all fours, with a flowing, sinuous, catlike motion. The rocks and boulders of the barrens had given way to desert tableland, rising gradually toward the foothills of the Barrier Mountains, looming in a dramatic silhouette against the night sky. The countryside here consisted of sandy, rocky soil, dotted with desert scrub brush and the occasional small pagafa tree. Here and there, a spreading broom bush or a large barrel cactus offered a place of concealment, but for the most part, it was open country, offering good visibility even in the dim light of the quarter moons. Screech stayed very low, moving with agonizing slowness as he approached the camp, ensuring that their position would not be given away by any swift movements.

A human moving that slowly, in such an uncomfortable position, would have been in acute discomfort from cramped and spasming muscles. His knees would have been sore within moments, and his hands would have been torn and bleeding from being abraded by sand, small rocks, dry thorny twigs, and cactus needles on the desert floor. However, Sorak’s hands were hard and thickly callused, and his knees had built up thick layers of skin from years of crawling through the underbrush. He disregarded the tiny insects that crawled up his arms and legs. Their stinging bites would have maddened a mere human, but Sorak was accustomed to them.

Screech was not even aware of the little creatures. His attention was focused entirely on the campfire just ahead.

The two mercenaries had built it up with lots of dry scrub brush, so that it was burning very brightly and illuminating the area all around their camp. Most of the fuel that they were using to start the fire, dry as it was, burned very quickly, which necessitated their steadily feeding the flames. But the desert broom bushes they then added had a high resin content and burned hotter and more slowly. In time, as the heat built up and more broom bushes were thrown upon the blaze, it would burn long with plenty of bright light. The mercenaries were not green to the desert. They were both seasoned campaigners, and they knew the art of desert survival. As Screech approached still closer, he saw where Torian sat under the spreading, twisted, blue-green branches of the small pagafa tree. Ryana was bound tightly to one of its thin, multiple trunks, and the princess was secured to another. Neither of them were moving. The trunks of the pagafa tree were no thicker around than Sorak’s thigh, but they were immensely strong. There was no way that either Ryana or the princess, even if they were not weakened and totally exhausted, would have been able to break free. The three men obviously would sleep in shifts.

Sorak had hoped that two of them would sleep while one kept watch, but he soon saw that Torian was more careful than that. One of the mercenaries stretched out on his bedding roll between the fire and the tree, while his companion remained awake with Torian.

The mercenary that stayed awake paced back and forth to remain alert. Occasionally, he would throw more fuel on the fire, but for the most part, his gaze continually swept the countryside around them, and his hand never strayed from his sword hilt. As he neared, Sorak saw why. The man had fashioned a rawhide thong, attached to his sword hilt, with a loop around his wrist. Any effort to disarm him with the Way would not jerk the sword free from his grasp. These men learned quickly.

Torian remained close to Ryana, between her and the princess, with his back leaning against the tree. His obsidian sword was out and in his lap. With one quick gesture, he could bring it to Ryana’s throat. He sat very still, and Sorak might have thought him asleep. Indeed, perhaps that was what Torian wanted him to think. Instead, the man was wide awake, watching and listening intently. Any attempt to circle behind him and attack from that direction would alert the mercenary, who kept passing that position and watching for just such an eventuality. Any attempt to attack the mercenary first would give Torian plenty of time to threaten Ryana. And it would also give the sleeping man a chance to wake and join the fray—Torian was certainly no fool. However, he had never before been up against a tribe of one.

Screech was now down on his belly, like a snake. He had approached so close that if he rose up to his hands and knees, the mercenary would probably spot him. with his excellent night vision, Sorak carefully marked the disposition of the camp and the supplies. The kanks were staked down off to the right, perhaps fifteen or twenty feet away from the tree. The mercenary who walked the perimeter of the camp was armed with a sword and small crossbow, which he carried in one hand, drawn and ready to fire. The sleeping man had a drawn crossbow lying by his side, and he, too, had his sword out, with a thong fastened to it and around his wrist. Torian sat underneath the tree, his legs stretched out before him, one knee bent. He held his sword out in his lap, and his hand rested on a crossbow. He had also rearmed himself with three more daggers. They were not taking any chances.

“Now, Screech,” Sorak said.

Screech flattened out on the ground and closed his eyes as he sent out a psionic call. Moments later, it was picked up.

From the area all around Torian’s camp, small, brightly colored critic lizards began to converge on the pagafa tree. They scurried silently up the slender trunks behind the princess and Ryana, without making the slightest sound, and began to chew upon the ropes that held them. Meanwhile, Screech sent out another psionic call.

About a quarter of a mile away, it was picked up by a colony of desert antloids in their warren. The queen responded to the call and, moments later, the workers began to swarm up out of the huge mound that was the entrance to their underground labyrinth. The giant ants streamed across the desert in parallel lines, one after the other, like infantry trooping through a canyon, moving swiftly and purposefully, unerringly guided by the call Screech sent forth.

Ryana was the first to realize that something was happening. Having been knocked senseless by Torian hammering her head against the tree trunk, she regained consciousness slowly and painfully. Her head seemed enshrouded by a fog. She had the feeling that something was crawling over her hands. She tried to move them and found that she could not. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she saw the blurred image of the campfire. Slowly, it came into focus, and she remembered where she was and in what circumstances—recalled how Torian had kicked and battered her. The lingering effects of pain were banished by cold rage. She felt the tree trunk against her back and realized she was bound to it.

She looked to her left and saw Torian seated next to her, his head lolling forward on his chest. He wasn’t quite asleep, but he was close to it. As she watched, he jerked his head up quickly, catching himself, and gazed out beyond the fire.

Ryana lowered her head, feigning unconsciousness. Moments later, peeking from barely parted eyelids, she saw Torian’s head loll forward once more. Then she felt something crawling on her hands again. She froze. A snake? She was defenseless. And then she felt one of her bonds give slightly. She twisted her head back as far as she could and saw that the entire tree trunk behind her was crawling with brightly colored critic lizards. And they were chewing on her bonds. She looked toward where Korahna was tied up, just beyond where Torian sat, nodding, and saw the tree trunk behind the princess swarming with the lizards, as well. Dozens and dozens of them. And then understanding dawned.

Screech!

If Torian awoke now and turned around, or if the mercenary guard came any closer, either one of them would spot the lizards instantly. But one of the mercenaries slept, while the other was walking back and forth by the fire, peering intently out into the darkness. And Torian was oblivious to the creatures swarming over the tree trunks to either side of him. Ryana felt one of the bonds part. And then another. Slowly, she assisted the lizards by pulling with her hands, careful not to make the slightest sound. She felt one of them crawling up her back and onto her neck, where it started tugging at the gag tied around her mouth. A few moments later, it came free, and she took a deep breath.

Out beyond the campfire, Screech lay flat upon the ground, his ear pressed against the earth. He could now hear the thrumming sound of the approaching antloids. They were coming fast. A few moments more, and their approach would be clearly audible. Sorak knew he would have to move quickly when the time came. He lay still and waited.

Gorak suddenly stopped his pacing, alerted by some sound out in the darkness. Instantly, he scanned the desert beyond the fire for the gleam of lambent eyes, but saw no sign of them. What was it? It was almost like the sound of distant thunder, but not quite. He raised his crossbow and held it ready, his sword dangling from the thong loop around his wrist. It was growing closer now, and louder, a rumbling that sounded like ... and suddenly, too late, he realized what it was. His eyes grew wide, and he called out, “Rovik! Lord Torian! Wake up, quickly!”

Rovik was on his feet in an instant, grabbing up his crossbow. “What?” he called out, looking around anxiously.

“What is it?”

“Antloids!” Gorak said. “Coming this way!”

At Gorak’s first alarm, Torian jerked his head up, and the first thing he did was check his captives. As he turned to look at the princess, he saw the lizards swarming over the tree trunk and her bonds.

“Gith’s blood!” he swore, leaping to his feet.

In that moment, Ryana pulled free from her bonds, which the lizards had chewed through. Torian lunged at her, but she twisted away and kicked out with her leg as she rolled, sweeping his feet out from under him. As he went down, Torian heard Gorak’s agonized scream.

The first of the giant antloids had come barreling out of the darkness into the firelight, and Gorak only had enough time to loose one bolt from his crossbow. It bounced harmlessly off the creature’s thick exoskeleton, and then it was on him, closing its huge mandibles around his waist and lifting him high into the air. Gorak’s throat-rending screams echoed through the night as the rest of the antloids swarmed into the camp.

Rovik tried to run, but he knew it was hopeless. Only an elf could outrun a full-grown antloid. Four ot the creatures converged on him, and he disappeared, screaming, in a tangle of snapping mandibles. The kanks, panicked by the charging antloids, pulled out their stakes and escaped into the night. The antloids did not pursue them.

Torian regained his feet quickly after Ryana had tripped him up. He lunged for the princess, but Ryana made a dive and tackled him.

As he fell once more, Korahna came to her senses. The first thing she saw were the antloids swarming into the camp.

She brought her hands up to her face and screamed, not even realizing in her panic that her hands were free. Then she saw all the lizards swarming over the tree trunk behind her. Several of them were still clinging to her arms. She recoiled from the pagafa tree in horror, flailing with her arms to shake the creatures loose.

Torian wrestled with Ryana, kicking free of her grasp and rolling to his feet, but as he turned to the attack, three antloids lumbered toward him. He retreated, leaving Ryana to the creatures, not realizing they were advancing to protect her. He started to move toward the princess, but two more antloids cut him off. Korahna tried to run, but suddenly found herself surrounded by the huge creatures. She screamed again, but suddenly felt a hand clamp over her mouth.

A familiar voice at her shoulder said, “Do not be afraid. They will not harm you.”

She turned and saw Sorak and threw her arms around him, sobbing gratefully into his chest.

Torian retreated toward the fire, his head jerking to the left and right as he desperately sought an avenue escape. But there was nowhere to run. He was encircled by a ring of antloids. Yet, they did not move in for the kill.

They simply stood there in a large circle all around the campfire, surrounding him where he stood, their mandibles making ominous clicking sounds like large sticks being struck together. Only then did Torian realize his two mercenaries were dead.

He stood there, holding his useless obsidian sword before him, knowing it was a hopeless weapon to use against these creatures. And even if he could succeed in killing one, the others would tear him to pieces. So he stood and waited for the end.

Then, to his stunned surprise, one of the creatures scuttled slightly to one side, and Sorak came into the circle. Behind him were the princess and Ryana. The antloids made no move to harm them. In a flash, Torian understood that, somehow, the elfling could make the creatures do his bidding. Only then did he truly understand what he was up against, and he cursed himself for ever having trailed the elfling to begin with. He had followed his own death, pursuing it, and now it had caught him.

“Damn you for a sorcerer!” Torian swore, as he raised his sword defiantly.

“What good do you think that will do now?” said Sorak, gazing at the weapon.

“More good than you know,” Torian replied. “It will deny you the final victory.” And with that, he quickly turned the sword around, grasping it with both hands, and plunged it deep into his stomach.

Sorak was taken completely unprepared. He simply stared, astonished, as Torian grunted with pain and sank to his knees, transfixed by his own blade, blood bubbling forth between his lips. Ryana caught her breath and Korahna gasped as they both stared at the dying man.

Torian raised his head and gazed at the princess—“You were my undoing,” he said, forcing the words out. “You and my own .. . ambition. Had you but . . . accepted me ... I would not have mistreated you. But no . . . you were too good for me. I would have . . . made you a queen. And I. . . could have been ... a king. . .”

His eyes glazed over as the light of life left them, and he collapsed onto the ground. Slowly, the antloids dispersed, returning to their warren, leaving Sorak and the two women alone, standing by the fire, looking down at Torian’s corpse.

Sorak looked at Ryana. She smiled at him wearily. Then he turned to the princess and took her arm. “Come, Princess,” he said. “It is over now and there is time to rest. Tomorrow, we shall take you home.”

*****

From the heights of the foothills of the Barrier Mountains, the barrens stretched out toward the western horizon, a seemingly endless sea of broken rock. The three travelers stood on a promontory, a stone cliff extending like a ship’s prow over the desolate wasteland below. Behind them, trees dotted the slopes, growing thicker as the mountains rose.

It seemed almost like an alien environment now.

“Can we really have crossed all that?” Korahna said, looking out from the cliff as the sun slowly set behind them, causing the shadows of the mountains to lengthen on the ground below. It was the first time she seemed animated in three days.

The Ranger had tracked the soldier kanks Torian and his mercenaries had used, and Screech had called them, soothing the frightened creatures. He had given the beasts a chance to graze on the brush gathered by the mercenaries and, when they left the campsite the next morning, their steeds were fresh.

Now, near the end of their long journey, Korahna looked less like a princess than ever. Dressed in various items of apparel taken from the slain mercenaries, she bore a greater resemblance to a female brigand than a daughter of the Royal House of Nibenay. The too-large moccasins on her feet were now surmounted by a pair of hide breeches and a sleeveless tunic that had been cut by Sorak so that her waist was exposed. The bottom half of the tunic had been stained with blood and torn by mandibles. There was a wide sword belt at her waist, and Torian’s obsidian blade, which he had used to take his own life. She swore she would always value it for the service it had performed. She wore a brown, hooded cloak over her tunic, and her long blond hair, combed out with her fingers, no longer gleamed the way it had when she brushed it every night before retiring in her tent while with the caravan. Ryana thought, despite the haphazard nature of her costume, that it was nevertheless an improvement over the way she had looked before.

Ryana had held her sleeping form while they rode the kank, and Korahna had whimpered softly in her arms. Ryana had not awakened her. She would dream unpleasant dreams for a while, and it was best she get beyond it. Later, when it was Ryana’s turn to rest, the princess had said nothing, and during the next day and the following one as well, she had remained silent, brooding to herself. Now, finally, a trace of her old self... or perhaps it was a new self .. . made its appearance.

“We are, perhaps, the first to cross the barrens since the Wanderer did it,” Sorak said. “Or perhaps, I should say the Sage.”

“No, the Wanderer,” Ryana said. “He had not yet become the Sage.”

“I wonder how long ago it was?” Korahna mused aloud.

Ryana shook her head. “No one knows. No one can even remember when The Wanderer’s Journal first appeared.”

“There was a copy of it in the templar library at the palace,” said Korahna. “I must have read it at least a dozen times. It seemed to me, back then, that the Wanderer must have led a wonderful life. Free to roam wherever he chose, to sleep under the stars, to see the entire world, while I was cloistered in the palace, unable even to venture beyond the walls of the compound until I began to sneak out at night in secret. How I longed for the sort of adventures he must have had!”

“Well, you have had your first,” said Sorak. “How does it feel?”

Korahna did not reply at once. When she finally spoke, it was in a soft, contemplative tone. “It was, of course, nothing like what I had dreamt of when I was younger. I had dreamt of adventure without the harsh realities. I had imagined traveling across the desert, but I had not added the sweltering heat to my imaginings, nor the horrible feeling of thirst, nor the aching muscles from hours upon hours of unaccustomed riding. I had no way of knowing what it would be like to fear being attacked by predators . .. either animal or human. And I could never have imagined that I could be treated as Torian had treated me.”

Neither Sorak nor Ryana spoke, waiting for her to continue.

“He had reduced me to something less than human,” she said after a moment. “I was merely a means to an end, a thing for him to possess and use to accomplish his aims. And when he called me his property ... I think that it was only then that I realized just what I was to him, and all my outrage came bursting forth.” She looked at Ryana. “I was such a fool. I do not know what came over me.”

Ryana nodded. “Sometimes it happens that way, when a person is pushed far enough.”

Korahna looked away, out over the barrens once again. “When he plunged his sword into himself... I actually enjoyed it. It felt good. It made me feel so vindicated, so alive. . . .” Her voice trailed off. She took a deep breath and expelled it heavily and shook her head. “What sort of person that does that make me?”

“A normal person,” Sorak said, but Ryana realized it wasn’t Sorak. The voice still sounded the same, but she knew him well enough to recognize the Guardian in the subtle changes only she could notice. And then, suddenly, she realized that Korahna would notice them as well because of their shared commonality of experience induced by Kether.

“Guardian?” Korahna said, proving what Ryana had suspected.

“Yes.”

“We have never met, have we?”

“I have known you, through Sorak,” said the Guardian. “But you have not known me.”

“Why, wise Guardian?” Korahna asked. “Why? How can it be normal to feel such passion for someone’s death?”

“Because to a normal person, killing is an act of passion,” the Guardian replied. “Either that, or an act of desperation, of self-defense. Torian had denied you that which you, like all people, hold most dear and central to the very essence of your being—your own identity. Your needs and your desires. He denied you your free will. And you also knew that he would have killed us, if he could.”

“But he could not,” Korahna said. “When he realized that, he knew he could not win.”

“He made his choice,” the Guardian replied. “He could take a life, even his own, and not feel anything. And that is why you, Korahna, are a normal person and Torian was not. What you are feeling now, these are all things a normal person feels. If you did not feel any of these things, then you would be right to be concerned about what sort of person you had become. Except that, if you were such a person, such thoughts would not occur to you, for you would no longer have a conscience.”

Korahna looked down at the ground. When she Joked back up, there were tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Guardian,” she said, softly. “Thank you for helping me understand.”

That night, they made camp in the mountains and It a fire and slept. As Ryana felt weariness overcome her, she saw Sorak duck under and the Ranger came to the fore. He stood and walked off into the darkness without a word, moving as silently as a mountain cat. With a sigh of resignation, Ryana sat up and took her sword, holding it across her lap while she waited for the Ranger to complete his hunt and return. She gazed at Korahna as she slept, quietly and soundly.

“Rest well, sister,” she murmured, under her breath. “Rest well. The healing has begun.”