The Seeker

10

One of the robed figures stepped toward them with his torch. As he approached, they could see that his robe was white, and his face within the hood was covered with a white veil.

“These are my friends,” Korahna said. “They helped me to escape captivity and brought me here across the Stony Barrens.”

“You crossed the barrens?” said the hooded man with amazement.

“If not for these two, I never would have survived,” Korahna said. “I owe them my life.” I The hooded figure turned to gaze at Ryana, then at Sorak. “You are the one who is called Sorak, the Nomad?”

“You know me?” Sorak said.

“Your arrival was foretold.”

“By whom?” said Sorak. “By the Sage?”

The Guardian tried to probe him, but the hooded figure merely shook his head. “Do not try to use the Way on me, Nomad. It shall not serve you. I am shielded.”

“Your magic is strong,” said Sorak. “Yes, but not strong enough,” the veiled sorcerer replied. “Regrettably, the Shadow King’s is stronger. We are grateful to you, and to you as well, Priestess, for returning Korahna to us. She will be a great help in our struggle. But you had reasons of your own for bringing her with you.”

“Yes,” said Sorak. “We had hoped that she would help us contact you. We were sent to Nibenay—”

“I know,” the sorcerer said. “We were expecting you, though we did not know in what manner you would arrive, or from where. We thought you might come with a caravan or perhaps by the little-traveled northern trail. .. but across the Stony Barrens: that is a feat that shall be told in tales for a long time to come. I look forward to hearing the details of your journey. However, Korahna can supply them. I fear you shall have other things with which to be concerned.”

“What do you mean?” Ryana asked. “The templars have discovered that the Elven Blade is a contact point for the Alliance. They have been sending spies to watch who comes and goes. We did not learn of this until after Korahna had disappeared, so there was no way she could have known.

“Following your . . . encounter, known informers were seen leaving the tavern in a hurry. They will run straight to the templars. It is unlikely that any of them would have recognized Korahna, but you revealed yourself in your exchange with the thief. Soon the Shadow King shall know of you, and then you shall be in gravest danger.”

“But how could the Shadow King know of my quest to find the Sage?” asked Sorak.

“Do not underestimate the powers of Nibenay,” the wizard said. “Besides, you carry Galdra, the enchanted sword of ancient elven kings. That alone would make him see you as a rival. No defiler would wish to see the elves unite behind one ruler, unless that ruler were himself.”

“But I am not an elven king,” protested Sorak. “This sword was given to me by the High Mistress Varanna, and she said nothing of any legacy associated with it. I have no wish to rule or unite anyone. I am not responsible for fanciful stories that grow up around a sword.”

“Nevertheless, you will find yourself affected by those stories. Stories that are repeated often enough become legends, and people set great store by legends. Whether the prophecy is a true one or not, there will be those who will try to make it so. They shall either try to cast you in the role, or else take your sword and usurp it for themselves.

“You could, of course, give up the sword, but then you would risk having it fall into the wrong hands. Nibenay could do much with such a blade. If it wins the allegiance of the elves, I would much rather see it in your hands. Either way, you are in danger so long as you remain within the city. It is possible the forces of the Shadow King may find the hidden entrance in the storeroom, but if they do, we are prepared to cave in the tunnel on them. There are other ways into and out of the old ruins, ways they have not yet discovered. There is a branching off point in the tunnel through which you came that will take you up into the alley behind the Elven Blade. It would be best if you were not seen leaving the tavern. You could be followed.”

The hooded wizard reached inside his robe and withdrew a small, rolled up scroll that was banded with a green ribbon.

He handed it to Sorak.

“This will tell you what you need to know,” he said. “Ask me no more questions, for I have no answers to give you.”

The wizard turned to go.

“Wait,” said Sorak. “How shall I contact you again?”

“It would be best if you did not,” the wizard said. “The longer you remain here, the greater will be the risk to you and anyone who helps you. You have your quest, we have our struggle to wage. In the end, perhaps, our goals may be the same, but we must pursue them by our separate paths. Good luck, Nomad. May you find that which you seek. Come, Korahna.”

The princess looked at Sorak and Ryana. “Words are insufficient to express my feelings,” she said. “I will always be deeply indebted to you both.”

“You owe us nothing,” Sorak said.

“No, I owe you a great deal,” said Korahna, “and someday, perhaps, I can properly repay it.” She hugged Sorak, then Ryana. “Farewell, Sister,” she said. “You shall always be in my thoughts.”

“And you in mine,” Ryana said. “May your feet be steady on the Path.”

“And yours,” Korahna said. “Farewell.”

She handed the lantern to Ryana and went with the others. Their torches receded into the darkness of the underground ruins until they parted, going off into different directions and disappeared from sight. Sorak looked down at the rolled up scroll he held in his hand.

“And so another clue in our long search,” he said. “Let us see what this one holds.” He untied the green ribbon and unrolled the scroll. It merely said, “Burn in a safe and isolated place.”

“Well, this place certainly seems safe and isolated enough,” Ryana said. She held up the lantern. Sorak stuck a corner of the scroll into the flame. At once, as the flames licked up the length of the scroll, they began to burn with a blue-green fire. Sorak dropped the scroll onto the ground and they both stood back.

As the edges of the burning scroll curled up and blackened, sparks began to shoot forth, dancing up into the air. More of the scroll burned, and more sparks rose up, only instead of being extinguished as they rose, they grew brighter and swirled around in mad arabesques, like frenzied fireflies going around and around, faster and faster, eventually forming a swirling, sparking column of blue-green light. Within the light, a bare outline of a figure formed, its features indistinguishable but dressed in robes. The figure was a brighter light within the light, sparkling and giving off radiance that lit up the entire underground courtyard. And then it spoke.

“You have done well, my children. You have secured the Seals of Knowledge, corrected an injustice in rescuing the Princess Korahna, and proven your worth and your tenacity in your arduous journey across the Stony Barrens. But greater challenges, and still greater dangers, lie ahead. You must now leave the city of the Shadow King, and leave it quickly, for he has great power, and the time to deal with him has not yet come. Set your feet upon the path to the villiage of Salt View, across the Great Ivory Plain and beyond the Mekillot Mountains. There you must seek a druid known as the Silent One, who shall guide your to the ancient city of Bodach, where lies the next object of your quest. Guard the Seals of Knowledge with your lives, for together with what you shall find in Bodach, they hold the key that will unlock the final object of your quest.”

“But what are we to seek in Bodach?” Sorak asked.

There was no reply. The shimmering figure faded from view as the whirling sparks shot out in all directions and dissipated in the gloom of the underground ruins.

“Gith’s blood!” swore Sorak angrily. “He toys with us and poses riddles! Why does he not speak plainly and tell us what we need to know? How many more tests must we pass?”

“Perhaps he doles out the information we require in small portions,” said Ryana, “so that we cannot reveal all if we should fail and fall into defiler hands.”

“Now we must seek something in Bodach,” Sorak said in frustration, “and we know not what it is. And after that, he implies that there is yet a third object to be found, only we know not what or where.”

“Perhaps this druid called the Silent One, who is to be our guide, can tell us,” said Ryana.

Sorak sighed with exasperation. “Only to find him, we must first cross the Ivory Plain,” he said. “The barrens are nothing but miles of broken rock. The Great Ivory Plain is nothing but a sea of salt. And as if that were not enough, we must then make our way to Bodach, and the Silent One would have to be insane to willingly guide anyone to that evil place.”

“How is Bodach evil?” asked Ryana.

Sorak snorted. “How is it not evil?” He reached into his pack and pulled out The Wanderer’s Journal. “Listen this,” he said, opening the book and reading:

“Oh,” said Ryana. “I see.”

“Note that nowhere does he say that he himself has been there,” Sorak said. “Even the Sage did not dare go to Bodach, and yet he sends us there.”

“He was not yet the Sage when he was the Wanderer,” Ryana reminded him. “And now that he is the Sage, he cannot go himself. The pyreen told you that this quest would not be easy. You seek the Sage to ask a boon and find direction for your life. Well, something gained for nothing is worth exactly what it cost to gain. In any case, before we can think of Bodach and its armies of undead, we must first leave the city safely and reach the village of Salt View. What sort of place is that?”

“The Wanderer describes it as a village of former slaves who now live as raiders and gypsy entertainers. It is governed by a mul who was once a gladiator, and the marauders we have met before make their camp not far from there. Doubtless, they use the village as a base of supply and a place of recreation. In other words, we can expect to find no friends there.”

“We should find one in the druid,” said Ryana. “Do not be discouraged, Sorak. We embarked on this quest together, and we shall see it through together. You have lived in ignorance of your past for all your life. Surely, you did not expect to find all the answers in a few short weeks?”

He sighed. “I suppose not. It is just that I had hoped. . . . Well, it makes no difference. I chose this path, now I must walk it.”

“We chose this path,” she said.

He looked and her and smiled. “Yes, we did—Together. Forgive me, little sister. And thank you for your strength.”

“You are forgiven,” she said. “And you are welcome—Now let’s get out of this miserable place. The lantern burns low, and I have no wish to stumble around down here in the dark.”

They made their way back down the tunnel and found the branching point the wizard had told them about. They turned down it and walked along a short corridor before they came to a flight of stone steps. At the end of the steps they reached only a brick wall.

“Now what?” said Sorak.

“There must be a door somewhere,” said Ryana.

After searching for a few moments by the dim, flickering glow of the lantern, she finally found an iron ring set into the wall to their left. As the lantern flickered out, she pulled it. The ring did not give on the first try, but on the second, when she put more strength into it, it pulled out of the wall slightly, and there was a grating sound as the wall swung open. It was a concealed door, pivoting around a central rod that ran through it. It opened out into a wooden storage shed, built against the back wall of the tavern. They cautiously opened the door of the shed and peered outside. The way seemed clear. They stepped out into the alley and breathed the fresh night air.

Almost at the same moment, they heard the solid tramping of feet, a tread far heavier than that of humans, and they flattened themselves against the wall as a squad of half-giants trooped past the mouth of the alley. They were carrying huge agafari war clubs as they marched with great strides around the corner toward the entrance to the Elven Blade.

“The wizard was right,” said Sorak. “Doubtless, they have come to look for us.”

“Then it would be in our best interests to get else-where,” said Ryana, “and with all haste.”

They ran toward the mouth of the alley and cautiously looked out from the shadows. The street seemed clear. But as they moved out of the alley and quickly started walking back toward the center of the city someone behind them yelled out, “There they go! Look! There they are! There!”

They glanced over their shoulders and saw someone standing in the entrance of the tavern, pointing in their direction.

Almost immediately, several half-giants came running out past him, into the street.

“Why can’t these good citizens of Nibenay mind their own cursed business, as they do in Tyr?” said Sorak through gritted teeth, as they turned and ran. Behind them, the half-giants thundered on their trail. They could not run as quickly, but their huge strides ate up a lot more ground.

“This way, hurry!” Sorak said as they darted down a dark alley. They ran to the opposite end and into the side street, but could hear the bellowing half-giants still in pursuit—and getting closer. It sounded as if Sorak and Ryana were being chased by a lumbering stampede of mekillots.

“We cannot outrun them!” said Ryana. “They can cover more ground with one stride than we can with three, and they know this city, while we are already lost!”

“Then we shall have to see what we can do to discourage their pursuit,” said Sorak. “In here!”

They ducked into a building entry way and pressed themselves against the doors as the half-giants thundered toward them. Ryana fitted a bolt to her crossbow The half-giants ran past their place of concealment, and she raised the crossbow and took aim.

Suddenly, the looming guards halted. “They did not come this way!” one of them called out. “They must have doubled back!”

Ryana fired. The bolt hissed through the air and struck one of the half-giants in the back of the neck, at the base of his skull. With a bellowing cry, he raised his hands up to the arrow and fell crashing to the street. Ryana was already lifting her bow for a second shot as the half-giants turned back toward them. Her second bolt struck home, hitting one of them between the eyes, and he fell dead in his tracks. Several of the others tripped over him as he went down, and they all crashed down in a tangled heap.

“Now!” said Sorak, and they ran once again, back the way they had come.

There had been slightly fewer than a dozen half-giants chasing them, and now that two of them were slain, the rest were totally enraged. Lights were going on in the windows up above them as people brought candles and lanterns to see what all the racket was about. As Sorak and Ryana ducked from one winding street into another, some of these citizens were obliging enough to call down to the half-giant guard and point out the way they went.

“Do you know which way we’re going?” Ryana asked, breathing hard as they ran.

“No. Do you?”

“We have gone up and down so many streets, I have lost track.”

“We must be getting somewhere,” Sorak said. hey turned a corner and found themselves on a lane that somehow looked familiar. And then, a moment later, they saw why. Almost directly across the street from where they stood was the entrance to the Elven Blade.

“Oh, great!” Ryana said. “We have come right back to where we started from!”

“Well, look on the bright side. At least we know where we are now,” Sorak said.

They could hear the half-giants coming up behind them.

“This way,” Sorak said, pointing back the way they had first come when Korahna brought them to the tavern. But they had not run halfway down the street when they saw another troop of half-giant guards come round the corner, led by one of the Shadow King’s own templars.

“Those two!” she called out as they skidded to a halt in the center of the street. “Stop them!”

They turned around to run back the other way, but before they could run three paces, they saw their original pursuers come thundering around the corner. They were cut off, hemmed in on both sides.

“We’re trapped!” said Ryana, looking both ways.

“I was getting tired of running anyway,” said Sorak, drawing Galdra. Ryana fired one more bolt, dropping another half-giant in his tracks, then quickly slung her bow across her back and drew her own sword. They took up position in the center of the street, back to back, each holding a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other.

The half-giants came at them from both sides, bellowing as they charged. The first one to reach Sorak raised his agafari war club and brought it down in vicious swipe. Sorak parried the blow with Galdra, and the war club was split cleanly in two. He swung his sword again, and the half-giant recoiled, but not quickly enough. Galdra opened up his stomach from side to side, and as the half-giant screamed, his guts came tumbling out into the street.

At the same time, Ryana moved in to meet her attackers. The two who reached her first were overconfident at being confronted by a female, but they soon discovered that the villichi priestess was no ordinary woman. Ryana’s blade flashed with dazzling speed as they both raised their clubs, and before they could even bring them down, both half-giants fell, their fatal wounds spouting blood. But more were coming.

As the other half-giants reached Sorak, he suddenly felt himself spinning away, as if he were falling. Consciousness receded, and the Shade came rushing forth like a cold wind from the depths. The half-giants were stunned at the juggernaut that suddenly plowed into them, swinging his sword as if it had a life of its own. The gaze of this new antagonist was as frightening as his blade, for those who met those eyes felt a chill that froze them to the marrow.

Three more half-giants fell in as many seconds, and Galdra dripped with their blood as the blade flashed in search of fresh victims. With one hand the Shade swung Galdra, slicing through a half-giant’s waist, while with the other he caught a war club that was coming down, aimed at his head. The half-giant stared, wide-eyed with disbelief that someone so much smaller could so easily catch his blow. He had time for no more reactions: the Shade kicked out with his foot and smashed the half-giant’s kneecap even as he parried another blow from yet another half-giant.

Another war club was cut in two, as if it were no more than a twig, and a second later, two more half-giants lay dead in the street.

Meanwhile, Ryana looked to her speed and skill to avoid the blows aimed at her. Moving like a deadly dancer, she twisted and turned, sidestepping attacks and darting between the half-giants that attempted to surround her. She darted among them like a fly buzzing among beasts, stinging painfully with every pass. One half-giant collapsed to the ground, howling in pain as his knee tendons were severed; another saw her poised before him and raised his club only to find that she was not there and that suddenly blood was pouring from the gaping wound in his chest. So quickly had she struck that he never even saw the blade go in. He fell, knocking over one of his comrades, and Ryana dispatched him, also, as he tripped.

The close quarters of the combat now worked against the half-giants as they knocked into one another, trying to get at their opponents, who moved among them with terrifying speed. One half-giant struck out blindly with his war club, hoping to connect, but instead smashed in the ribs of one of his fellow guards. The other, maddened with pain and enraged, caved in his compatriot’s skull with his own war club. And then he, too, fell as Ryana plunged her sword into his side.

The templar watched from the far end of the street, amazed as one half-giant after another fell before the furious onslaught. It was impossible, she thought. Who were these people? Only a handful of the guards remained now, and as they pressed in their attack, they met with no more success than those who had gone before them. Over the din of the combat and the enraged bellowing of the guards, another sound rose above the fray, a sound that made shivers run down the watching templar’s spine.

It was the sound of the Shade howling for blood. It was an animal cry, frightening and inhuman. Two more half-giants fell, and then another, and another, and the Shade had no more opponents confronting him. He turned, then, and ran to help Ryana with the ones remaining. Between the two of them, three more half-giants fell in the blink of an eye. Only four remained. Human guards would have given up and run, but the half-giants were too stupid for that. Motivated only by rage, they smashed their clubs upon the ground with each missed blow, and were too slow to recover. Big as they were, they were no match for their much faster opponents. Moments later, all the half-giants lay bleeding in the street, now littered with the bodies of two full squads.

So astonished was the templar at what she had witnessed that she had simply watched, frozen to the spot. But when the elfling turned toward her and fixed her with his gaze, she was suddenly galvanized into action. At least forty yards separated them, and as fierce a fighter as the elfling was, the templar knew he could not reach her before she summoned up a spell. As she lifted her arms in preparation, she saw the elfling raise his sword. He wasn’t even moving toward her. For a moment, she paused and smiled at what she thought was a last, defiant gesture, and then her jaw dropped with amazement as he hurled me blade.

She laughed at the pathetic attempt, knowing that it could not possibly reach her. But the laughter froze in her throat as she saw the deadly blade come flashing at her, spinning end over end, apparently defying gravity as it swooped toward her with a whoosh each time it spun around. It covered twenty yards, then twenty-five, then thirty....

“No,” she whispered, staring with horror at the rapidly approaching doom. She turned to run, but Galdra cleaved her right in two before she had taken three steps. Had she still been alive to witness it, she would have been even more amazed to see the sword describe a graceful arc in midair and return to the outstretched hand of its owner.

Sorak found himself standing in the middle of the street surrounded by the corpses of half-giants. The Shade receded, and Sorak quickly looked around to see Ryana right behind him, breathing heavily as she held her dripping sword. She looked at him and smiled weakly, fighting for breath, and then her smile faded as Sorak saw her staring beyond him.

Two more squads of half-giants had appeared at the far end of the street. Sorak and Ryana spun around and saw yet another squad coming up behind them.

“Sorak ...” said Ryana, staring at him with resignation in her eyes.

“It seems we are not yet finished,” he said, feeling the effects of the Shade’s exertions. Ryana simply shook her head. “I fear we are,” she said.

“What would Tamura say if she heard you talking like that?” Sorak asked, hoping to brace her up by invoking the name of their old teacher, who had so often pushed them past all limits of endurance.

“I only wish that she were here right now,” Ryana replied. “I have no more strength.”

“Stay close to me,” said Sorak, wondering if there was time to summon Kether. But the half-giants were already charging at them from both sides.

“I always have,” she said, as she raised her sword and turned to face her fate.

They stood, shoulder to shoulder, prepared to go down fighting. But as the half-giants converged on them, the darkness of the street was suddenly illuminated with brilliant light as several fireballs exploded around them. One burst right in the midst of an approaching troop of half-giants, sending them scampering for cover or falling to the ground, on fire, bellowing as they rolled in the dirt to put out the flames. The troop coming from the opposite direction was likewise bombarded as fireballs arced through the air and struck them, bursting in explosions of flame as they landed.

“What’s happening?” Ryana asked, staring all around at the fireballs that came down on their pursuers.

“The Alliance!” Sorak shouted.

The white-robed figures of the preserver wizards were visible on several of the surrounding rooftops as they hurled fire spells down at the city guard.

“Sorak! Ryana! This way!” Korahna shouted. She stood in the entrance to a building on their right, beckoning to them. “Quickly! Run!”

They ran to the building and ducked inside. Korahna led them down a corridor and out through the back door, then down an alley into an adjoining street.

“Your timing could not have been better,” Sorak said.

Korahna turned and grinned at him over her shoulder. “One good rescue deserves another,” she said.

“We must get you out of the city with all possible speed. Word has reached us that the templars have ordered the entire city guard to converge on this area. You saw but a small complement of them. The entire elven quarter will soon be swarming with half-giants looking for you.”

“Suddenly, I am feeling very anxious to be on our way,” Ryana said.

They ran down another alley and out into the street at the opposing end.

“Aren’t we are heading away from the city gates?” asked Sorak as they ran.

“There is a hidden tunnel leading underneath the city walls at the far end of the elven quarter,” said Korahna. “That will be our chance to get you out of the city safely. The diversion created by my friends should help us. Most of the city guard will be drawn to the fighting in the street outside the tavern.”

As they rushed to the end of the lane and turned a corner, they suddenly ran right into another squad of half-giants.

“Well, maybe not all of them,” Korahna said, drawing her sword. They were too close to run. Only a dozen yards or so separated them. The half-giants bellowed and charged, brandishing their war clubs.

Ryana felt a sudden shiver run down her spine as Sorak moved quickly past her. He had the lethal grace of some predatory beast, and she realized that Sorak was gone and the primitive entity called the Shade had risen to the fore from deep within his subconscious.

Moving with incredible speed, the Shade met the charging half-giants and waded into them with Galdra flashing. In the blink of an eye, one half-giant was cut completely in two, and his severed torso fell screaming to the ground. Galdra flashed again, and an agafari war club was cut through as if it were no more than a dry stalk of desert grass. Another half-giant toppled, screaming, to the ground. Then Ryana saw a sudden change come over the others.

Several of them recoiled and dropped their clubs, cowering helplessly before their antagonist, while others simply bolted. Ryana abruptly understood why she had felt that shiver run down the entire length of her spine. Each of Sorak’s inner personalities had some psionic talent all its own. The Shade’s was an aura of unrelenting terror. She had sensed it rising as he passed her, and now she felt it even more strongly as it radiated from him like waves of pure, bestial malevolence. It was stark and primal terror, the hypnotic, gripping fear that strikes tiny mammals when they gaze into serpents’ eyes, the involuntary paralysis of the rodent as the winged predator swoops down for the kill.

But even as she realized what was happening, she became overwhelmed by it herself. The Shade was not projecting it only at the half-giants that fell before his flashing blade; it emanated out from him in all directions.

Korahna cried out as she felt it and panicked. She took off, screaming, down the street, running as if her life depended on it. Ryana ran after her, or perhaps with her, some part of her mind trying to tell her it was no threat to her, but she could not help herself. She had to run before she froze in helpless terror and was consumed by it. A block away, she felt fear ebb and rationality return. Korahna was still running ahead of her, caught up in the momentum of her flight.

“Korahna!” Ryana shouted after her as she ran to catch her. “Korahna, wait!”

And then she saw another squad of half-giants, a dozen or so led by a templar, come into the street. Korahna, in her flight, was going to run headlong into them.

“Korahna!” Ryana screamed. “Stop!”

She ran with all the speed she could muster, closing the distance between them, and then she leapt, tackling the princess from behind. They both fell, sprawling, to the street. Ryana rolled on top of her and pinned her down.

Korahna struggled, and Ryana gave her a stinging slap across the face.

“Come out of it!” she cried. “Korahna, for pity’s sake!”

She struck her again, and Korahna’s head jerked with the blow, and then her eyes seemed to clear. She stared up at Ryana, confused and uncomprehending.

“Korahna, we’re in danger! Get up!”

They struggled to their feet, but the half-giants were already upon them. The monstrous guards broke ranks quickly and surrounded them, leering down and slapping huge war clubs into their large and callused hands.

“Well, what have we here?” the templar said, stepping forward. “If it isn’t the traitor’s daughter, returned to receive her just desserts.”

“Narimi!” said Korahna.

“You should have stayed away, Korahna,” the older woman said, gazing at her with scorn. “You are a disgrace to the royal house.”

“The royal house is a disgrace!” Korahna said. “I am ashamed to have been born to it!”

“A situation that is easily remedied,” the templar said. “You shall not have to live with your shame much longer. You will be executed, as your mother was, but first you will name all your accomplices in the Alliance.”

“I will die first!” Korahna said, grabbing for her sword.

But even as she tried to draw it, the templar swept out her hand, and the blade froze in its scabbard. Korahna pulled with all her might but could not free the sword.

Ryana concentrated, focusing her psionic energies upon the club of the half-giant standing behind the templar. He grunted as it twisted from his grasp and flew up into the air, arcing toward the templar’s head. But she quickly turned and again flung out her hand. There was a flash of light as the agafari wood was incinerated in midair before it could come down on her.

Then the templar pivoted and swept her arm out toward Ryana. An invisible force struck her in the chest, and she flew backward, landing at the feet of the half-giants behind her. Stunned and with the breath knocked out of her, she could not focus her will.

“A good attempt. Priestess,” said the templar, “but psionics are no match for magic. You shall die as well, but first you shall tell me where the elfling is.”

“I will tell you nothing, bitch!”

“I think you shall,” the templar said, raising her land once again. “Hold her.”

Two of the half-giants bent to pick her up, but as they did, something came whistling through the air over their heads.

The templar made a grunting, gasping sound as the knife struck her in the chest. She looked down at it with astonishment, then collapsed to the ground. Instantly, the street was filled with a hail of arrows.

“Get down!” Ryana shouted, sweeping Korahna’s legs out from under her and rolling over on top of her.

All around them, the half-giants fell, bellowing in pain and fury as arrows seemed to sprout suddenly from their bodies.

In seconds, the street was littered with their lifeless bodies.

The hail of arrows ceased, and Ryana looked up. A number of tall figures stepped out of the shadows around them, perhaps a dozen or more, all carrying crossbows. Elves and half-elves. And leading them was a familiar figure.

“You!” Ryana said.

It was the thief from the tavern. And a moment later, Sorak came up beside him. Ryana’s eyes grew wide as she saw him. He was completely covered in blood.

“Sorak!”

“It is all right,” he said. “The blood is not my own.”

“You should have seen him!” said the thief. “He was magnificent! The half-giants fell like chaff before him!” He turned and spoke to his companions. “Did I not tell you, scoffers? Truly, he is the king the legends foretold!”

“I have told you once already, I am no king,” said Sorak.

“You carry Galdra, the blade of ancient elven kings.”

“A sword does not make one a king!”

“That one does.”

“Then you take it!”

“Not I,” the thief said. “You are the one.”

“I tell you, I am not the one!”

“Could you two debate this later?” said Korahna. “The quarter is crawling with guards. We haven’t much time.”

“We will provide escort,” said the thief. “It is the very least that I can do to make amends.”

“You have already made amends,” said Sorak. “Just get us out of here.”

“We must reach the north wall, by the stone yards,” said Korahna.

“This way, then,” said the thief. “I know the shortest route. Trust thieves to know the back streets and alleys.”

They ran quickly down twisting lanes and through narrow, refuse-strewn alleys while some of the others hung back to cover their rear. The two women strained to match the pace set by the elves, who were merely jogging by their standards. Before long, they reached the stone yards, a wide and open expanse near the north wall of the city, where the large, quarried blocks were brought to be cut down for use by the city’s artisans.

Moving quickly through the moonlit yard, Korahna led the way through the maze of stone blocks piled up all around them. Most of the other elves hung back to cover them in the event of pursuit. Finally, they reached the north wall of the city and ran alongside it until they came to the hovels at the far end of the yard. Korahna paused a moment to get her bearings.

“This way,” she said, ducking down a narrow alley. She counted doors. It was not an alley but a street, though it was scarcely wider than Sorak’s shoulders.

They were in the poorest section of the city, where hovels were so crowded together that they made the warrens of Tyr look like the templars’ quarter. At the seventh door on their right, Korahna stopped and knocked softly seven times. They waited, tensely, then a moment later, three slow, answering knocks came from within. Korahna knocked once more, and the door swung open.

They entered a room that seemed little more than a closet. A small, cheap lamp cast what little light there was, illuminating a pallet on the floor and several crudely made pieces of furniture assembled from scrap, a low table pegged together from boards, and a small, three-legged stool. There was no room for anything else. The old man who had opened the door was dressed in rags, and his scraggly, gray hair hung limply to his shoulders. Without a word, without even so much as a glance at the stranger who had entered his cramped quarters, he shuffled over to the wood pallet on which he slept, bent over, and with a grunt, pulled it away from the wall, revealing a wooden trapdoor beneath it.

“It is a small and narrow tunnel,” said Korahna, “and you will have to crawl. But it leads under the wall and outside the city. From there, you are on your own.”

“Then we will say farewell again,” said Sorak, giving her a hug. “We owe our lives to you. And to you, as well, friend,” he said to the thief, holding out his hand.

Instead of taking it, the thief bowed deeply. “It was privilege, my lord. I hope that one day, soon, we shall meet again.”

“Perhaps,” said Sorak. “And do not call me ‘my lord!’”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Aaah!” said Sorak, throwing up his arms.

The old man opened the trapdoor.

“Hurry,” said Korahna. “The longer we remain here, the greater the risk.”

Sorak took her hand and kissed it. “Thank you, Your Highness,” he said.

“Go on! Hurry!”

He climbed down into the tunnel.

“Farewell again, Sister,” said Ryana. “I shall miss you.”

“And I, you.”

They embraced briefly, and then Ryana followed Sorak down into the hole. The door was closed behind them, and she was plunged into total darkness. She reached out with her hands in front of her and fell a small opening, barely wide enough to crawl through.

“Sorak?”

“Come on,” he called back, from inside the tunnel. “But keep your head down.”

She squirmed into the opening and started crawling on her hands and knees. She couldn’t see a thing. She felt incredibly closed in and wondered what would happen if the runnel collapsed on them. She swallowed hard and kept on crawling. The thought occurred to her that it seemed like a perfect place for snakes and venomous spiders. Why did that have to occur to her now? She was grateful that Sorak was crawling up ahead, because that meant if there were any spiderwebs inside the tunnel, he would break them before she crawled into them headfirst. It was not, perhaps, a very considerate attitude, she thought, but at least it was an honest one.

After what seemed like an incredibly long time, she finally felt the tunnel sloping up slightly. And then she reached the end of it. She found out because she ran into the wall headfirst. With a curse, she pulled back and rubbed her head, then felt around her. A shaft was open above. She crouched, then stood, and felt wooden rungs in front of her. She climbed up perhaps a dozen feet or so and then felt Sorak’s hand close around her wrist, helping her out. She breathed in the welcome, cool, night air and felt a soft breeze blowing. They stood in a thicket by what she first thought was a stream, then realized was an irrigation canal. They were about thirty or forty feet beyond the city wall. The distance she had crawled had somehow seemed much longer.

“I hate tunnels,” she said, brushing the dirt off her clothing before realizing that there wasn’t much point to it. After all that they had been through, her clothes were filthy and torn in places. Sorak did not look much better. In fact, he looked even worse. There was dried blood caked all over him, covered with a layer of grime.

“Don’t stare,” he said. “You do not look much better.”

They stood in a grove of agafari trees, sheltered from view. Ryana unslung her crossbow and unbuckled her sword belt, dropped her pack to the ground, and waded into the canal. It felt wonderful to let the cold water caress her face.

“Well?” she said. “Are you coming in, or do you intend to spend the rest of our journey looking like a corpse?”

He grinned, took off his sword belt and his pack, then waded in beside her. The water came up to their chests and they both submerged themselves, then scrubbed their faces and their clothes.

“It would be just our luck to be caught here, bathing, after all that we have been through,” said Ryana.

“I would not tempt fate if I were you,” said Sorak.

“Yes, my lord.”

He splashed her. “Stop that.”

“Yes, my lord.” She splashed him back. Suddenly, they were laughing and splashing each other as they had not done since they were both small children, playing in the pool by the temple. After a short while, they climbed out and rested for a moment on the bank, the water dripping from them.

“That felt good,” she said, staring up into the trees.

“Enjoy the feeling,” Sorak replied. “It is the last water we shall see until we reach the Mekillot Mountains.”

She sighed. “I suppose we had best be on our way and put as much distance between us and the city as possible while it is still dark.”

Sorak got to his feet and buckled on his sword belt.

“If it were not for the fact that I have no other sword, I would be sorely tempted to toss this one into the canal.”

“That would be a fine way to treat a gift from the high mistress,” said Ryana, shouldering her pack.

He drew the blade and looked at it. “The sword of elven kings,” he said dryly, then sighed. ” Whay does it fall to me?”

“You should be grateful,” said Ryana. “It has saved our lives.”

“And placed them in jeopardy, in the first place.”

Sorak replied wryly. He sheathed the blade. “Still, it is a fine and wondrous blade.”

“And we shall yet have need of it,” Ryana said. They started walking, heading through the grove of trees and keeping under their protective cover as long as possible.

“It feels rather strange not to have Korahna along,” said Sorak as they walked. “I had grown rather fond of her.”

Ryana nodded. “As did I. At first, I disliked her, but she proved to be much more than what her appearance had suggested. Do you think she will be safe?”

“No,” said Sorak. “And I do not think she would have it any other way.”

Ryana smiled. “At least she will have a chance to get some rest,” she said. “Every muscle in my body feels tired and sore.”

“We will try to find a sheltered place to rest a while shortly after daybreak,” Sorak said. “We have a long walk ahead of us.”

“I don’t suppose Screech could scare up a kank?”

“In the Ivory Plain? I would not count on it. And it is doubtful we shall find wild kanks this close to the city. No, I am afraid we have no choice but to go on foot.”

“Do you think they will pursue us?”

“Perhaps,” said Sorak. “But I suspect they will think we have found shelter with the Veiled Alliance. They will search the city for us first. By the time it occurs to them that we have fled beyond the walls, we will be long gone.”

They soon reached the end of the grove, beyond which acres of cultivated rice fields spread out before them. They waded through the irrigated fields, past darkened, outlying estates, both of them feeling too tired to do much talking. Soon, they reached ground that was more sparsely covered with vegetation. The ground was sloping slightly, and Ryana knew that it would not be long before they reached the desert once again. They had filled their water skins back at the canal, but she knew she would have to make the water last as long as possible. And chances were it would not be long enough. By daybreak, they had reached a ridge and stopped to rest among the rocks. As the sun came up, she looked out over the ridge and saw, in the distance, a vast expanse of white land, gleaming in the morning sun.

“The Great Ivory Plain,” said Sorak.

Far in the distance, Ryana could see the outline of the Mekillot Mountains, their next destination. “Well,” she said with an air of resignation, “I had always wanted to go on a long pilgrimage.” She sighed. “However, this is not quite what I had in mind.”

There was no reply from Sorak. She turned to find him stretched out on the ground in the shadow of the rocks, fast asleep. This time, the Ranger did not come out, nor did any of the others. Their body’s wariness had finally caught up with them.

“Sleep well, Nomad,” she said, stretching out beside him. “We have both earned our rest.” She closed her eyes and thought of the forests of the Ringing Mountains, of the flowing river and spreading canopy of trees. It seemed to belong to another lifetime now. She wondered, briefly, what life would have been like had she chosen not to follow Sorak, but remain at the villichi temple. It would have been, she thought, a pleasant, peaceful and serene life . . . and utterly predictable. She had no regrets. And as she fell asleep, she smiled.

Epilogue

The weary travelers looked utterly exhausted as they fell asleep beside each other on the sheltered rock ledge looking out over the plain below. They slept in shadow, protected by the overhanging rock as the dark sun rose above them, reflecting in myriad sparkles off the vast expanse of salt and quartzite crystal that was the Great Ivory Plain. They would have a long, hard journey ahead of them when they awoke, and when they reached the Mekillot Mountains, they would face still greater challenges. With a sigh, the white-robed figure passed a long and bony hand over the surface of the scrying crystal, and it clouded over. The faces of the weary travelers faded from view, as if disappearing into a mist. The large and perfect sphere went as dark as the black velvet on which its silver stand stood.

“Let them rest a while in peace, Kinjara,” said the Sage, turning from the scrying crystal. “We shall look in on them another time.”

The rare white-and-black striped kirre made a low growling noise, rising in tone. It raised its massive head and its twin ramlike horns and twitched its long, barbed tail.

“What is it, Kinjara? You are hungry?”

The kirre gave an answering growl.

“Well, do not look to me. You know which way the door is. If you are hungry, then you must hunt. That is the way of things.”

The kirre growled plaintively.

“Do not give me that. Yes, of course I am still your friend. But you are a wild creature. Simply because I provide you with shelter and companionship, do not expect me to start feeding you, as well. You would only become spoiled.”

The kirre grunted and exposed its huge teeth in irritation as it rose up from the floor on its eight muscular legs and moved with lithe grace toward the door.

“That’s a good kitty,” said the Sage. “And remember our agreement. Do not kill any birds.”

The kirre gave an answering grunt.

“No, I am sorry. No birds and that is final. I will not have you looking at me hungrily when my wings begin to sprout. I know your sort.”

Grrrrrr.

“And the same to you. Go on now, get.”

Another robed and hooded figure approached from across the room. At first glance, it might have been taken for a human, except that it was very large, just over six feet tall, and extremely wide in the shoulders and upper torso. There were other peculiarities about its proportions. The arms seemed unusually long, and the hands had only four clawlike fingers, ending in sharp talons. The feet, too, were very large and bird-like, more like claws than feet. And from beneath the robe there hung a reptilian tail. As the figure stepped into the light, the face within the hood became visible. It was not even remotely human. The open beak revealed rows of small, very sharp teeth, and the yellow, lizardlike eyes were covered with nictitating membranes. The creature emitted a series of low, clicking sounds.

“Yes, they have secured the Seals,” said the Sage, turning toward the pterran. “You see, Takko, you were wrong. They did survive the Stony Barrens, as I knew they would.”

The pterran spoke once more in its peculiar, clicking, chirping language.

“Yes, I have sent them to see the Silent One, whose help they will require in the next step of their journey.”

The pterran chirruped again.

“No, the Silent One is not crazy. A bit peculiar, perhaps; eccentric, to be sure, but crazy? No, I do not think so.”

The pterran clicked.

“What do you mean, am I sure? How can anyone be sure of anything in this world?”

Click-click, click-click-chirp-click, click-click-chirp.

“I am not equivocating! Life is merely full of uncertainties, that is all. Even I cannot know everything. For certain, that is.”

The pterran spoke once more. “The pain? The pain is not so bad today, thank you for asking. It is just a general, dull ache. I scarcely notice it. It will grow worse with the next stage of the transformation, but I am not yet quite prepared for that. Our friends shall have to provide a few necessary ingredients, first.”

The pterran clicked in an interrogative manner.

“Yes, next they must secure the Breastplate of Argentum.”

The pterran clicked again.

“Yes, in Bodach.”

The pterran emitted another series of sharp sounds.

“I know there are undead in Bodach. What do you want from me? I did not put them there.”

The pterran shook its massive head and clicked several more times.

“They will never make it? That’s what you said when they went across the Stony Barrens, as I recall, and yet they seemed to have survived that somehow.”

The pterran issued a brief response.

“Oh, they were lucky, were they? Well, perhaps they were. But I think that skill, patience, dedication, and perseverance may have had something to do with it, don’t you?”

The pterran shrugged and chirped a reply.

“You always find the dark cloud in every silver lining, don’t you?” said the Sage. “Well, I think you’re wrong.”

The pterran spoke.

“Would I care to wager on it? Why, you oversized, insolent, prehistoric sparrow, you have your nerve. A wager! A wager with me! What insufferable arrogance. What sort of wager?”

The pterran returned a quick response.

“Hmmm, I see. Interesting. And what if you should lose?”

The pterran gave out a raucous caw and clicked again.

“Name my stakes? My, my. Such confidence for someone who cannot even eat without dropping half his food onto the floor. Very well, then. I shall name my stakes. But I shall name them when you lose.”

The pterran threw back its massive head and gave out a long, ululating, piercing cry.

“Laugh all you like, my friend,” the Sage said. “We shall see who winds up laughing out of the other side of his beak.”

Still cawing raucously, the pterran left the chamber.

The Sage grunted irritably, then walked over to the window, moving slowly, a man in pain. He looked out over the landscape toward the rising sun. “Your path is no less arduous than mine, my children,” he said as he gazed out the window. “I shall do what little I can to ease your hardship. But the rest, I fear, is up to you. More depends on what you do than you can know. Our fates are linked now. If you fail, I fail. And if I fail, all is lost for our benighted world.”

He turned away from the window and hobbled over to his chair, sinking down into it slowly. For a time, the pain of transformation had subsided. But soon, it would return again. He gazed into the mirror at his fading humanity. He had almost grown accustomed to it. As he pondered his reflection, he could no longer see any trace of the youngman who had once set out across the world to chronicle the lands and ways of Athas. Now it was for Sorak to follow in his footsteps and go beyond, where he had never dared to go. He fervently hoped the elfling and the priestess would succeed. For now, all he could do was wait. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes as the sun’s rays warmed him through the open window. After a while, the Wanderer slept.