The Seeker

3

With Sorak keeping watch, the rest of the night passed uneventfully, and Ryana awoke shortly after sunrise, feeling more rested but still tired and sore. When she opened her eyes and sat up, she saw that the body of the thrax was gone, and for a moment, the alarming thought occurred to her that one of Sorak’s more carnivorous personalities had eaten it.

“I dragged it off into those scrub bushes over there last night,” he said, as if reading her mind. “I did not think it would be a very pleasant sight for you to see first thing in the morning. The scavenger beetles were already at it.”

She sighed inwardly with relief.

“You cried out in your sleep last night,” he said.

She nodded, repressing a shudder. “I dreamt about the thrax. It was not a very pleasant dream.”

“Understandable, considering the circumstances,” Sorak said. “Still, how many people can boast of vanquishing a thrax singlehandedly? You acquitted yourself well, little sister. Tamura would be proud of you.”

She thought of their weapons training instructor back at the convent and was grateful now that Tamura had been such a relentless taskmaster. Ryana had cursed her on more than one occasion. Now, she blessed her. If not for Tamura’s training, it would have been her corpse that would now be lying in the bushes.

“We still have a long way to go,” said Sorak, gathering his things. He looked remarkably fresh, and Ryana envied him not only his amazing elfling powers of endurance, but also his ability to duck under and sleep while one of his other personalities took control of his body. She would not wish to trade places with him, but she was forced to admit that there were certain unique advantages to his condition.

“How far do you think we have come?” she asked him.

“I would estimate a little more than halfway to the spring,” he said. “The thrax would not have wandered very far from the trail. They like to stay within striking distance of the caravan routes and keep watch for vulnerable stragglers. I think that we should reach the trail before midday. The traveling should be easier after that.”

“Well, I’m all for that,” she said, gathering her belongings.

“I retrieved your knives last night, as you requested,” said Sorak, with a smile, recalling her curt command to him to get her knives. He handed her the blades.

“Thank you.”

“I had to do some searching to find this one,” he said, as he gave her back one of the stilettos. “I was surprised to see how far it flew. You have a strong arm.”

“Fear induces strength,” she said wryly.

“Were you afraid?”

“Yes. Very much so.”

“But you did not let your fear paralyze you,” he replied. “That is good. You have learned well. Few things can be more frightening than a thrax.”

“Well, whatever those few things are, I can do without meeting them,” she said.

They shouldered their packs and headed east, toward the rising sun, moving at a steady, yet comfortable pace. Ryana was in excellent physical condition, yet still her legs felt sore from walking all the previous day. The fight with the thrax had taken a lot out of her, as well. She felt the effects not only of the previous night’s exertions, but of the stress, too.

She noticed Sorak slowing his pace slightly, so as not to make her work to keep up. I’m slowing him down, she thought. He could easily make twice the time or more by running. Yet he knew that if he did so, she would never be able to keep pace with him.

“I am sorry that I cannot move faster,” she said, feeling woefully inadequate.

“There is no hurry,” Sorak replied. “No one is chasing us. We have all the time in the world to reach Nibenay. For that matter, we do not even know what we are supposed to do when we get there.”

“Try to make contact with the Veiled Alliance,” she said. “That seems the obvious course.”

“Perhaps, but it will not be easy,” he said. “Strangers are always looked upon with suspicion in the cities. I remember how it was in Tyr. Neither of us have ever been to Nibenay, and unlike Tyr, Nibenay is still ruled by a defiler. The templars of the Shadow King will control all the power in the city, and they will have many informants. We shall have to be very circumspect in our inquiries.”

“We know the necessary signals for making contact with the Veiled Alliance,” said Ryana.

“Yes, but the templars doubtless know them, too. I fear that will not be enough. Long before we are aware of the Alliance in Nibenay, they shall be aware of us, which means that the templars will probably be aware of us, as well. In a city ruled by a defiler, the Veiled Alliance will want to take our measure carefully before attempting to make contact with us. We shall have to prove ourselves to them somehow.”

“Then we shall simply have to judge our opportunities as they arise,” Ryana replied. “Making any further plans at this point would serve little purpose. Remember, we still have to get there in one piece.”

Sorak grinned. “After seeing how you dealt with that thrax, I have few worries on that score.”

“I would have fewer worries still if we did not have so far to walk,” Ryana said dryly.

“Would you prefer to ride?” asked Sorak.

She glanced at him with surprise. He was always so serious, it seemed out of character for him to tease her.

“You have not been paying very close attention,” Sorak explained. He indicated the ground in front of them. “I had thought you would be more observant.”

She looked down where he pointed. “Kank spoor,” she said.

“We have been following it for the past hour,” Sorak said. “There is a small herd of kank somewhere just ahead of us. This spoor is fresh. They should be within sight before too long.”

“How many do think there are?” she said.

“Judging from the spoor, I should say at least a dozen or more,” Sorak said.

“We have seen no signs of any herdsman’s camp,” she said.

“No, which means these kanks are wild,” he replied. “They have all kept fairly close together while they have been on the move, so it is not a foraging party. They have broken off from a larger herd to form a hive and are searching for a place to build it.”

“That means they have a brood queen,” said Ryana.

“Yes, a young one, I should think, as the herd is still quite small.”

“So the soldiers will be quite aggressive,” she said. She glanced at him dubiously. “Do you think that you can handle them?”

“I could not, but Screech may be able to.”

“May?” she said uneasily.

Sorak shrugged. “Screech has never faced wild kanks before,” he said, “only tame ones raised by herdsmen.”

“And he has never faced wild soldier kanks defending a young brood queen,” Ryana added. “Do you think he will be up to the task?”

“There is only one way to find out,” said Sorak. “Kanks do not move very quickly.”

“Neither do I, compared to you,” she said.

“Would you rather walk?”

She took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. “Villichi priestesses always walk when they take pilgrimages. But then, I am no longer a priestess. It would be nice to ride to Nibenay.”

“Well, then we shall have to see what Screech can do,” said Sorak.

Within a short while, they topped a small rise and came within sight of the kanks. They heard them first. The clicking of their large mandibles made sounds like sticks being struck together. There were perhaps thirteen or fourteen of the creatures, spread out over a small area, their shiny, black, chitinous exoskeletons gleaming darkly in the sun. Ordinarily, kanks were docile insects, which was fortunate because of their very large size. Adults grew up to eight feet in length and stood as much as four feet high, weighing between three and four hundred pounds. Their segmented bodies consisted of a large, triangular-shaped head, an oval thorax and a round, bulbous abdomen, all of which were covered with a hard, chitinous exoskeleton.

Their six multiple-jointed legs sprouted from the thorax, and each leg ended in a strong claw, which allowed the kank to grip uneven surfaces or prey.

Kanks were omnivorous creatures, but they generally did not attack people. They foraged for their food, or else subsisted on small desert mammals and reptiles. The exception was when they were on the move to establish a new hive and had a brood queen with them. In an established colony, the brood queen stayed in the hive, tended to by the food-producing kanks, who always remained in or near the hive, and by the soldiers, whose task it was to bring forage to the hive and provide protection to the food producers and the queen. A young brood queen was generally about the same size as the soldiers, who were smaller than the food producers and had larger pincers. Once the hive had been established, however the brood queen took her permanent place in her nest in the large, central chamber of the hive, where she was fed constantly until she reached maturity and grew to almost three times her original size. She then started laying eggs, in batches of twenty to fifty, and she continued laying eggs in cycles until the day she died, functioning as nothing more than a reproductive machine.

The food producers nourished the hatchlings with a green honey they manufactured in melon-sized globules covered with a thick membrane that grew out of their abdomens. Kank honey was very sweet and nourishing, and was regarded as a major food source in the cities and villages of Athas, one of the reasons kanks were raised by herdsmen on the tablelands. Kanks raised in this fashion could also be trained as beasts of burden, and commanded a good price in the city marketplaces. Herdsmen also sold their exoskeletons for use in the manufacture of inexpensive armor. Kank armor was functional, but too brittle to stand up to a lot of damage, and had to be frequently replaced. For these reasons, kanks had become a vital part of the economy of Athas.

Wild kanks, on the other hand, though docile for the most part, could be dangerous when migrating to establish a new hive. With their young brood queen exposed and vulnerable, the soldier kanks became very aggressive and would attack anything that ventured near the herd. Kanks had many natural enemies, such as drakes, erdlus, pterrax, thrikreen, and antloids, which would descend upon their hives in voracious swarms. As a result, the soldier kanks always attacked together, while the food producers would gather round their queen to shield her with their bodies. If humans happened to chance upon a migrating kank herd, they too would be attacked, and the powerful pincers of the soldiers could not only rend flesh and snap off limbs, they also injected a paralyzing poison.

Though kanks did not hunt humanoids or humans, someone bitten by a soldier kank would be recognized as carrion and dragged off to the main body of the herd and used as food. Kanks did not move very quickly, and they ate at a leisurely pace. Being paralyzed and eaten alive by kanks was a process that could take hours, especially if the herd was small. Ryana regarded it as a distinctly unpleasant prospect.

Kanks had poor eyesight and no sense of smell, but they were acutely sensitive to motion and vibrations in the ground. A soft footstep on the desert sand could be detected by them from hundreds of yards away. Halflings, who could move across the desert without making any sounds at all, could come to within a few yards of a kank without being detected, but even with her villichi training, Ryana knew that she could never step so softly. These kanks had become aware of them when they were a little less than two hundred yards away, and the soldiers immediately became highly agi

“Perhaps you had better wait here,” said Sorak, motioning to her to remain where she was.

“And let you go face them all alone?” she said, though at that particular moment, she was not anxious to venture any closer.

“It is not I who shall be facing them, but Screech,” said Sorak. “And if Screech proves unable to deal with them, remember I can run much faster than you.”

“I will not argue the point,” she said. “But if they get close enough, there may not be time to run.”

“Which is why I intend to keep well away from them until we find out if they will respond to Screech. The tribe is strong, but not too proud to run if necessary. If we should be separated, circle round them widely and head due east. The Ranger will pick up your trail.”

He started moving toward them at a steady pace, his cloak billowing out behind him in the desert wind. “Good luck!” she called out after him. “Be careful!” As he moved toward them, the kanks began to act like an opposing army. The soldiers moved forward en masse, interposing themselves between Sorak and the food producers clustered around their brood queen. They began to click their mandibles together rapidly in warning, making a sound like a child rattling a stick upon a fence, only much louder.

Sorak slowed as he approached them. Ryana watched the attitude of his body change in a subtle manner and realized that Screech had come to the fore. She had seen it happen before and so recognized the signs, though most people would have perceived no difference in the elfling. His movements altered subtly, and the way he held his body also changed, though not in any dramatically noticeable degree. But to Ryana’s practiced eye, Sorak had begun to move in a more animal-like manner. His walk became more flowing, his tread lighter, his entire body took on a sinuous attitude.

There was something catlike in his motions at first, and then that attitude underwent a change, as well, this time in a more noticeable way.

As Screech approached the soldier kanks, his movements became jerky and exaggerated, and he hunched over, holding his elbows out from his sides, his arms sharply bent, his palms flat toward the ground. He started moving his arms up and down in that curious, angular attitude, and Ryana watched for several moments, utterly mystified as to what he was doing. It appeared as if he were performing some sort of strange, ritual dance. Almost as if he were trying to imitate the way a spider moved, or else ... and then it dawned on her. Screech was exhibiting the behavior of a kank. She heard curious sounds coming from his throat, and realized that he was imitating, as closely as his elfling anatomy would allow, the sounds produced by the kanks’ mandibles.

The soldier kanks, which had been moving toward him rapidly, suddenly stopped, hesitating. Screech stopped as well.

Ryana saw the large heads of the kanks swiveling back and forth in puzzlement. She held her breath, watching with intense fascination.

The kanks were confronted with something that obviously was not a kank, and yet its movements were distinctly kanklike. The sounds coming from its throat were not really the same sounds they made, but their pattern was similar, and instead of a rapid, challenging signal, it was a calm indication of recognition.

Ryana saw several of the soldier kanks start forward once again, and then stop and back away a little. Screech remained exactly where he was. She watched as he moved his legs up and down, up and down repeatedly in a bizarre, jerky, spastic manner, as if he were doing some sort of stamping dance, synchronizing his arms with the movements of his legs. She had absolutely no idea what he was doing, but it looked fascinating. Then, as she watched in astonishment, several of the soldier kanks began to make similar movements, moving their multiple-jointed legs up and down repeatedly, as if running in place. It seemed they were imitating Screech.

One of them made a series of the curious stamping movements, then stopped. Next, Screech made a series of stamping movements and stopped. Then several of the other kanks did so, and Screech once again repeated the motions, taking turns doing the odd dance.

As she watched, utterly absorbed in this bizarre pantomime, Ryana suddenly realized what they were doing. They were communicating through the vibrations created by stamping their legs on the ground. She had seen penned up, herd-raised kanks making similar motions in the beast markets of Tyr, and had merely thought the creatures were restive from being confined in such close quarters, but now she realized that it was how they talked to one another.

Screech and the soldier kanks were having a conversation.

As she watched, the aggressive attitude of the soldier kanks changed noticeably. The rapid, rattling, clicking sounds they were making with their mandibles died down and several of them actually turned away and went back to the food producers and the brood queen. Those who remained turned so that they were no longer facing Screech and then started doing the stamping dance. They’re talking it over among themselves, Ryana thought with wonder.

She was sure no other human had seen such a man-beast conversation before. Kanks could be controlled by psionic handlers, and herd-raised kanks could be trained to respond to handling prods, but no one had ever actually spoken to one before.

After a while, several of the soldiers that had gone back to the brood queen returned, bringing one of the food producing kanks with them. Ryana could recognize it at a distance because it was slightly larger than the soldiers, with a bigger and more rounded abdomen. There was some more of the stamping pantomime, and then Screech turned and started walking back toward her. The food producer followed, like a pet trailing its master, while the other kanks went back to their brood queen. Ryana had never seen anything like it. She had seen Screech commune with animals before, but never with anything like a kank. As he came back toward her, Screech straightened up, and his pace changed slightly. It was Sorak who reached her, smiling, with the food producing kank following at his heels.

“Your mount awaits, my lady,” he said, with a mock bow.

“If I had not seen it, I would not have believed it,” she replied, shaking her head with amazement. “What did Screech ... say to them?”

“Ah, well,” said Sorak, “he more or less explained that he had a young brood queen with him and no food producer to help care for her. Kanks do not communicate in quite the same manner as we do, but in essence, that was the substance of the interaction.”

“And they simply gave you one of their food producers?” Ryana said with disbelief.

“Well, ‘gave’ would not quite be the right word,” he said. “Soldiers kanks are motivated by instinct to protect a brood queen. And food producers are like-wise motivated to care for them. They recognized Screech as a fellow soldier kank, although a rather odd one, to be sure, and while their primary responses were to protect their own queen, the idea of another queen with only one soldier to protect and care for her struck them as clearly wrong. In a colony with two brood queens, the soldiers and the food producers divide to make certain both queens have adequate care and protection, and when the younger brood queen starts to mature, the colony divides, as this one did, and some of them go off with the younger queen to construct another hive. The situation Screech presented them with activated that instinctual response. At the same time, however, because this herd is rather small, all the soldiers were strongly motivated to remain with their own queen. They settled on a compromise. The second queen, meaning you, already had one soldier, meaning Screech, but no food producer, so this food producer came with us to help us start our hive.”

She simply stared at him, then looked toward the kank, which waited behind him obediently, then back at him again.

“But I am not a brood queen,” she said. “And you are no soldier kank.”

Sorak simply shrugged. “This one thinks we are,” he said.

She moistened her lips nervously, as she stared at the kank again. “But I cannot imitate a kank, the way Screech can,” she replied. “This kank can surely see the difference.”

“Actually, it cannot see very much of anything,” said Sorak. “Kanks have very poor eyesight, food producers in particular. Anyway, it does not matter. This kank has already accepted us as fellow creatures. Its bonding response has already been engaged. Kanks do not second guess themselves. They are not very bright.”

“Then it will not hurt me?” said Ryana, still dubious.

“The kank would never think of hurting you,” Sorak said. “It thinks you are a brood queen. It would be contrary to all the years of kank evolution for this food producer to do anything but care for you.”

“What do you mean, care for me?”

“Provide you with food,” said Sorak, indicating the blister like, membranous globes covering the food producer’s abdomen. “You can ride to Nibenay and drink your fill of kank honey.” He brought his fingertips to his forehead and bowed his head in salute. “It is the very least that I could do for such a valiant thrax killer.”

Ryana smiled. But she still looked at the kank a little dubiously. “Brood queens do not ride upon food producers,” she said. “Will this one allow me to mount it?”

“Lowly food producers do not question their queens; they merely serve them,” Sorak said. “Aside from which, as we walked over here, Screech effected a psionic link with this kank. It would have been dangerous to attempt it with all of them, especially with the soldiers in an agitated state, but controlling this one will pose no difficulty now. It will be as tame as one raised by a herdsman, but it will have a closer bond with us.”

He went over to the kank and slapped it several times on its chitinous thorax. The creature lowered itself to the ground, and Sorak held his hand out to Ryana. She glanced uncertainly at the creature’s mandibles, smaller than a soldier’s but no less intimidating in appearance, then put her foot onto one of the ridges of the kank’s armor, stepped up, and swung her leg over the creature’s thorax. Sorak climbed up behind her. The kank’s rounded carapace made a firm, smooth, and slightly slippery perch, but by relaxing and settling her weight between the rounded ridges on the creature’s back, Ryana found the ride comfortable enough. And it certainly beat walking. The kank rose up on its legs, turned, and began to move forward, heading directly to the east on a diagonal course away from its old herd.

Its six-legged gait was remarkably smooth, with only a slight rolling action, and Ryana had no difficulty getting accustomed to it. This was traveling across the desert in style, and riding on the kank had the added advantage of reducing some of the dangers they might have faced. They were now well out of reach of snakes they might have stepped on without noticing them, and sink worms would no longer be a hazard. It would be a rare sink worm that would be large enough to swallow a kank whole, and they did not eat kanks, in any case. The giant, armored ants of the desert were not digestible by sink worms. The kank’s sensitivity to ground vibrations also effectively eliminated any potential danger from dune trappers or other creatures that lurked just beneath the surface of the loose sand, though this area of the tablelands was mostly hard-packed scrub desert. Still, the kank would sense approaching danger long before they would have been aware of it themselves.

As they continued their gradual descent along the gently rolling terrain, subtle changes began to occur in the environment around them. The scrubby desert growth gradually became more sparse, and wider patches of sun-baked ground were visible. The isolated stands of pagafa trees became more sparse, as well, and grew lower and more twisted than those they had seen before. The terrain grew flatter and the vistas stretching out before them possessed an openness that made Ryana feel very isolated and exposed. They were now well into the tablelands, and the Ringing Mountains, rising in the distance behind them, seemed very far away.

Ryana felt a disquieting sense of apprehension as they rode along. For miles, as far as she could see, there was absolutely no landmark. With the city of Tyr far behind them in the valley, there was no sign of civilization anywhere.

That, in itself, did not disturb Ryana quite so much as the vast openness of the terrain. Growing up as she did in the Ringing Mountains, she had never been surrounded by civilization. However, there was the convent, and that was home, and the tall, dense, ancient forests of the mountains had an embracing closeness. Here, in the tablelands, she suddenly felt as if she were adrift on some vast, dried sea. Nothing in her experience had prepared her for the rather nerve-wracking experience of seeing so far . . . and seeing nothing everywhere she looked.

All around her, the tablelands stretched out into infinity, a panoramic vista broken only by a vague, barely perceptible, uneven line of grayness in the distance to the east. She was looking at all she could see of the Barrier Mountains, which lay on the far side of the tablelands and beyond which lay their destination, Nibenay. All that way, she thought with a distinct sense of unease. We still have to go all that way....

But the desert was not empty. Far from it. When she wearied of looking out into the vast flat plain ahead of them, she began to pay attention to the terrain immediately around them, looking closer at the desert at her feet. It was harsh, inhospitable country, but it teemed with life, life that she only began to notice when she focused her attention on it.

That anything at all could grow here seemed a miracle, but the years had evolved plant life that was capable of thriving in the desert. It was not yet summer, but the short and violent rainy season was approaching, and in anticipation of it, the desert wildflowers had already begun to bloom so that they would be able to deposit their seeds during the brief time when there would be some moisture on the surface. The blooms were, for the most part, very small and not visible for any appreciable distance, but from close up, they imparted tiny yet spectacular splashes of color to the desert. The sparse and trailing claw vine bloomed bright, cerulean blue, and the wild desert moonflowers developed globe-shaped, yellow blossoms that almost seemed to glow. The scrubby false agafari bush, which grew no taller than about knee height, blossomed with small sprays of wispy, feathery pink flowers that looked as fine as ice crystals, and some varieties bloomed bright crimson. The nomad brush, a small shrub that grew no more than two feet high, sent out long, trailing, hirsute vines that gathered moisture from the morning air and grew along the surface until they found purchase in loose soil. They would then take root, and new plants would form while the parent plant died back. In this time of approaching spring, the nomad brush would bloom with the bright orange, brush-shaped thistle that gave it its name.

From the distance, the desert appeared flat and featureless, a vast, empty, and desolate place. Yet up close, it possessed a striking beauty. The hardy, sparse vegetation that grew here, storing moisture for long periods of time in its wide-branching roots and succulent flesh, supported a wide variety of small insects and desert rodents, which in turn supported reptiles and larger mammals and airborne predators like razorwings, which rode upon the desert thermals. It was a place vastly different from the forests of the Ringing Mountains where Ryana had grown up, but for all that it looked like another world, it was just as full of life.

For a long time as they rode, Sorak remained silent. Since he was sitting behind her on the kank’s back, Ryana initially thought he was absorbed in conversation with his inner tribe. When he had remained silent for a long time, she turned around to glance at him and saw him quietly looking around at their surroundings. His facial expression was alert, not vaguely distant, as it was when he was engaged in internal conversation with his other personalities. However, he still looked preoccupied.

“I was merely thinking,” he said when he saw her glance around to look at him.

“About what?”

“It feels very strange to be here. I was born here, somewhere in the desert, and this is where I almost died.”

“You are thinking about your parents?” He nodded in a distracted manner. “I was wondering who they were, if they are still even alive, and what became of them. I was wondering if I was cast out into the desert because my tribe would not accept me, or because my mother would not accept me. If the former, then did my mother share my fate? And if the latter, then was ridding herself of me the only way that she could maintain her status in the tribe? Thoughts such as that, and others, dwell upon me heavily today. It must be the desert. It has a strange effect on one.”

“I have noticed,” she said. “It has a strange effect on me, as well, though perhaps not the same effect it has on you.”

“What does it make you feel?” he asked.

Ryana thought a moment before replying. “It makes me feel very small,” she said at last. “Until we came here, I do not think it ever truly occurred to me how vast a place our world is and how insignificant we are by comparison. It is both an alarming feeling, in a way ... all this openness and distance . .. and yet, at the same time, it imparts a sense of one’s proper place in the scheme of things.”

Sorak nodded. “Back in Tyr, when I was working in the gaming house, desert herdsmen would often come in for some recreation after they had sold their beasts to the traders in the market. They had a saying about the tablelands. They would say, ‘The distance gets into your eye.’ I never quite knew what they meant until now. For all the diversions the city had to offer them, for all that it was a much more comfortable and convenient life, they never lingered very long. They were always anxious to get back to the desert.

“The city, they said, made them feel ‘closed in.’ I see now what they meant. The distance of the desert gets into your eye. You grow accustomed to the vastness of it, to the openness, and you come to feel that there is room for you to breathe. Cities are crowded, and one becomes merely a part of the throng. Here, one has a sharper sense of self.” He smiled. “Or selves, as in my case. One does not become caught up in the frenetic rhythms of the city. The soul finds its own pace. Out here, in the vast silence, with only the gentle sighing of the wind to break the stillness, one’s very spirit seems to open up. For all the hazards to be found here, the desert imparts a sense of clarity and peace.”

She glanced at him with surprise. “That was quite a speech,” she said. “You are always so sparing with your words and to the point. Yet that was actually ... poetic. A bard could not have sung it better.”

“Perhaps I have a bit of bard in me, as well,” said Sorak with a grin. “Or perhaps it is just my elfling blood warming in its natural environment.” He shrugged. “Who is to say? I only know that I feel strangely content here. The forests of the Ringing Mountains are my home, yet it feels somehow as if this is the place where I belong.”

“Perhaps it is,” she said.

“I do not really know that yet,” he replied. “I know that I feel an affinity for these open spaces, and for the quiet solitude they offer—which is not to say that I am not grateful for your company, of course—but at the same time, I shall never truly know where I belong until I learn the story of my past.”

They rode a while in silence after that, each of them preoccupied with inner thoughts. Ryana wondered if Sorak ever would learn the truth about his past, and if he did, how would it change him? Would he seek out the tribe that he had come from, the people who had cast him out? And if he found them, what would he do? When Sorak finally tracked down the mysterious adept known as the Sage—if he did—would the reclusive wizard grant his desire? And if so, what would be his price? And what if he was doomed to disappointment in his search? The defilers had sought for the mysterious preserver for as long as bards sang songs about him. Could Sorak, without magic to aid him in his quest, hope to succeed where powerful sorcerer-kings had failed?

How long, Ryana wondered, would Sorak search before he gave up on his quest? He had yearned to discover the truth of his origin for as long as she had known him, and he had never been one to discourage easily. She hoped they would succeed, for his sake, no matter how long their search would take. It was not the life that she had hoped for when she first realized she was in love with Sorak, but at least they were together, sharing as much as it was possible for them to share. She might have longed for more, but she was satisfied with what she had.

Sorak, on the other hand, never would be satisfied until he found the answers to the questions that had tormented him since childhood. Nibenay was still a long journey away, and it was but the next destination in their quest. There was no way of knowing where the path would lead from there. Or, for that matter, if it would lead anywhere. They were both sworn followers of the Path of the Preserver, and though Ryana had forsaken her oath as a villichi priestess, the vow she swore as a preserver was one that she would keep until the day she died. She and Sorak were two preservers headed for the domain of a defiler, the realm of the dreaded Shadow King. The gates of Nibenay would easily open to admit them, but getting out again might prove more difficult.

They made much better time riding on the kank than they would have on foot, and by midday, they had reached the point where the caravan route from Tyr came up from the southwest to intersect their path. The traveling was easier after that, following the wide, well-worn and hard-packed trail.

Lyric came out for a time and sang a song, one of the songs the sisters used to sing when they worked together back at the convent. Ryana joined him, taking pleasure in the singing for old times’ sake, and Lyric instantly shifted key to harmonize his voice with hers. Ryana knew she was, at best, merely an average singer, but Lyric’s voice was beautiful.

Sorak did not like to sing. His nature was too somber for it, and he felt his voice left much to be desired, but Lyric, using the same throat Sorak used, possessed no such inhibitions and allowed his voice to soar. He was adroit enough to harmonize with her in such a manner that they both sounded good, and Ryana found her spirits lightening as she sang. Even the kank seemed to respond, matching its gait to the rhythms of the song.

When they were finished, Ryana laughed with sheer exhilaration. The desert seemed a far less oppressive place now, and her worries had been banished, if only for the moment. At the beginning of the day, with the vastness of the desert stretching out before them, Ryana had felt intimidated by it—lonely, small, and insignificant. Now, having seen the desert through Sorak’s eyes and filled it with her song, she no longer felt diminished by it. She allowed herself to breathe in the dry desert wind and feel it filling her with its tranquility. She felt marvelously free and basked in the wide open spaces of the table-lands, no longer frightened by its endless vistas, but invigorated by them. Perhaps it was merely a delayed aftereffect of her battle with the thrax, of having faced her fear and conquered it; perhaps it was the gently rolling motion of their mount that had lulled her into a calm, receptive state; perhaps it was the joyfulness of song; or perhaps it was all of those things—or something else, something indefinable. But the desert had won her over. She felt at peace with it and with herself.

As the dark sun began to sink over the horizon, they saw an oasis in the distance, marked by tall and spindly desert palms and large, spreading pagafa trees, their wide, majestic crowns—lush and full in the presence of water—silhouetted black against the orange sky. They were approaching Silver Spring.

“We are going to have company at the oasis,” Sorak said.

She glanced at him, raising her eyebrows.

He smiled and pointed at the trail ahead of them. “You have been lost in reverie again, and were not paying attention. A caravan has passed by here recently The tracks are still fresh.”

“It is hardly fair for you to chide me for not noticing such things,” she said, “when you can drift with your thoughts as much as you like while the Watcher misses nothing.”

“True,” said Sorak. “That is, indeed, an unfair advantage. I apologize.”

“It will be good to see some other people,” she said. “The caravan will have supplies, and we can trade them kank honey to replenish our provisions.”

“I was thinking more about hearing news of Nibenay,” said Sorak.

“But this caravan is on the route from Tyr,” Ryana said.

“Or else it came up from Altaruk, which means it may have originated in Gulg. In either case, the merchant houses have extensive interests, and their caravans range far and wide. Their drivers will have all the latest news from other cities.”

As the sun was setting and they drew closer, they could hear the sound of music coming from the spring, and smell the odor of cooking meat. Their mount began to pick up its pace, sensing the herd-raised kanks used by the caravan to haul its cargo. As the kank gathered speed, Ryana remembered what Sorak had said about how kanks were “slow-moving” creatures. Perhaps they were to an elfling, who could run like the wind, but Ryana was now glad she had stayed behind while Screech had gone ahead to meet the wild soldier kanks. She could never have outrun the creatures had they charged.

Soon, they could make out the shapes of people moving up ahead and see the flames of their camp fires. As they approached, the mercenaries hired to protect the caravan and its valuable trade goods came out to meet them. They seemed wary, and with good cause. For all they knew, Sorak and Ryana could have been advance scouts for a raiding party. Marauding bands had been known to infiltrate caravans by posing as simple pilgrims or travelers. In fact, Sorak had foiled just such a plot in Tyr, and saved one of the caravans of a large merchant house from being ambushed by a band of marauders from the Mekillot Mountains Tribes of nomadic elves were also known to attack caravans from time to time, so the mercenaries hired to guard them took no chances.

“Hold where you are and identify yourselves!” one of the mercenaries cried out as they approached.

Sorak halted the kank and called back, “We are merely two pilgrims on our way to Nibenay.”

“Dismount, then, and come forward,” the mercenary said. The others stood with their weapons held ready, alert for any sign of treachery.

Ryana noticed that they had spread out and were looking not only at them, but at the trail beyond them and in all surrounding directions in case their arrival was meant as a diversion for an attack by an armed party. These men were well trained, she thought, but that only made sense. The rich merchant houses could easily afford to hire the finest mercenaries. The merchant houses depended on the caravans for their livelihood, and so they were not known to spare any expense when it came to protecting them.

Caravans fell into one of two basic categories: slow-moving and fast-moving. The advantages to a fast-moving caravan, such as this one, were that the journeys took less time, and therefore were more profitable. Berths were sold to passengers traveling from one city to another, and the fees usually included the rent of a tame kank for a mount as well as basic necessities such as food and water for the journey. A first-class berth with a caravan offered a few more luxuries, but for an extra charge, of course. The slow-moving caravans were usually much more heavily laden, and since their pace made them more vulnerable to attack, they employed huge armored wagons drawn by mekillot lizards. With the exception of the mercenary outriders and the wagon handlers, the entire caravan was contained inside the huge, armored enclosures. This practice had its own advantages and disadvantages. It was a slow and lazy way to travel, in that the passengers simply rode inside the wagons. At the same time, the interiors of these wagons quickly became oppressively hot despite the open ventilation ports, and the frequently cramped quarters were not very amenable to those whose nostrils were easily offended. Because the mekillots were huge, slow-moving creatures and sluggish in their temperament, the drivers did not like to stop, and rest periods were few and far between. The giant mekillots were also difficult to control. Even their psionic handlers were sometimes eaten if they carelessly strayed within reach of the mekillots’ long tongues. Most travelers preferred to book passage with the fast-moving caravans, even if it meant being exposed to the elements throughout most of their journey.

As Sorak and Ryana approached the mercenary captain, they were able to get a better look at the company, and the mercenaries were able to get a better look at them. It was a mixed group, composed primarily of humans, with a few demihuman half-breeds. They were all well armed and in prime physical condition. Ryana knew that this group was not the entire force. Some would be posted as pickets around the perimeter of the oasis, while others would either be guarding the caravan goods against the potential of light-fingered passengers or taking their rest in the camp.

It was a large caravan, composed not only of a train of loaded kanks and those employed as mounts, but a number of light, partially enclosed carriages drawn by one or two kanks in harness. This meant that there were some important personages traveling with the caravan.

Looking beyond the mercenaries to the camp in the oasis, Ryana’s suspicion was confirmed when she saw several large and comfortable tents set up beneath the palms, with guards posted outside them. As she looked toward the tents, a man in robes came out of one of them, glanced in their direction, and started walking toward them at an unhurried pace. A cluster of guards fell in beside him.

“You wear a handsome sword, pilgrim,” said the mercenary guard captain, looking Sorak over carefully.

“Even a pilgrim must protect himself,” said Sorak.

His gaze flicking back to the sword, the mercenary captain said, “That seems like quite a full measure of protection. From the shape of the scabbard, it appears to be a rather unusual blade.”

It was, indeed, Ryana thought, and if the mercenary captain were an elf and not a human, he might have recognized it as Galdra, the legendary sword of the ancient elvish kings.

“May I see it?” asked the captain.

Sorak reached for the hilt, then hesitated slightly when he saw the other mercenaries tense. He drew Galdra slowly. The sight of it produced an immediate reaction among the mercenaries.

“Steel!” said the captain, staring at the wickedly curved blade. “It must be worth a fortune. Now what would a simple pilgrim be doing with such a blade?”

“It was a gift from a very wise old friend,” said Sorak.

“Indeed? And who would that friend be?”

“High Mistress Varanna of the villichi convent.”

This, too, provoked a reaction of great interest among the mercenaries, and they murmured among themselves.

“Be silent!” their captain commanded, and they obeyed at once. He never took his gaze off Sorak. “The villichi are a female order,” he said. “It is a well-known fact that the priestesses do not admit males to their convent.”

“Nevertheless, Sorak was raised there,” said Ryana.

“Sorak?” The man with the robes came up behind the mercenary captain. The guards on either side of him rested their hands lightly on the pommels of their obsidian-bladed swords. “I know that name. Are you the one whose warning prevented the attack on the recent caravan from Tyr?”

“I am,” said Sorak.

“It would be to his advantage to claim that, whether it was true or not,” the captain said. “How do we know he is the one?”

“There is one way of knowing,” said the robed man. And turning to Sorak, he said, “Would you be so kind as to pull back the hood of your cloak?”

Sorak sheathed the blade and did as he was asked. At the sight of his features, and his pointed ears, there was once again an excited murmuring among the mercenaries.

“An elf!” said one of them.

“No, he is not tall enough,” another said.

“A half-elf, then.”

“Neither,” said the robed man. “He is an elfling.”

“An elfling?” said the captain with a frown.

“Part elf, part halfling,” said the robed man.

“But there is no such thing, my lord,” the captain protested. “Everyone knows that elves and halflings are mortal enemies.”

“Nevertheless, that is what he is,” the robed man said. “And he is who he claims to be. We have met before.”

“You were at the Crystal Spider,” Sorak said, suddenly placing the man.

“And lost heavily, as I recall,” the robed man said with a smile. “But my losses would have been far greater had you not exposed the cardsharp who was cheating me. I do not fault you for not remembering me at once. You, on the other hand, are rather more memorable.” He turned to the mercenary leader. “The elfling is a friend to the merchant houses, Captain. Besides, much as I respect your fighting prowess, you would not wish to try your blade against his. I have seen what it can do. In fact, even all this company would be hard pressed against these two, or have you failed to note that his companion is a villichi priestess?”

The captain, who had been concentrating his attention on Sorak, looked more carefully at Ryana. “Your pardon, my lady,” he said, inclining his head in a small bow of respect. “And yours, elfling. If the Lord Ankhor speaks for you, then my blade is at your service. Allow me to escort you personally into the camp.” He snapped his fingers at one of the others—“See to the kank.”

One of the mercenaries hurried forward to comply, but Sorak caught his arm as he went past. “I would not do that, if I were you,” he said.

“I can handle the dumb beast,” the mercenary said confidently, disengaging himself and moving toward the kank. He jumped back with a yelp of surprise, barely in the nick of time as the kank snapped at him with its pincers.

“I warned you,” Sorak said. “This kank is wild.”

“Wild?” said the mercenary with surprise.

Sorak allowed Screech to come to the fore momentarily, long enough to direct a psionic command at the kank to join the others in the train. As the large beetle moved off toward the tame kanks, Sorak came back to the fore again and said, “Just see to it that food is set out within its reach. But advise your handlers to keep clear of it.”

“You are full of surprises,” said Lord Ankhor. “Come. Join me in my tent. And, of course, the invitation includes you, as well, priestess.”

“You are of the House of Ankhor then?” said Sorak.

“I am the House of Ankhor,” their host replied as they walked back toward his tent, escorted by the two mercenary guards and their captain. “My father, Lord Ankhor the Elder, is the patriarch of our house, but he is growing infirm and advanced in years. I have been directing all the affairs of the house for the past two years, and I had a small fortune in trade goods on that caravan you saved from the marauders. I did not hear of it until after I had met you at the Crystal Spider, but by then, you had already left the city. And left it buzzing, I might add.”

“Buzzing?” Sorak said.

“The people talk of nothing but how you upset the templars’ plans to seize control of the city. You shall not be forgotten in Tyr for a long time. Everyone speaks of Sorak, the nomad. I think you have created the beginnings of a legend.”

“Then you left Tyr after we did?” asked Ryana with a frown. “How is it the caravan made so much better time than we, and by a longer route?”

“Because this caravan did not come from Tyr,” said Lord Ankhor. “It has come from Gulg by way of Altaruk and is now on its way to Urik. I rode out to meet it at the spring, with part of this company of mercenaries for an escort. Those are my carriages you see there. I had them specially designed. They are light and built for speed. One must move quickly these days to outpace the competition.”

“You have business in Urik?” said Sorak. “Is that not dangerous at this time?”

“You mean because King Hamanu covets Tyr?” said Lord Ankhor. He made a dismissive wave with his hand. “The merchant houses are not political. And Hamanu cannot afford to allow political considerations to interfere with trade. His economy depends upon our houses. We have an old saying in the merchant guild: ‘Sooner or later, everyone does business with everyone.’ Even during times of war, the houses prosper. In some ways, we are more powerful than kings. Of course, it behooves us not to say so.”

As they walked through the camp, the people gathered round the cookfires turned to stare at them. The handsome, young Lord Ankhor, with his fine, embroidered robes, was an imposing presence, but Ryana realized that it was she and Sorak who really drew the attention. Most of the people gathered around the fires were employees of the merchant house, veteran mercenaries and hardened caravan drivers, but there were also some passengers on the long journey, and encountering other travelers out in the desert, especially two people traveling alone, was an uncommon occurrence.

Ryana, for her part, tried to ignore their prying eyes. She wrinkled her nose at the odor of roasting animal flesh coming from the spits over the fires. But at the same time, she found with some surprise that it awakened an appetite in her.

They reached Lord Ankhor’s spacious tent, which was larger than some of the houses in the warrens of Tyr, and one of the sentries pulled aside the entry flap for them. The interior of the tent was divided into two chambers, separated by a fine tapestry hung between them. The outer chamber housed a table and some chairs along with lamps, writing materials, and ledger scrolls.

“My office on the trail, such as it is,” Ankhor explained, conducting them toward the larger, rear chamber of the tent.

He pulled aside the tapestry. “Please, come in and make yourselves comfortable. We were about to dine. You would do us an honor if you joined us.”

As Sorak and Ryana ducked under the flap of tapestry that Ankhor held aside, they both stopped and stared with amazement at what awaited them. The rear section of the tent was much larger than the front antechamber, and the ground was covered with fine, thick Drajian carpets that were exquisitely worked. Several burning braziers placed around the chamber gave off a warm, intimate glow, the smoke from them curling up through a vent in the tent’s roof.

The sweet, pungent odor of burning moonflower leaves came from the braziers, not only perfuming the air inside the tent, but also serving to keep away annoying insects. Finely worked, comfortable cushions were scattered about the interior and the long, low table in the center, which stood only about a foot above the tent floor. The table itself was covered with an array of dishes that would have rivaled those served in a sorcerer-king’s palace. There were bottles of wine, carafes of water, jars of kank honey, and pots of steaming hot tea made from desert herbs, as well. Lord Ankhor clearly liked to travel in considerable luxury. However, as opulent as the surroundings were, it was the other occupants of the tent that drew their immediate attention. Sitting on cushions at the table were two men and a woman.

One of the men was considerably older than the others, with shoulder-length gray hair and a long, though well-groomed beard. His features were lined and gaunt, but his bright blue eyes were alert and energetic in their gaze.

He was dressed in a robe every bit as fine as Ankhor’s, though much more understated, and on his head he wore a thin chaplet of hammered silver, inscribed with the sign of the House of Ankhor.

The other man was much younger, perhaps in his early- to midtwenties, with dark hair worn to just below the shoulders, and a small, well-trimmed, narrow black moustache and goatee, no doubt cultivated to make himself look older. He wore a vest of erdlu skin over his bare, well-muscled chest; matching arm guards; soft, striped, kirre skin breeches; and high boots. His jewelry, if not his bearing, revealed him as a young man of considerable social rank, as did the jeweled dagger he wore at his belt.

But the woman was the most striking of the three. She was young, approximately the same age as Ryana, and very fair, with long, extremely fine blond hair that cascaded down her shoulders. Her eyes were a startling indigo, and the beauty of her face was only matched by the perfection of her body. She was clothed in little save a halter of fine blue silk ornamented with gold links and a matching skirt that rode low on her full hips and was slashed deeply up each side, giving maximum freedom of movement and revealing her long, exquisite legs. Her bare feet were smooth and clean, showing no calluses, and her delicate ankles were circled by gold bracelets, as were her wrists and arms.

“We have guests for dinner tonight, my friends,” Lord Ankhor said. “Allow me to present Sorak the Nomad, of whom I spoke to you, and his companion, the Priestess ... forgive me, my lady, but I foolishly neglected to inquire your name.”

“Ryana.”

“The Priestess Ryana,” Ankhor said with a slight bow toward her. “My apologies. Permit me to introduce Lyanus, Minister of Accounts for the House of Ankhor—” the older man nodded toward them as Ankhor proceeded with the introductions “—the Viscount Torian, of the first noble family of Gulg—” the dark, bearded, young man acknowledged their bows with a barely perceptible motion of his head “—and last but by no means the least, Her Highness, the Princess Korahna, youngest daughter of the youngest Queen Consort of His Most Royal Majesty, the Shadow King of Nibenay.”