The Nomad (18 page)

“Thank you, Kara,” Sorak said. He opened the door and let the others out. Kallis waited for them downstairs as they came through the beaded curtain.

“Good night,” was all he said.

“Good night, Kallis,” Sorak said. “And thank you.”

“So,” said Valsavis, when they were once again back out in the street, “we leave tomorrow night, with the not-so Silent One to guide us.”

“The way you acted in there, we are fortunate that she agreed to guide us,” said Ryana angrily. “One does not threaten a pyreen, Valsavis. Not if one has an ounce of wit about him.”

“I will believe she is one of the pyreen when I see her shapeshift, and not before,” Valsavis said dryly. “I do not make a habit of taking things on faith.”

“That is because you
have
no faith,” Ryana said. “And so much the worse for you.”

“I have faith in what I can see and feel and accomplish,” said Valsavis. “Unlike you, priestess, I did not grow up sheltered in a convent, fed on a diet of foolish hopes and dreams.”

“Without hopes and dreams, foolish or not, there can be no life,” Ryana replied.

“Ah, yes, of course,” Valsavis said. “The vain hopes and dreams of all preservers, that one day Athas will be green and live again.” He grimaced. “Take a look around you, priestess. You have traveled clear across the Tablelands from your convent in the Ringing Mountains, and you have crossed the Great Ivory Plain. You have seen Athas firsthand. Just what are the odds, do you think, of this desolate, desert world ever being green again?”

“So long as people believe the way you do, Valsavis, and think only of themselves, the odds are very slim,” Ryana replied.

“Well, then at least you have learned that much practicality,” Valsavis said. “As you learn more, you will find that most people think only of themselves, for in a world as harsh as this, there is neither the time nor the luxury to think of others.”

“Indeed,” said Sorak. “I wonder why you stopped to help me, then.”

“It cost me nothing,” said Valsavis with a shrug. The elfling was being very clever, using the priestess to draw him out. He would have to watch himself more carefully. “As I said before, it provided an interesting diversion on an otherwise uneventful journey. So you see, Nomad, as it turns out, I was really only thinking of myself. If it had proved an inconvenience for me to stop and help you, rest assured I would have passed you by without a qualm.”

“I am truly comforted by that thought,” said Sorak wryly.

Valsavis grinned. “Well, as things turned out, your companionship has served me well. A new adventure beckons, with the promise of wealth that will see me through my old age in comfort. I think that I shall build myself a new home, perhaps even right here in Salt View. Or perhaps I will take permanent rooms at the Oasis. A man could do much worse. I will be able to afford the constant company of beautiful young women to take care of me, and I shall never have to worry about where my next meal is going to come from. I may even buy the Desert Palace, so that I may amuse myself by ordering about that sly rasclinn of a manager and have a place where I can always come for entertainment free of charge.”

“It might be more prudent to find the treasure before you start to spend it,” Ryana said.

“What,” said Valsavis, raising his eyebrows in mock astonishment, “and give up all my hopes and dreams?”

Ryana shook her head. “You can be a most irritating man, Valsavis,” she said.

“Yes, women often find me irritating,” he replied. “At first. And then, despite themselves, they find that they are drawn to me.”

“Truly? I cannot imagine why,” Ryana said.

“Perhaps you will soon find out,” Valsavis said.

She gave him a sharp glance. “Now
that,”
she said, “would fall into the category of foolish hopes and dreams.”

Valsavis grinned and gave her a small bow. “Well struck, my lady. A good riposte. But the match is not yet finished.”

“For you, it ended before it could even begin,” she said.

“Did it, now?” Valsavis said. “Is that so, Nomad? Have you already staked your claim?”

“I have no claim upon Ryana,” Sorak said. “Nor does any man on any woman.”

“Indeed? I know many men who would dispute that curious assertion,” said Valsavis.

“No doubt,” said Sorak. “But you might try asking women.”

“When it comes to women,” said Valsavis, “I generally do not make a habit of asking.”

“That I can believe,” Ryana said.

Suddenly, Sorak stopped and put his arm out to hold back the others. “Wait. It seems that we have company,” he said.

They had entered the small plaza with the well, beyond which lay the bellaweed emporiums. Four shadowy figures stood at the far end of the small plaza, blocking their way. Eight more had entered the plaza from the alleys to either side, four from the left, four from the right.

“Ah, what have we here?” said Valsavis. “It would appear that the night’s entertainment is not yet over.” He drew his sword.

“Smokers in pursuit of means to buy more bellaweed?” wondered Sorak.

“No, not these,” Valsavis said. “There is nothing listless in their movements. And they seem to know what they’re about.”

The men stood, surrounding them. One of the four in front of them spoke. “One of our hunting parties failed to return to camp,” he said, immediately solving the question of who they were. “We went out to search for them and soon discovered why. We found their bodies, and then followed the trail left by their assassins. It led us here. We also found the stable where their kanks were sold. The man who purchased them was… persuaded… to provide a detailed description of the sellers. Curiously enough, they looked a great deal like you three.”

“Ah, so then those were your friends that we butchered back there?” said Valsavis.

“You admit it?” the marauder said with some surprise.

“I am not especially proud of it,” Valsavis said with a shrug. “They barely gave me cause to work up a good sweat.”

“Well, I think we can manage to exercise you somewhat better,” the marauder said, drawing his obsidian sword with one hand and his dagger with the other. “After all, we are not asleep.”

“Nor were your friends when we killed them,” said Valsavis. “But they sleep now, and you shall join them soon enough.”

“Kill them,” the marauder said.

The bandits started to converge on them, but Valsavis moved with absolutely blinding speed. Almost faster than the eye could follow, he drew a dagger with each hand and flung them out to either side. Two of the marauders fell, one on the left, one on the right, even as they were drawing their weapons. Each man had a dagger through his heart. Neither of them even had a chance to cry out.

But as quickly as Valsavis had moved, Sorak moved even faster, except it wasn’t Sorak anymore. The Shade had come storming up from his subconscious—dark, malevolent, and terrifying, charging toward the four men at the far end of the plaza.

For a moment, they were too startled to respond. There were a dozen of them against three. And suddenly, in the space of an eyeblink, two of their number had fallen, and instead of being the attackers, they were being attacked.

The first thing the four men at the far end of the plaza realized was that one of their intended victims was actually charging them. And then, in the seconds before he was upon them, they realized something else, as well. They realized what it meant to be absolutely terrified. Death was coming at. them. The feeling was sudden, inexplicable, and overwhelming. They went cold, and it was as if a huge fist had grabbed each of them by the guts and started squeezing.

They had no way of knowing that the Shade was a unique and horrifying creature, that basic, primal, bestial instinct contained subconsciously within all men, only in this case, fully developed into a discrete persona—and capable of intense, psionic, emotional projection. The Shade literally instilled terror.

Two of the marauders began to back involuntarily away as the Shade charged across the plaza toward them. They were still in that momentary state, between full realization of what they were feeling and running in blind panic, when their leader shoved them forward, yelling, “Get him, you fools! He’s just one man!”

For an instant, the spell was broken, and then, even as it took hold once again, it was too late to run. The juggernaut charging across the plaza was upon them, and they suddenly found themselves fighting for their lives. The only trouble was, their obsidian weapons shattered with the first stroke against the stranger’s blade.

Valsavis tried to step forward to protect Ryana, but she merely shoved him aside and said, “Take the ones on the right!”

As she moved toward the three marauders on her left, Valsavis directed his attention toward the three on the right. They had already moved to within striking distance, and they were infuriated that he had already killed two of their number. Since the Shade’s projection was not being directed at them, they attacked Valsavis without hesitation.

He parried the first stroke with one of his own and had the satisfaction of seeing the marauder’s obsidian sword break against his stronger, iron blade. A downward, sweeping slash finished the man, and then only two were left. They struck simultaneously. Valsavis could not parry both blows at once. He blocked one, twisting and deftly slipping the second thrust, kicking the man in the groin as he did so. The man made a gasping, squealing sort of sound and doubled over. Valsavis felt a dagger scrape along his side and smashed the marauder in the face with his elbow. As the marauder cried out and staggered back, Valsavis ran him through. That left only the man he’d kicked in the groin, and he was in no shape to offer any resistance. Valsavis raised his blade and brought it down, finishing him off. He then turned to help Ryana, but saw that she was in no need of his assistance.

One marauder was already lying in a pool of his own blood. She ran the second one through even as Valsavis turned toward her. And it took her less than a moment to finish off the third. Valsavis watched with open admiration as her blade executed its delicate and lethal dance. The marauders were no competition for her. She had quickly dispatched two, and now the third was on the retreat, desperately trying to parry her flurry of strokes, but he was hopelessly out of his depth. It ended quickly, one thrust, and it was over.

Valsavis glanced toward the far end of the plaza. The last he had seen of Sorak, he was suddenly charging the four men at the other end. Now only one remained, the leader. Valsavis heard the man scream once, and then the scream was abruptly cut off and Sorak stood alone.

Valsavis heard the sound of running footsteps and turned, raising his sword to meet the threat, but it wasn’t more marauders. It was a squad of the town guards, mercenaries by the look of them, and they seemed to know their business. They did not simply come charging in blindly. Instead, as they entered the plaza from a side street, they fanned out quickly and covered the area with their crossbows. Valsavis slowly sheathed his blade and held his hands out away from his sides.

Ryana came up beside him and did likewise. Sorak approached them across the plaza, moving slowly, his blade sheathed. He was carefully keeping his hands in plain sight.

The mercenary captain quickly glanced around the plaza, taking in the situation. “What happened here?” he demanded.

“We were attacked,” Ryana said. “We had no choice but to defend ourselves.”

The mercenary leader looked around. “You three i did all this by yourselves?” he asked in disbelief. “I saw it all,” cried a voice from a window on the second floor of a building facing onto the plaza. “It happened just the way she says!”

Someone else who had apparently witnessed the fighting from the safety of his building added his voice in agreement. “It was a dozen against three! And I have never seen anything like it!”

“Nor have I,” the mercenary captain said, apparently convinced by this corroboration. Several people started coming out into the street, staring at the scene with fascination, but the mercenaries held them back.

“Do you have any idea why these men attacked you?” asked their captain.

“They were marauders,” said Sorak. “Some of their comrades had attacked us on our way here and we fought back. These men trailed us and came looking for revenge.”

“It seems they found more than they had bargained for,” the mercenary captain said. He signaled his men to lower their bows. “I will require your names,” he said.

They gave them.

“Where are you lodging?” the mercenary asked.

“The Oasis,” Sorak said. “But we were planning to leave Salt View tomorrow. Unless, of course, there is any difficulty about that.”

“No difficulty,” said the mercenary captain. “Witnesses have borne your story out. I am satisfied that it was self-defense. And it would seem unlikely that three would try to ambush twelve,” he added wryly. “Though I daresay, given the results, it certainly appears that you could have pulled it off.”

“We are free to go, then?” Sorak asked.

“You are free to go,” the mercenary captain said. He turned and beckoned to one of his men. “Go and get the charnel wagon to remove these bodies.”

As they crossed the plaza, heading back toward Main Street, Valsavis glanced down at the corpses of the marauders Sorak killed. He noticed two very interesting things. Each of their weapons had shattered, as if made of glass. And each man had an expression of stark terror frozen on his features. It was only the second time that Valsavis had seen Sorak in action. The first time, the marauders had been taken by surprise, and they had been drinking heavily. This time, however, they had come sober and prepared to fight—for all the good that it had done them. He was beginning to understand why the Shadow King felt anxious about this elfling.

There was something very special about that sword of his, quite aside from its obvious rarity. When he had first seen it, Valsavis had noted the hilt, wrapped with precious silver wire, and the unusual shape of the blade, but though he was curious to see the elven steel, he had never removed it from its scabbard. He had lived a long time, and he owed his survival not only to his abilities as a fighter, but to his sense of caution. It was said to be a magic blade, and Nibenay himself believed it. Valsavis chose the prudent course. Until he had learned more about the nature of its enchantment, he had simply held it carefully by its scabbard and laid it aside, without examining it. Whoever had enchanted the sword could easily have warded it as well, to prevent its falling into the wrong hands. And besides, he was no thief. To take a weapon from a man honorably slain in combat was one thing, to steal it while he lay helpless would have been craven.