The Nomad (9 page)

“Then I will try to save her if I can,” Sorak replied. “But she would not wish me to surrender or withdraw. And they would find that killing her may not prove as easy as they think.”

“She sounds like an unusual woman,” said Valsavis. “She is villichi.”

“Indeed?” said Valsavis. “I met a villichi priestess once… a long, long time ago. And if she was a typical example of their order, then I am surprised your friend allowed herself to be taken without a struggle.”

“She was exhausted from our journey,” Sorak said, “and no doubt she fell asleep. If she had not been taken by surprise, she would have left bodies littering the ground.”

Valsavis did not fail to note the elfling’s vehemence. “She is more to you than just a traveling companion, is she not?”

“She is my friend,” Sorak replied in a tone that did not invite further questions.

Valsavis chose not to press the issue. He had already learned what he wanted to know. The elfling cared about the priestess. And more than merely as a friend. That was good to know, he thought. It could come in very useful.

They reached the canyon by late afternoon and could tell by the trail that the marauders were not far ahead. They scouted the canyon carefully from the ridge before venturing down the slope. The marauders had descended to the canyon floor, near the entrance where the foothills sloped up to meet the mountains. Sorak thought it ironic that they had taken an extra day in their trek across the plain just to avoid the canyon pass, and now he had doubled back toil.

He cursed himself for leaving Ryana alone. He had not expected to encounter marauders so far from their camp, but he should have realized how tired she was and that it would be impossible for her not to fall asleep. How much trouble would it have been to let her sleep awhile and recover some strength before he allowed the Ranger to go hunting? He blamed himself for this, and if anything happened to Ryana, he did not know how he would be able to go on.

Toward evening, they finally caught up with the marauders. They had made camp on a trail winding through the lower foothills, one they had obviously used many times before. The clearing showed signs of having been used as a campsite before. Sorak saw that it was not a raiding party, but a hunting party. Sorak observed several of the kanks bearing the beasts they had slain. He and Valsavis had smelled the smoke of the marauders’ campfire long before they saw them. The marauders were taking no trouble to conceal their presence. This was their territory, and they were confident in the security of numbers.

Valsavis had been exactly right. There were nine of them. They had not even taken the trouble to post guards. They were all grouped together around the campfire, laughing boisterously and cooking their supper. Passing around a wineskin, they seemed well pleased with themselves.

And why shouldn’t they be, thought Sorak as he and Valsavis watched the marauders from the shelter of some bushes. They had not only enjoyed a successful hunt, but had stumbled upon an unexpected prize, as well.

Ryana sat nearby, leaning back against a boulder. Her hands were tied behind her, and her arms were bound tightly to her sides by a rope around her chest. Her feet were tied, as well, at the ankles and the knees. She could barely move at all, and the position she was in had to be excruciatingly uncomfortable. Sorak could not tell if she was hurt or not. She was not moving.

“We are going to have to get in closer,” he said, softly.

“Not yet,” Valsavis said, putting a restraining hand on his chest. “Your priestess is safe, for the moment. The marauders will not harm her.

She will fetch a high price at a slave auction, and the bidders do not like damaged goods. Let these carrion eat and drink their fill. A man does not move as quickly when his belly is full.”

Sorak nodded in agreement. “Your advice is sound,” he said. “They will be more vulnerable after they have bedded down for the night.”

“Especially if they continue to drink like that,” Valsavis said. “This may be a great deal easier than we had thought. Pity.”

“Pity?” Sorak said with surprise. Valsavis shrugged. “There is no challenge in slitting the throats of sleeping drunks.”

“I am not interested in challenge, but in Ryana’s safety,” Sorak replied.

“Yes, I can see that,” said Valsavis. “But I have been curious about something. Villichi priestesses possess psionic powers that their training hones to a fine edge. I wonder, why has she not used them to free herself?”

Sorak shook his head. “I do not know. Perhaps she bides her time, as we do, and waits for the best opportunity.”

“She does not look like a villichi,” said Valsavis. “I would not have taken her for one. Doubtless, the marauders have not either, else they would have been more careful with her.” He paused a moment, then, as if it were no more than a casual question that had just occurred to him, he asked, “What is the nature of her gifts?”

“Mind over matter,” Sorak replied. “It is called telekinesis. It is the most common ability with which villichi are born.”

Valsavis noted that for future reference. “Then she can use her power to free herself from her bonds,” he said. “That will help us when the time comes to make our move. Let us hope that she does not make her move first, and prematurely.”

“She is clever,” Sorak said. “She will choose her time.”

“Why does she travel with you?” asked Valsavis. “In my experience, villichi priestesses do not much care for the company of males, regardless of their race. Nor are they generally in need of their protection.”

“Ryana is my friend,” said Sorak, as if that explained everything. He suddenly became aware that Valsavis was asking a great many questions, and volunteering little information about himself. “It was fortunate for us you came along when you did. How did it happen that you were traveling in such an isolated area?”

“I was on my way to the village of Salt View,” Valsavis said, “as I assume you must have been.”

“Why do you assume that?” Valsavis shrugged. “Where else would you be going? Save for the marauder camp, it is the only settlement for many miles around.”

“Most travelers would have taken the canyon pass,” said Sorak.

“Where a man traveling alone may easily be ambushed,” said Valsavis. “You and I are not so different. We are both able trackers, and we are both wise in the ways of the desert. We evidently had the same idea. Crossing the mountains at the eastern tip of the range would have brought us to the other side directly above Salt View, and taken us farthest from the marauder camp, where we would have been certain to encounter large and well-armed raiding parties. Logic and prudence chose our way for us.”

“Then you came across the Ivory Plain?” said Sorak.

“Of course,” Valsavis said. “How else can one reach the Mekillots? The Ivory Plain bounds them on all sides.”

“So it does,” said Sorak. “You came from Nibenay, then?”

“From Gulg, where the caravan route ends.”

“What brings you to Salt View?” Valsavis shrugged again. “Amusement and diversion,” he replied. “Gulg does not offer much in the way of night life. The oba is too austere a ruler for such things. I had heard the gaming clubs of Salt View have much to offer in the way of entertainment, and their theater is said to be among the best.”

“Somehow, you do not seem to be the sort to be attracted by the theater,” Sorak said.

“Well, in truth, I care little for the theater itself,” Valsavis admitted, “but wherever one finds theatrical troupes, one also finds actresses and dancing girls.”

“Ah,” said Sorak, nodding. “I see.”

“And what of yourself?” Valsavis asked. “Salt View seems like an unusual destination for a druid and a villichi priestess. Besides, I have heard that they are not very fond of preservers there.”

“There would be little purpose in preaching to the converted,” Sorak said.

“So then you are on a pilgrimage?”

“Salt View is an isolated village,” Sorak said. “If they are not fond of preservers, it is doubtless because they have had little if any contact with them. People are always suspicious and wary of that which they do not understand.”

“I seem to recall having heard somewhere that there is at least one preserver already in Salt View,” Valsavis said. “An old druid called the Quiet One. Or perhaps it was the Silent One, I do not quite recall.”

“The Silent One?” said Sorak, keeping his facial expression carefully neutral. “A curious name.”

“Then you have not heard it before?”

Sorak shrugged. “A druid who is silent does not do much to advance the preserver cause. How could he preach the Path and teach others how to follow it?”

“I suppose that’s true,” Valsavis replied. “I had not really thought of it that way.”

“And what of your sympathies?” asked Sorak. “Where do they lie?”

“I do not concern myself overmuch with the struggle between preservers and defilers,” said Valsavis. “I am just a soldier. I fail to see where it has anything to do with me.”

“It has very much to do with you,” said Sorak, “as it will determine the fate of the world you live in.”

“Perhaps,” Valsavis said dismissively, “but then there are many things that can determine a man’s fate, and most of them are things over which he has little control, if any. Political struggles concern me only insofar as whether one side or the other will employ me. As for the larger questions, there is not much a man like me can do to influence their outcome, so I pay them little heed.”

“If everyone believed that way, then there would be no hope for the world,” said Sorak. “I have found that there is much one man can do if he truly sets his mind to it.”

“Well, in that case, I shall leave the saving of the world to young idealists such as yourself,” Valsavis said wryly. “I am much too old and set in my ways to change. I shall help you save your priestess, Sorak. You may consider that my contribution to the larger struggle, if you wish.”

“Forgive me,” Sorak said. “I meant no offense. I have no right to tell you how to live your life, and I did not mean to sound ungrateful. I owe you much.”

“You owe me nothing,” said Valsavis. “Each man does what he does for his own reasons.”

“And he has not told you the truth about his,” the Guardian reminded Sorak.

Sorak chose not to press the issue. All that mattered now was Ryana’s safety. They spent the remainder of their wait in silence, watching the marauders bed down for the night. They took their time about it, however. As darkness fell, they remained gathered around their campfire, joking and drinking. Someone pulled out some dice and they played for a while. An argument broke out, and two of the marauders came to blows while the others watched and shouted their encouragement. They didn’t seem to care who won, just so that it would be an entertaining fight. Sorak thought it might be a good time to make their move, but Valsavis anticipated him, grasping him by the arm even before he had suggested it and saying, “No, not yet. Wait. Soon.”

Sorak’s patience was starting to wear thin. He was not sure how much longer he could wait. Eventually, several of the marauders retired to their bedrolls. The others remained awake, talking and drinking for a while, but soon they, too, went to sleep, leaving two of their number standing watch. As the others slept, the two who remained awake stayed by the campfire, rolling dice and talking quietly. After a while, their gaming became more animated.

“I suspect that they have just increased the stakes to something rather more interesting than money,” said Valsavis.

For a moment, Sorak did not know what he meant, but then he saw the two marauders casting covetous glances at Ryana. He tensed and clapped his hand to his sword hilt.

“Softly, my friend, softly,” said Valsavis.

“Surely, you do not intend for us to simply sit by idly and wait while those two misbegotten—”

“Keep your voice down,” said Valsavis. “It carries easily on the night wind. Their lust for your priestess friend works in our favor. Clearly, they do not suspect she is villichi. Consider, if they wish to have their way with her, they will first have to loosen her bonds. And I would be very much surprised if a priestess who can control matter with her mind has not already thought of doing that herself. Remember, she does not know that we are here. Only two of them remain awake now. If she plans escape, now would be the perfect time. I will wager that she makes her move when they do.”

A moment later, one of the marauders rolled and turned away, swearing softly in disgust. The other looked extremely pleased. He clapped his comrade on the shoulder, and Sorak’s excellent hearing picked up his words.

“Never fear, Tarl. You can have her when I’m finished. You can hold her down for me, and then I shall hold her down for you. But we must be sure to keep her quiet, else we shall wake the others.” They got up and started moving toward Ryana. “Now,” said Valsavis softly. They started to move in.

The marauders reached Ryana and stood there, looking down at her for a moment. She appeared to be asleep. One of them crouched over her and started to untie her legs. The other kept glancing nervously from Ryana to his sleeping companions. Sorak and Valsavis moved in closer, making not the slightest sound.

The first marauder finished untying her legs and started to unwind the rope. The second one reached down to grasp her by the shoulders, so that he could move her away from the rock she was leaning against and lower her to the ground. However, the moment he took hold of her, Ryana made her move. The knife he wore suddenly leapt free of its scabbard on his belt and plunged itself to the hilt into his throat, directly into the larynx.

The man jerked up and back, making horrible, choking, rasping noises as the blood spurted from between his lips. His hands went up to the knife, he staggered several steps, and fell. His companion glanced up suddenly, not having seen what happened, and for a moment, was completely disoriented. He saw his friend staggering, with a knife sticking in his throat, and thinking that someone had thrown it, he glanced around quickly with alarm and saw Sorak and Valsavis entering the clearing. He was about to cry out a warning to the others, but suddenly felt Ryana’s legs scissoring around his throat as his own obsidian knife floated free of its scabbard.