The Broken Blade

by Simon Hawke

  Sorak shook his head. “No. I did not know them.”

  “Them?” Ryana said. “How many?”

  “At least half a dozen,” Sorak said. “Members of the Veiled Alliance. We must get to Altaruk with all speed,” he said. “They are being butchered.”

  “Who is doing this?” asked Kieran.

  Sorak shook his head. “I could not tell. But this time, it was different. I think it was the same killer I saw before, but this time I was seeing through the killer’s eyes, feeling what the killer felt, and it was…” He shuddered, unable to complete the thought.

  “Can you can recall any more?” asked Kieran.

  Sorak nodded. “Yes. A templar. One of the senior templars of the Shadow King.”

  “In Altaruk?” said Kieran.

  “She seemed to be directing the killer,” Sorak said. “And she knew about the Shadows’ attack on us. I think she was involved somehow. It may have been because of me. I’m the one they’re after. But I am not the only one.”

  “So,” said Kieran, “the defilers are making their bid to control Altaruk. And I thought this was going to be a simple, boring job. But where do you fit in? Why do they want you?”

  “Because of who I am,” said Sorak. “And what I represent.”

  “Then the bard’s tale was true?” said Kieran.

  “In part,” said Sorak. “But there is much more to it. Have you ever heard of the avangion?”

  “The myth of the preserver dragon?” Kieran said. “The legend of the Sage?”

  “The avangion is neither myth nor dragon,” Sorak said. “And the Sage is more than legend.”

  “You mean to say he actually exists?”

  “He was once called the Wanderer,” said Sorak.

  “The pilgrim who wrote that journal of his travels? He is an adept?”

  Sorak nodded. “He is also my grandfather.”

  Kieran exhaled heavily. “Gith’s blood,” he swore softly. “I knew there was more to you than met the eye, but this…” He shook his head. “You know where he is, don’t you?”

  Sorak nodded.

  “Who else knows?”

  “Only the pyreen elders. And Ryana, of course. It is my task to do what my grandfather cannot. Not only to serve the cause, but to make it known. And in some ways, ways that I still do not understand, he has prepared me for it.”

  “You mean the Sight?” said Kieran.

  Sorak nodded again. “And the blade. And I do not know what else. There is much about myself I have yet to discover. It would be difficult to explain. I had hoped there would be more time, but it seems I’ll not have that luxury. The Shadow King has other plans.”

  “More than just the Shadow King, if all you say is true,” said Kieran.

  “You doubt him?” asked Ryana. “I can attest to the truth of everything he says. I was there.”

  “Oh, I would not question your word, my lady,” Kieran said. “But it does strain one’s credulity. I wish I did not believe it, for it means you will both be targets for every defiler on Athas. You must admit, that argues against a long life, for you and anyone with you.”

  “You still want me for your lieutenant?” Sorak asked wryly.

  “Well, it will make things interesting,” Kieran replied with a smile. “I was getting bored in retirement, anyway.”

  “Well make a preserver of you yet,” Ryana said with a grin, punching him in the shoulder.

  “We should all live so long, my lady,” Kieran said. “I have no magic blade, and your friend here just threw his away.”

  “I did that once before,” said Sorak, “but there are some responsibilities one simply can’t avoid.” Kieran’s eyes grew wide as Sorak reached down and drew Galdra from his belt. He held the broken blade up before him, and it sparkled with a faint blue aura.

  “Now that was a neat trick,” said Kieran.

  Sorak smiled. “Just don’t ask me how it’s done,” he said. “A moment ago, it wasn’t there. And then I felt it pressing against my side. It seems no matter what I do, I cannot get rid of it.”

  “What else does it do?” asked Kieran.

  Sorak shrugged. “It makes me wish I had been born someone else. In fact, I used to be someone else every now and then.”

  Kieran frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s a long story,” Sorak said. “But we still have about a day’s ride ahead. I’ll tell you all about it on the way to Altaruk.”

  “Well then, let’s ride,” said Kieran. “I’d like to see just what’s waiting for us when we get there.”

  “It’s me they’re waiting for,” said Sorak. “You do not need to involve yourself.”

  “In case you have forgotten,” Kieran said, “you’ve saved my life twice, and my caravan once. The way I see it, I’m involved.”

  “I did what I chose to do,” said Sorak. “You are under no obligation to me, Kieran.”

  “That’s not the way I see it. And I will brook no arguments. I am still your superior officer, if you’ll recall.”

  Sorak smiled. “Whatever you say, Captain.”

  “I say we’ve wasted enough time,” Kieran replied. “Mount up.”

  Chapter Eleven

  It was, Matullus thought, a truly lousy way to start the day. His weak stomach notwithstanding, he had somehow managed to hold his gorge down when he walked into the room and saw the carnage. Perhaps he was getting used to it. And that was bad enough in itself.

  The first thing that hit him was the smell. The bodies had been dead only a few hours, but in the desert, the morning temperatures rose quickly, and they were already stinking. And the blood. It was splattered everywhere. Its coppery smell commingled with the stench of bowels that had released at the moment of death. Matullus was still young and had never fought in a full-fledged campaign. He had never seen a war. But this morning, he finally understood what the old veterans meant when they said that a battlefield smelled like human waste.

  Bad enough to be murdered, he thought, but to be found like this, mangled and begrimed with feces… if this was any indication of what it was like to die in battle, he could see no glory in it. Better to die old in bed, he thought, of a ruptured heart, wrapped in the arms of a young woman. That was a sort of glory he could understand.

  The sound of flies buzzing in the room was almost as oppressive as the stench. He covered the lower half of his face with the free end of his turban and looked around.

  “Gith’s blood!” said one of his men behind him, clapping his hand over his mouth and nose as he came in. “What kind of animal would do a thing like this?”

  “The kind that walks on two legs,” Matullus said grimly. He stepped around and over the corpses, looking down at each one and giving it a cursory examination. “This one was stabbed in the stomach, disemboweled. This one had his throat slashed from ear to ear. Look at that stroke. It practically decapitated him. And this one had his back broken. This one had his neck snapped. The head was almost twisted right off the spinal column. This one was stabbed straight in the heart. The blade smashed right through the ribs. And this one was strangled. See the bruises on the neck? Look at this…” He laid his hand across the discolorations, matching his fingers to the marks. “The killer did it with just one hand.”

  “Look at the white veils dropped on the bodies,” I one of the men said. “Just like with the last one.”

  “A calling card, perhaps?” Matullus asked rhetorically. “Did the Veiled Alliance kill these men, or are we supposed to believe they were killed because they were in the Alliance, themselves?”

  “Lord Ankhor isn’t going to like this,” one of the men said.

  “No, he certainly will not,” Matullus agreed. “And Lord Jhamri will like it even less. This sort of thing is bad for business.”

  “What are we going to do, sir?” one of the younger guards asked.

  “Dispose of the bodies,” said Matullus. “There is little else we can do. And then we will spread out through the neighborhood
and make inquires. Someone must know these men. But if they were in the Alliance, none will admit it. An admission would be self-incriminating. We may learn their names, but I doubt we’ll learn anything else.”

  “The caravan from Balic should be in tonight, shouldn’t it?” one of the guards asked.

  Matullus nodded. “If they are on schedule. Our new captain is going to inherit this sorry mess. I doubt he will be pleased to start his job on such a note. And if Kieran is displeased, I fear we’ll be the first to feel that displeasure.”

  “This isn’t going to stop, is it?”

  Matullus shook his head. “No. Not unless we stop it. Whoever is doing this is good at killing. The bastard likes it.”

  “Surely this isn’t the work of one man?” one the guards asked with astonishment.

  “Each of these men was killed by someone very powerful,” Matullus said. “And it was done very quickly. Two of them didn’t have a chance to draw weapons. And if they were adepts, they certainly did not have a chance to cast defensive spells. This one here had drawn his dagger. It’s still grasped in his hand, for all the good it did him. One dagger was thrown.” He pointed to where it was embedded in the wall. “I think… by that one, there. Obviously, he missed, and it cost him his life. The others were all disarmed before they died. And quickly, too, for the killer toyed with them.” He indicated the smashed table and overturned chairs.

  “One was thrown across the room, onto that table, and while he was stunned, another was disposed of. Then another was thrown against that wall there, where the spice jars have fallen off the shelf and shattered on the floor. Stun one, grab another, and so forth, like a mountain cat toying with janx. Whoever did this was incredibly strong, and burst in upon these men like a windstorm off the desert. They never had a chance.”

  “Six against one, and all died,” a guard said in a low voice. “And not one of these men was far above middle age. Only one was on the frail side. Still…” The guard shook his head. “To throw men around like this, like chaff before the wind…”

  “It isn’t human,” one of the guards said.

  “No,” said Matullus thoughtfully. “Something much stronger. A half-giant or a mul, perhaps.”

  “But there are no half-giants or muls in Altaruk,” one of the others said.

  Matullus nodded. “There is now.”

  “Someone like that would stand out in this town like an oasis on a desert.”

  “You would think so, wouldn’t you?” Matullus said. “Unless someone is hiding him. And that means a confederate. Perhaps more than one.” He nodded. “At least we will have something to tell Kieran when he arrives.”

  “What do you think he will do?” someone asked.

  Matullus turned to face him. “Well, we’ll soon I find out, won’t we? He’s supposed to be the best. I expect he’ll waste no time in taking charge of the situation. And that means we’ll have to be up to the challenge. When he arrives tonight, I want every man in the house guard turned out clean and sharp. And woe to the man our new captain finds fault with. I will personally see to it that he regrets not being one of these corpses. Now clean this mess up. We have a great deal to do before the caravan arrives.”

  * * *

  It was late afternoon when Lord Ankhor entered his private study on the top floor of the mansion. A few hours earlier, Matullus had nervously made his report about the recent killings. He was cautious in remarks, but astute in observations. He’d conjectured that the killer was a half-giant or a mul, judging by the murders, which indicated not only strength but also fighting skill. Matullus was a clever young man. Undoubtedly, Kieran would be more clever, still.

  Ankhor went to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. It would not do for Kieran to resolve the situation too swiftly. That would displease the templar and undermine his plans. Jhamri needed to be suitably embarrassed by his ineffectiveness in countering the threat. And then, of course, at the proper time, the mul would be apprehended by the Ankhor House Guard. A pity to waste a property like that. She was rather an expensive purchase to discard, but it would be well worth it to see Jhamri properly humbled. Merely the first step, of course, but a significant one—the cost of doing business.

  Ankhor frowned as he saw the small statue on the mantlepiece turned to one side. He had specifically told the templar to hold her meetings late at night, except in an emergency. Could something have gone wrong? He paused to lock the heavy, ornate door of his study before opening the secret panel. He stepped back in surprise as Edric came into the room.

  “What in thunder are you doing here?” he asked, frowning. “You were supposed to be with the caravan!”

  “I was,” said Edric, moving to the sideboard to pour himself a drink as casually as if he were in his own home. For the first time, Ankhor noticed he was wounded. His left arm hung limp at his side, and he favored his shoulder as he moved. “I rode like the wind itself to get here ahead of them. We had some problems.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Ankhor.

  “The attack failed,” Edric said simply.

  “What do you mean it failed? How could it fail?”

  “It failed because we lost the element of surprise,” said Edric, tipping back his goblet. “And I almost lost my life as well, but we won’t dwell on little things like that.”

  “What happened? What went wrong?”

  “Everything,” said Edric. “Those three fools you-hired to join the caravan at Grak’s Pool drew suspicion instantly. I told you additional men on the inside were not necessary. I would have been quite capable of handling things myself. And then, just to make things worse, I was unmasked.”

  “How? By whom? Kieran?”

  “No, though I have a score to settle with that one. He shall have to wait his turn. There was another. A half-breed. The Nomad.”

  Ankhor frowned. “Sorak? Here?”

  “You know of him?”

  “We’ve met before,” said Ankhor.

  “Oh, yes, of course,” said Edric. “He stole that princess from your caravan.”

  “Torian’s loss, not mine,” said Ankhor dismissively. “And the rash fool was stupid enough to give pursuit into the Barrens, which cost him his life. An inconvenience, as he was a valued trading partner, but a minor loss, all things considered. But Sorak’s presence is a greater inconvenience, still.”

  “An inconvenience,” said Edric wryly. “How quaint. We lost over a score of our tribe, and you call it ‘an inconvenience.’”

  “I thought the Shadows were supposed to be masters of their craft,” said Ankhor scornfully. “And over a score of them were brought down by mere caravan guards? Had I known your people were so inept, I would have spent my money elsewhere.”

  “They were ambushed,” Edric said. “You might have done better to rob your own caravan at a time when Kieran of Draj was not there to take command. He knows his trade, that one. He laid a brilliant trap. Your money was well spent in hiring him. But your timing in having him on that particular caravan left something to be desired.”

  “I could not control his movements,” Ankhor said. “When I discovered he was coming on that caravan, it was already too late to change the plan.”

  “And so we paid the price for it,” said Edric bitterly. With his right hand, he refilled his goblet and drained it in one gulp. “Still, but for that elfling, the plan might have succeeded. What makes it truly galling is that I was the one who told them when the attack would come. I had no choice. To resist would have been suicide, and I was not prepared to give up yet. My people are very dissatisfied with me at the moment. And they are even less satisfied with you.”

  “Is that a threat?” asked Ankhor.

  “A statement of fact. I did not come here alone, in case you’re thinking of doing something foolish,” Edric cautioned him. “I have brought some of my people with me. If I do not return, they will see to it that all of Altaruk knows who it was who hired us to rob the caravan.”

  “Very well,�
�� said Ankhor. “Let’s get down to business. What do you want? Reparations for your losses? Name your price.”

  Edric considered. “Fifty thousand in gold.”

  “Done,” said Ankhor. “Anything else?”

  Edric snorted. “I should have asked for more. But yes, there is one more thing. I want the Nomad.”

  Ankhor shrugged. “Take him. He does not concern me.”

  “I beg to differ,” Edric said. “He happens to be yours.”

  “Mine?” Ankhor frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Kieran has hired him to be his lieutenant in your house guard,” Edric said. “The two of them are thick as thieves, and it would be difficult to seize him while he is under your protection.”

  Ankhor chuckled.

  “You find that amusing?” asked Edric, scowling.

  “Yes, frankly, I do,” said Ankhor. He smiled. “The Nomad and I seem fated to cross paths in fascinating ways. The first time, it was to my benefit. The second, to my loss. But this time, there is more at stake. I do not want him getting in the way.”

  “Then we will be pleased to take him off your hands,” said Edric. “In addition to the gold, of course.”

  “You will have your gold,” said Ankhor with thinly veiled contempt. “As for Sorak, I will make it easy for you. I’ll greet the caravan when it arrives, as a show of gratitude for his assistance in foiling the attack. To prove I hold no grudge against him for the royal twit, I will offer him the use of one of our apartments in the shopkeeper’s quarter. It is on the Street of Clothiers, above the shop of Lorian the Bootmaker. The house is marked with the sign of a blue boot. The entrance to the stairs leading up to the apartment is through an alley to the right of the shop. I’ll see to it that Kieran is otherwise engaged tonight, with the remainder of the house guard, so they cannot interfere. The rest is up to you. Will that be satisfactory?”

  Edric pursed his lips and nodded. “It will do.”

  “Good. And though it is not my habit to give rewards for failure, I’ll arrange a discreet payment of the gold, through our usual intermediaries, as a gesture of good faith. I expect no problems with the Shadows on any future shipments in my caravans. I do not expect to be seeing you again. Our business is concluded. Feel free to have another drink before you leave.”