by Simon Hawke
I am getting too old for this trade, he thought. Too old for chasing across the desert, too old for sleeping on the hard ground, and too tired for playing at intrigue. He had not expected to fall in with the elfling and the priestess as he had. His initial plan had been to follow them, at a distance, and then, to add some spice to the chase, allow them to discover that he was on their trail, so he could watch what they would try to do to shake him. However, a much more interesting opportunity had presented itself, and he had been quick to take advantage of it.
When he had first found the elfling lying on the ground with a crossbow bolt in his back, he had feared that he was dead. There had been no sign of the priestess, and it had not been difficult to guess what must have happened. A quick examination of the ground in the vicinity had immediately confirmed his guess. The two preservers had been ambushed, and the priestess had been taken. It might have ended there and then, but luckily, the elfling wasn’t dead. And when he realized that, Valsavis had quickly changed his plans.
Why not join them? Help the elfling trail the ambushers and rescue the priestess. That would place them in his debt and make it easier for them to trust him. He frowned thoughtfully as one of the girls started working on his massive arms while the other one massaged his feet. He may have succeeded in joining them, but he was not so sure that he had won their trust.
That night, when they had slept in the slain marauders’ camp, they had remained awake for a long time by the fire, talking softly. He could feel them staring at him. He had strained to hear what they were saying, but their voices were too low. Even so, he had studied people too long and too well not to pick up certain indications in their manner.
He felt reasonably sure now that they suspected him. To his knowledge, he had done nothing to give himself away but he was aware of it when the elfling had tried to probe his thoughts. It had felt, at first, like someone tugging very slightly at a string within his mind. He had still been a young man when he discovered that he was immune to psionic probes. Not even the Shadow King could do it, and he had tried, unsuccessfully, on a number of occasions. Of course, when Nibenay had tried it, he had been none too gentle, and the dragon king was strong. Valsavis well recalled how the experience had left his head throbbing for hours afterward. Perhaps it was one of the reasons Nibenay employed him. Even a master psionicist could not read his thoughts. Valsavis had no idea why this was so, but he was grateful for it. He did not like the idea of anyone being able to know what he was thinking. That sort of thing gave enemies an enormous advantage.
Still, he had not expected such an effort from the elfling, and it had surprised him. The Shadow King had warned him that the elfling was a master of the Way, but that had not worried Valsavis overmuch. He had dealt with such people before. They were often formidable, but not invulnerable. And besting them was always a fascinating challenge.
However, when the elfling had first tried to probe his thoughts, Valsavis had expected that it would feel no different from the times when others had tried to do the same. He had been wrong.
The first attempt had felt like the familiar, faint tugging at an imaginary string within his mind. He had carefully avoided displaying any reaction, because he did not want the elfling to know he was aware of it. But the second tug had been much stronger, as strong as when Nibenay had tried it, and Nibenay was a sorcerer-king. That had surprised Valsavis, and it had been difficult to keep that surprise from showing. There had then followed several more attempts, each one stronger than the one preceding it, until it felt almost as if someone were trying to pull his brain out through his skull. And for the first time in his life, Valsavis had not known if he could resist.
He had no idea of the nature of his apparent immunity, and so there was no way he could control it. It was not something he did consciously. It was simply the way he was. But he had never before encountered anything like the elfling’s attempts to batter down his natural mental defenses. It had taken a supreme effort of will to avoid displaying a physical reaction. It had hurt. He had been in agony for most of the next day. Only now had the pain fully abated.
The elfling’s will was incredibly strong, far stronger than he had given him credit for, stronger than he could have imagined. Not even the Shadow King had tried to probe him with such force. It was astonishing. Small wonder Nibenay feared him, and had brought his best assassin out of retirement to deal with him. The probes had failed, however, and Valsavis did not think the elfling would try again. And that was fortunate, for he had no wish to repeat the experience. It had been difficult to get through the day without revealing his discomfort. He had taken staff blows to the head that had hurt less. It was most unsettling.
The repeated probes had also meant that the elfling did not trust him. One did not try to smash his way to another’s mind if he felt trust. The question was, exactly what did the elfling suspect? Was he suspicious merely because he had encountered a stranger in the wilderness who had offered aid for no apparent reason? It was certainly not illogical for Sorak to suspect he might have hidden motives. But did he suspect exactly what those motives were?
Valsavis had to admit that possibility. The elfling was no fool. Neither, for that matter, was the priestess. The elfling had noted how good a tracker he was. Perhaps that had been a mistake, Valsavis thought. He should have allowed the elfling to track down the marauders, but he had revealed the extent of his ability when he had told him how many marauders there had been. That had been foolish. It had been showing off. He should have resisted the temptation, but it had simply slipped out. Now the elfling knew he was an experienced tracker, and that meant Sorak realized he would certainly have been capable of tracking them from Nibenay, across the Ivory Plain.
He may have diverted some suspicion by telling him he came from Gulg, but then Sorak could easily assume that he was lying. No, they suspected, thought Valsavis. He was certain of it. Yet, in a way, that only made the game more interesting. Especially because it placed him completely in control of the situation.
They suspect, he thought, but they do not know. And, unlike him, they would not act on mere suspicion. If he suspected that someone he was traveling with might be an enemy, Valsavis would have no compunction about slitting his throat while he slept, just to be on the safe side. Sorak and Ryana, on the other hand, were avowed preservers, followers of the Druid Way, and that meant they had scruples. They subscribed to a morality that he was not encumbered with, a morality that gave him a marked advantage.
It would be fascinating to play out the game and watch them watching him, waiting to see if he made some slip and gave himself away. Only he would make no such slip. He would watch them squirm in their uncertainty, and he would sleep soundly in their presence, knowing that he could safely turn his back on them because they were preservers and would not attempt to harm him without demonstrable and justifiable cause. Even now, they were probably wondering about him, discussing him, trying to decide what they would do if he chose not to remain in Salt View, but offered to go with them when they moved on to Bodach.
He had already decided what he would do about that. He would stick to them with the tenacity of a spider cactus, following them everywhere they went while they were in Salt View, merely professing concern for their safety as his fellow travelers. They would not protest, because to do so would mean explaining why they did not want him around, and they were still uncertain of him, uncertain enough to think that he might just be exactly what he claimed to be. And when they left for Bodach, he would go along with them, claiming that it would be insanity for them to refuse his help in such a place, and that they owed him at least that much for having come to their aid. He would insist that they owed him a chance at the legendary treasure, a chance at one last, glorious adventure for an old man who would soon retire to live out the twilight of his years in solitude, with nothing but his memories.
They might not believe him, but they would have no way of being certain that he was not telling them the truth. They migh
t still refuse him, but he did not think they would. They would certainly need all the help that they could get in the city of the undead, whether he was an agent of the Shadow King or not. And they would doubtless realize that there was no way they could prevent him from following them… short of killing him, of course, and their preserver sense of morality would not allow for that.
He smiled. Yes, he thought, this was going to be enjoyable. It would be a fitting cap to his career. When this was over, the Shadow King would show his gratitude and reward him richly. His greatest enemy would be eliminated, and Nibenay would even be generous enough to ask him to name his prize among the templar harem. He might even be generous enough to offer him a further bonus, and if he did not offer, Valsavis would not hesitate to ask.
He already knew what he would ask for. He would ask for a spell from the dragon king to bring his youth back. He already had a great deal of money hidden away, money he had earned in the service of the Shadow King, money he never had any reason to spend because he had lived simply and quietly. It was money that he had painstakingly set aside for his old age, when he became infirm and could no longer care for himself. On the other hand, with his youth back, he could use that money to buy himself a very different sort of life. He could come back to Salt View and settle down, perhaps purchase an inn or build a gaming house, which would, over the years, produce more than ample funds to see him through his second old age. And meanwhile, he could enjoy himself and do anything he chose to do. It was a pleasant fantasy, and one that was by no means out of reach.
The two girls were finishing their rubdown. Their touches were become lighter and softer, more like caresses. They were trying to place him in a mood of receptivity for further services of a more intimate nature. And, he thought, why not? It had been a long time since he had sported with a woman, much less with two at the same time. The elfling and the priestess would keep. They had already agreed to meet with him for dinner and an evening’s entertainment on the town. Besides, he had taken care to bribe the clerk to inform him if they tried to go anywhere without him. He sighed deeply and turned over onto his back. The two girls smiled at him and began to stroke his chest, slowly working their way down. And then his hand began to tingle. “Leave me,” he said, at once. They started to protest, but he insisted. “Leave me, I said. I want a few moments to be alone and rest. I will call you when I need you.”
Reassured that they were not being summarily dismissed, the two girls left, and Valsavis brought his hand up before his face. The eye on his ring opened. “What progress have you made?” the Shadow King inquired.
“Much,” Valsavis replied. “I have joined the elfling and priestess as a traveling companion. They were set upon by marauders, and I had the opportunity to come to their aid. We are now in Salt View together, and in an hour’s time, we shall be sitting down to dinner.”
“And they suspect nothing?” asked the Shadow King. “They have no idea who you really are?”
“They may suspect, but they do not know for sure,” Valsavis replied. “And that only makes things more interesting.”
“Have they attempted to contact the Silent One?” asked Nibenay.
“Not yet,” Valsavis said, “but I have no doubt that will try to do so soon. Perhaps even tonight.”
“You must not let them slip away,” said Nibenay. “You must not lose them, Valsavis.”
“I will not lose them, my lord. You may count on that. In fact, I intend to accompany them to Bodach.”
“What? You mean travel with them?”
“Why not? Everyone has heard of Bodach’s legendary treasure. Why shouldn’t that tempt a mercenary like myself, who has no other immediate prospects?”
“Take care. You are playing a dangerous game, Valsavis,” said the Shadow King.
“I find dangerous games amusing, my lord.”
“Do not be insolent with me, Valsavis! I did not send you out to be amused, but to follow the elfling to his master.”
“I am doing just that, my lord. And you must admit that it is easier by far to follow someone you are traveling with.”
“See that you do not become overconfident, Valsavis. The elfling is far more dangerous than you may realize. He is not someone to be trifled with or underestimated.”
“I have already discovered that, my lord.”
“Remember the Breastplate of Argentum,” said the Shadow King. “It must not be allowed to fall into his hands.”
“I have not forgotten that, my lord. Rest assured, if he should find it before I do, he shall not keep it long. I have never failed you before, have I?”
“There is a first time for everything,” Nibenay replied. “See to it that this is not your first time, Valsavis. If it is, then I promise you that you shall not survive it.”
The golden eyelid closed.
“Ho, girls!” Valsavis called out.
The two girls came running back into the small, private room, wearing nothing but their smiles.
“I am ready for you now,” Valsavis said.
Chapter Five
The dining room of the Oasis served a sumptuous repast. After a hearty dinner of braised z’tal and wild mountain rice for Valsavis and stir-fried seasoned vegetables with kanna sauce for Sorak and Ryana, they went out to tour the main street of Salt View. The sun had already gone down and the main street was brightly lit by torches and braziers. Shadows danced upon the neatly whitewashed buildings lining both sides of the street, and the number of vendors had grown, many of them setting up new booths in the center of the street, or else simply spreading out their goods on blankets laid upon the ground.
The character of the town had, indeed, changed, as Valsavis had predicted. There were many more people on the street now, drawn out by the cool night air, scantily clad human and half-elf females strolled up and down the street provocatively, boldly propositioning passers-by. Barkers stood by the entrances to the bawdy houses, seeking to entice people inside With lurid descriptions of the thrills that awaited them within. Strolling groups of players wandered up and down the street, stopping every now and then to give a small performance, a brief scene followed by a pitch to see the rest of the production at the theater down the street. There were acrobats and jugglers and musicians who performed for coins tossed into their hats or on their cloaks, which they had spread out on the ground before them. Valsavis explained that the village council did not object to street performers, as they plied a vocation and added color and atmosphere to the town by their presence, whereas beggars merely clogged the walkways and the alleys and provided nothing but pathetic whining.
As they walked along, Sorak slipped slightly to the background and allowed the Guardian to the fore, so that she could gently probe the minds of passers-by and find out if anyone knew anything about the Silent One. However, no one seemed to be thinking about the mysterious druid, and the Guardian soon despaired of looking into jaded, shallow minds that were filled only with a hungry desperation for sensual stimulation and depravity.
Before long, they came to a gaming house with a carved wooden sign outside identifying it as the Desert Palace. It was a neat, attractive building, but it hardly looked palatial. It was a structure of sunbaked and plastered, whitewashed adobe brick, as were all the buildings on the main street of Salt View, built in a long, rectangular shape. It had a small, paved courtyard in front of it, which one entered through an archway with a gate of cactus ribs and agafari wood. The small courtyard led to a covered portal that shaded the front doors.
They went inside and came into a large, cavernous chamber. The entire first floor of the Desert Palace was one large open room. There was a partial second floor, open in the center, making a gallery running around on all four sides from which people could look down on the action at the tables below. The rooms up on the second floor were probably private rooms and offices for the management. Sorak noted that there were several elf archers stationed up on the gallery, armed with small, powerful crossbows. They walked slowly back
and forth along the gallery, keeping a careful watch on the crowd below. Undoubtedly, they were fine marksmen, but Sorak made a mental note to keep an eye on them in case any trouble erupted on the gaming floor. He did not wish to be near such an outbreak and accidentally wind up with another arrow in his back. Even for a superior bowman, it would be difficult to shoot accurately under such crowded conditions. On the other hand, knowing that probably had a pacifying effect upon the clientele.
Light was provided by candles set in sconces mounted upon large, wooden wheels suspended from the beamed ceiling. There were also oil lamps and braziers adding illumination. A dimly lit gaming house, Sorak recalled from his days at the Crystal Spider, only made it easier for the patrons to attempt cheating. And, along with the archers on the upper gallery, there were also well-armed, burly guards stationed at various points throughout the main hall, making sure none of the customers got out of line.
They wandered through the gaming hall toward the long bar at the rear. This, too, was clever planning, Sorak thought. Many such establishments built their bars along the side, which afforded them more room to squeeze people in, but here, if one was thirsty, one first had to walk past all the tables to get to the bar, and that made it easier for patrons to be drawn into a Same, especially since attractive human and half-elf serving wenches constantly moved among the tables with their trays, bringing drinks to those at the tables.
And the tables seemed to offer every conceivable sort of game. There were roulette wheels and dice tables, round tables where patrons played cards against one another—with an attendant to make sure the house took a percentage of each pot—and U-shaped tables where people played against a dealer. There were even several tables where a game was played that Sorak had never seen before. They stopped on their way through to watch one of these curious new games.