The Nomad

by Simon Hawke

  “I thought money was not important to you,” Sorak said. “Did you not say that all an excess of money brought a man was trouble?”

  “Perhaps I did say that,” Valsavis admitted, “but it is one thing not to wish to steal another’s sword, however fine a weapon it may be, and quite another to win a treasure by risking life and limb. One act is craven, while the other is heroic. And at my age, I must think about how I shall spend my rapidly approaching declining years. A share of the lost treasure of Bodach, even if it were just a small share, would insure my comfort in my final days. Or is it that you are greedy and wish to keep all of it for yourselves?”

  But at that moment, before Sorak could reply, Kallis returned. “The Silent One will see you,” he announced. “This way, please.”

  They went through the beaded curtain and followed him through a supply room in the rear of the shop and up a flight of wooden stairs to the second floor. It was dark up there, with only one lamp burning at the head of the stairs. Valsavis tensed, not knowing what to expect. They walked down a short, dark corridor and stopped before a door. “In here,” said Kallis, beckoning them. “Open it and go through first, old man,” Valsavis said.

  The apothecary merely looked at him for a moment, then sighed and shook his head. He opened the wooden door and went through first. They followed him, Valsavis keeping his right hand near his sword.

  Behind the door was a room divided into two sections by an archway. The front part of the room contained a small, cone-shaped, brick fireplace in which a small fire burned, heating a kettle. The walls were bare, and the floor was wood-planked. Bunches of herbs hung drying from the beamed ceiling. There were two small and crudely built wooden chairs and a small round table made from planks. On it sat a candle in a holder and some implements for cutting and blending herbs and powders. There was a small sleeping pallet by the wall and a shelf containing some scrolls and slim, bound volumes. The room held no other furniture or items of decoration.

  On the other side of the archway was a small study, with a writing desk and one chair pushed up against a bare wall. There were no windows in the room. A solitary oil lamp burned in the study, illuminating a white-robed figure with very long, straight, silver hair, who was seated at the desk, facing away from them.

  “The Silent One,” said Kallis, before he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  The Silent One stood and turned around.

  “Gith’s blood!” said Valsavis. “It’s a woman!”

  The silver hair hanging down almost to her waist more properly belonged to a woman in the twilight of her life, but the Silent One looked scarcely older than Ryana. Her face was ethereal in its fragile beauty, unlined, with skin like fine porcelain, and her eyes were a bright, emerald green, so bright they almost seemed to glow. She was tall and slender, and her posture was straight and erect. When she moved, as she came toward them, it was with a flowing grace. She almost seemed to float across the floor.

  She held out the copy of The Wanderer’s Journal that Sorak had given Kallis. “I believe this is yours,” she said in a clear and lilting voice. “You come with impeccable credentials.”

  “But.., you can speak!” said Valsavis.

  She smiled. “When I choose to,” she replied. “It is far easier to avoid unwelcome conversation when people do not think I have a voice. Here, I am known as the Silent One, and all save old and faithful Kallis believe I cannot speak. But now you know the truth, and you can call me by my name, which is Kara.”

  “No, this is some trick,” Valsavis said. “You cannot possibly be the Silent One. The druid called the Silent One went to Bodach and returned nearly a century ago. The story itself is at least that old. You are far too young.” He glanced at Sorak and Ryana. “This woman is an imposter.”

  “No,” said Sorak. “She is pyreen.” Valsavis stared at him with astonishment. “You mean… one of the legendary peace-bringers?” He glanced uncertainly at the Silent One.

  “A shapeshifier?”

  “I am not as young as I appear to be,” Kara replied. “I am nearly two hundred fifty years old. However, for one of my people, that is still considered very young.”

  “I have heard stories of the pyreen,” Valsavis said, “but I have never met or even seen one, and I do not know of anyone who has. For all I know, they are nothing but a myth, a legend. If you are truly one of the pyreen, then prove it.”

  She gazed at him for a moment without saying anything. Finally, she said, “I have no need to prove anything to you. The Nomad knows who and what I am. And that is all that matters.”

  “We shall see,” Valsavis said ominously, drawing his sword.

  “Put away your blade, Valsavis,” Sorak said curdy, “unless it is mine you wish to cross.”

  Their gazes locked for a tense moment. Then slowly, Valsavis returned his sword to its scabbard. No, he thought, now was not the time. But soon. Very soon. The pyreen merely stood and watched them, unperturbed.

  “Permit me,” said Ryana, stepping up to the pyreen and taking her hand, then dropping to one knee and bowing her head.

  Kara placed a hand upon her head. “Rise, priestess,” she said. “There is no need to pay me formal homage. Rather, it is I who should pay homage to you, for the task that you have undertaken.”

  “You know why we came?” Sorak said. “I have been expecting you,” the pyreen replied. Her gaze shifted to Valsavis. “But not him.”

  “I am traveling with them,” said Valsavis.

  Kara glanced at Sorak and raised an eyebrow.

  “For the moment,” Sorak said.

  “If that is your choice,” was all she said.

  “They say you know where the lost treasure of Bodach may be found,” Valsavis said.

  “I do,” Kara replied. “In Bodach.”

  “We did not come here to hear you speak in riddles, woman,” said Valsavis irritably.

  “You did not come here to hear me speak,” she said.

  “By thunder, I have had enough of this!” Valsavis said.

  “Keep your peace, Valsavis,” Sorak said calmly but firmly. “No one has made you spokesman here. Remember that you asked to come. And as of yet, we have not refused you.”

  Valsavis gave Sorak a sidelong look, but said nothing more. It would not serve to antagonize the elfling now, he thought, governing his temper with difficulty.

  “I know why you have come,” said Kara, “and I know what you seek. I will go with you to Bodach. Meet me here an hour before sunset tomorrow. It is a long, hot journey across difficult terrain. We shall do better if we travel by night.” And with that, she turned around, went back to her writing desk, and sat down with her back to them. The audience was over.

  “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.