by Simon Hawke
“Then perhaps we should travel through the night, as well,” the Guardian suggested.
“There is much to argue for that,” Sorak said. “However, while it poses no great hardship to the tribe, Ryana and the princess would wear out quickly, especially Korahna. She already seems at the limits of her powers of endurance, which are not great.”
“Then let them rest in shifts,” the Guardian suggested.
“The kank need not be driven. Its instinct will be to follow you. The princess can sleep while Ryana remains awake, to make sure she does not slip off and injure herself. Then, after the princess has slept, Ryana can take her turn.”
Sorak nodded. “That is a sensible suggestion. We shall have enough to worry about just making it safely across the barrens without having to deal with Torian. And by traveling at night, when it is cooler, we can make better time.”
“It will also be more dangerous,” the Guardian reminded him. “We shall all have to stay alert.”
“The Watcher has never failed us before,” said Sorak.
“There has never been so much at stake before,” the Guardian replied. “The Watcher misses nothing, but do not let dependence on the Watcher lull you into a false sense of security. We all shall have to remain vigilant.”
Sorak glanced over his shoulder at Ryana and the princess, riding atop the kank. Ryana looked tired. The unaccustomed heat was getting to her. The princess lolled against her back, holding her around the waist. They were both doubtless looking forward to the coolness of the night, and rest. He did not relish having to tell them that they would be traveling all night. They would have to make at least a short stop when the sun began to set, to rest for perhaps an hour or two before continuing on their way, but the Guardian was right. If Torian chose to press on after them, they could not afford to stop for the night.
Soon, at least, the hottest part of the day would be over. Traveling at night would be easier, if not safer. But then they would have to press on throughout the following day. And there was no way of knowing how many days it would take for them to cross the barrens. It would be hard on Ryana. As for the princess… he did not think she could take many more such days. Perhaps Eyron was right, and they should not have taken her along. She had agreed to go willingly enough, but she had not really known what to expect. If she died of exposure out here in the barrens, her life would be on his conscience.
His thoughts turned once again to the Sage, the object of their quest. Why had the mysterious wizard sent them this way? Was it merely a test of their resolve, or was there some other purpose to sending them across the barrens? He recalled what Torian and Ankhor had said. No one had ever made it across the barrens alive. Was it possible the Sage was actually hiding somewhere amidst all this desolation? What better place for a preserver wizard to conceal himself than in a searing, rock-strewn, lethal stretch of desert that no one dared to enter? But then, the voice in the flames had told them to go to Nibenay. The barrens were merely an obstacle they had to overcome on their way there. Over and over again, as he picked his way among the rocks, Sorak asked himself the question, “Why? Why the barrens?” And as the sun began to sink lower in the sky, he looked out ahead of him and saw nothing but jagged rocks, boulders, and outcroppings stretching out as far as the eye could see. The dim gray line on the horizon, the Barrier Mountains, seemed no closer than when they had started out.
* * *
“This is pointless,” said the mercenary captain, reining in his kank. “They will never make it across this stony waste alive. If we go on, we shall only die out here, as they will. My men will go no farther.” Torian wheeled his mount to face him. He glanced at the other mercenaries, eight of them in all, not counting himself and the captain. Their sullen faces told him they felt as their captain did.
“You will do as you are told,” said Torian firmly.
“We did not sign on for this,” the captain protested. “We were hired to protect the caravan along the trade route, not go chasing off into the barrens on some fool’s errand.”
Torian drew his dagger and threw it with such speed that the motion seemed little more than a blur. The knife flew through the air with unerring accuracy and plunged into the soft hollow of the mercenary captain’s throat. The captain made a coughing, gagging sound, and his hands went up to the blade as blood spurted from his mouth. He fell from the kank to land in a heap upon the rocky ground, his blood staining the stones. Before any of the others could react, Torian had drawn his sword. Like his knife, it was made of steel, rare and almost priceless, the sort of weapon only a very wealthy noble could afford, assuming he was fortunate enough to find one.
“Does anyone else think this is a fool’s errand?” Torian said. “Then come try your hand against this fool.”
The mercenaries glanced at one another, then at their dead captain, lying at their feet. Torian knew just what they were thinking. There were eight of them, and he was only one. But though the odds favored them, he had a steel blade, and they all knew what that meant. Their own obsidian blades would shatter against his, and he had already given them a lethal demonstration of his abilities. Nobles were not generally known as fighters, but Torian had learned the blades from early childhood with the finest weapons master in Gulg, and he was confident not only of his skills, but of his ability to intimidate the soldiers. They were merely peasant mercenaries, after all, and a lifetime of subservience to the upper classes had conditioned them against even the thought of raising their weapons to an aristocrat.
Still, to guard against that possibility, Torian prudently chose to drive his point home a bit more forcibly. “Your captain was a fine tracker,” he said. “His abilities were almost the equal of my own. Perhaps one of you has similar skills. Perhaps you will find your way back out of the barrens on your own, without me. On the other hand, perhaps not. Either way, choose and choose now. But I tell you this, the only way that any of you will go back is if I am lying there, beside your captain.”
The mercenaries exchanged nervous glances once more. Even before they replied to him, Torian knew he had already won.
“We shall follow you, my lord,” one of the men said.
“Good,” said Torian. “You are now captain. Your pay shall reflect your new status. Additionally, each of you shall be awarded the sum of fifty gold pieces when we return with the Princess Korahna.”
He smiled at the greedy fire in their eyes. Fifty gold pieces was an unheard of king’s ransom to these men. They could serve for the remainder of their lives and never see such a sum. To Torian, it was a mere pittance. His was one of the richest families on Athas, with extensive holdings and close business ties to the House of Ankhor, one of the most powerful of the merchant guilds. And once he had Korahna for his wife, he would be one of the most politically powerful aristocrats on Athas, as well, allied to not one, but two royal houses. For that, he would crawl across the barrens, if he had to.
“My knife, captain,” he said. The newly promoted mercenary captain pulled the steel blade from the throat of his predecessor, wiped it off on his body, and handed it up to Torian.
“We ride,” said Torian, turning his mount and heading west. The mercenaries followed. Any one of them, he knew, could easily strike at him once his back was turned, but he also knew none of them would. Not now. Strike at a man’s fear, he thought, and then appeal to his greed, and he is yours forever. He knew what tools to use for manipulating men.
But what tools had Korahna used to manipulate the elfling? Had she appealed to his masculine instincts as a woman in distress? That was certainly possible, but then Sorak was not a man. He was an elfling, and neither elves nor halflings were known for placing the interests of others ahead of their own. How had she convinced Sorak to help her escape? Had she promised him wealth? Had she promised him her body? He did not think it was the latter. A desperate woman might well turn to the last resort of offering sexual favors, but then the elfling had a traveling companion who, while a priestess, was no less desi
rable than the princess. And villichi priestesses, though often celibate, were not always vowed to chastity.
Wealth, then. A reward from the Veiled Alliance for her safe return. Yes, he thought, that would make the most sense. The Veiled Alliance would, indeed, pay handsomely to have her back. A daughter of a sorcerer-king who had taken the preserver vows would be a powerful weapon in their hands. And elves had a love of money that surpassed that of even the greediest humans. As for the priestess, she would, of course, be strongly motivated to come to the aid of a fellow preserver, provided Korahna was able to convince her that she was sincere. Yes, now that he understood their motives, he felt better. It was always helpful to understand one’s enemy, and Sorak, in stealing Korahna from him, had declared himself Torian’s lifelong enemy. He would soon realize exactly what that meant, thought Torian, and he would come to regret it bitterly.
He turned his attention once more to the ground ahead of him. He soon picked up the trail. There had not been much of a trail to follow from the spring. He had risen early, as he always did, to practice in the still-cool morning air with his blades, and as he stepped outside his tent, he heard a curious noise. A short distance from his tent, he had discovered the guard Sorak had tied up. The man had painstakingly inched his way back toward the tents, crawling like a caterpillar. When Torian cut his bonds, the man had told him what had happened. Torian immediately ran to Korahna’s tent.
The sentries on duty outside had told him that the princess was still asleep inside, and that no one had been by since they had taken up their posts. Torian had thrown aside the tent flap, gone inside, and found no trace of Korahna. But he found the slit she had made with her knife in the back wall of the tent. He had personally killed both sentries, then, before raising the alarm, he carefully followed the trail Korahna had left behind. The sand blown by the desert wind had covered up any footprints she had made but he found broken twigs on a scrub brush she had brushed past, and the trampled new shoots where she had stepped. He had already known where her trail would lead. He saw where the elfling and the villichi priestess had camped the previous night, and he realized that she had fled with them. He surmised that Sorak had stolen the guard’s footgear to replace Korahna’s dainty sandals. That, and the fact that they had not stolen any of the other kanks, told him which way they must have gone.
Had they taken the southern route, it would have made sense for them to steal two of the kanks in addition to their own so that they could make quick time to outdistance the pursuit they had to know would follow. But kanks would make no better time across the rocky barrens than a man traveling on foot, and with no forage to be found, they would have to feed their mounts from their supplies. Three kanks would deplete them quickly. With one, perhaps, they stood a chance. But it would be a very slim chance, indeed.
Torian had never heard of anyone surviving a trek across the barrens. Of all the races of Athas, elves and halflings possessed the greatest powers of endurance. Perhaps, against all odds, the elfling would make it. It was even possible the priestess would, as well, with the elfling’s aid. The villichi were rigorously trained to deal with all kinds of hardship. But Torian had no illusions about Korahna’s surviving such a journey. The little fool would die out there in the barrens, even if they did not fall prey to the creatures who roamed there.
Korahna would also slow them down. He could not imagine her making the journey on foot. She would have to ride. Probably the priestess would, as well. For all the training the villichi priestesses received, they were still human, and walking for days in the searing heat of the Stony Barrens would be beyond even their considerable capabilities. So that meant the kank would be burdened with at least two riders, if the elfling chose to go on foot. And their kank had been a food producer, not a soldier. It would not move as quickly as their own mounts.
How much of a head start could they possibly have? Five hours, maybe six? Certainly no more than that. They could be caught. At some point, they would have to stop and rest. As Torian carefully watched the ground ahead of him, he saw the occasional signs of the kank’s passage. Small stones dislodged from depressions in the ground, scratches upon larger stones made by the kank’s claws. He was grateful that his father had insisted on his training, and had not raised him as a pampered nobleman. His father had believed that training in the warrior’s art built character. His father had been right. A lesser man would have given up rather than risk pursuing his quarry into the barrens. Undoubtedly, that was precisely what the elfling was counting on. Well, thought Torian, he was due for a very unpleasant surprise.
As the sun started to sink on the horizon, Sorak decided to call a brief halt. The kank needed to be fed and they could use some nourishment, as well. Ryana joked exhausted and Korahna looked utterly done in. He helped them both down from the back of the giant beetle, and they practically collapsed with their backs against a large boulder. He passed the water skin to them and cautioned them to drink but sparingly, then watched to make sure they did not succumb to the temptation to drink in large gulps.
“Well, at least it is no longer quite so hot,” Ryana said with a wan smile.
Sorak used his knife blade to pry loose one of the honey globules from the kank’s abdomen and brought it over to them. He pierced the membrane with the point of his knife and gave it to Korahna. She squeezed out a little, then passed it to Ryana and leaned back against the boulder, her eyes closed. Sorak hated to have to tell them, but it was best not to delay the unpleasant news any longer.
“At least it will be cooler for the remainder of the night’s journey,” he said.
Korahna opened her eyes. “We are going on? You mean we are not stopping for the night?”
“We will only rest here for a short while,” Sorak replied. “The sooner we proceed on our way, the sooner we will reach the mountains.”
“You believe that we are being followed,” said Ryana flatly.
Sorak nodded. “Yes. And I believe that Torian will drive his mercenaries all night in an attempt to catch us. We cannot allow him to make up the time we have gained.”
“But you do not know for a fact that Torian is on our trail,” Korahna protested.
“No, I do not,” Sorak admitted. “But we cannot afford to assume that he is not. Either way, traveling at night will be easier for the absence of the scorching heat.”
“Also more dangerous,” Ryana said.
“Perhaps,” said Sorak, “but making camp here would not be any safer. We have nothing with which to build a fire. The night predators can attack us here as easily as while we are moving.”
“Are you not tired?” Korahna asked him, with wonder. “We have suffered from the heat, but at least we have been riding, while you have walked all day.”
“I am an elfling,” Sorak said, taking his seat across from them on the rocky ground. He stretched out his legs and flexed them. “I do not tire as easily as do humans. Nevertheless, the day’s journey has not been without its effect. It is good to sit, if only for a short while.”
Though he was capable of resting while the Ranger or one of the others came to the fore and took over, it was still the same body that made the exertions. And his elfling body, superbly conditioned though it was, did not possess infinite reserves of energy.
“How many more days’ journey do you think lie ahead of us?” Korahna asked.
Sorak merely shrugged. “I do not know. Distances appear deceptive in the desert. It could be three or four more days, if we make good progress, or it could be a week or more. I can see the mountains in the distance, but I cannot tell for sure how far away they are.”
Ryana made some quick mental calculations. “If it is more than three or four more days, we will run out of water,” she said flatly.
“We have the kank honey,” Sorak said. “We can add it to the water to extend our supply.”
“Kank honey is sweet,” Ryana said. “It will only increase our thirst.”
“Not if we add it in small amounts,” s
aid Sorak.
“Even so,” Ryana said, “we have enough to last at most five or six days.”
“All the more reason to travel at night and make the crossing as speedily as possible,” said Sorak.
“Torian will be facing the same problems,” said Korahna. “Surely, he will turn back.”
“I do not think he is the sort to give up on a task once he has set his mind to it,” said Sorak. “He will probably be carrying more water, and his men will be mounted on soldier kanks, which can travel more quickly than our own beast.”
“So then you think he has a chance to catch us?” said Ryana.
“It would depend on when he started his pursuit, and whether or not he realized which way we had gone. And it would depend on the skill of his trackers.”
“Torian is a skilled tracker, himself,” Korahna said. “He often boasted of it. His father raised him as a warrior. He claims to have studied with the finest weapons master in Gulg. I saw him train one morning. He was easily able to best Lord Ankhor’s finest swordsmen.”
“Well, that’s certainly encouraging news,” said Ryana dryly.
“It is all my fault,” Korahna said. “Had I not come with you, there would have been no need for you to come this way, or fear pursuit.”
“We would have come this way regardless,” Sorak said. “And the journey would have been no easier to bear for your absence.”
“But why?” Korahna asked. “You could have taken the southern route, and without me along, you could have gone your way unmolested.”
“No,” said Sorak, “this is the way that we were meant to come.”
“Meant to come?” Korahna said, looking at him without comprehension. “Why? For what reason?”