by Simon Hawke
Once we clear the barrens near the foothills, there will be scrub to burn,” said Torian. “If he approaches, you will see the firelight reflected in his eyes. They will be lambent, like a cat’s, and you will see them. That is, you will see them if you remain alert. And by the time you see them, it may already be too late. Still, some warning is better than none at all.”
“If I were the elfling, I would wait to make my move until we reached the mountains,” Rovik said confidently. “There will be more cover there,”
“If you were the elfling, I would feel more confident about our chances,” Torian replied dryly. “Doubtless, he will deduce that we will think that and try to make his move before then, hoping to take us by surprise.”
“You would have made a good general, my lord,” said Rovik.
“Generals serve kings,” Torian replied. “My ambitions are considerably higher. Yours, if you have any, should be concerned with survival for the present. We were nearly a dozen when we started out. Now, we are only three. And we still have at least four days’ journey ahead of us.”
“But he is only one,” said Gorak. “He can no longer depend on the sword arm of the priestess. Do you truly think he alone can best the three of us, even if he is a master of the Way?”
“Even if he weren’t, I would prefer not to take the risk,” said Torian.
“What do you really think our chances are, my lord?” asked Rovik, uneasily.
“That would depend on just how badly you two want to live,” said Torian. “The priestess is our best chance to make it back alive. Look upon her and remember that she alone is your security. Keep closer to her than her shadow, for so long as there is a chance that she may come to harm, the Nomad will not dare strike.”
Ryana heard him, gagged and trussed up as she was, and shot a venomous look in his direction. Torian saw it and grinned.
“Now there’s a look!” he said. “If a gaze could burn, I would be incinerated on the spot.” He shifted his gaze to Korahna. “And as for you, my princess, I owe you a debt of gratitude. If not for your timely fit of royal temper, this journey would have ended for me at the grotto.”
Korahna was both gagged and bound, as Ryana was, but her eyes clearly conveyed her misery and self-recrimination. She recalled what had happened only too well. She had played the incident over and over in her mind, tormenting herself with it, and the guilt she felt was worse because the consequences of her act had fallen not only on her, but on Ryana as well.
Seeing Torian disarmed, she had believed he was defeated. All she could think of were the insults she had suffered from him. When he had referred to her as his property, as something that belonged to him, all she could feel was her outrage, all she could think of was backhanding him across the face and humiliating him before his men—as he had humiliated her. It had never occurred to her that he could raise his hand against her, that he would seize her, that he was no less dangerous for having been disarmed. No one had ever laid a hand on her. No one would have dared. She was a princess of the Royal House of Nibenay.
I have been a fool, she thought miserably—a spoiled, pampered, arrogant little fool, and I deserve whatever happens to me. But what has Ryana ever done except offer me her hand in friendship? Even her friends among the Veiled Alliance were her friends only because she was of use to them. She was of use to Sorak, too, though she knew that his motives were not entirely selfish. But Ryana… Ryana had nothing to gain from befriending her. Indeed, she had done it at first against her better judgment. Ryana was the only true friend she ever had, and after the bond Kether forged between them, she knew no one could ever be as close to her as the villichi priestess. And this was how she had repaid her for her friendship. Korahna knew this was all her fault, and for that, she could not forgive herself.
Tears flowed softly down her cheeks and soaked into her gag. She could not even raise a hand to wipe them away. How far the princess of the Royal House of Nibenay has fallen, she thought. And when they reached Torian’s estate, she had no doubts she would fall further still. In the beginning, Torian had treated her with deference as befitted a woman of her station, and had hoped to win her over with solicitude and gentlemanly manners. But now the border had been crossed, and he had laid hands on her. He had shown her his true colors, and there was no longer any point to the facade of his aristocratic charm. She knew him now beyond a doubt for what he was, and he would no longer bother with pretense. She had no doubt that he would now take by force what he could not win the other way.
But what of Ryana? She had seen the way the mercenaries looked at her. She was a beautiful, young villichi priestess—a virgin. And they gazed at her as if she were a piece of meat and they hungry carrion-eaters. So Torian had promised her to them. Whatever untender ministrations she would suffer at the hands of Torian, Ryana would know worse. Korahna couldn’t bear the thought. Somehow, she had to do something! But what could she do? If Ryana, who was so much stronger and so much more capable than she, could not escape, then what hope did she have?
And in her desperation, in her anxiety about her friend, a spark ignited deep within the princess. It was a small spark, barely a glow, but slowly, it began to burn. It was the sort of fire ignited within those who had nothing left to lose. Only those to whom life meant less than some goal, some ideal, would ever feel its flame. As the spark ignited a fire that began to spread within her, Korahna resolved that somehow, even if it was at the cost of her own life, she would find a way to escape her bonds and help Ryana. And as her gaze burned into Torian, who had contemptuously turned his back on her, Korahna swore silently that she would find a way to kill him.
* * *
“They are moving quickly,” Sorak said.
“Torian is anxious to he out of the barrens before night-fall,” Eyron replied. “He does not wish to risk making camp without a fire.”
“You think he will push on instead of making camp?”
“I would not, if I were in his place,” said Eyron. “The darkness favors you. Making camp will slow him down, but a camp fire would also render your approach more difficult.”
“Our approach,” said Sorak.
“Well, when it comes to that, then leave me out of it,” said Eyron. “I find violence unsettling.”
“You mean you find fear unsettling,” said Sorak.
“Call it what you will,” Eyron replied. “The fact remains that I will not be of much use to you if you can feel my… unsettlement. You have asked for my advice, shocking as that may seem, and I have given it to the best of my ability. I have done my part. When the time comes, I would much prefer to be asleep and out of your way. I have had quite enough excitement on this journey, thank you.”
“Wouldn’t you want to know what happens?” Sorak asked.
“If you execute my plan well, I know what will happen,” Eyron replied. “And if you do not, well, I would prefer to die quietly in my sleep.”
“You think the Shade and Kether and the others would allow us to die?” asked Sorak.
“It would take you time to summon Kether, time you may not have,” said Eyron pointedly. “As for the Shade, even he is not invulnerable, fearsome as he may be.”
“You have too strong a sense of your mortality, Eyron,” Sorak said.
“And you have too frail a sense of ours,” Eyron replied. “And since your mortality is mine, as well, it seems rather in my interest to remind you of that every now and then.”
“You have a point,” admitted Sorak, smiling to himself.
“And do not give me that condescending little smile,” said Eyron, irritably. “I have not always shirked my part whenever we are all in danger. It is just that this time…”
“You are worried about Ryana,” Sorak said with some surprise. “I had always thought you found her presence irksome.”
“Well… in the beginning, perhaps…” Eyron replied somewhat hesitantly, as if reluctant to admit he truly cared about anyone except himself. “I suppose I have grown accustom
ed to her. And if, by chance, something should go wrong…”
“You would rather not be there to see it,” Sorak completed the thought for him. “And you think I would? My feelings for Ryana are considerably stronger than yours.”
“I know,” said Eyron sympathetically. “I suppose I really am a coward, after all.”
“If you are, then you are that part of me that is cowardly,” said Sorak. “Besides, feeling afraid does not make one a coward. It is allowing fear to become that which controls you in everything you do that makes a coward. Isn’t that right. Guardian?”
“Everyone feels fear at one time or another,” she replied. “It is but the natural way of things.”
“Even you?” asked Eyron.
“Even me,” she replied. “I fear for Ryana’s safety as much as you do. I fear also for the princess. She may be a defiler’s daughter, but her heart is pure, and she has chosen the Path of the Preserver. A life as Torian’s concubine is a fate as bad as death. And I fear for all of us, as well.”
“But what of the Shade?” asked Eyron. “Surely, the Shade does not know fear.”
“I cannot speak for the Shade,” the Guardian replied. “He is that part of us that is driven by the elemental, primal force of survival. He is the beast within, and we all know how terrible he is to behold. When he is awake, we tremble. When he slumbers, we are nevertheless grateful for his presence. Yet as powerful as the Shade is, consider the sources from which that power stems. The instinct to survive is, in Part, driven by fear. So even though the Shade may appear utterly fearless, to some degree, fear must be a part of that which drives and motivates him. No one is completely without fear, Eyron. Fear is a part of every living creature. It is one of those things that enables us to understand what it truly means to be alive.”
Eyron withdrew for a while to contemplate the Guardian’s words, and the Guardian withdrew as well, so as not to intrude on Sorak’s thoughts. However, she was never very far beneath the surface, and Sorak knew he could always depend on her protective, maternal strength and on the wisdom of her perceptions. Eyron, too, for all of his contentiousness, was often a source of comfort to him, irritating though he could be. Eyron’s negativity and cynicism were valuable to him in that they were traits he lacked himself. In the past, he had found them to be hindrances, but now he understood that Eyron’s character traits were essential as a balance to his own and those of all the others—the Ranger, with his strongly pragmatic sensibilities, his stoic self-containment, and his Jove of and affinity with nature; Lyric, with his child-like sense of wonder and his innocent spirit; the Watcher, whose ever-aware, cautious presence was set off by her almost constant silence; the mysterious and ethereal Kether, who was, in a sense, a part of them and yet was more like some sort of spiritual visitation from another plane; even Kivara, with her amoral impulses and irrepressible desire for sensual stimulation and excitement. Separately, all of them were incomplete, but together, they achieved a balance that preserved the tribe of one.
And now, the delicate balance of the tribe was absolutely essential to the success of Eyron’s plan. If Ryana and the princess were to be saved, they would all have to work together, and the timing would be crucial, for they could not all come to the fore at the same time. Even if Sorak could call upon all of their abilities at once, the plan would still be dangerous. But he could not. Much of the plan would depend on the ones among them who were the least humanoid, the ones who were the living embodiments of the animal sides of their nature. And it would all begin with Screech.
* * *
Torian stopped and looked around. “We shall make camp here,” he said. Wearily, he dismounted and ordered the two mercenaries to start gathering dry scrub brush for the fire. Both Gorak and Rovik looked exhausted, and Torian knew exactly how they felt. As fit as he was, he scarcely had any energy left.
The priestess and the princess looked half dead. For them, bound and gagged as they were, the journey had been still more difficult. No matter, Torian thought. The priestess would survive for the short time still left to her, and Korahna would have time to recover from the journey once they reached his family estate in Gulg. This ordeal would break her rebellious, independent spirit, Torian thought. By the time he brought her home, she would be meek and docile, with no more fight left in her. He smiled to himself as he thought that women were, in many ways, like kanks. By nature unruly and difficult to handle, once they were broken to the saddle they obediently did the master’s bidding. Korahna would make a handsome little kank, and he could use her at his pleasure. As for the priestess… well, perhaps it was bad luck to kill a priestess, but it would not be accomplished by his hand.
At least they were finally quit of the cursed Stony Barrens. Torian felt a great sense of accomplishment. Not only had he trailed the elfling and succeeded in wresting the princess back from him, but he had crossed the barrens and survived, the first man ever to have done so. The mercenaries, of course, did not really count. Besides, they would have turned back long before if he had not been there to instill fear in them and drive them. For generations to come, bards would sing songs about his feat. In fact, as soon as he returned to Gulg, he would commission a bard to compose an appropriate ballad. “The Quest of Lord Torian.” Yes, that had a noble ring to it.
As the mercenaries gathered fuel for the campfire from the surrounding countryside, Torian pulled Korahna from her kank and carried her to a nearby pagafa tree. The stunted, blue-green tree with its multiple trunks and scrubby branches provided little in the way of shelter, but it would serve to keep his captives secure. Korahna did not move or protest as he carried her over to the tree and propped her up against one of the trunks. Her eyes were closed, and she uttered only a small moan as he began to tie her to the tree. Once he had her firmly secured, he then went to get the priestess.
She seemed worn out, offering no more resistance than Korahna as he took her down, but as he was carrying her over to the tree, she suddenly began to thrash and squirm furiously in his grasp. Torian lost his balance and fell, dropping her to the ground. However, he instantly regained his feet and, as Ryana was struggling to rise, he rushed up and kicked her in the side. She collapsed with a muffled groan, and Torian added one more kick for good measure. This time, she lay still.
“I am much too tired to be forbearing, Priestess,” Torian said. “And when I am tired, my temper grows quite short. I remind you that you are of use to me alive, but not necessarily in one piece.”
He then reached down and grabbed a fistful of her hair, dragging her by it to the tree. Once there, he bent down and took her by the shoulders, then jerked her hard, smashing her head against the trunk. He repeated the process three times more, until her head lolled forward on her chest. Then he bound her securely with her back against the tree trunk, next to the princess.
Straightening up, he breathed deeply several times, rolled his neck and shoulders to get out some of the kinks, then went over to his mount and took a long drink from his water bag.
“Could we have some water, too, my lord?” asked Rovik, coming up behind him.
“Have you gathered enough fuel to keep the fire fed throughout the night?” he asked.
“Not yet, my lord,” said Rovik, moistening his lips nervously, “but we have enough to keep it going for a while. We shall gather more, but the work would go easier if our thirst were slaked.”
“Very well,” said Torian curtly, “but be quick about it. And keep your eyes open. That cursed elfling is sure to be around here somewhere.”
Rovik did not like the sound of his voice, but he said nothing as he went over to his mount and untied one of his water skins. He took a long drink as Gorak came up beside him to wait his turn. When Rovik finished drinking, he handed the skin to his companion.
“Lord Torian’s nerves are drawn tight as a bowstring,” he said softly, watching out of the corner of his eye as Torian went to sit beside his captives, his sword held ready.
Gorak took a pause for br
eath. When he spoke, he carefully kept his voice low. “If you ask me, we should just slit his throat, take the women for ourselves, and be done with it.”
“And be hunted for the remainder of our lives for killing an aristocrat?” said Rovik. “Don’t be a fool.”
“Who is to know?” asked Gorak. “There are no witnesses save for the women. And they are hardly in a position to give testimony.”
“What would you do, kill them?”
“After we have had our pleasure. Why not?”
“And have nothing to show for all that we have gone through? Are a few moments of pleasure enough to make up for all of that? Besides, Torian would not die easily. He has trained throughout his life with master swordsmen. And then, don’t forget, there is still the elfling.”
“Aye, I have not forgotten,” Gorak said, “but there has been no sign of him. How do we know he has not simply given up or been killed by some damn beast?
“He is much more at home out here than either you or I,” said Rovik. “And it is no easy thing to kill a master of the Way. No, our best chance is to stick with Torian. Three are much stronger than two, especially with the women as our hostages. When we reach Gulg, we shall be well rewarded. And then I shall quit Torian’s service with no end of pleasure.”
“Enough!” shouted Torian from his resting place by the pagafa tree. He waved his sword toward them. “Get back to work! And keep alert for that damned elfling!”
“It would almost be worth it to cut his throat and return the women to the elfling,” Gorak said. “It might leave our purses empty, but there would still be satisfaction in the deed!”
“I might be tempted to agree with you,” said Rovik, “if I thought the elfling would be satisfied with that and would let us walk away. But I have no illusions about that, my friend. Even if we manage to complete Torian’s commission and leave Gulg never to return, we would still be looking over our shoulders for the remainder of our lives. I would rather die a quick death than live a lingering one. One way or another, it ends here.”