by Simon Hawke
The tavern where they sat, near the central marketplace, was open to the air and covered by an awning so that they could watch the street and see the bustle of activity as evening approached and the traders began to close up their stalls for the day. Little by little, the marketplace began to empty as the shadows lengthened and people went home or repaired to taverns and other places of amusement. The tavern where they sat soon began to fill up with noisy patrons, looking to wash the dust of the marketplace and the heat of the day from their throats.
“So how does it feel to be back home?” Ryana asked.
“Strange,” replied Korahna, pushing away her dinner plate and looking around. “When I left, I never thought to see the city again. Now, after our journey through the barrens and the mountains, it seems strange to see so many people in one place. It feels… oppressive.”
Ryana smiled. “I know just how you feel,” she said. “There is something about the solitude and beauty of the desert that invades one’s soul. It is as if it expands somehow, freed of the confines of a city or a village… or even of a villichi temple. Then, when you find yourself among people once again, you feel closed in and crowded.”
“Yes,” Korahna said, “that is exactly how it feels.”
“People were not meant to live in cities,” said Ryana. “Cities are artificial things, born of a need, at first, to band together for survival, and then of a convenience in terms of shelter, trade, and industry, and as the population grows more dense, the available space becomes confining, and the soul draws in to compensate for lack of room. People become less open. They are taken over by the faster rhythms that result from overcrowding. Everyone is always in a hurry, everyone is always in someone else’s way. People become more agitated, less trusting, more prone to react with violence. Cities are unhealthy things. They do not let people breathe freely. “When I was a girl, I dreamt of going to a city because it seemed like an adventure. Now, I cannot imagine why anyone would want to live this way, like antloids in a hive. Maybe that is why defilers live in cities. They have forgotten what it is that they defile. They cannot love a world they only rarely see.”
“Still, it is my home,” Korahna said. “Here I was born, and here I grew up, and here I must make amends for having lived a life of privilege while others suffered. Cities shall never change, Ryana, unless someone works to change them.”
“Can a city be something other than what it is?” Ryana asked.
“Perhaps not,” the princess replied, “but it can be more than what it is. Surely, the effort is worthwhile.”
Ryana sighed. “It would be nice to think so.”
“It grows dark,” said Sorak. “And night is the best time to contact the Alliance. I shall feel better when I know that you are safely in their company.”
“Are you so anxious to be rid of me?” Korahna asked.
“No,” said Sorak. “Merely anxious to complete the task for which we came here. And I do not even know yet what that task might be.”
“And you think the Alliance shall know?”
“If the Alliance elders have contact with the Sage, then he shall let us know through them,” said Sorak.
“And if he does not?”
“Then I do not know what we shall do,” said Sorak. “The spell scroll bid us come to Nibenay. Well, we are here, at last. We have done our part. Now it is time for the Sage to do his.”
“Well, then I shall take you to meet with the Alliance,” said Korahna, pushing back her chair and rising to her feet. “You have brought me home, for which I am profoundly grateful. I left a pampered princess, and I have returned a woman who has learned something of her capabilities. For that, too, I am grateful, and more…”
She looked from Sorak to Ryana. “I do not know how Kether did what he has done, but for the bond that he has forged between us, I shall be forever grateful. Ryana, I fear that you received the worst part of the bargain, for I had nothing of significance to offer you. But for what you have given me…” She shook her head, words failing her. “I can only say, I thank you, and yet that does not seem sufficient.”
“It will do,” Ryana said with a smile. “But do not hold yourself so cheaply. What I received from you was of no small value. I know more of how the nobility lives and thinks now than I ever did before, and I also know what it means to discover a sense of purpose in life when one has been lacking before. I was born to mine, but you sought yours and found it, and had the courage to act on your beliefs, when to do so meant to forsake everything you knew. That took no small amount of courage.”
“Well…” said Korahna, visibly moved. “Coming from a villichi priestess, that is high praise, indeed.”
“A villichi, yes, for that is what I was born,” Ryana said. “But a priestess? That is a title I can no longer truly claim. I broke my vows.”
“I know,” Korahna said. “And I also know that causes you distress. But I will repeat your own words to you. To act on your beliefs, when it means forsaking everything you know, takes no small amount of courage.”
If you two are done complimenting one another, perhaps we can go find some entertainment in this town,” Sorak suddenly said, and though it was his voice, its pitch had changed completely, and his entire manner had suddenly undergone a dramatic transformation. He stood with one hand on his hip, his head cocked slightly to one side, a look of bored impatience on his face.
“Kivara,” said Ryana.
Korahna merely stared at him, stunned at the sudden change. Her communion with Ryana gave her both a knowledge and an understanding of who Kivara was, but actually seeing her manifested still took her aback.
“This is not the time, Kivara,” said Ryana.
“I have grown weary of waiting for the proper time,” she replied, rolling her eyes and tossing her head in an irate manner. “I have not been out since we left Tyr. There was nothing of interest on the journey, but now that we have reached a city at long last, I deserve some time.”
“We have not come here to enjoy ourselves, Kivara,” said Ryana. “We must deliver Korahna safely to the Veiled Alliance and then find out what it is we have to do here.”
“So? I am not preventing you,” Kivara said. “But why does that mean we cannot enjoy some entertainment in the process?”
“We are preservers in a defiler city, Kivara,” said Ryana patiently, though her exasperation was beginning to show. “And we have brought back the exiled princess. We are at some risk here.”
“Good,” Kivara said. “Then that may add a little spice to what has been a dreadfully dreary journey up ’til now.”
“Guardian…” Ryana said.
“No!” said Kivara, stamping her foot angrily. Several people turned to stare at this rather curious behavior. “I have not been out in weeks! I am not going back under!”
“Kivara,” said the Guardian, though Korahna and Ryana could not hear her, “you are misbehaving. This is not what we agreed.”
“I agreed to cooperate; I did not agree to stay under all the time. I have as much right to come out as any of you!”
“Kivara, this is neither the time nor the place for this discussion. We shall talk about this later.”
“No! It is not fair! I never have any fun!”
“Kivara…”
“No, I said!”
Korahna watched, fascinated, as the apparently one-sided conversation took place before her. Sorak’s—or Kivara’s—features twisted into a grimace as she struggled against the will of the Guardian.
“No… no… no!”
The patrons in the tavern were all staring now. Sorak’s body trembled, and his head shook as his mouth twitched, and his hands, clenched into fists, pounded at his thighs. And then his body slumped slightly and relaxed, and a moment later, he straightened and was Sorak once again. The patrons in the tavern were mumbling among themselves.
“We had better leave at once,” said Sorak, quickly leading the way out of the tavern. The people stared after them as they went out int
o the street. Night had fallen, and the two women hurried to keep pace with Sorak’s long strides as he rushed away from the tavern. He stopped some distance away at the corner of a building, and leaned against it wearily.
“Sorak…” Ryana said with an expression of concern. “Are you all right?”
He merely nodded. “Forgive me,” he said.
“It was not your fault,” Ryana said. Korahna stood beside her, watching him and biting her lower lip. She did not know what to think.
Sorak took a deep breath and expelled it heavily. “She has not done anything like that in a long time. The Guardian never had trouble controlling her before. She seems to be growing stronger.”
“Can nothing be done?” Korahna asked.
Sorak simply shook his head. “Kivara is a part of who we are,” he said. “When I was a boy, with the help of the high mistress of the villichi temple, I was able to effect an agreement between the individuals of the tribe to cooperate with one another for the sake of all. The Guardian has always been the wisest of us, and she has always managed to keep the tribe in balance. Something like this has not happened for a long, long time.”
“Will you be able to keep things under control? Ryana asked anxiously.
“I think so,” Sorak replied. “I am merely tired. It has been a long, hard journey, and my weariness allowed Kivara to slip through. I will be more on guard from now on.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “All right. Princess,” he said. “Lead on.”
Korahna led them through the dark and winding streets of Nibenay, away from the market district an toward the center of the city. As they drew closer to the palace compound in the inner city, the buildings became larger and more opulent. Almost every house they passed now had large, stone-columned entryways, intricately carved with figures. By now the servants had set torches into the outside sconces so that some light illuminated the streets. There were almost no people in the streets here, and those they passed hastened to the opposite side to avoid them.
“We must look a sight,” Ryana said as she noticed several people scurrying out of their way.
“The people are afraid of strangers in this part of the city,” Korahna explained. “The wealthier people live nearest to the palace, save for the powerful nobles who have estates just beyond the city walls. From time to time, desperate individuals come here in an attempt to rob a home or waylay some passing citizen. We must be on the watch for the half-giant patrols. They shall surely challenge us.”
“And if they do?” Ryana asked.
“Let us just say it is best they don’t,” Korahna replied. “Come, hurry. This way.”
They ran across the street and ducked down an alleyway. Moving quickly from alley to alley, hugging the building walls, they soon came to the sprawling palace compound. Rising up above all the other buildings was the palace itself, a huge edifice built entirely of intricately carved stone, and jutting from it, in the center, was a gigantic head. Sorak and Ryana stopped to gaze in wonder at it. The side wings of the palace looked like shoulders, and the central upper stones like a neck. Sunken eyes with flames burning within them gazed out over the city. The huge brow was furrowed, and the jutting chin was proudly set.
The head was shaven, and the expression of the gigantic face was at the same time impassive and malevolent.
“By all that’s holy, who is that?” Ryana asked in a low voice.
“My father,” said Korahna.
“That is the Shadow King?” said Sorak.
Korahna nodded. “It took the city’s finest stonemasons decades to carve out his countenance from huge blocks of mortared stone. For most of them, it was their life’s work. They labored every day, from dawn to dusk, and then they were relieved at night by other stonemasons who continued the work by torch-light. It is said that many of them died in the task. Some fell from the scaffolding; others expired from sheer exhaustion. And while the stonemasons worked on the outside, teams of other artisans worked within, constructing the inner chambers from marble, alabaster, cinnabar, obsidian, and precious stones. And when they were finished, all were put to death.”
“Why?” said Ryana.
“So that none could ever speak of what lay within my father’s private chambers,” said Korahna. “At the completion of the work, Nibenay moved in, and no one has seen him since that day.”
“No one at all?” said Sorak.
“Only the senior templars who attend him,” said Korahna. She pointed toward the upper part of the face. “Each night, until dawn, the lights burn within those eyes, as if Nibenay were watching over the city that bears his name. There are some who say that he can see all transgressions and sends templars and half-giants to administer his law.”
“And you lived for all your life with that gazing over you?” Ryana said.
Korahna smiled. “When I was a little girl, I thought the stone face itself was my father. I used to stand beneath it in the palace courtyard and call out to it. But there was never any answer. Come, we must keep going. The patrols will be along soon.”
They hastened toward the opposite end of the city, past the palace compound and toward the area Korahna said was the elven quarter.
“There is a large population of elves in Nibenay?” asked Sorak with surprise.
“half-elves, mostly,” said Korahna, “but among them are many full-blooded elves who have given up the nomadic, tribal life. It is said that more and more elves are gravitating to the cities these days. Life on the tablelands is hard, and the Great Ivory Plain, which lies to the south of the city, is as inhospitable as the barrens.
“Most of the elves in these parts used to live in the Crescent Forest and in the upper reaches of the Barrier Mountains, which we call the Nibenay Mountains here in the city. However, they have been largely driven out by the foresters and the hunters of Gulg. With the foresters cutting down the agafari trees and the hunters cleaning out what little game is left, the elves in the mountains have been left with almost nothing. A few tribes still dwell there, but they are mostly raiders, and their numbers dwindle with each passing year. No one knows how many elves live in the quarter, but their Population grows larger each year.”
“What do they do here in the city?” Sorak asked. “Work at what jobs they can,” Korahna replied.
“mostly jobs that humans will not take. Some steal, though the penalties are harsh if they are caught. Many of the elven women sell themselves. There is not much of a life for them here, but there is even less of a life for them outside the city.”
“They were a once proud people,” Sorak said, “and now they have fallen to this.”
The streets were darker in this part of town. Few torches burned outside the dilapidated buildings. The scant structures covered with decorative carvings were old and badly in need of repair. The rest were not much different from the ramshackle hovels in the warrens of Tyr. There were more people out on the streets here. As in Tyr, the authorities did not patrol in the poorest sections of the city. They did not much care what happened to the people here.
As they approached a tavern with two torches burning on either side of the entry, several elven prostitutes lounging against the building walls called out to Sorak and beckoned him, making provocative poses. Some were extremely explicit and graphically demonstrative of what they were offering for sale. Sorak and Ryana were both dismayed to see how young some of them were, scarcely more than children, debased by poverty and bigotry and lack of opportunity. No one respected them, and so they did not respect themselves.
“This way,” said Korahna. “In here.”
They entered the tavern. A faded, painted sign on the wall outside identified the tavern as the Elven Blade. Sorak thought of his own elven blade and made certain it was well covered by his cloak.
Inside, the tavern was little more than a large, cavernous chamber with stone arches and an aging plank floor. People were seated on crude wooden benches at long tables. Most were drinking. A few were gambling with dice. On a
small raised stage against one wall, a blind elf musician strummed an elf’s harp while two others accompanied him on flute and drum. A baby pterrax in a large cage snapped at food scraps thrown to it by patrons. Barefoot serving girls bore trays among the tables, periodically going back to the bar to refill their earthenware pitchers and fetch fresh bottles and ceramic goblets.
Most of the patrons were half-elves and elves, but they saw some human faces, as well. There would be no dwarves here, for elves and dwarves were not fond of one another, nor would there be any halflings. Halflings were feral, and no halfling would ever be found in a city, though Sorak thought the same could once have been said of elves, as well. A few eyes turned to stare at them as they came in, but for the most part, no one looked directly at them. Directly meeting someone’s gaze in such a place could all too easily be taken as a challenge. Korahna glanced toward the bar at the back, then beckoned them to follow as she crossed the room, walking with purposeful strides.
As they passed among the tables, a bench suddenly came crashing down in front of Sorak. Its occupant leapt to his feet, knocking against him. “You lying piece of dung! I’ll cut your tongue out for that!”
The elf seated opposite him snarled and sprang up, launching himself across the table. Both of them crashed into Sorak, who was still trying to disentangle himself from the elf who had knocked into him. They all fell to the floor in a jumbled heap, the two elves shouting and screaming at each other.
Suddenly, Sorak felt expert fingers lifting his purse and realized the nature of the game. As several others pulled the two apart and off each other, Sorak got to his feet.