by Simon Hawke
“All right, you two, out!” shouted the burly human tavern keeper, coming around from behind the bar with a large agafari club in his hands. “Settle it outside!”
“Just a moment,” Sorak said as the two elves turned to go.
“And what’s your interest in this?” the tavern keeper demanded, still holding the club ready.
Sorak pointed at one of the elves. “He has something of mine.”
“What?” the tavern keeper demanded.
“My purse,” said Sorak.
“He lies!” the elf protested. “I never touched his filthy purse—if he even had one when he came in here!”
“Your quarrel was merely an excuse to enable you to lift it,” Sorak said.
“You had best be careful of your accusations, friend,” the elf said menacingly while his companion, who moments earlier had seemed intent on killing him, now stood by to back him up. “This purse is mine,” the elf said, taking out his purse and shaking it. It rattled with a few ceramic coins. “My friend will testify to that, and so will the serving wench, who saw me pay her out of it. See, it is stitched with my name!”
“I did not mean that purse,” Sorak said. “I meant the one you secreted in the pocket of your cloak.”
“You’re mad.”
“Am I?” Sorak said. “Then what do you suppose this is?”
His purse came floating up out of the hidden pocket in the pickpocket’s cloak and hovered in front of the thief’s face. For a moment, the elf simply gaped at it, then with a cry of fury, he batted it aside and snatched out his blade. As he lunged forward and brought the sword down in a wide, sweeping arc, Sorak smoothly drew Galdra from its scabbard and parried the blow in the same motion. The elf’s obsidian blade shattered in an explosion of thousands of tiny slivers.
The thief simply gaped in disbelief as Sorak brought the falchion-like point of Galdra to his throat. “My purse,” he said. The thief glanced around behind him in panic, looking for support, only to see Ryana standing with her dagger at his confederate’s throat. The entire tavern had fallen completely silent. All eyes were upon them, and the slightest whisper would have carried through the room. The thief’s panic-stricken gaze returned to the blade held at his throat, and then he seemed to truly see it for the first time. He marked its unusual shape, the elven steel it was forged of, and the elvish runes inscribed upon the blade. His eyes grew very wide, and he gasped, looking up at Sorak as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Galdra!” he said, in a low voice. He dropped down to his knees and bowed his head. “Forgive me! I did not know!”
An excited murmuring broke out through the tavern. “Get up,” said Sorak. The thief sprang to obey. “Now retrieve my purse.”
“At once,” he said, scampering after it. He picked it up from where it had fallen and brought it to Sorak. “I am but a craven and unworthy thief, my lord. Do with me as you will, but I most humbly beg your pardon.”
“Be silent,” Sorak said. “You talk too much.”
“Yes, my lord, I do. Forgive me.”
“Get out of my sight,” said Sorak.
“Thank you, my lord, thank you,” the elf said, bowing deeply as he backed away. His companion followed with him, also bowing, staring at Sorak and Ryana fearfully. As they left, a number of others slipped out the door, as well.
“Serpent’s teeth!” the tavern keeper said. “What was all that about? Are you a nobleman?”
“No,” said Sorak. “He must have mistaken me for someone else.”
“You are not a nobleman, and yet you carry a blade of rare worth and manufacture. You have the aspect of an elf, yet you are not an elf. And you have the eyes and hair of a halfling. Who are you?”
“He is my friend,” Korahna said, approaching the tavern keeper.
“And who might you be?” said the tavern keeper.
Korahna stepped up close to him and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Look closely, Galavan. Do you not recognize me?”
The tavern keeper frowned and stared at her for a moment, then his eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped. “Serpent’s teeth!” he whispered. “We thought you were dead!”
“We can discuss that later,” she said. “You know why I have come. These two are my friends, and I vouch for them with my life.”
“Your word is enough for me,” said Galavan. “Come, this way, to the back room.”
He led them around behind the bar and through a curtained archway. “Watch the place,” he said to one of his assistants, and then passed through.
It appeared to be no more than a storeroom with a small table, chair, and lantern. The walls were lined with wooden shelves containing spare goblets, pitchers, plateware, bottles, and other supplies. Galavan approached one of the shelves, reached inside and tripped a hidden switch. Then he swung the entire shelf away from the wall, revealing a dark passage.
“This way,” he said, picking up the lantern from the table and beckoning them inside. He handed the lantern to Korahna, and after they went in, he closed the hidden door behind them.
“Where does this lead?” Ryana asked the princess.
“You will see,” Korahna replied and started to descend the flight of stone steps that led down to a tunnel beneath the street. They walked through the tunnel for a while when they suddenly became aware of greater space around them. The tunnel walls had ended, and they were in an open area, but it was underground.
“What is this place?” Ryana asked, unable to see much past the glow of the lantern.
“Ruins,” said Sorak, whose vision in the dark allowed him to see far more than she could. “Underground ruins. We are standing in some sort of courtyard.”
“Nibenay is built upon the ruins of another ancient city,” said Korahna, “dating back over a thousand years.
Neither the templars nor my father know of it, but throughout the city, there are places where access to the ancient city can be found. The Elven Blade is one such place. Galavan is a secret ally of the Veiled Alliance.”
“So what happens now?” Ryana asked.
As if in reply, a score of torches suddenly blazed up all around them, illuminating robed and hooded figures standing in a large circle, surrounding them.
“Welcome home, Korahna,” one of them said. “We have been expecting you.”
Chapter Ten
One of the robed figures stepped toward them with his torch. As he approached, they could see that his robe was white, and his face within the hood was covered with a white veil.
“These are my friends,” Korahna said. “They helped me to escape captivity and brought me here across the Stony Barrens.”
“You crossed the barrens?” said the hooded man with amazement.
“If not for these two, I never would have survived,” Korahna said. “I owe them my life.” I The hooded figure turned to gaze at Ryana, then at Sorak. “You are the one who is called Sorak, the Nomad?”
“You know me?” Sorak said.
“Your arrival was foretold.”
“By whom?” said Sorak. “By the Sage?”
The Guardian tried to probe him, but the hooded figure merely shook his head. “Do not try to use the Way on me, Nomad. It shall not serve you. I am shielded.”
“Your magic is strong,” said Sorak. “Yes, but not strong enough,” the veiled sorcerer replied. “Regrettably, the Shadow King’s is stronger. We are grateful to you, and to you as well, Priestess, for returning Korahna to us. She will be a great help in our struggle. But you had reasons of your own for bringing her with you.”
“Yes,” said Sorak. “We had hoped that she would help us contact you. We were sent to Nibenay—”
“I know,” the sorcerer said. “We were expecting you, though we did not know in what manner you would arrive, or from where. We thought you might come with a caravan or perhaps by the little-traveled northern trail… but across the Stony Barrens: that is a feat that shall be told in tales for a long time to come. I look forward to hearing the details of your journ
ey. However, Korahna can supply them. I fear you shall have other things with which to be concerned.”
“What do you mean?” Ryana asked. “The templars have discovered that the Elven Blade is a contact point for the Alliance. They have been sending spies to watch who comes and goes. We did not learn of this until after Korahna had disappeared, so there was no way she could have known.
“Following your… encounter, known informers were seen leaving the tavern in a hurry. They will run straight to the templars. It is unlikely that any of them would have recognized Korahna, but you revealed yourself in your exchange with the thief. Soon the Shadow King shall know of you, and then you shall be in gravest danger.”
“But how could the Shadow King know of my quest to find the Sage?” asked Sorak.
“Do not underestimate the powers of Nibenay,” the wizard said. “Besides, you carry Galdra, the enchanted sword of ancient elven kings. That alone would make him see you as a rival. No defiler would wish to see the elves unite behind one ruler, unless that ruler were himself.”
“But I am not an elven king,” protested Sorak. “This sword was given to me by the High Mistress Varanna, and she said nothing of any legacy associated with it. I have no wish to rule or unite anyone. I am not responsible for fanciful stories that grow up around a sword.”
“Nevertheless, you will find yourself affected by those stories. Stories that are repeated often enough become legends, and people set great store by legends. Whether the prophecy is a true one or not, there will be those who will try to make it so. They shall either try to cast you in the role, or else take your sword and usurp it for themselves.
“You could, of course, give up the sword, but then you would risk having it fall into the wrong hands. Nibenay could do much with such a blade. If it wins the allegiance of the elves, I would much rather see it in your hands. Either way, you are in danger so long as you remain within the city. It is possible the forces of the Shadow King may find the hidden entrance in the storeroom, but if they do, we are prepared to cave in the tunnel on them. There are other ways into and out of the old ruins, ways they have not yet discovered. There is a branching off point in the tunnel through which you came that will take you up into the alley behind the Elven Blade. It would be best if you were not seen leaving the tavern. You could be followed.”
The hooded wizard reached inside his robe and withdrew a small, rolled up scroll that was banded with a green ribbon. He handed it to Sorak.
“This will tell you what you need to know,” he said. “Ask me no more questions, for I have no answers to give you.”
The wizard turned to go.
“Wait,” said Sorak. “How shall I contact you again?”
“It would be best if you did not,” the wizard said. “The longer you remain here, the greater will be the risk to you and anyone who helps you. You have your quest, we have our struggle to wage. In the end, perhaps, our goals may be the same, but we must pursue them by our separate paths. Good luck, Nomad. May you find that which you seek. Come, Korahna.”
The princess looked at Sorak and Ryana. “Words are insufficient to express my feelings,” she said. “I will always be deeply indebted to you both.”
“You owe us nothing,” Sorak said.
“No, I owe you a great deal,” said Korahna, “and someday, perhaps, I can properly repay it.” She hugged Sorak, then Ryana. “Farewell, Sister,” she said. “You shall always be in my thoughts.”
“And you in mine,” Ryana said. “May your feet be steady on the Path.”
“And yours,” Korahna said. “Farewell.”
She handed the lantern to Ryana and went with the others. Their torches receded into the darkness of the underground ruins until they parted, going off into different directions and disappeared from sight. Sorak looked down at the rolled up scroll he held in his hand.
“And so another clue in our long search,” he said. “Let us see what this one holds.” He untied the green ribbon and unrolled the scroll. It merely said, “Burn in a safe and isolated place.”
“Well, this place certainly seems safe and isolated enough,” Ryana said. She held up the lantern. Sorak stuck a corner of the scroll into the flame. At once, as the flames licked up the length of the scroll, they began to burn with a blue-green fire. Sorak dropped the scroll onto the ground and they both stood back.
As the edges of the burning scroll curled up and blackened, sparks began to shoot forth, dancing up into the air. More of the scroll burned, and more sparks rose up, only instead of being extinguished as they rose, they grew brighter and swirled around in mad arabesques, like frenzied fireflies going around and around, faster and faster, eventually forming a swirling, sparking column of blue-green light. Within the light, a bare outline of a figure formed, its features indistinguishable but dressed in robes. The figure was a brighter light within the light, sparkling and giving off radiance that lit up the entire underground courtyard. And then it spoke.
“You have done well, my children. You have secured the Seals of Knowledge, corrected an injustice in rescuing the Princess Korahna, and proven your worth and your tenacity in your arduous journey across the Stony Barrens. But greater challenges, and still greater dangers, lie ahead. You must now leave the city of the Shadow King, and leave it quickly, for he has great power, and the time to deal with him has not yet come. Set your feet upon the path to the village of Salt View, across the Great Ivory Plain and beyond the Mekillot Mountains. There you must seek a druid known as the Silent One, who shall guide your to the ancient city of Bodach, where lies the next object of your quest. Guard the Seals of Knowledge with your lives, for together with what you shall find in Bodach, they hold the key that will unlock the final object of your quest.”
“But what are we to seek in Bodach?” Sorak asked.
There was no reply. The shimmering figure faded from view as the whirling sparks shot out in all directions and dissipated in the gloom of the underground ruins.
“Gith’s blood!” swore Sorak angrily. “He toys with us and poses riddles! Why does he not speak plainly and tell us what we need to know? How many more tests must we pass?”
“Perhaps he doles out the information we require in small portions,” said Ryana, “so that we cannot reveal all if we should fail and fall into defiler hands.”
“Now we must seek something in Bodach,” Sorak said in frustration, “and we know not what it is. And after that, he implies that there is yet a third object to be found, only we know not what or where.”
“Perhaps this druid called the Silent One, who is to be our guide, can tell us,” said Ryana.
Sorak sighed with exasperation. “Only to find him, we must first cross the Ivory Plain,” he said. “The barrens are nothing but miles of broken rock. The Great Ivory Plain is nothing but a sea of salt. And as if that were not enough, we must then make our way to Bodach, and the Silent One would have to be insane to willingly guide anyone to that evil place.”
“How is Bodach evil?” asked Ryana.
Sorak snorted. “How is it not evil?” He reached into a pack and pulled out The Wanderer’s Journal. “Listen this,” he said, opening the book and reading:
“Bodach, lying at the tip of a peninsula projecting into one of the great inland silt basins, was undoubtedly one of the mightiest cities of the ancients. Its ruins cover many square miles of the peninsula. When you stand at the edge of the silt basin, you can see its towers rising above the silt for many miles beyond.
“Unfortunately, Bodach and the surrounding territories are not good places to linger. As the crimson sun goes down, thousands of undead zombies and skeletons crawl out of the cellars, sewers, and hidden dungeons, then begin scouring the city and the surrounding countryside. If you are here after dark, you will spend the entire night fighting one long, pitched battle.
“I have talked to those who say that the undead are controlled by a powerful defiler who is using them to keep treasure hunters away from the city while he systematically loots
it. Others claim that the undead are the original inhabitants of the city, and they cannot rest because there is some terrible secret buried in the heart of the ancient city that they do not want discovered. In either case, if you go to Bodach, be prepared for an intense battle against this gruesome army.”
“Oh,” said Ryana. “I see.”
“Note that nowhere does he say that he himself has been there,” Sorak said. “Even the Sage did not dare go to Bodach, and yet he sends us there.”
“He was not yet the Sage when he was the Wanderer,” Ryana reminded him. “And now that he is the Sage, he cannot go himself. The pyreen told you that this quest would not be easy. You seek the Sage to ask a boon and find direction for your life. Well, something gained for nothing is worth exactly what it cost to gain. In any case, before we can think of Bodach and its armies of undead, we must first leave the city safely and reach the village of Salt View. What sort of place is that?”
“The Wanderer describes it as a village of former slaves who now live as raiders and gypsy entertainers. It is governed by a mul who was once a gladiator, and the marauders we have met before make their camp not far from there. Doubtless, they use the village as a base of supply and a place of recreation. In other words, we can expect to find no friends there.”
“We should find one in the druid,” said Ryana. “Do not be discouraged, Sorak. We embarked on this quest together, and we shall see it through together. You have lived in ignorance of your past for all your life. Surely, you did not expect to find all the answers in a few short weeks?”
He sighed. “I suppose not. It is just that I had hoped… Well, it makes no difference. I chose this path, now I must walk it.”
“We chose this path,” she said.
He looked and her and smiled. “Yes, we did. Together. Forgive me, little sister. And thank you for your strength.”
“You are forgiven,” she said. “And you are welcome. Now let’s get out of this miserable place. The lantern burns low, and I have no wish to stumble around down here in the dark.”