Simon Hawke - The Seeker

“Nevertheless, Sorak was raised there,” said Ryana.

“Sorak?” The man with the robes came up behind the mercenary captain. The guards on either side of him rested their hands lightly on the pommels of their obsidian-bladed swords. “I know that name. Are you the one whose warning prevented the attack on the recent caravan from Tyr?”

“I am,” said Sorak.

“It would be to his advantage to claim that, whether it was true or not,” the captain said. “How do we know he is the one?”

“There is one way of knowing,” said the robed man. And turning to Sorak, he said, “Would you be so kind as to pull back the hood of your cloak?”

Sorak sheathed the blade and did as he was asked. At the sight of his features, and his pointed ears, there was once again an excited murmuring among the mercenaries.

“An elf!” said one of them.

“No, he is not tall enough,” another said.

“A half-elf, then.”

“Neither,” said the robed man. “He is an elfling.”

“An elfling?” said the captain with a frown.

“Part elf, part halfling,” said the robed man.

“But there is no such thing, my lord,” the captain protested. “Everyone knows that elves and halflings are mortal enemies.”

“Nevertheless, that is what he is,” the robed man said. “And he is who he claims to be. We have met before.”

“You were at the Crystal Spider,” Sorak said, suddenly placing the man.

“And lost heavily, as I recall,” the robed man said with a smile. “But my losses would have been far greater had you not exposed the cardsharp who was cheating me. I do not fault you for not remembering me at once. You, on the other hand, are rather more memorable.” He turned to the mercenary leader. “The elfling is a friend to the merchant houses, Captain. Besides, much as I respect your fighting prowess, you would not wish to try your blade against his. I have seen what it can do. In fact, even all this company would be hard pressed against these two, or have you failed to note that his companion is a villichi priestess?”

The captain, who had been concentrating his attention on Sorak, looked more carefully at Ryana. “Your pardon, my lady,” he said, inclining his head in a small bow of respect. “And yours, elfling. If the Lord Ankhor speaks for you, then my blade is at your service. Allow me to escort you personally into the camp.” He snapped his fingers at one of the others—“See to the kank.”

One of the mercenaries hurried forward to comply, but Sorak caught his arm as he went past. “I would not do that, if I were you,” he said.

“I can handle the dumb beast,” the mercenary said confidently, disengaging himself and moving toward the kank. He jumped back with a yelp of surprise, barely in the nick of time as the kank snapped at him with its pincers.

“I warned you,” Sorak said. “This kank is wild.”

“Wild?” said the mercenary with surprise.

Sorak allowed Screech to come to the fore momentarily, long enough to direct a psionic command at the kank to join the others in the train. As the large beetle moved off toward the tame kanks, Sorak came back to the fore again and said, “Just see to it that food is set out within its reach. But advise your handlers to keep clear of it.”

“You are full of surprises,” said Lord Ankhor. “Come. Join me in my tent. And, of course, the invitation includes you, as well, priestess.”

“You are of the House of Ankhor then?” said Sorak.

“I am the House of Ankhor,” their host replied as they walked back toward his tent, escorted by the two mercenary guards and their captain. “My father, Lord Ankhor the Elder, is the patriarch of our house, but he is growing infirm and advanced in years. I have been directing all the affairs of the house for the past two years, and I had a small fortune in trade goods on that caravan you saved from the marauders. I did not hear of it until after I had met you at the Crystal Spider, but by then, you had already left the city. And left it buzzing, I might add.”

“Buzzing?” Sorak said.

“The people talk of nothing but how you upset the templars’ plans to seize control of the city. You shall not be forgotten in Tyr for a long time. Everyone speaks of Sorak, the nomad. I think you have created the beginnings of a legend.”

“Then you left Tyr after we did?” asked Ryana with a frown. “How is it the caravan made so much better time than we, and by a longer route?”

“Because this caravan did not come from Tyr,” said Lord Ankhor. “It has come from Gulg by way of Altaruk and is now on its way to Urik. I rode out to meet it at the spring, with part of this company of mercenaries for an escort. Those are my carriages you see there. I had them specially designed. They are light and built for speed. One must move quickly these days to outpace the competition.”

“You have business in Urik?” said Sorak. “Is that not dangerous at this time?”

“You mean because King Hamanu covets Tyr?” said Lord Ankhor. He made a dismissive wave with his hand. “The merchant houses are not political. And Hamanu cannot afford to allow political considerations to interfere with trade. His economy depends upon our houses. We have an old saying in the merchant guild: ‘Sooner or later, everyone does business with everyone.’ Even during times of war, the houses prosper. In some ways, we are more powerful than kings. Of course, it behooves us not to say so.”

As they walked through the camp, the people gathered round the cookfires turned to stare at them. The handsome, young Lord Ankhor, with his fine, embroidered robes, was an imposing presence, but Ryana realized that it was she and Sorak who really drew the attention. Most of the people gathered around the fires were employees of the merchant house, veteran mercenaries and hardened caravan drivers, but there were also some passengers on the long journey, and encountering other travelers out in the desert, especially two people traveling alone, was an uncommon occurrence.

Ryana, for her part, tried to ignore their prying eyes. She wrinkled her nose at the odor of roasting animal flesh coming from the spits over the fires. But at the same time, she found with some surprise that it awakened an appetite in her.

They reached Lord Ankhor’s spacious tent, which was larger than some of the houses in the warrens of Tyr, and one of the sentries pulled aside the entry flap for them. The interior of the tent was divided into two chambers, separated by a fine tapestry hung between them. The outer chamber housed a table and some chairs along with lamps, writing materials, and ledger scrolls.

“My office on the trail, such as it is,” Ankhor explained, conducting them toward the larger, rear chamber of the tent.

He pulled aside the tapestry. “Please, come in and make yourselves comfortable. We were about to dine. You would do us an honor if you joined us.”

As Sorak and Ryana ducked under the flap of tapestry that Ankhor held aside, they both stopped and stared with amazement at what awaited them. The rear section of the tent was much larger than the front antechamber, and the ground was covered with fine, thick Drajian carpets that were exquisitely worked. Several burning braziers placed around the chamber gave off a warm, intimate glow, the smoke from them curling up through a vent in the tent’s roof.

The sweet, pungent odor of burning moonflower leaves came from the braziers, not only perfuming the air inside the tent, but also serving to keep away annoying insects. Finely worked, comfortable cushions were scattered about the interior and the long, low table in the center, which stood only about a foot above the tent floor. The table itself was covered with an array of dishes that would have rivaled those served in a sorcerer-king’s palace. There were bottles of wine, carafes of water, jars of kank honey, and pots of steaming hot tea made from desert herbs, as well. Lord Ankhor clearly liked to travel in considerable luxury. However, as opulent as the surroundings were, it was the other occupants of the tent that drew their immediate attention. Sitting on cushions at the table were two men and a woman.