Simon Hawke - The Nomad

“Let her go, Valsavis,” Sorak said. “There is nothing to be gained from this.”

“There is always something to be gained,” Valsavis replied. “It all depends on what you want, and what you will settle for. I was half dead when I came in here. But never have I fought so fiercely. You should have seen me, elfling. I was a bloody marvel. I waited here all night, and then throughout the day. I did not know what posed the greater danger, those corpses coming in here or you coming back down and finding me asleep. Still, I napped a little here and there, when I passed out from the pain.” He chuckled again. “You know, it truly is amusing. Nibenay would give anything to see this, but right now, some walking corpse is chewing on his yellow eyeball, along with my left hand. Of course, the Shadow King has doubtless withdrawn the enchantment from the ring and cannot feel it. Pity. I would so like to share some of my discomfort with him.”

“Valsavis ...” said Sorak. “It is finished. Let her go.”

Valsavis snorted. “You realize that I came here to kill you,” he said.

“Well, your success seems somewhat doubtful at the moment,” Sorak said. “You can scarcely stand. Give it up, Valsavis. The Shadow King cares nothing for you. He has only used you, and look what it has brought you.”

“It could have brought me everything,” Valsavis said. “It still can. Nibenay would give much to know where he can find your master. He did not tell me who it was. He pretended not to know, but I am not a fool. There can only be one preserver wizard whom a sorcerer-king would fear. You see, elfling, even if Nibenay did not discover the location of the Sage through me, I still succeeded. I am here. And neither you, the priestess, nor the pyreen, nor even an army of undead could stop me.”

“Indeed,” said Kara. “Your tenacity is without peer. I must congratulate you.”

“I failed only in one thing,” Valsavis said, glancing at Ryana. And then he grinned with bloody teeth. “If I’d only had more time, priestess. Too bad. We would have made quite a pair, you and I. It really is... too bad.”

“If you harm her, Valsavis,” Sorak said through gritted teeth, “then I swear you shall not leave this place alive.”

“Do you, indeed?” Valsavis said. “And what about you, shapechanger? I will have you swear, as well. Swear by your vows as a preserver that if I release the priestess, you shall do nothing to interfere. Swear, or I will drive this point right through her lovely throat!”

“I swear by my vows as a preserver that I shall not interfere in any way, if you release Ryana unharmed,” said Kara.

“You have my word,” Valsavis said. “But first, the elfling must give up his magic sword.”

“It would not do you any good, Valsavis,” Sorak said. “You serve a defiler. Galdra’s enchantment would not work for you.”

“Give it to the pyreen, then,” Valsavis said. “We will fight like men, with daggers and without enchantment, so we can see each other’s eyes.”

Without hesitating, Sorak removed his sword belt and scabbard, then handed them to Kara. Valsavis released Ryana, and she collapsed to the floor. He put his knife between his teeth, drew his own sword and tossed it aside, then grasped his dagger once again with his one remaining hand.

As Sorak drew his own knife, he realized that, for the first time, he would not have the tribe behind him. The Shade would not be there to storm forth like a juggernaut from his subconscious. The Guardian’s gifts were no longer his to call on. The Ranger, Eyron, Kether ... all were gone. He was deprived of Galdra, and Kara had sworn not to interfere.

He faced Valsavis alone.

But at the same time, the mercenary was seriously injured. He had even lacked the strength to climb the stairs. True, he had rested some, but he had also lost a lot of blood. How could he hope to prevail in such a weakened condition?

“I have no wish to kill you, Valsavis,” Sorak said, shaking his head.

“You must,” Valsavis replied emphatically. “You have no choice. I have found the sanctuary of the Sage. If I fail to return, then Nibenay shall just assume that I was killed by the undead and joined their ranks, and that you have gone on with your quest. But if I live, then I shall take what I have learned and sell it to him. And he shall pay whatever price I ask. One way or the other, Sorak, one of us shall not leave here alive.”

“It does not have to be that way,” said Sorak as they slowly started circling. “You have seen the treasure room. There is more wealth there than you could ever hope to spend. Surely, there would be enough to buy your silence.”

“Perhaps, if my silence could be bought,” Valsavis said. “But there would never be enough to buy my pride. I have never yet failed to complete a contract. It is the principle of the thing, you know.”

“I understand,” said Sorak.

“I thought you would.”

They circled each other warily, crouched over slightly, watching for an opening. Each held his blade sideways, close to his body to avoid the possibility of having it kicked away or trapped by a quick grasp at the wrist. Valsavis lifted his arm out in front of him slightly to block, as did Sorak. They each held the other’s gaze, watching the eyes carefully, for by watching the eyes, the entire body could also be seen, and the eyes were often the first to telegraph intent.

Sorak feinted slightly with his shoulder, and Valsavis started to lunge, but quickly recognized the feint and caught himself. They continued circling, cautiously, moving their blades, neither one offering the other an easy opportunity. It resembled a curious sort of dance, each of them moving, watching, feinting, reacting, and recovering, neither making the slightest mistake. And the longer it continued, the more the tension and stress increased, the greater grew the likelihood that one of them would make a slip.

The odds should have been in his favor, Sorak thought, for Valsavis was badly wounded, but he had at least a day to recover his strength while he waited for them at the bottom of the tower, and his long experience and iron determination had taught him to ignore pain and exhaustion.

Yet, at the same time, for Sorak, the experience was completely new. He could not depend, as he had learned by force of habit, on the alertness of the Watcher, nor could he summon forth the Guardian to probe his opponent’s mind. And even if he could, Valsavis had already proved himself immune to telepathic probes. Sorak also knew the sharp instincts of the Ranger were now lost to him, and Eyron’s abilities at calculation and strategy were gone, as well. He could rely on just one thing-the training he had received at the villichi convent.

“Do not try to anticipate,” Sister Tamura had told them over and over during weapons training. “Do not think about the outcome of the fight. Do not allow your emotions to rise to the surface, because they will defeat you every time. Find a place of stillness in yourself, and place your awareness completely in the present.”

In the present, Sorak reminded himself as he felt his concentration start to slip, and in that moment, Valsavis lunged. Sorak barely brought up his blade in time to parry, and the mercenary reacted swiftly, lifting his knife in a vicious, slashing stroke. Sorak countered it, and what had been a tense, slow, and silent dance suddenly exploded into a frenzied flurry of flashing, clinking blades as they moved together, then sprung apart, neither scoring a cut.

Valsavis was breathing heavily, but he had drawn upon his inner reserves and was moving lightly on the balls of his feet, weaving his knife around in quick, complicated patterns as Sorak continued to move his own blade in response, each of them standing a bit closer now, waiting for the one faulty or slightly delayed countermove that would leave an opening.