Саймон Хоук - The Broken Blade

He gave them a slight bow and left.

Sorak scowled at his retreating form. “I don’t like that elf,” he said in a low voice.

“He seems harmless enough,” Ryana said.

“He has a duplicitous streak,” said Sorak. “He recognized Galdra, all right. He knew exactly what it was. It was as if he dared me to deny it.”

“And deny it you did,” she said. “So who was being duplicitous?”

“I had no wish to get into a long, drawn out debate about the legend of the Sword of Alaron and the Crown of Elves,” said Sorak. “That was why I tried to dispose of Galdra in the first place.”

“Well, he did not press you on the subject.”

“Only because you diverted him. But he was rather easily diverted, wasn’t he?”

“Maybe it’s my charm,” Ryana said with a smile.

“I doubt your charms would work upon the likes of him,” said Sorak. “It was no accident Cricket picked him to ride with. He’s probably the only male in the caravan that she can trust not to take advantage.”

“Including you?” Ryana asked innocently.

“You know what I mean,” said Sorak. “Still, there’s something about him that bothers me. And I am not referring to his manner or his tastes.”

“What then?”

Sorak shook his head. “I don’t know. I wish I still had the Guardian to help me look into his mind and find out what he’s really thinking.”

“You really do distrust him, don’t you?”

Sorak nodded. “I do not think I would want to turn my back on that one.”

“Then maybe you should follow your intuition,” said Ryana. “A part of you was the Guardian, remember. Maybe you cannot read his mind, but you seem to sense something about him.”

“And you do not?”

She shrugged. “He seems a bit elaborate, but then he’s a bard.”

Sorak shook his head. “It’s been an ill-omened night, all around,” he said. “And I understand none of what is happening. I only know I do not like it.”

“Well, there’s no point in trying to go back to sleep,” Ryana said. “Why don’t we take a stroll around the camp and talk about it while we stretch our legs a bit? We have a long ride ahead of us.”

“I have a feeling there will be trouble before it’s through,” said Sorak. “And something tells me Edric will be part of it.” He sighed. “I just wish I knew why I felt that way, and why I had that vision. I used to wonder what it would be like not to be a tribe of one, to be just one individual, like everybody else. Well, now I am. And I’ve never felt so much uncertainty.”

Ryana smiled. “You’ll get used to it,” she said. “But you must stop thinking that you’ve been diminished somehow by the loss of your inner tribe. They may not be with you anymore, but they were a part of you for a long time, and you shared what they knew. Remember what they taught you. And remember what you learned back at the convent. You are almost villichi, and that is no small thing.”

“No, it’s not,” he agreed. “Thank you for reminding me.”

She put her arm around him. “You’re welcome. Now, tell me again about that vision, and we’ll see if we can’t make some sense of it.”

Edric did not return to his tent, as he had said he would. Instead, he furtively headed away from the cluster of tents toward the rear of the encampment. There were no guards posted back there and no fires lit, since the banks of the estuary guarded that edge of the camp. Silt monsters did not venture ashore, and the camp was well away from any habitation of giants. Neither would desert raiders attack across the silt. Raiders did not use boats; they depended on speed, and boats were slow. So all that lay in wait along the estuary shore were deep shadows in the moonlight, and as Edric approached the silt, one of those shadows moved.

Edric stopped. “Shadows have talons.”

“Talons have claws,” came the low response.

Edric glanced quickly over his shoulder, then hurried toward the small rock outcropping from which the voice had come. A tall, lean, dark shape rose from the ground beside the outcropping. It was an elf, dressed all in black, from head to toe. Black boots, black breeches, black tunic covered with a smooth black breastplate of kank armor, black gloves, black veil, and black hooded cloak. His sword was sheathed in a black leather scabbard, as were his knives, and the hilts of all the weapons were black-stained pagafa wood. Even on a moonlit night, he could blend so artfully with the shadows from which his tribe took its name, the Shadows. Not even Edric would have seen him had he not moved, and if Edric had not spoken the proper phrase identifying himself, he would have been instantly, efficiently, and silently killed.

“You had no trouble getting past the guards on the flank outpost?” asked Edric softly.

The black-clad elf snorted with derision. “You must be joking. I came so close to one of them that I could have reached out and touched him, but he was none the wiser.”

“When is the attack planned?” Edric asked.

“The night after the caravan leaves Grak’s Pool,” the black-clad elf replied. “Will they tarry long?”

Edric shook his head. “I doubt it. This captain is in a hurry to reach Altaruk. They’re carrying large profits from their trip to Balic, in addition to a new shipment of cargo, and the captain’s new superior is among the passengers. He is a mercenary named Kieran, journeying to Altaruk to accept a post as captain of the Jhamri House Guard.”

“Does he bring troops with him?”

Edric shook his head. “No, there is only the normal complement of caravan guards and roustabouts.”

The black-clad elf smirked. “They shouldn’t be much trouble.”

“Watch out for Kieran,” Edric said. “He knows his business. You cannot miss him. He’s a tall, strapping blond man who dresses in rare hides. Do not dismiss him for his flamboyant costume. He’s deadly. I’ve seen him fight.”

“A well-aimed arrow will put an end to that.”

“Just be careful of him. But there’s something else, perhaps even more important,” Edric said. “Among the passengers is an elfling who rides with a villichi priestess.”

“An elfling?”

“A half-breed,” Edric said. “Elf and halfling.”

“Disgusting! I did not know such an abomination was even possible!”

“Never mind that,” Edric said. “His name is Sorak. Or so he styles himself.”

“The Nomad?” said the black-clad elf.

“He may have adopted the persona from the ballad, for reasons of his own,” said Edric, “but he carries a sword that has been broken, so that a little less than half its length remains. I saw it. It is made of steel.”

“Steel!”

“And engraved with elven runes,” said Edric, “though I was not close enough to read them.”

“Are you saying it is Galdra?” the black-clad elf asked with disbelief.

“At the very least, it seems meant to pass as Galdra, though when I questioned him about it, indirectly, he said the blade was merely an old heirloom of his family, something he carries for sentimental reasons only.”

“But you said it was broken.”

“That could be part of his ruse,” said Edric, “to explain why the enchantment does not work. According to the legend, if the Sword of Alaron is touched by a defiler, it will shatter and the enchantment will be broken.”

“And the prophecy with it, I should think,” the Shadow replied.

“Perhaps,” said Edric. “Or perhaps not. The legend is vague upon that point.”

“So this Nomad is passing himself off as the so-called Crown of Elves?”

Edric shook his head. “No, not at present, anyway. He appears to be posing as a mercenary. Perhaps he really is, I do not know. He seems to have struck up a friendship with this Kieran. But then, that would be logical, if he intends to strike a bargain with the House of Jhamri.”