Саймон Хоук - The Broken Blade

As he bent to retrieve it, Cricket rushed him, shoving him hard with both outstretched arms. He staggered backward, struck the low wall of the veranda, and fell over. His scream was cut off as he struck the courtyard—the smooth expensive tiles of yellow and blue—four floors below.

Cricket gasped and brought her hands up to her face. “I… I didn’t mean to push him! I… I was afraid he would…” Her voice trailed off.

Sorak looked down into the courtyard. Several guards had rushed over to the body. From its position, Sorak could tell Ankhor’s neck and back were broken. Matullus looked up and, for a moment, their eyes met.

“Get him!” said Matullus. At once, the guards rushed for the front door, their weapons drawn.

Cricket was pulling at his arm. “We must get out of here!” she said. “Come, quickly!”

Sorak turned and started back inside, toward the secret panel, pausing only briefly to examine Kieran. He was already starting to revive.

“Hurry!” Cricket said from the open panel.

“Good-bye, my friend,” said Sorak softly, then he followed Cricket through the secret panel. It closed behind them just as running footsteps sounded on the stairs in the hall.

Sorak lay on a cot in the small, spartan room on the second floor of the hostelry where Cricket stayed, a short walk from the gaming district. His eyes were shut, and he held a damp cloth against his forehead. It was late afternoon, and the intense ache was only beginning to recede. His psionic exertions had belatedly taken their toll.

He recalled what Elder Al’Kali, the pyreen shapechanger who had found him in the desert all those years ago, had told him.

She had made her annual pilgrimage to the summit of the Dragon’s Tooth, the tallest peak among the Ringing Mountains, and as she renewed her vows, she heard a powerful psionic cry for help. His cry. It had traveled all that distance to reach her on a mountaintop miles from where he lay. She responded, flying down to find him, and it was that cry that made her bring him to the villichi convent after she had nursed him back to health. The villichi sisters were masters of psionics, and his power was the strongest the pyreen had yet encountered in all her many years.

He had always believed power came from one of the others of his inner tribe, for he had never been able to perform any of the psionic training exercises at the convent unless the Guardian or one of the others came to the fore. But now they were gone, and the power remained. Perhaps, somehow, it had been transferred to him when the others left; perhaps it had been there all along. But he would just as soon have remained ignorant of it if only he could have Ryana back.

Cricket had brought him to her room, by which time the pain had grown so great that he could barely stand. Without knowing what was wrong, she had put him to bed and tried to nurse him, but he had only wanted to be left alone. She had gone out, a while ago, leaving him to lie there with a pressure in his head that seemed unbearable, but at the same time, he was grateful for the pain. It gave him something he could focus on, something to keep him from dwelling on his grief over Ryana’s death.

The door opened, and Cricket entered, carrying a leather pouch. She set it down on the small, round, wooden table and came over to the bed, bending over him anxiously. “How do you feel?” she asked.

“Better,” he replied.

“The guard is everywhere, asking about you,” she said. She hesitated, biting her lower lip. “Everyone thinks you killed Lord Ankhor.” She took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. “As soon as you are well, I’ll tell them the truth, that it was I who pushed him.”

“No,” said Sorak, pulling the damp cloth away and sitting up. “There is no point to that. I would have killed him, anyway. What you did was an accident. You were only trying to protect yourself, and help me. There is no reason you should bear the blame. I will leave town as soon as it grows dark. I have done what I came here to do.”

“Take me with you,” she said.

Sorak shook his head.

“Please.”

“No, I cannot.”

“I know who you are now,” Cricket said, kneeling before him and taking his hands in hers. “I know what you are. You are the Crown of Elves. You are the one thing I always wanted to believe in. The one thing I can believe in. Let me go with you. Please. I want to help.”

“I do not mean to sound ungrateful, but you would be more a hindrance than a help,” said Sorak. “You would only slow me down and get in my way. And however sincerely you may try, you can never replace the one I have lost.”

“I know that,” Cricket said, gently. “She came to see me one night when the caravan stopped to camp. The night Edric’s treachery was revealed.

We talked. She was very kind. Most women are not kind to girls like me.”

“Ryana was kind to everyone,” said Sorak dully. “When she died, a part of me died with her.”

“I know I could never take her place,” said Cricket, “but I would hate to think of you being alone.”

“I want to be alone now,” Sorak said. “After all, that is the true meaning of my name. Sorak, the nomad who walks alone.”

“I will only follow you if you refuse to take me with you,” Cricket said.

“That would be foolish. I could lose you easily. And while I am grateful for your offer, I do not want you with me. Do you want to end up like Ryana? I do not want anybody with me. Not now. Not anymore.”

Cricket sighed with resignation. “Very well. I have brought some food, some supplies to take with you on your journey.”

“Thank you.” He had no money. The packs containing all the silver from Bodach had been dropped in the attack in the alley. By now, someone had discovered a windfall.

“Where will you go?”

He shook his head. “I do not know. I will go wherever the Path leads me.”

“Well, wherever you go, you will need this,” said Kieran, standing in the doorway. He tossed the broken blade across the room, onto the bed.

Sorak looked up. “For a big man, you move as softly as a cat.”

Cricket snatched up Galdra and held it out before her in both hands, facing Kieran. “You will not take him!” she said vehemently.

Kieran raised his eyebrows and held up his hands in mock surrender. “That’s quite a protector you’ve got there,” he said with a smile.

“It’s all right, Cricket,” Sorak said. “He did not come to arrest me.” He glanced at Kieran. “Or did you?”

“No,” said Kieran, entering the room and taking a chair. “I did not. So put the blade down, girl. You have nothing to fear from me, though by rights, I should turn you across my knee for that knock on the head.”

“I’m sorry,” Cricket said. “But I thought you were going to—”

“Yes, I know what you thought, and you were right,” said Kieran. “However, that is moot. You solved that problem neatly when you pushed Ankhor off the roof.”

“It wasn’t her,” said Sorak, recalling that Kieran was unconscious at the time. “It was me. I did it.”

Kieran shook his head. “No, you didn’t. I saw what you did to Edric. If you’d killed Ankhor, you would have done a great deal more than throw him off a roof. But do not concern yourself. No one knew Cricket was there except the two of us. Matullus saw you, not her. He thinks you knocked me senseless, and frankly, I’d prefer he think that rather than know I was felled by a dancing girl.”

“You would let him take the blame, merely to protect your reputation?” Cricket said, outraged. “I won’t allow it. I am going to tell the truth.”

“You are going to keep your pretty little mouth shut and not complicate things,” Kieran told her. “I was merely joking. I will take care of everything, but it will take some time.” He looked at Sorak. “Lord Jhamri has ordered your arrest, and Matullus is eager to prove himself by bringing you in, dead or alive. I will tell him the truth of what has happened, and I feel confident I can convince him. He’s a good soldier, but he’s young and brash and overeager.