by Simon Hawke
“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 moon-flower 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.
One of the men was considerably older than the others, with shoulder-length gray hair and a long, though well-groomed beard. His features were lined and gaunt, but his bright blue eyes were alert and energetic in their gaze. He was dressed in a robe every bit as fine as Ankhor’s, though much more understated, and on his head he wore a thin chaplet of hammered silver, inscribed with the sign of the House of Ankhor.
The other man was much younger, perhaps in his early- to midtwenties, with dark hair worn to just below the shoulders, and a small, well-trimmed, narrow black moustache and goatee, no doubt cultivated to make himself look older. He wore a vest of erdlu skin over his bare, well-muscled chest; matching arm guards; soft, striped, kirre skin breeches; and high boots. His jewelry, if not his bearing, revealed him as a young man of considerable social rank, as did the jeweled dagger he wore at his belt.
But the woman was the most striking of the three. She was young, approximately the same age as Ryana, and very fair, with long, extremely fine blond hair that cascaded down her shoulders. Her eyes were a startling indigo, and the beauty of her face was only matched by the perfection of her body. She was clothed in little save a halter of fine blue silk ornamented with gold links and a matching skirt that rode low on her full hips and was slashed deeply up each side, giving maximum freedom of movement and revealing her long, exquisite legs. Her bare feet were smooth and clean, showing no calluses, and her delicate ankles were circled by gold bracelets, as were her wrists and arms.
“We have guests for dinner tonight, my friends,” Lord Ankhor said. “Allow me to present Sorak the Nomad, of whom I spoke to you, and his companion, the Priestess… forgive me, my lady, but I foolishly neglected to inquire your name.”
“Ryana.”
“The Priestess Ryana,” Ankhor said with a slight bow toward her. “My apologies. Permit me to introduce Lyanus, Minister of Accounts for the House of Ankhor—” the older man nodded toward them as Ankor proceeded with the introductions “—the Viscount Torian, of the first noble family of Gulg—” the dark, bearded, young man acknowledged their bows with a barely perceptible motion of his head “—and last but by no means the least, Her Highness, the Princess Korahna, youngest daughter of the youngest Queen Consort of His Most Royal Majesty, the Shadow King of Nibenay.”
Chapter Four
As impressive as the assembled company was, the latter introduction took Ryana’s breath away. A royal princess of Nibenay, and the daughter of a sorcerer-king, traveling with a merchant caravan! It was absolutely unheard of. The members of the Athasian royal houses rarely left their opulent and well-protected palace compounds, much less their cities, and for this delicate, pampered noble flower to be found on a long journey with a caravan across the entire width of the Athasian tablelands was totally unprecedented. Her presence here not only was shocking, but it also broke with all tradition, and Ryana could not imagine what possible reason the princess could have for being here, or why her family would have allowed it in the first place.
“Please, sit down and join us,” said Lord Ankhor.
In her complete surprise and amazement, Ryana was about to comply with the invitation, but Sorak spoke and broke the spell.
“My sincere apologies, Lord Ankhor. I mean no offense against your generous hospitality, but my vows prevent me from breaking bread with a defiler.” He avoided looking at the princess, though it was clear to all present that it was she to whom he was referring.
Ryana caught her breath. Her own vows, of course, also abjured her from accepting hospitality from a defiler, though she reminded herself that she had already compromised her vows as a villichi priestess by leaving the convent without permission from Mistress Varanna. Sorak had not taken the villichi vows, but they had both sworn to follow the Way of the Druid and the Path of the Preserver, and those were vows Ryana was determined not to break. Nevertheless, by speaking so, Sorak had pronounced an unutterable insult against the Royal House of Nibenay. It was an unforgivable offense.
Surprisingly, the Viscount Torian chuckled. “Well, the elfling certainly has nerve—I will grant him that.”
Of course, Ryana thought, it was not his house that had been insulted. The noble families of Gulg, like those of other cities, were merely aristocrats, not royalty, and if any of them were students or practitioners of the defiler arts, they knew well enough to keep it secret. She looked to the princess for her response, fully expecting outraged fury and a demand that Sorak’s offending tongue, if not his life, be forfeit. Instead, the princess stunned her even more by her reply.
“Lord Ankhor is too well versed in the intricacies of diplomacy and social intercourse to commit such a blunder as inviting followers of the Way to break bread with a defiler,” she said smoothly, her voice as silky as her fine, revealing garments. “Doubtless, you have been wondering what a Royal Princess of Nibenay is doing on a journey with a caravan. I have been exiled from my homeland for committing the unpardonable offense of taking an oath to follow the Druid Way. It would be no breach of your vows to break bread at this table. I, too, am a follower.”
“You?” said Ryana. “But you are the daughter of a sorcerer-king! How is that possible?”
“My mother gave birth to me when she was very young,” Princess Korahna replied, “and her disposition was such that she could not be bothered with the raising of a child. Indeed, such is often the way in royal families, I am told. I was given to a nurse to raise—one of the palace templars—and quite against tradition, she taught me how to read. Although the templars work for defilers, they keep within their libraries copies of the writings of preservers, the better to understand their opposition. At the age of thirteen, I found some of those writings in the library and began to study them in secret, out of curiosity at first. In the end, I was converted.”
“But the oath of the Path of the Preserver must be administered by a preserver,” said Ryana, fascinated.
“And so it was,” the princess replied. “I had taken to disguising myself and stealing out of the palace grounds late at night in hopes of finding a mentor for my studies. I managed to make contact with the Veiled Alliance. After their initial shock upon learning my identity, they were quick to realize the value in having the converted daughter of a sorcerer-king as a member. Still, they were suspicious, and it took a long time for me to gain their trust. In time, they came to realize I was sincere and administered the oath to me.
“But quite by accident, my mother discovered my secret life. For teaching me to read, my templar nurse was executed. When I learned of this, I made plans to publicly renounce my family and announce myself a preserver, but before I was able to do so, my mother had me placed under arrest and exiled from the city.”
“And your father?” Sorak asked. “What was his response?”
“I do not know,” Korahna said. “I am certain that my mother has not even told him, but once they have learned of my fate, the members of the Veiled Alliance are sure to make it public. Nibenay does not concern himself much with his family these days, but he is certain to hear of it. I do not envy my mother when he finds out.”
“Where will you go now?” Ryana asked.
“Wherever Lord Ankhor sees fit to conduct me,” she replied simply. “In a manner of speaking, he is my jailor for the duration of this journey.”
“Now, Your Highness, you do me a grave injustice. You know that is not so,” protested Ankhor. “You will give our guests the wrong impression.” Turning to Sorak and Ryana, he explained, “The House of Ankhor was employed, through intermediaries, by the queen consort herself to escort her daughter on this journey and give her safe conduct. I am by no means her jailor and, as you can see if you only look around you, this is hardly a jail cell.”
“Are you not afraid of what the Shadow King will do when he learns of your involvement?” Sorak asked.
Ankhor merely shrugged. “I have committed no crime,” he said. “In fact, I really had no choice in the matter. The House of Ankhor was hardly in a position to refuse a commission from one of the queen consorts That would have been a grievous insult to the Royal House of Nibenay. To the best of my knowledge, I was merely acting in accordance with the Shadow King’s desires, expressed through his youngest queen.”
“You know very well that is not so!” Korahna said.
“Ah, but do I really know that, Your Highness?” Ankhor replied. “My representatives in Nibenay accepted the commission in good faith on behalf of our house from your mother, the queen consort. They saw to it that you were safely conducted to Gulg and received a first-class berth with this caravan. Viscount Torian himself chose to escort you, in token of the longstanding relationship between his family and our merchant house. I, myself, have only just met you for the first time.”
“And you know how the situation stands, because I have told you,” the princess said.
“You have also told me that you are a self-avowed preserver and an exile from your own kingdom as a result,” Ankhor said calmly. “Under the circumstances, surely I could hardly be blamed for thinking that those were your father’s wishes.”
“As I have said. Lord Ankhor is well versed in the intricacies of diplomacy,” Korahna said. “Especially when it comes to turning those skills to his own ends. I trust my mother paid the House of Ankhor well.”
“Very well, indeed,” Viscount Torian said. “I fail to see the reason for your bitterness. Your Highness Doubtless, your mother was afraid of what the Shadow King would do when he learned of your treachery, for that is how he would see it, surely. A mother’s first instinct is to protect her child. She merely wanted to see you out of harm’s way.”
“And so she cast my fate upon the winds,” Korahna said bitterly.
“With all due respect, Your Highness,” Torian replied, “you did that yourself when you first made contact with the Veiled Alliance. In Nibenay, as it is in Gulg, that is a crime punishable by death. You stuck your own head in the noose. You should be grateful to your mother, for it was she who saved your life. Or did you think your father would simply wink at such activities on his daughter’s part? The Shadow King has more children by his many consorts than my entire family has servants. I doubt the loss of one errant daughter, especially one who has become a profound embarrassment to the Royal House, would concern him greatly.”
Ryana followed this conversation with fascination. Sorak merely kept quiet, listening in what appeared to be a distracted manner. She strongly suspected, however, that he was not merely listening. Undoubtedly, he allowed the Guardian to probe the minds of Ankhor, Torian, and Korahna so that he could ascertain the truth. What truly amazed her, however, was Ankhor’s offhandedness about the whole thing. He was not in the least bit concerned about this discussion taking place in front of them. But then again, she thought, why should he be? His position is secure. His house had accepted a commission from the queen consort. To refuse it would have been an insult. Insofar as that went, he was right. He, or Torian and his representatives, truly had no choice.
And if his conduct was called into question, he had no need to concern himself about their bearing witness to it. They were both preservers, and knew what their fate would be if they fell into the hands of a defiler king.
“Must we speak of such depressing matters?” Ankhor said. “We will merely bore our guests. Come, we have a fine dinner set before us, and the wine is of an excellent vintage. Let us enjoy ourselves.”
“Indeed,” Torian agreed. He turned to Sorak. “So you are the one who foiled the marauder plot to sack the caravan from Tyr. I would be most anxious to hear the details of that story.”
“There is little to tell,” Sorak replied. “I merely stumbled on the plot and reported my discovery to the Tyrian Council of Advisors.”
“Surely there is more to it than that,” Torian said. He glanced at Ryana. “I suspect, Priestess, that your friend is being overly modest.”
“He has never been much given to conversation,” Ryana replied.
“An admirable trait,” Torian replied. “Though it does make things a bit one-sided over dinner. What of yourself? Where are you b
ound on your pilgrimage?”
Ryana hesitated slightly and glanced at the princess, who had fallen into a sullen silence. “Nibenay,” she said.
At that, Korahna glanced up briefly, then quickly averted her gaze.
“Indeed? That is a long journey,” Torian replied. “A pity we cannot accommodate you. This caravan is on its way to Urik”
“So Lord Ankhor told us,” said Ryana. “However, we are grateful for your hospitality. We shall be resuming our journey in the morning.”
“Nibenay is far less hospitable to preservers than is the House of Ankhor,” Torian said.
“True enough,” Lord Ankhor agreed, “but villichi priestesses do not practice magic, and while their order is devoted to the Druid Way, they are not political. Which is to say, my lady, that while you may not find a ready welcome there, it is unlikely that you shall be molested.”
Ryana did not bother to tell him that she was not really on a pilgrimage, at least, not in the way he thought, and that in seeking the Sage, they were embarked upon a quest that was very “political,” indeed.
“I am surprised you chose the northern route around the mountains,” Torian said. “The southern route, by way of Altaruk and Gulg, would have been shorter.”
“The route across the Stony Barrens and over the Barrier Mountains will be shorter still,” she said.
Ankhor and Torian both sat up straighter and stared at her with astonishment. “You plan to cross the barrens?” Ankhor said. “With all due respect, my lady, that would be most unwise.”
“It would be worse than unwise,” said Torian. “It would be insane.”
“What my young friend means…” began Ankhor, in an effort to soften Torian’s remarks, but Torian interrupted him.
“I said precisely what I meant,” he said. He glanced at Sorak. “If you plan to take the priestess through the barrens, then you take her to her death. No man who has attempted to cross the barrens has ever lived to tell the tale.”
