The Nomad

8

As they flew on the rushing wind, the moonlit desert spread out all around them, a wide and all-encompassing vista. The light of the twin moons, Ral and Guthay, sparkled on the salt below, giving the Ivory Plain a ghostly and ethereal appearance. It was much cooler at this higher altitude, and the wind rushed through their hair and clothing, making them shiver as they huddled together on the airborne raft.

“It’s so beautiful!” Ryana said, enchanted by the sight despite the cold. At first, she had been frightened as the ground had dropped away, receding farther and farther below them, and she could not resist the rising panic that they were going to fall. But the air elementals were strong, and with Kara there to hold them together and guide them, Ryana soon relaxed and gave herself completely to the experience.

Beside her, she heard a sudden burst of utterly joyous and completely unrestrained laughter, and she glanced at Sorak to see his face shining with delight. His lips were stretched wide in a grin of pleasure, his nostrils flaring, his entire face animated in way that told her this wasn’t Sorak anymore, but Kivara, his mischievous, childlike, female entity, whose personality was ruled by the thrill of novelty, the hunger for pleasure and stimulation of sensation.

“I’m flying!” she shouted, happily. “Oh, Ryana, this is wonderful!”

Despite knowing that this was not really the Sorak that she loved, but another personality entirely, Ryana could not help feeling a lightness at seeing “him” so transported. Normally taciturn and stoic, sometimes grim and often moody, Sorak had never really given himself over to the emotion of joy. Perhaps because whatever part of him could do that had been the basis for what became the entity Kivara. She had none of his other qualities. They were two completely different people, of different ages, different genders even, who just happened to share the same physical body.

Kivara was like an irrepressible young girl ruled only by her passions and her curiosity. She didn’t know any better and seemed to lack the ability to learn. Or perhaps she simply didn’t care. Of all the personalities who made up the tribe of one that she knew as Sorak, Kivara was the most unpredictable.

The Guardian could always be counted on for her wise and thoughtful council and strong, maternal, stabilizing influence. The Ranger rarely spoke and remained largely self-contained, the hunter and the tracker, the strong and able male who played the role of the provider.

Lyric was the innocent, the naive and playful child who was content to look at the world with constant wonder and express himself in song. In some ways, he was the male counterpart to Kivara, save that he lacked her stubborn willfulness and amoral instincts. Of all Sorak’s personalities, Lyric was the closest to the Inner Child, who slept cocooned deep in the collective subconscious of the tribe.

The Shade was the complete opposite side of that coin, the dark and menacing, terrifying, beastlike entity contained within all men, submerged for the most part deep within Sorak’s subconscious, emerging without warning only when the tribe was severely threatened. Sometimes Sorak could control him. More often, he could not. Rarely did Sorak even remember what had occurred while the Shade took control of his body, but Ryana had seen on a number of occasions what the Shade could do, and it was frightening.

Screech was that part of Sorak that was closest to the animal kingdom, an evolutionary throwback to a time when they all were little more than animals themselves. He could commune with beasts and speak to every Athasian species in its own language, understanding their instincts and behavior and capable of mimicking their behavior patterns.

Eyron was, in some ways, the most human of Sorak’s varied aspects, even though Sorak had no human blood. At least, Ryana thought, not to her knowledge or his. Eyron was coldly pragmatic, the thinker and the planner among them, but his nature was often cynical and pessimistic. He was the cautious side of Sorak’s personality, developed into a discrete identity. Much of the time, Eyron could be supremely aggravating, especially given his intelligence, but he was a vital part of the whole, without which Sorak would have been incomplete.

And then, of course, there was the mysterious Kether, whom none of the others could explain. Kether was a part of them, and yet not a part of them. Sorak insisted that Kether did not spring from within him, but came, somehow, from without, an ethereal and powerful, serene and spiritual otherworldly entity that came upon him like a visitation from some other plane of existence. But Kivara___

Ryana knew that there was never any way of predicting what Kivara was liable to do. The Shade was easily the most frightening of Sorak’s personalities, but at least Ryana knew what to expect of him. With Kivara, she was never certain, and so Kivara made her feel the most uneasy. She did not come out often, but when she did, her behavior was usually willful and irresponsible. And Ryana suddenly realized that a fragile wooden raft, held together by nothing more than dagger plant fibers and antloid spit, buoyed up high above the ground by the swirling vortices of air elementals, was hardly the best place for Kivara to emerge suddenly and assume control of Sorak’s body.

“Look at me!” Kivara shouted, leaping to her feet and throwing out her arms like wings. “I’m a bird!”

The raft gave a lurch as the balance shifted, and Ryana became alarmed. She grabbed Kivara by the leg. “Sit down, you little fool!” she shouted. “You want to upset the raft and send us both plummeting to the ground?”

“What’s the matter?” asked Kivara tauntingly. “Afraid?” It was Sorak’s voice, only it was pitched higher, and it had a completely different quality-coy and mischievous, challenging and stubborn. It was the voice of a child dancing on the edge of a precipice, completely oblivious to the risk it faced.

“Yes, I am afraid,” Ryana replied, “and so would you be if you had any sense! This raft is all that keeps us from plunging to our deaths. Now sit down and stop acting like a child!”

“Oh, pooh!” Kivara said, petulantly, but she sat down again. Actually, she plopped down, simply dropping to a sitting position the way children often do, and the raft gave another violent lurch. Ryana grabbed her for support as the raft rocked dangerously on the wind currents, and Kivara giggled.

“I ought to pull your breeches down and spank you!” said Ryana, angrily.

“Oooh, that sounds like fun!” Kivara countered, giving her a coy sidelong glance. “Why don’t you?”

Ryana glared at her. “Because I know you too well, that’s why. You would never feel it. The moment I began to warm your bottom, you would duck under and I’d find myself in the embarrassing situation of spanking Sorak.”

“Oh, you never know, he might enjoy it,” said Kivara. “And so might you, for that matter. Maybe it’s what you really want.”

“Ohhh, you’re insufferable!”

“And you just don’t know how to have any fun.”

“Fun?” Ryana said. “Do you even have any idea what we are doing? Where we are going?”

“What difference does it make?” Kivara asked, looking around at the spectacular view spreading out below them. “Look at this! Is it not incredible?”

“Kivara, we are on our way to Bodach, the city of the undead,” Ryana said firmly.

“Undead?” Kivara said, glancing at her uncertainly.

“Yes, undead. An entire city of them. There will be hundreds, perhaps thousands.”

“Well, what we going there for? That’s stupid!”

“We have to go there to find a talisman known as the Breastplate of Argentum and take it to the Sage.” Kivara made a face. “Him, again. All we ever do is go here, go there, running all over this dreary desert like a stupid erdlu, and for what? What has the Sage ever done for us?”

Ryana tried to fight down her mounting irritation. In the past, whenever Kivara had come out, the others would allow her some freedom, but her unpredictable and willful nature eventually made it necessary for the Guardian to exert control and force her to duck under once again. Lately, however, the last several times Kivara had come out, she had resisted the efforts of the Guardian to hold her in check. It was a worrisome development. And Ryana did not wish to antagonize Kivara at this point by calling for the Guardian. This was certainly not the place for Kivara to respond with one of her violent temper tantrums.

“The Sage works for us all,” Ryana explained patiently. “He is the only power that stands between us and the dragon kings, the only hope for the future of our world. And he is the only one who may be able to help Sorak learn the truth about himself.”

“Well, I don’t see why that matters,” said Kivara stubbornly.

“It matters to Sorak,” replied Ryana, struggling to control her temper. Kivara could be absolutely infuriating.

“It wouldn’t change anything, you know,” Kivara replied. And then she gave Ryana an uneasy sidelong glance. “Would it?”

“I do not know,” Ryana said. “That is a question the tribe shall have to answer for itself when we confront the Sage. Wouldn’t you want to learn where you came from?”

“Why? I am already here.”

That was, of course, vintage Kivara, thought Ryana. Living only in the present. “Perhaps it does not mean anything to you,” she said, “but it is important to Sorak to know and understand his origins. And perhaps to some of the others, as well.”

“Important enough to risk going to a place full of undead?” Kivara said. She shook her head. It looked odd to see him evidence her mannerisms. Even though Ryana had grown up with him, it was something she had never quite gotten used to completely. It always threw her off a bit.

“That is not the only reason, as I told you,” said Ryana. “We go to Bodach in the service of the Sage.”

“This is boring,” said Kivara, her limited attention span used up. “I don’t wish to talk about it anymore.”

“What would you rather talk about?”

“I don’t know. It’s not much fun talking to you. You never have anything interesting to say. You never like to have any fun.”

“I like to have fun as much as anyone,” Ryana said. “However, there is a time and place for such things.”

“Only you never seem to find the time or the place,” Kivara replied petulantly. “Look at what we’re doing, Ryana! We flying! We are as high as birds! Does it not make your spirit soar?”

“Yes,” said Ryana, “but if I only pay attention to the soaring of my spirit, then I may do something careless, and we will both fall to the ground and to our deaths. That is something that you need to learn, Kivara. There is nothing wrong in taking joy in your emotions and in the thrilling sensations you experience, but not at the expense of your better judgment. Because if you do, then you lose all sense of perspective and self-preservation.”

“That is what the Guardian is for,” Kivara said indifferently. “I cannot be bothered with such things.

Not when I am flying!” And she jumped to her knees, throwing out her arms once more. The raft once again rocked dangerously on the wind funnel that bore them up, and Ryana grabbed her for support.

“I think that will be quite enough,” the Guardian said, taking over from Kivara. The voice was still Sorak’s, but the tone was completely different. The pitch had dropped slightly, and her voice was one of calm control and reassurance. Ryana could imagine Kivara protesting loudly within Sorak’s mind, but the Guardian had emerged now and taken firm control. “Forgive me,” she said. “She slipped out.”

“It’s all right, Guardian,” said Ryana. “No harm done.”

“I am not so sure,” the Guardian replied. Her tone sounded slightly concerned. “Kivara is growing more and more difficult to control. Each time she comes out, she more stubbornly resists going back under. She appears to be growing stronger.”

“You think there is a chance that you may lose control?” Ryana asked, unnerved by the idea.

“I do not know for certain,” the Guardian replied. “I certainly hope not. That would upset the balance of the tribe.”

“It could upset a lot more than that,” Ryana said, looking down at the raft uneasily. “She isn’t bad, I know that, but the trouble is she simply does not think.”

“She is very young,” the Guardian replied. “And in a full grown male body, at that. That makes things more difficult.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Ryana said. “Well, we can always look on the bright side. At least we’ve lost Valsavis. There is no way that he can possibly catch us now.”

“Are you quite certain?”

Ryana shrugged. “Even mounted on a fast kank, it would take him days just to reach the silt basins, and then he’d still have to go all the way around them to reach the peninsula where Bodach lies. By the time he gets there, we will surely have completed our task.”

“Perhaps,” the Guardian replied. “But then what? Bodach is still a long way from anywhere. If I recall the map in The Wanderer’s Journal correctly, the nearest settlement to Bodach is North Ledopolus, and the nearest city would be Balic, but it lies on the opposite shore of the Estuary of the Forked Tongue. We would still have to cover a great deal of ground to reach civilization, and that would give Valsavis more than ample opportunity to close the distance between us.”

“I had not thought of that,” Ryana said with concern. “Has Sorak considered this?”

“He has considered it,” the Guardian replied, nodding. “For the present, he is primarily concerned with surviving the undead in Bodach and finding the Breastplate of Argentum. And that will certainly pose challenges enough. Valsavis can be dealt with later, but you must not think that we have seen the last of him. He is too clever and resourceful a man to be so easily discounted. True, he will have a long journey to Bodach, but there is no telling how long it may take us to find the talisman. And we have no way of knowing how much of our time will be spent dealing with the threat of the undead. All Valsavis has to do is head for Bodach, since he already knows that is our destination. And he also knows that the only way back to civilization from Bodach is to the west.”

“We could just fly right over him,” Ryana said. “Perhaps,” the Guardian said. “But we do not know that Kara would be willing to convey us to our next destination. She has already undertaken much on our behalf. Or on behalf of the Sage, I should say. Either way, it would not be fair for us to expect any more from her. If she chooses to return to Salt View once she has done her part in conveying us to Bodach, that is certainly her right.”

“Yes, of course,” Ryana said. “I understand.”

“Don’t worry, little sister,” Sorak said, emerging suddenly. “We will manage. We always have.”

She smiled, pleased to see him back again, especially after her unsettling experience with Kivara. “Did you have a nice nap?”

“Yes. I truly needed the rest. But what of you? You have not slept.”

“You think I could sleep under these circumstances?” she said.

“I suggest you try,” he said. “You will need all of your strength and energy when we reach Bodach.”

“It should be morning when we get there,” she said. “The undead will be at rest.”

“Yes,” said Sorak. “If we are fortunate, we may complete our task in time and leave Bodach before nightfall. But we must not count on that. We cannot afford to assume anything. You really must try to get some rest. At least for several hours.”

She glanced around uncertainly. “Sleep on a tiny wooden raft hundreds of feet above the ground, buffeted by the wind?” She shook her head. “Well, I can try, but in truth, I do not think that it will do any good at all.”

“Here,” he said. “I will hold you. Try to get some sleep.”

She snuggled into his strong arms. It felt good to be there.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

She took a deep breath and shut her eyes. Suddenly, she heard a gentle humming in her mind, very low at first, then rising slowly, until the voice of Lyric, singing beautifully, not aloud, but in her mind, filled her with his song. She held her breath for a moment in amazement and delight. She had never known that he could do that. Then she sighed and settled into Sorak’s arms, secure in their embrace as Lyric sang to her, a gently soothing, haunting melody for her and her alone. The rocking motion of the raft upon the wind seemed almost like the rocking of a cradle. She smiled as she lay in Sorak’s arms, her mind filled with Lyric’s song, and soon she drifted off to sleep and dreamt of the verdant valleys and forests high in the Ringing Mountains. And the winds continued to blow them toward the city of the undead.

“Ryana,” Sorak said, squeezing her gently. “Wake up.”

Her eyelids fluttered open, and for a brief moment, she did not remember where she was. She had gone to sleep with Lyric’s beautiful voice singing in her mind and had dreamt of her young girlhood at the villichi convent in the Ringing Mountains.

In her dream, she had been no more than seven or eight years old, her body still awkward and coltish, her sense of wonder at the world she lived in still undiminished and untainted by its harsher realities. She had dreamt of running down the forest trails around the convent, her long hair streaming behind her in the breeze as her feet pounded on the sun-dappled ground. She had run with all the exuberance and joy of youth, trying to keep up with Sorak, who even then could outsprint her easily with his elvish speed and endurance. It had seemed, then, that they would live out their whole lives that way, studying and training at the convent, nurtured by the loving bond of the villichi sisterhood, bathing in the bracing cold waters of the small lagoon fed by the stream running down from the mountains, running through the peaceful, green valley with its sheltering canopy of trees, sharing simple pleasures and true contentment. It had been a happy and uncomplicated time. And as she awoke, she realized that it was gone forever, faded just like her dream.

“We have arrived,” said Sorak.

She sat up and followed his gaze. They were being blown across the inland silt basins and, ahead of them, now clearly visible, was the ancient, ruined city of Bodach.

It was shortly after sunrise. From the height at which they flew upon their wooden raft, Ryana could see the peninsula jutting out into the silt basins from the north bank of the Estuary of the Forked Tongue, where it met the Sea of Silt. Near the tip of the peninsula, the spires of Bodach rose high above the surrounding countryside. Ryana caught her breath.

At one time, it must have been a truly magnificent city, testimony to the accomplishments of the ancients. But as they approached, they could see that it now possessed merely a shadow of its former glory. Many of the buildings were crumbling into ruin, and the once sparkling edifices were now scarred and worn by blowing sand. There were ancient, rotting wooden docks extending out into the silt basins, where boats had once been moored when the basins and the sea were water instead of slowly shifting sand and dust. At one time, during an earlier age, a time that no one now living on Athas could remember, the city had stood almost completely surrounded by water, a bastion of commerce and flourishing culture. Part of the spit of land now extending to the east must once have been submerged, forming a protected bay that opened out onto the sea.

Ryana tried to imagine what it must have looked like then, with triangular-sailed dhows gliding across the sparkling, blue water of the bay, pulling into the docks and unloading their cargoes. She tried to imagine the bustling crowds around the docks, the merchants loading up their wares to take to market, the fishermen sorting and cleaning their catches and hanging out their nets. As they started to descend, she could see the city streets, once paved with brick and cobblestones, now covered with blowing sand that had piled up into dunes against the building walls. She could see the large and ornate fountains in the plazas, many of them surmounted by beautiful stone sculptures that had once spouted water in graceful arcs, all of them now dry and filled with sand. The streets were totally deserted. There was not a sign of life anywhere. And, of course, she thought, there wouldn’t be. It was now a city of the undead.

(Legend had it that those who first came to Bodach, seeking the fabled treasure of the ancients, fell under a curse the long-dead sorcerers had left behind. They now roamed the streets at night, dead but animated, held in thrall by the curse of the ancients and doomed to spend eternity protecting the treasure they had left behind. They had come to plunder, and they stayed to act as terrifying sentinels, preying on all those who came in their way. And in this manner, over the centuries, their numbers had grown until Bodach was now a city populated by an army of undead, deserted by day and crawling with horror by night.

As their little raft descended farther, skimming over the rooftops and weaving among the crumbling spires and towers, Sorak and Ryana stared down silently at the deserted streets below. The ruined city was filled with an eerie and disquieting stillness. Nothing stirred down there. Not even a rodent or an insect. Whatever lay in wait for them, it lay in hiding.

The raft descended as the force of the funnel-clouds holding it aloft gradually abated, and one by one, the air elementals dispersed, peeling off and disappearing into the distance with a sound like wind whistling through a canyon. Finally, only Kara remained, and she lowered them gently to the ground in a large, central plaza of the ruined city. The raft settled with a slight bump and Sorak stepped off first, followed by Ryana, as the swirling vortex that whirled scant feet away slowed and gradually dissipated, revealed Kara standing in its place. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly and wearily. Even with the help of the elementals, it was obvious that the journey had taken a great deal out of her.

Sorak glanced up at the sky. They had perhaps twelve hours before the sun began to set once more and the darkness unlocked the full extent of Bodach’s terror.

“Are you well, my lady?” Ryana asked Kara with concern.

The pyreen smiled, wanly. “Yes. Merely tired.”

“Perhaps if you took some time to rest-”

The pyreen shook her head, emphatically. “No. There is no time. I do not have much to fear from the undead. I can avoid them easily enough. But you will be vulnerable when darkness falls. We must try to find the talisman by then and be gone.”

Sorak recalled the last time he had faced undead. It had been back in Tyr, when a defiler templar had raised them from their graves and sent them out against him. He had managed to summon Kether barely in the nick of time, and the mysterious spiritual entity had somehow defeated them through the use of powers Sorak could not even begin to comprehend. He had no consciousness of what happened when he manifested Kether, nor did any of the others. And he did not know if Kether had prevailed over the undead because he had been stronger or because he had found a way to neutralize the spell that animated them. Either way, it had happened only once, and he could not be sure it would happen here in the same way. Fighting dozens of undead was one thing, especially when he had the preserver wizards of the Veiled Alliance to help him. Fighting hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of them was something else again.

“Do you know where the Breastplate of Argentum is to be found?” he asked Kara.

“I know where the treasure is,” she replied. “However, if it is not among the treasure, then we may have to search the entire city.”

“But that could take weeks!” Ryana said. “Days, perhaps,” the pyreen replied. “I do have the ability to detect magic, and that should help us greatly in our search. It was how I knew not to trust your friend, Valsavis.”

“He is no friend of ours,” Ryana said. “Wait,” said Sorak. “You mean you detected magic on him?”

Kara nodded. “I could not tell specifically what sort, without being obvious, and that would have alerted him. But there was a strong aura of defiler magic about him.”

“The Shadow King,” Ryana said. “That settles it. There can be no doubt about Valsavis now, not that I ever had much to begin with.”

“Well, we do not need to concern ourselves about Valsavis now,” said Sorak. “There is no time to waste. We had best be about our business.”

“This way,” said Kara, leading them across the plaza.

“What if we do not find the talisman by nightfall?” asked Ryana as they followed her.

“Then we must allow enough time for us to leave the city and be well way from it before darkness falls,” said Kara, “so that we may return and continue our search again in the morning. Of course, that is no guarantee that the undead shall not follow.”

“But if they do not know that we were here-” Sorak began.

“They know,” said Kara, walking quickly. “They know even now. They can sense our presence.”

Ryana glanced around uneasily.

Kara led them across the plaza, from which three streets led off in different directions. Suddenly, Ryana had an eerie sense of deja vu. As they crossed the plaza, she realized that this was exactly like the game they’d played back at the Desert Palace in Salt View. One street led off the plaza to the left, curving slightly, so that they could not see what lay around the bend. Another street led straight away from them, offering an unobstructed view for several hundred yards. And the third street led off to the right... and part of it was blocked by rubble. It seemed too much for coincidence.

“Sorak...” she said.

He nodded. “I know. It is just like that game we played back in Salt View.”

It seems exactly the same,” Ryana said. “Exactly, right down to the pile of rubble there. But how can that be?”

Sorak glanced toward Kara, walking ahead of them with a purposeful stride. “Perhaps she had something to do with it,” he said. “The manager of the Desert Palace was the son of Kallis, the apothecary, above whose shop she lives.”

“You think she purposely designed the game to mirror the reality?” Ryana asked. “But why?”

Sorak shook his head. “I do not know. And I do not know that she designed the game. It is possible that she told Kallis about her journey here all those years ago, and that he may have told his son, perhaps in the form of a story. And perhaps his son recalled it when he designed the game. It could be as innocent as that.”

“Or else there could be a purpose to it,” said Ryana.

“Yes, I suppose there could be,” Sorak said. “Time alone will tell.”

“Could the Guardian probe Kara’s mind?”

“A pyreen?” Sorak shook his head. “Not without her being aware of it. It would be foolhardy to attempt using psionics on a pyreen. They are masters of the art. And there could be no greater display of disrespect”

“No, I suppose not,” Ryana acknowledged. “But I would feel much better if I knew what to expect.”

“Expect the unexpected,” came a voice within both their minds. Kara stopped and turned to smile at them. “The ears of a pyreen are even sharper than the ears of elves,” she said.

They continued walking. Kara chose the street that led to the northeast.

“I meant no offense, lady,” said Ryana.

“I know,” said Kara. “Your reaction is quite understandable, under the circumstances.”

“But the game, my lady...”

“I know about the game,” she said. “And you were right. There is a purpose to it. There are many adventurers who come to Salt View hoping to seek me out and pry the secret of the treasure from me. They do not know, of course, that the Silent One can speak, or that she is pyreen. They have only heard the story, since elevated into legend, that I have been to Bodach, that I had found the treasure and survived. They assume that I am some old woman who had embraced the druid vows after her ordeal, and they imagine they can prevail upon me to write down what I know.”

“So the game is an attempt to draw them out so they can be identified,” said Sorak.

“More than that,” said Kara. “There is no adventurer who can resist the lure of Salt View’s entertainments. And “The Lost Treasure of Bodach’ is played in each of Salt View’s gaming houses. Who would not be tempted, if that was what they came to seek? And by the way they play, the gamemasters can evaluate their responses. You would be surprised how much can be learned about an individual by watching how they play.”

“And what did you learn about us from the way we played?” Sorak asked. “I assume that word had somehow reached you concerning us long before we reached the apothecary shop.”

“Indeed,” she said. “I had been told to expect you long before you arrived in Salt View, but I needed to be sure you were the ones. I did not wish to expose Kallis to unnecessary risk.”

“You care for the old man,” Ryana said with a smile.

“Of course. He is my husband.”

“Your husband?” Ryana was shocked. “Do not be deceived by appearance,” Kara said. “Remember that I am far older than he is, but I am pyreen, while he is human.”

“Then, that would mean that the manager of the Desert Palace is your son?” Ryana asked.

“No. Kivrin is the son of Kallis and his first wife, who died in giving birth to him. But he is my adopted son, and has taken the vows of a preserver.”

“Why marry a human?” Sorak asked. “Why even live in Salt View? I have always thought pyreens avoided humans.”

“Most pyreens do,” she replied. “There are not many of us left. And while we are strong and long-lived and have abilities superior to those of humans, we are not invulnerable. We do not take unnecessary chances, but each of us has a purpose to which we devote our lives. Mine requires that I live in Salt View.”

“Why?”

“You will soon learn that for yourselves,” she answered enigmatically. “And Kallis?” asked Ryana. “Even a pyreen can get lonely,” Kara said. “Kallis is a good man, and his heart is pure. His wife’s death left a great void within his life. I have done my best to fill it.”

Sorak stopped suddenly before an old building that somehow looked familiar, even though he had never before seen it. And then he realized what it was. “The stone tavern,” he said.

Kara smiled. “Yes. But unlike the game scenario, we will not seek shelter here.”

They continued on. “And there is the walled home of the aristocrat,” Ryana said, as they turned a bend in the street.

“Filled with the undead?” asked Sorak.

“Perhaps,” said Kara. “They do move around, you know.”

They bypassed it and continued on.

“There is one thing I have been wondering,” said Sorak as they walked down the twisting, sand-blown street. “Why did you come to Bodach in the first place? What use would a pyreen have for treasure?”

“None,” Kara replied.

“Then ... why?”

“I came seeking something else,” she said. “The true lost treasure of the ancients.”

“The true lost treasure?” Sorak said, puzzled. “That would seem to imply that there is a false one.”

“Yes,” Kara said, enigmatically. “It would, indeed.”

“Why do I feel suddenly as if I am back in the Desert Palace, playing the same game?” asked Sorak.

“Every game is a test,” said Kara. “A test of skill, of luck, of perspicacity. Some games are merely more difficult than others.”

“So this is a test, then?” Sorak said.

“Did you not know that when you came?”

“Whose test? Yours? Or the Sage’s?”

“It is your test,” Kara said, looking at him.

“And what if I should fail?”

“You mean you did not consider that before?” she asked.

Sorak said, “I have considered it at length.”

“Good. One should always give considerations to one’s actions.”

“Is there a purpose to these riddles?” asked Ryana irritably.

“There is a purpose to everything,” said Kara. “We must turn right here.”

They proceeded down another street, deeper into the heart of the ruined city. Sorak asked no more questions. Kara had made it clear that he would discover the answers for himself in due time. She was here to provide guidance, not answers. So be it, he thought. He had come this far, there was no turning back now.

As they walked down the narrow, twisting, turning streets, Sorak recognized many scenes from the game he had played back at the Desert Palace. It was almost as if he could hear the voice of the gamemaster describing them in detail. .

“You come to a juncture where two streets branch off, one ahead of you and to the left, one ahead and to the right. Directly to the left and right there are two dark and narrow alleyways. You cannot see where they lead. Which course do you take?”

They took the street ahead and to the left. By now, several hours had passed. Sorak wondered why she had chosen to set them down where she did when they had this far to walk. He saw no reason why she could not have landed the raft closer to whatever their destination was. The streets were certainly wide enough, and they had passed through several plazas that would have served equally well to land the raft. He was tempted to ask, but didn’t. There had to be a reason. Perhaps he could figure it out for himself.

It was after noon by the time they reached a large building with a columned portico in front of it. There Was a wide flight of stone steps that ran all around the front of the building, leading up to the arched entryway. Kara turned and started to ascend the steps.

“Is it here?” asked Ryana. “Is this the building where they kept the treasure?”

“One of them,” said Kara.

“I am tired of these riddles!” said Ryana, forgetting her respectful tone in her exasperation. “We have wasted half the day! We could easily have landed right here, instead of on the other side of the city! Or is it that you want us to waste time, so that we may encounter the undead? Is that part of the test, too?”

Kara suddenly held up her hand for quiet, cocking her head and listening intently.

“This way, quickly!” she said.

They hurried up the steps. No sooner had they stepped under the shelter of the columned portico than a large shadow passed over the plaza. A loud, screeching cry pierced the air, and they heard the beating of gigantic wings.

The creature came swooping down over the city, casting its huge shadow over the spot where they had stood moments earlier. The ominous sound of its wingbeats filled the air. Its shrill, reverberating cry echoed off the building walls as it passed overhead, momentarily blotting out the sun with its huge bulk.

Ryana glanced up. “A roc!” she said with astonishment as the creature passed over them. “But what is doing here, so far from the mountains?”

“It was sent by the Shadow King,” said Kara. “And it brings your old traveling companion, Valsavis.”

Sorak suddenly understood. “You knew that Nibenay would help him find a way to follow us,” he said. “That is why you left the raft on the other side of the city, to make him think that we are somewhere in that vicinity. You meant to throw him off and buy us time.”

“If he is, indeed, as good a tracker as you say,” said Kara, “then it will not take him much longer to find us than it took us to reach here. And there is still much left to do. Hurry. There is not much time left.”

She stepped through the archway and disappeared into the shadows of the building.