The Nomad

4

The village of Salt View lay remote and isolated at the foot of the southern slope of the Mekillot Mountains. Far to the north, across the Great Ivory Plain, the caravan route from the northern territories ended at the city of Nibenay. To the west, across the mountains and the Great Ivory Plain, the caravan route from Altaruk skirted the westernmost boundary of the salt plain and arced to the northeast, where it ended at the city of Gulg. To the east and south, there was nothing but a desolate wasteland stretching out for miles. Farther south, the salt plain gave way to large, inland silt basins that were dotted by sandy and deserted islands. At the southernmost end of the silt basins, a peninsula extended from the narrow band of land that separated the basins from the Sea of Silt, and at the tip of that peninsula, far removed from civilization, lay the ruins of Bodach, the city of the undead.

No one stopped in Salt View on the way to anywhere, because Salt View was about as out of the way as it was possible to get. Salt View possessed no strategic importance of any kind, so the wars of Athas never touched it. Salt View possessed no natural

92 resources to speak of, so there was no competition for them, unlike the rivalry of Gulg and Nibenay over the agafari forests of the Barrier Mountains. In short, Salt View had nothing whatsoever to recommend it to anyone, except the one commodity that humans and demihumans alike had always gone out of their way for-a wild and rollicking, freewheeling atmosphere of nonstop entertainment and cheap thrills.

The village had been founded by runaway slaves as nothing more than a dirty little settlement of ramshackle huts and adobe buildings, but it had come a long way since then. It was not a large village, but its one main street was packed with theaters and gaming houses, hotels and eating establishments and taverns, bawdy houses and fighting rings, none of which ever closed. Over the years, other buildings had sprung up around the main street, mostly residences for the villagers, but also little shops that sold everything imaginable, from weapons to magic talismans. One could buy a vial of deadly poison or a love philter, or something as innocent and decorative as an earthen pot or sculpture. Almost anything could be had in Salt View-for a price.

The most common way to reach Salt View was from the city of Gulg. There was no established caravan route running across the Great Ivory Plain, but periodically, small parties or caravans were organized by enterprising individuals who, for a fee, would take travelers across the plain and through the Mekillot Pass to Salt View. These small, informal caravans offered no significant temptation to the marauders, since they freighted no significant amount of trade goods, but to avoid being ambushed for the money carried by the travelers, they paid a tribute to the bandits, which was reflected in the fee they charged their patrons.

Another way to reach Salt View was from North Ledopolus, the dwarven village to the southwest, on the northern bank of the Estuary of the Forked Tongue. Small caravans made regular trips to Salt View from North Ledopolus, following a northeasterly course along the southern boundary of the Great Ivory Plain, where it met the sandy desert south of the inland silt basins. Circling around the basins, these small caravans would bypass the marauder camp by many miles and follow a course parallel to the Mekillot Range, then straight north across a short stretch of the Ivory Plain.

The wise traveler paid for a round trip in advance, for it was not at all uncommon for travelers to arrive in Salt View with full purses and then be forced to leave with empty ones. At least, those who had paid their return passage in advance could leave. Those who could not were stuck with some unenviable choices. They could either work their way back as indentured servants to their guides, who took full advantage of the situation to get their money’s worth from these unfortunates, or else, if the guides were not in need of servants-and they had no shortage of applicants-they were forced to remain behind in Salt View and seek some form of employment. Most of the good jobs, however, were already held down by the permanent residents, or else by those who had become permanent residents over time because they could not afford to leave and had managed, slowly and painstakingly, to improve their lots. What remained were dirty, menial jobs, or dangerous ones, such as fighting in the rings or hiring on to help keep order in a tavern. And such jobs often had very high mortality rates, especially in a freewheeling place like Salt View.

In this way, the population of Salt View had slowly grown over the years. Some came for the diversions and were, themselves, diverted. Others were slaves who had escaped their bondage and had found a welcome in a town that was predisposed to accept them. Still others were criminals who sought refuge from the authorities, but finding sanctuary in Salt View was a two-edged sword, it was one of the first places where bounty hunters would look. There were also entertainers of one stripe or another, who had tired of the competition for patrons in the cities or sought the freedom of expression in Salt View, where there were no sorcerer-kings or templars to offend.

Frequently, there were more people in Salt View than the hotels and inns could easily accommodate, and so transient camps had sprung up on the outskirts of the village. They provided cheap if not comfortable or sanitary housing, and they were generally full. It was always possible to squeeze another body or two into a tent. Order was kept in the camps, after a fashion, by mercenary guards hired by the camp-masters, frequently among those who found themselves with empty purses and no way to get back home. And these jobs, too, often had high mortality rates.

Salt View was a wide-open town, but not a very forgiving one to those who could not pay their way. Xaynon had decreed that beggars would not be tolerated in Salt View, as they were a blight upon the village. When their numbers had grown so great that they had practically choked the streets, Xaynon had instituted the Law of Vagrancy, one of the few laws that was formally enforced in Salt View. If a beggar was caught upon the streets of the town, he was given a choice. Either accept a free waterskin and start walking out into the desert, or else find a job-any job-within twenty-four hours. If he then failed to do so, he would be put to work in the indentured labor force, performing whatever tasks the village council deemed required. This could entail being assigned to the sanitation detail, to keep the village streets clean and attractive, or working on construction details to build and maintain buildings. As a result, Salt View was always clean, and refuse was always picked up. Its buildings, while not large and opulent, were kept in good repair and regularly plastered and whitewashed. The brickyards never had a shortage of laborers, and the streets were all neatly paved with the dark, red, sunbaked bricks that they turned out. There were even gardens along the main street that were regularly tended and watered by workers hauling barrels from the springs on the slopes north of the town.

A vagrant would thus remain constructively employed by the village, provided with a tent to sleep in and two square meals a day, until such time as he managed to secure employment. And he was generously given some time at the end of every work day to look for it. If he was fortunate enough to find a job and save up enough money to buy passage back home, he would usually depart, never to return. And that suited the village council very well. They welcomed tourists, but they could do without those who were financially irresponsible and became a burden on the community.

Slowly, in this manner, the village grew a little larger every year. It was still known as a village, but it was more properly a small town. Someday, Xaynon hoped to see Salt View become a city-perhaps named after himself, which was only fitting considering his visionary leadership. He did not know if he would ever live to see that, though chances were excellent that he would, for the growth increased significantly every year. But he wanted to guide its course and leave it as his legacy. And, indeed, it would be quite a legacy for a former slave who had become a gladiator, fought in the arena, gained his freedom, and guided the development of a dirty little mudhole of a village into a handsome and well-organized oasis of entertainment in the desert.

Sorak, Ryana, and Valsavis passed through the gates of Salt View and onto the main street, which ran the entire length of the town. From inside the gates, it was quite a view, even more attractive than the town had looked as seen from the slopes of the foothills.

Before them stretched a wide street paved with clean red brick and lined by freshly whitewashed adobe buildings two or three stories in height. Each building was flat-roofed, and each had a covered walkway in front of it, supported by columns and roofed with rounded, overlapping, red ceramic tiles. Each arched entryway was decorated with a border of glazed tiles in various patterns and colors, as were the windows. Most of the buildings on the main street had covered balconies where people could sit outside, shaded from the sun. Along the street and in the center of it were raised, square planters constructed of plastered adobe brick and holding spreading agafari or pagafa trees, beneath which were planted various desert succulents, wildflowers, and cacti. All around these planters, merchants had set up covered booths with colorful cloth awnings. Here, one could buy food and drink, clothing, jewelry, and various others items.

The main street was crowded with pedestrians. It was not very long, and one could walk from one end to the other in thirty minutes or so, but there were various side streets and alleys leading off it on both sides, to where the other buildings of the town were tightly clustered together. Salt View was growing outward, with side streets radiating from the center like spokes from a wheel.

“Why, it’s beautiful!” Ryana said as she looked all around. “I had imagined an ordinary little village, much like any other, but this is like an aristocrat’s estate!”

“People come to Salt View and leave their money behind,” Valsavis said. “Xaynon puts it to good use. Most travelers arriving in Salt View for the first time have the same impression as you. But first impressions can often be deceptive.”

“How so?” asked Sorak.

“As the priestess said, during the day, Salt View resembles some wealthy aristocrat’s estate, well kept and inviting, but when night falls, its character changes dramatically, as you will soon see for yourselves. I would advise you to keep an eye to your purse, and a hand near your sword.”

“That is a good philosophy to follow no matter where one finds himself,” said Sorak.

“Then practice it here especially,” Valsavis said. “And be wary of temptation. You will find every sort imaginable here. Salt View will welcome you with open arms so long as you have plenty of money to spend. But when you have spent it all, or lost it, you will not find the place so friendly.”

“We have no money now,” said Sorak.

“That situation will be shortly remedied,” Valsavis said. “We will sell these kanks at the nearest stables, and as they are soldiers, they will be sure to fetch a decent price. Then we will dispose of the arms that our marauder friends have so thoughtfully provided us with, as well as their supplies and the game they were taking back to their camp. I imagine that should fill our purses well enough to see us comfortably through the next few days, if we do not spend profligately.”

“You said that there are gaming houses here?” said Sorak.

Valsavis snorted. “Every other building on this main street is a tavern or a gaming house,” he said. “And you can be sure that every tavern has at least a game or two. But I thought you came here to preach the preserver cause and not to game.”

“One does not win many converts by preaching to a multitude these days,” said Sorak. “Especially in a place such as this, where appetites are bound to be jaded and people can be easily distracted. I prefer to influence individuals, so that I can speak to them one on one and see their eyes.”

“And you hope to do this in a gaming house?” Valsavis said. “Good luck.”

“There are more ways than one to win people to your cause,” said Sorak. “And sometimes it helps to win some money, first. People always listen attentively to winners.”

“Suit yourself,” Valsavis said. “I came here for the entertainment, and it should prove very entertaining to watch you at the tables. Just remember this: I do not make loans.”

“I promise not to ask,” said Sorak. “Besides, I am not entirely inexperienced at gaming. I once worked in a gaming house in Tyr.”

“Indeed?” Valsavis said as they led their string of kanks to the stables by the walls around the town. “I once lived in Tyr and served in its city guard. Which house did you work in?”

“The Crystal Spider.”

“Hmm,” Valsavis said. “I do not know it. It must have been opened after I had left the city. Of course, that was a long time ago.”

They sold their kanks, and Valsavis negotiated a good price. The stablekeeper was intimidated by his manner and appearance and did not attempt to cheat them. The haggling was extraordinarily brief. Next, they disposed of the remainder of the marauders’ goods in the same fashion and divided up the proceeds. By the time they had completed their transactions, it was late afternoon.

“Well, we had best see about getting lodgings for the night,” Valsavis said. “I do not know about you, but I prefer to spend the night in comfort after the long and dusty journey. However, in this town, there are different degrees of comfort. Of course, it all depends on how much you are willing to spend.”

“How much do you intend to spend?” asked Sorak.

“Enough to have a soft bed, a warm bath, and a beautiful woman with strong and skillful hands to ease the soreness in my aching, tired, old muscles,” said Valsavis.

“Then we shall have the same,” said Sorak.

“Except for the beautiful woman with the strong and skillful hands,” said Ryana, looking at him archly.

“But I already have one,” Sorak replied, raising his eyebrows as he glanced at her.

They walked down the main street until Valsavis found a place that struck his fancy. It was an establishment called the Oasis, and as they entered through the archway, they came into a well-tended garden of raked sand, desert plants, and wildflowers, with a paved path running through it and up to the double, intricately carved front doors. A doorman admitted them, and they came into a spacious tiled lobby with a high ceiling of oiled cactus ribs and heavy wooden beams. A small pool was in the center of the floor, surrounded by plants set in a sand garden designed to create the illusion of a miniature oasis in the desert. An open gallery ran around the lobby on the second story, leading to rooms in either wing of the building, and there were corridors leading off to the left and right from the lobby itself.

They took two rooms. Valsavis took the most expensive one they had, while Sorak and Ryana settled for one that was slightly cheaper. Theirs was on the first floor, Valsavis had his room up on the second. If he was bothered by this separation, which would render it difficult for him to keep an eye on them, he did not show it.

“I, for one, am going to enjoy a long bath and a massage,” he said. “And then I will see about my dinner. What plans do you two have?”

“I thought we would rest after our journey,” Sorak said.

“And a bath sounds wonderful,” Ryana added. “Would you care to join me for dinner?” asked Valsavis. “And afterward, perhaps, we can tour some of the gaming houses.”

“Why not?” said Sorak. “What time should we meet?”

“There is no reason to hurry,” said Valsavis. “Take your time. Salt View never closes. Why not meet in the lobby at sundown?”

“Sundown, then,” said Sorak. They went their separate ways to their rooms. Sorak and Ryana’s room was floored with red ceramic tile and had a large, arched window looking out onto the garden. There were two big, comfortable beds with ornate headboards carved from agafari wood and cushioned furniture fashioned by master craftsmen from pagafa wood inlaid with contrasting agafari pieces. A woven rug was on the floor, and there were braziers and oil lamps for light. The ceiling was planked, with wooden beams running across it. It was a room fit for an aristocrat. The baths were located on the ground floor, in the rear of the building. After leaving their cloaks and packs in their room, they went down to bathe, taking their weapons with them. Neither Sorak nor Ryana were about to leave them unattended.

The cavernous baths were heated by fires stoked beneath the floor, and it felt wonderful to soak in them as the steam rose from the water. On a desert planet, where water was so scarce and precious, this was an unimagined luxury and one of the main reasons why the rooms here were so expensive. It was the first time since they had left the grotto in the Stony Barrens dial they had a chance to wash the dirt of their journey away. They did not see Valsavis, but there were private chambers located at the far end of the baths, through several small archways, where those clients who had paid for the best rooms could enjoy a superior class of service, with beautiful, naked young attendants to scrub their backs and wash their hair and perform any other services that they might have in mind, for certain additional fees, of course.

“Mmm,” Ryana sighed with contentment as she lay back on the tiled step in water up to her neck. “I could get used to this.”

“I much prefer to bathe in the bracing, cold waters of a desert spring or mountain stream,” said Sorak with a grimace. “It is unnatural to bathe in heated water.”

“Perhaps,” Ryana said, “but it feels soooo good!” Sorak snorted. “All this water,” he said, “delivered here by aqueducts and heated by fires underneath the floor .. . Even in the largest cities, most people have to wash from buckets they must draw from public wells and carry back to their homes.” He shook his head. “I feel like some pampered and decadent aristocrat. And I must say, I do not at all care for the feeling.”

“Relax and enjoy it, Sorak,” said Ryana. “We are paying dearly for the privilege. And after the way those misbegotten, flea-bitten marauders treated me, I enjoy thinking that the sale of their goods and belongings paid for all of this.”

“We did not come here to luxuriate in hot baths and quarters fit for a templar,” Sorak said. “We came to find the Silent One.”

“There will be time enough for that,” Ryana said. “With Valsavis tagging along with us?” Sorak said. “What difference does it make?” she asked. “He has no reason to prevent us from finding the Silent One. If he is merely a mercenary here to enjoy himself, as he claims, then he should not care what we do, one way or the other. But if he is an agent of the Shadow King, then it would be in his best interest that we find the druid, because, as you have pointed out yourself, he will want to follow us so that we may lead him to the Sage.”

“I will be very curious to see what he does when he discovers that we are bound for Bodach,” Sorak said.

Ryana shrugged. “If he offers to come with us, then we will have all the more reason to suspect his motives.”

“Yes, but it will still not prove them conclusively,” Sorak said. “He might simply be tempted by the treasure of the ancient city.”

“As you said before,” Ryana replied, “there is nothing we can do about Valsavis for the moment. And we may be suspecting him unjustly. We shall simply have to wait and see what he will do.”

“Yes, but I do not like not knowing,” Sorak said.

“Nor do I,” Ryana replied, “but worrying about it will change nothing. Try to relax and enjoy yourself. We will not have such an opportunity again anytime soon, if ever.”

She leaned back into the water and sighed deeply with serene contentment. But Sorak kept staring at the archways in the rear, wondering what Valsavis really had on his mind.

Valsavis lay stretched out, naked on his stomach, upon thick towels laid on a wooden table while two beautiful young women worked on his muscular back and legs. They were skilled in their trade, and it felt good to have their strong fingers deeply probing his muscles, easing the soreness and the tension. He knew that he was in superb condition for a man of his age-for a man of any age, for that matter-but he was still not immune to the effects of time. He was no longer as flexible as he once was, and his muscles now developed lumps of tension far more frequently than they had when he was younger.

I am getting too old for this trade, he thought. Too old for chasing across the desert, too old for sleeping on the hard ground, and too tired for playing at intrigue. He had not expected to fall in with the elfling and the priestess as he had. His initial plan had been to follow them, at a distance, and then, to add some spice to the chase, allow them to discover that he was on their trail, so he could watch what they would try to do to shake him. However, a much more interesting opportunity had presented itself, and he had been quick to take advantage of it.

When he had first found the elfling lying on the ground with a crossbow bolt in his back, he had feared that he was dead. There had been no sign of the priestess, and it had not been difficult to guess what must have happened. A quick examination of the ground in the vicinity had immediately confirmed his guess. The two preservers had been ambushed, and the priestess had been taken. It might have ended there and then, but luckily, the elfling wasn’t dead. And when he realized that, Valsavis had quickly changed his plans.

Why not join them? Help the elfling trail the ambushers and rescue the priestess. That would place them in his debt and make it easier for them to trust him. He frowned thoughtfully as one of the girls started working on his massive arms while the other one massaged his feet. He may have succeeded in joining them, but he was not so sure that he had won their trust.

That night, when they had slept in the slain marauders’ camp, they had remained awake for a long time by the fire, talking softly. He could feel them staring at him. He had strained to hear what they were saying, but their voices were too low. Even so, he had studied people too long and too well not to pick up certain indications in their manner.

He felt reasonably sure now that they suspected him. To his knowledge, he had done nothing to give himself away but he was aware of it when the elfling had tried to probe his thoughts. It had felt, at first, like someone tugging very slightly at a string within his mind. He had still been a young man when he discovered that he was immune to psionic probes. Not even the Shadow King could do it, and he had tried, unsuccessfully, on a number of occasions. Of course, when Nibenay had tried it, he had been none too gentle, and the dragon king was strong. Valsavis well recalled how the experience had left his head throbbing for hours afterward. Perhaps it was one of the reasons Nibenay employed him. Even a master psionicist could not read his thoughts. Valsavis had no idea why this was so, but he was grateful for it. He did not like the idea of anyone being able to know what he was thinking. That sort of thing gave enemies an enormous advantage.

Still, he had not expected such an effort from the elfling, and it had surprised him. The Shadow King had warned him that the elfling was a master of the Way, but that had not worried Valsavis overmuch. He had dealt with such people before. They were often formidable, but not invulnerable. And besting them was always a fascinating challenge.

However, when the elfling had first tried to probe his thoughts, Valsavis had expected that it would feel no different from the times when others had tried to do the same. He had been wrong.

The first attempt had felt like the familiar, faint tugging at an imaginary string within his mind. He had carefully avoided displaying any reaction, because he did not want the elfling to know he was aware of it. But the second tug had been much stronger, as strong as when Nibenay had tried it, and Nibenay was a sorcerer-king. That had surprised Valsavis, and it had been difficult to keep that surprise from showing. There had then followed several more attempts, each one stronger than the one preceding it, until it felt almost as if someone were trying to pull his brain out through his skull. And for the first time in his life, Valsavis had not known if he could resist.

He had no idea of the nature of his apparent immunity, and so there was no way he could control it. It was not something he did consciously. It was simply the way he was. But he had never before encountered anything like the elfling’s attempts to batter down his natural mental defenses. It had taken a supreme effort of will to avoid displaying a physical reaction. It had hurt. He had been in agony for most of the next day. Only now had the pain fully abated.

The elfling’s will was incredibly strong, far stronger than he had given him credit for, stronger than he could have imagined. Not even the Shadow King had tried to probe him with such force. It was astonishing. Small wonder Nibenay feared him, and had brought his best assassin out of retirement to deal with him. The probes had failed, however, and Valsavis did not think the elfling would try again. And that was fortunate, for he had no wish to repeat the experience. It had been difficult to get through the day without revealing his discomfort. He had taken staff blows to the head that had hurt less. It was most unsettling.

The repeated probes had also meant that the elfling did not trust him. One did not try to smash his way to another’s mind if he felt trust. The question was, exactly what did the elfling suspect? Was he suspicious merely because he had encountered a stranger in the wilderness who had offered aid for no apparent reason? It was certainly not illogical for Sorak to suspect he might have hidden motives. But did he suspect exactly what those motives were?

Valsavis had to admit that possibility. The elfling was no fool. Neither, for that matter, was the priestess. The elfling had noted how good a tracker he was. Perhaps that had been a mistake, Valsavis thought. He should have allowed the elfling to track down the marauders, but he had revealed the extent of his ability when he had told him how many marauders there had been. That had been foolish. It had been showing off. He should have resisted the temptation, but it had simply slipped out. Now the elfling knew he was an experienced tracker, and that meant Sorak realized he would certainly have been capable of tracking them from Nibenay, across the Ivory Plain.

He may have diverted some suspicion by telling him he came from Gulg, but then Sorak could easily assume that he was lying. No, they suspected, thought Valsavis. He was certain of it. Yet, in a way, that only made the game more interesting. Especially because it placed him completely in control of the situation.

They suspect, he thought, but they do not know. And, unlike him, they would not act on mere suspicion. If he suspected that someone he was traveling with might be an enemy, Valsavis would have no compunction about slitting his throat while he slept, just to be on the safe side. Sorak and Ryana, on the other hand, were avowed preservers, followers of the Druid Way, and that meant they had scruples. They subscribed to a morality that he was not encumbered with, a morality that gave him a marked advantage.

It would be fascinating to play out the game and watch them watching him, waiting to see if he made some slip and gave himself away. Only he would make no such slip. He would watch them squirm in their uncertainty, and he would sleep soundly in their presence, knowing that he could safely turn his back on them because they were preservers and would not attempt to harm him without demonstrable and justifiable cause. Even now, they were probably wondering about him, discussing him, trying to decide what they would do if he chose not to remain in Salt View, but offered to go with them when they moved on to Bodach.

He had already decided what he would do about that. He would stick to them with the tenacity of a spider cactus, following them everywhere they went while they were in Salt View, merely professing concern for their safety as his fellow travelers. They would not protest, because to do so would mean explaining why they did not want him around, and they were still uncertain of him, uncertain enough to think that he might just be exactly what he claimed to be. And when they left for Bodach, he would go along with them, claiming that it would be insanity for them to refuse his help in such a place, and that they owed him at least that much for having come to their aid. He would insist that they owed him a chance at the legendary treasure, a chance at one last, glorious adventure for an old man who would soon retire to live out the twilight of his years in solitude, with nothing but his memories.

They might not believe him, but they would have no way of being certain that he was not telling them the truth. They might still refuse him, but he did not think they would. They would certainly need all the help that they could get in the city of the undead, whether he was an agent of the Shadow King or not. And they would doubtless realize that there was no way they could prevent him from following them ... short of killing him, of course, and their preserver sense of morality would not allow for that.

He smiled. Yes, he thought, this was going to be enjoyable. It would be a fitting cap to his career. When this was over, the Shadow King would show his gratitude and reward him richly. His greatest enemy would be eliminated, and Nibenay would even be generous enough to ask him to name his prize among the templar harem. He might even be generous enough to offer him a further bonus, and if he did not offer, Valsavis would not hesitate to ask.

He already knew what he would ask for. He would ask for a spell from the dragon king to bring his youth back. He already had a great deal of money hidden away, money he had earned in the service of the Shadow King, money he never had any reason to spend because he had lived simply and quietly. It was money that he had painstakingly set aside for his old age, when he became infirm and could no longer care for himself. On the other hand, with his youth back, he could use that money to buy himself a very different sort of life. He could come back to Salt View and settle down, perhaps purchase an inn or build a gaming house, which would, over the years, produce more than ample funds to see him through his second old age. And meanwhile, he could enjoy himself and do anything he chose to do. It was a pleasant fantasy, and one that was by no means out of reach.

The two girls were finishing their rubdown. Their touches were become lighter and softer, more like caresses. They were trying to place him in a mood of receptivity for further services of a more intimate nature. And, he thought, why not? It had been a long time since he had sported with a woman, much less with two at the same time. The elfling and the priestess would keep. They had already agreed to meet with him for dinner and an evening’s entertainment on the town. Besides, he had taken care to bribe the clerk to inform him if they tried to go anywhere without him. He sighed deeply and turned over onto his back. The two girls smiled at him and began to stroke his chest, slowly working their way down. And then his hand began to tingle. “Leave me,” he said, at once. They started to protest, but he insisted. “Leave me, I said. I want a few moments to be alone and rest. I will call you when I need you.”

Reassured that they were not being summarily dismissed, the two girls left, and Valsavis brought his hand up before his face. The eye on his ring opened. “What progress have you made?” the Shadow King inquired.

“Much,” Valsavis replied. “I have joined the elfling and priestess as a traveling companion. They were set upon by marauders, and I had the opportunity to come to their aid. We are now in Salt View together, and in an hour’s time, we shall be sitting down to dinner.”

“And they suspect nothing?” asked the Shadow King. “They have no idea who you really are?”

“They may suspect, but they do not know for sure,” Valsavis replied. “And that only makes things more interesting.”

“Have they attempted to contact the Silent One?” asked Nibenay.

“Not yet,” Valsavis said, “but I have no doubt that will try to do so soon. Perhaps even tonight.”

“You must not let them slip away,” said Nibenay. “You must not lose them, Valsavis.”

“I will not lose them, my lord. You may count on that. In fact, I intend to accompany them to Bodach.”

“What? You mean travel with them?”

“Why not? Everyone has heard of Bodach’s legendary treasure. Why shouldn’t that tempt a mercenary like myself, who has no other immediate prospects?”

“Take care. You are playing a dangerous game, Valsavis,” said the Shadow King.

“I find dangerous games amusing, my lord.”

“Do not be insolent with me, Ifalsavis! I did not send you out to be amused, but to follow the elfling to his master.”

“I am doing just that, my lord. And you must admit that it is easier by far to follow someone you are traveling with.”

“See that you do not become overconfident, Valsavis. The elfling is far more dangerous than you may realize. He is not someone to be trifled with or underestimated.”

“I have already discovered that, my lord.”

“Remember the Breastplate ofArgentum,” said the Shadow King. “It must not be allowed to fall into his hands.”

“I have not forgotten that, my lord. Rest assured, if he should find it before I do, he shall not keep it long. I have never failed you before, have I?”

“There is a first time for everything,” Nibenay replied. “See to it that this is not your first time, Valsavis. If it is, then I promise you that you shall not survive it.”

The golden eyelid closed.

“Ho, girls!” Valsavis called out.

The two girls came running back into the small, private room, wearing nothing but their smiles.

“I am ready for you now,” Valsavis said.