The Outcast

8

After Sorak won his first round, Krysta moved on to circulate among her other patrons. She wished him luck and made him promise that he would see her again before he left. He remained at the table long enough to win a few more rounds and lose Some others, playing in such a manner that despite leaving the table on a loss, he still wound up coming out ahead. Then he moved on to a different table. There were other games to be played, some fairly simple, where the players wagered on a little wooden ball that spun around inside a wheel, others more complicated, where cards were used and the wagering was based on strategy. Sorak decided to stick with the game that he already knew. It all went smoothly, and no one seemed to be aware that he was cheating, though Krysta’s eyes were sharp on him the whole night.

Before long, his purse was heavy with his winnings, despite his having converted all the ceramics to silver and gold coins. He had to transfer most of his winnings to his pack because his purse would not hold them all. As he made his way toward the door, Tigra at his side, he suddenly found his way blocked by three half-giants, all armed with heavy clubs of knurled aeafari wood.

“The lady would like to speak with you,” one of them said.

He ducked under quickly so the Guardian could probe the half-giant’s mind. There was not much there. Simple, brutish thoughts and simple, brutish appetites. The half-giant knew nothing about what he had done. He was simply following orders to bring Sorakto “the lady.”

A low warning growl rumbled from Tigra’s throat “It’s all right, Tigra,” he said. He looked up at the half-giant and smiled. “Lead the way,” he said.

The guards escorted him toward the back of the room where there was a stairway leading to the upper floors. They went up to the second floor and down a long corridor, then stopped before two heavy wooden doors about halfway down the hall. One of the half-giants knocked, and the door was opened by a half-elf male. Sorak noted that the half-elf was armed with an iron sword and several daggers. The half-giants did not enter with him.

He came into a luxuriously appointed sitting room, with three more half-elf males standing guard inside. All three were armed. At the far end of the sitting room was a curtained archway, flanked by two heavy iron braziers. The half-elf beckoned Sorak through the beaded curtain. Sorak went through with Tigra while the others remained outside in the sitting room. On the other side of the curtained archway was a large room with a heavy, intricately carved wooden desk at the back, placed before an arched window looking out over the gaming hall below. The window was covered with a beaded curtain, so that it would be a simple matter for someone to pull aside a couple of strands and secretly watch the action in the hall below.

There were two chairs placed in front of the desk, and there were two more doors on either side of the room. Krysta sat behind the desk, pouring water from a chilled pitcher into a fluted goblet. She held it out to him.

“Since you do not seem to care for my mead, I took the liberty of having some water sent up,” she said.

“And I have had some raw z’tal meat brought up for your tigone. Please, sit down.”

As he took the chair she indicated, Tigra began to eat noisily from the large bowl placed on the floor beside the chair.

“You broke your promise,” Krysta said. “You said that you would see me before you left.”

“I had forgotten,” Sorak lied.

“Am I so unmemorable, then?” she asked with a wary smile. Without waiting for a reply, she went on. “I understand you did quite well at the tables tonight”

Sorak shrugged. “It must have been beginner’s luck.”

“Oh, I think luck had very little to do with it,” she replied, opening a small, lacquered wooden box and offering it to him. It was full of neatly rolled, black fibrous sticks. Sorak shook his head, and Krysta pulled back the box, taking one for herself. She lit it from a fragrant candle burning on her desk and drew in a deep lungful of the pungent-smelling smoke, then exhaled it through her nostrils. “Did you really think that you could use psionics in my gaming house and get away with it?”

“She knows we cheated!” said Kivara, in a frightened tone.

“How could she know?” Eyron replied. “The Guardian would have felt it if someone tried to probe us. She is merely guessing. She hopes to trick us into an admission of guilt.” “I don’t understand,” said Sorak with a frown. “Please,” said Krysta, a wry grimace on her face. “Do not insult my intelligence by playing the innocent. I pay a great deal of money to employ the finest game lords in the city. Each of them is expert at computing odds, and at watching how the dice roll. The more clumsy attempts—such as when someone palms our dice and substitutes weighted ones—my game lords can spot at once. And they can usually tell within three or four passes if the dice are receiving a psionic assist. You were very good. It took them three whole rounds before they were certain you were cheating.”

Sorak cursed himself for being careless. It had never even occurred to him that his cheating could be exposed by such ordinary means. He had been on guard against psionic probes when he should have been reading the thoughts of the game lords, as well. The problem was that the Guardian could only exert one psionic ability at a time, and the game had moved so quickly there had been little opportunity to make telepathic probes, even if it had occurred to him to try. “You knew I was cheating, yet you allowed me to play on,” he said. “Why?”

I was curious about you,” she replied. “Also, I did not wish to risk an unpleasant incident. You carry a formidable-looking sword, and I did not want to have any trouble with your tigone. I had no wish to see my guards or any of my patrons injured.”

“I see,” said Sorak. “However, you still allowed me in here with both my tigone and my sword.” He glanced back at the curtained archway. “I suppose those guards are out there listening, ready to burst in at any moment”

“If necessary,” she replied. “However, I do not think it will be necessary.”

As she spoke, Tigra made a groaning sort of growl, tried to get up, then keeled over with a rumbling sigh. “Tigra!” Sorak jumped up out of his chair and knelt by the fallen tigone’s side. The bowl was completely empty. “The meat!” he said as realization dawned. “You poisoned it!” His hand went to his sword.

“Stay your sword hand, Sorak,” Krysta said calmly, “or my guards will have arrows in your back before you can even draw your blade.”

He glanced back over his shoulder and saw several crossbows protruding through the beaded curtain. They were aimed directly at his back.

“Your psionic powers may turn aside one arrow,” she said, “but not several at once. Your pet has not been harmed. I could easily have poisoned it, but I had no wish to kill the beast. The meat was simply laced with sleeping powder, enough to drug at least four grown men. The tigone should suffer no ill effects except, perhaps, an unsettled stomach. Now please, sit down.”

Sorak resumed his seat. “You want me to surrender my winnings? Take them.” He dropped his pack down on her desk, then tossed his purse beside it.

“I do not really care about the money,” she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “It represents no loss to me, only to the players you cheated. They would have lost, in any case. They always do. It is a rare gambler who knows enough to quit while he’s ahead. Had you played against the house, it would have been a different matter, but I noticed you were wise enough to avoid those games.”

“Merely because I was not familiar with them,” Sorak said.

She made a dubious face. “You expect me to believe that?”

Sorak shrugged. “Whether you believe it or not, it happens to be the truth. I have never been to a gaming house before, and I am beginning to regret that I did not heed Zalcor’s warning. If you do not care about the money, then what is it you want of me?”

As he asked the question, he ducked under and allowed the Guardian to come briefly to the fore so that she could look into Krysta’s mind. What she found there came as an interesting surprise.

“I want some answers, to begin with,” replied Krysta. “We can start with who you really are, and why you came here. You are no simple herdsman, that much is certain.”

“No,” said Sorak. “But the rest of what I told you was essentially the truth. As a child, I was cast out into the desert and left to die. I was found by a pyreen elder who nursed me back to health and brought me to the villichi convent. Until I came to Tyr, I had spent my entire life there.”

“Ridiculous,” said Krysta. “You shall have to do better than that. Everyone knows the villichi are a female sect. There are no male villichi.”

“I did not say I was born villichi,” Sorak replied calmly. “Merely that I was raised in their convent.”

“The villichi would never accept a male among them.”

“They accepted me. They took me in because I had great psionic talent and because I was an outcast. The villichi know what it means to be shunned for being different. The pyreen elder asked that I be given shelter at the convent, and because the villichi honor the pyreen, the high mistress granted her request.” Krysta thoughtfully pursed her lips.

“The villichi follow the Path of the Preserver and the Way of the Druid, as do the pyreen. That much, at least, is true. But I find the rest of your story difficult to accept.”

“Why should it matter to you one way or the other?” Sorak said. “Unless, of course, your interest goes beyond mere curiosity and the matter of my cheating in your gaming house. Why not ask Councilman Rikus to join us so that he can ask his questions for himself? He must be growing tired of standing with his ear pressed up against that door.”

Krysta’s eyes grew wide. Before she could reply, Rikus opened one of the side doors and stepped into the room.

“I was right,” he said. “You never were a mere herdsman. So you were schooled in the Way by the villichi? And doubtless taught by them to fight, as well. That makes you very dangerous.”

“Perhaps, but only to my enemies,” Sorak replied.

“Indeed,” said Rikus. “And how do you regard me?”

“As one who suspects my motives,” Sorak said with a smile.

Rikus grinned mirthlessly. “Well then, if you can read my thoughts, you know what my next question is.”

Sorak briefly ducked under again so that the Guardian could read the former gladiator’s thoughts. They were guarded, but it took less than an instant for the Guardian to perceive what the councilman was thinking, and to see that the mul could be trusted.

“It was pure chance that I came here,” Sorak replied. “I could not have known you planned to enlist Krysta’s aid in having me watched since you had not decided it until after I left the council chamber. It was only chance that brought us both to the same place. Or perhaps it was fate taking a hand.”

Rikus grunted. “Perhaps,” he said. “But I still have my doubts about the rest of what you told us.”

“What I told the council was the truth,” said Sorak. “However, I am sure you will discover that for yourself.”

“I intend to,” Rikus said. “Still, I find it difficult believing your only motive for coming to us was a reward.”

“I do not know how long I shall have to remain in Tyr,” Sorak replied. “In the forest and the desert, I can live off the land. In the city, I require money.”

“I see,” said Rikus. “And if you were to receive your reward tonight, would you be leaving in the morning?”

“If given a choice, I would prefer to stay,” said Sorak.

“Somehow, I thought as much,” Rikus said. “But why? What business do you have in Tyr?”

I came to make contact with the Veiled Alliance.” Rikus looked surprised at his candor, then he frowned. “Are you a sorcerer, as well?”

“No,” Sorak replied. “I seek the Sage.”

“The Sage?” said Krysta. She snorted with derision. “You mean the legend of the so-called “hermit wizard’ who is becoming an avangion? That story is nothing but a myth.”

“You are wrong,” Sorak replied. “The Sage lives, and I must find him.”

“And you think the Veiled Alliance can help you?” Rikus asked.

“I have reason to believe there are those in the Veiled Alliance who may possess information that will help me in my quest.” A quick psionic probe of Rikus’s and Krysta’s thoughts revealed that neither of them had any connection with the Veiled Alliance. Krysta had no strong feelings about them, one way or the other. She was a survivor who looked out for herself first. Rikus had an innate distrust of magic-users, whether defiler or preserver, though this uncertainty was tempered by his experience with the sorceress, Sadira. His concern about the Veiled Alliance was tied in with his concerns about the government of Tyr, of which he was a vital part. He saw the Alliance as a potentially disruptive influence, but he had far greater concerns about the templars, to whom the Alliance was unequivocally opposed.

“Assuming the Sage truly exists, why do you seek him?” Rikus asked.

Sorak saw no harm in telling him the truth. “I seek to know my origins,” he replied. “I do not know who my parents were. I remember nothing of my life before the pyreen elder found me in the desert. I do not know into what tribe I was born, or even which race it was. I know one of my parents was a halfling and the other was an elf, but I do not know which was which. I do not know what became of them. I have been plagued by these questions all my life.”

“And you believe the Sage can help you find the answers?” asked Rikus. He frowned. “Would not any sorcerer do as well?”

“The pyreen told me that only the Sage possesses preserver magic strong enough to part the veils of forgotten memory and time,” said Sorak. “And I could never seek help from a defiler. I may not have been born villichi, but I was raised among them. Their beliefs are my own. I am sworn to follow the Way of Druid and the Path of the Preserver.”

“You are, at least, forthright enough to admit you seek contact with the Veiled Alliance,” Rikus said. “Or perhaps you are merely being naive. In either case, I cannot help you. As a member of the council, I could hardly assist you in making contact with an underground group that functions outside the laws of the city, even if I had any information that would be of use to you.”

“If you did, I would already possess it,” said Sorak with a smile.

Rikus grimaced. “Yes, I suppose you would. Well, so long as you keep out of trouble, you can stay. I cannot say I am at ease about your presence here, but Tyr is a free city now, and you have not broken any laws.”

“What I did tonight was not a crime?” asked Sorak.

“No crime has been officially reported to me,” Rikus said with a quick glance at Krysta. Then, turning back to Sorak, he added, “I advise you to make sure that it remains that way. When the templars have completed their investigation, you shall receive your reward. In the meantime, it seems you have acquired sufficient means to pay for your lodging and your board while you remain in Tyr. What you do about the Veiled Alliance is your own concern. Just see to it that it does not become mine.”

He turned and left the room.

“It would seem you have impressed him favorably,” said Krysta.

“He has a peculiar way of showing it,” Sorak replied.

She smiled. “That is Rikus for you,” she said. “One does not learn charm fighting in the arena.”

“Where did you learn it, then?” asked Sorak.

“There is not much point in trying to keep anything from you, is there?” she replied. “Yes, I fought in the arena. As for my charm, I came by it naturally, I suppose. A female must use whatever weapons she can in this world, especially if she is a lowly half-breed. A full-blooded elf would consider me contaminated by my human blood, and a human male might desire me, but only to satisfy his appetites. He would never accept me as an equal.”

“I know what it means to be different,” Sorak said. “I have seen the way people look upon me in the streets.”

“Yes, we are two of a kind,” she said in a low voice. “And if you know my thoughts...”

Sorak did not need to be a telepath to see what was on her mind. “I am flattered,” he said, “but I have sworn a vow of celibacy.”

“Vows can be broken.”

“Then they are not vows,” said Sorak, “merely self-deluding resolutions.”

“I see,” said Krysta. “Well, it is a pity. You have no idea what you’re missing. Still, a man who makes a vow and keeps it is a man worthy of respect. If you cannot accept me as a lover, then perhaps you can accept me as a friend.”

“A friend who has been charged to watch me so that she might report on my movements to the council?” Sorak asked.

“No worse than a friend who came to my establishment under false pretenses so that he could cheat at my gaming tables,” Krysta countered. “Or a friend from whom I can hope to have no secrets because he can perceive my every thought.”

“Your point is well taken,” Sorak said, not bothering to correct her mistaken assumption. In fact, the Guardian could read her mind only when he ducked under and she made a deliberate effort. “It does not seem to be a very promising beginning to a friendship, does it?”

“let us see if we cannot make amends,” said Krysta. “Have you secured lodgings in the city?”

“Not yet, but I was going to take a room at the inn at the far end of the street”

“That pestilential hole? If you are not murdered in your sleep, you will be devoured by the vermin. I will offer you one of the rooms on the upper floor, which I reserve for my special patrons. You may have your meals as well, or take them elsewhere if you like, but you will not find better food than my kitchens prepare. And your tigone is welcome to stay with you, though you will be charged for any damage it may cause.”

“Your offer is very generous,” said Sorak. “But what must I do to make amends on my part?”

“In return, during the time that you are on the premises, frequent the tables and play as many of the games as possible. The card games, in particular. Professional gamblers find it easier to cheat at those. The house will stake you in your play, and you may keep half of your winnings.”

“I see,” said Sorak. “In other words, it is all right for your patrons to be cheated, so long as it is only you who cheats them.”

“I am not in this business to lose money,” Krysta said. “I do not mind if my patrons win occasionally, but I do not wish to see anyone win too much. And if they do, it is probably because they have found some way to cheat successfully. The odds always favor the house, but from time to time, magic-users, card-sharps, and psionicists can be a problem. I can always use some help in that regard.”

“And at the same time, it would be easier for you to keep an eye on me for Rikus,” Sorak said with a smile.

“True,” she replied, “but if you have nothing to hide, why should that concern you? Rikus only cares about the security of Tyr and the stability of the government. So long as you do nothing to threaten that, he does not really care what else you do.”

“But you must realize that my aim is to make contact with the Veiled Alliance,” Sorak said. “Once my business with them is concluded, I shall be on my way. I have no desire to remain in Tyr any longer than is necessary.”

“The best place for you to make contact with the Veiled Alliance is right here in the elven market,” Krysta replied. “I can help you to the point of making some discreet inquiries, but beyond that, you will be on your own. I do not wish to involve myself. As for the duration of your stay, that is entirely up to you. However, for as long as you remain here, why not take advantage of a situation that can serve both our interests? So, what is your answer?”

“I accept,” said Sorak.

“Good. I shall have a room prepared for you, and I will summon my half-giants to carry your pet there. It will sleep until at least tomorrow morning, I should think. However, you will find that keeping a wild beast in the city will present certain difficulties. Can you control it to the extent that it does not damage the premises or attack any of my staff?”

“I will make sure of that,” said Sorak.

“You are certain?”

“Absolutely.”

“It is not merely a matter of the tigone being psionic and obeying because it has a bond with you, is it?” Krysta said, watching him with interest. “You possess the power to communicate with beasts.”

“Yes.”

“You can make them do your will?”

“Most of them,” said Sorak.

“Fascinating,” Krysta said. “Then that makes for at least three psionic powers you possess,” she said. “How many others?”

Sorak did not reply.

Krysta stared at him for a long moment, then nodded and said, “Very well, I shall not pry. I will have your room prepared for you. In the meantime, perhaps you would care to join me at my table for some supper?”

The dining room of the Crystal Spider was on the first floor, through an archway and down a corridor near the back of the main room. A thick brick wall separated it from the gaming hall and kept out most of the noise. What faint sounds might have managed to filter through were masked by the musicians, who played softly on ryl pipes while the patrons ate. The tables and chairs were made of polished, dark agafari wood, and the floor was hand-laid ceramic tile. Heavy support columns held up the beamed and plastered ceiling, and there were numerous small, arched niches in the walls for candles. The atmosphere in the dining room was subdued and refined, for only the wealthiest of patrons could afford its prices.

Even though it was quite late, the dining room was full. Outside, merely a stone’s throw away, beggars huddled in the street, pulling their filthy cloaks around them against the night chill, or burrowing in the refuse in an effort to keep warm and find some scraps to eat. Here, behind a stout wall, the wealthy citizens of Tyr supped on the finest cuisine between rounds of gaming, in which they casually wagered sums that would have kept those poor beggars fed for months.

Krysta’s private table was located in a secluded alcove that lay up a short flight of steps and through an archway with a beaded curtain. Sorak noticed that all the serving women were young and uniformly lovely. Krysta apparently had no concerns about suffering in comparison with any of them. Every head turned when she walked into the room on Sorak’s arm and led him to her private alcove.

“What may I tempt you with?” she asked him when they sat down. “My cooks are the finest in the city. I can recommend the braised z’tal with wine sauce, or baked cloud ray with spiced erdland eggs in jelly. If you would care for something simpler, we have the finest mekillot steaks in all of Tyr.”

“Could I have some vegetables?”

“Vegetables?” said Krysta, her eyes widening with surprise.

I do not eat meat,” Sorak replied.

“The mekillot steak sounds tempting,” said Kivara, and her hunger for meat activated Sorak’s salivary glands.

“I have never tasted cloud ray,” Eyron added, filling Sorak with curiosity about the experience. Sorak resolutely ignored them. “How can you not eat meat?” asked Krysta with astonishment. “Both elves and halflings are hunters who eat flesh.”

“It is simply my choice,” said Sorak, trying not to think about the carnivorous members of the tribe, who preferred their meat raw and freshly killed, with the blood still warm. “I was raised in the ways of the villichi, who are vegetarian.”

Krysta sighed. “I stock my larder with the finest meats and delicacies money can buy, and all you want are vegetables.”

“And some bread and water, please.” Krysta shook her head with resignation. “As you wish.” She gave the order to the serving girl, asking for some steamed vegetables for Sorak and braised z’tal for herself. Their goblets were filled, hers with mead and Sorak’s with chilled water, and a basket of fresh-baked bread was brought to them, still warm from the ovens.

“So,” she asked after toasting him with her goblet, “what was it like, being the only male in a convent full of women?”

“I felt like an outsider, at first,” Sorak replied, “but the sisters soon came to accept me.”

“The sisters,” Krysta said with a knowing smile. “How quaint. Is that really how you thought of them?”

That is how they refer to one another,” he replied. “And it is more than merely a polite form of address. We were all like family. I shall miss them.”

“You mean you do not plan on going back?” Sorak shook his head. “I know I would always be welcome there, but no. Though I have lived with them, and trained with them, and grown up in the Way, I am not villichi. The time has come for me to find my own way in the world, and I do not think I • shall return.”

“So then you do not think of yourself as one of them?” asked Krysta.

“No,” he said. “I do not belong there. For that matter, I do not know if I belong anywhere. The halflings could never accept me because I am part elf, and the elves could never accept me because I am part halfling. I do not even know if there is another such as I.”

“It must feel very lonely,” Krysta said, her foot touching his under the table. He drew his foot away.

“I know something of what it feels like not to be accepted,” she continued. “Though, of course, there are many half-elves in the city, as there are half-dwarves and half-giants. You may have noticed that most of the people working here are half-breeds. I hire them first because there are many places in the city where they could not be hired, and the work that they can find, scarce as work is in Tyr these days, pays the lowliest of wages. Outside the city, there would be little they could do. Work on a farm, perhaps, or become herdsmen. Many become bandits, for they have no other choice. No tribe would accept them, and they become hard and embittered.”

“But you seem to have done well for yourself,” said Sorak

“Yes,” said Krysta. “Much like you, I recall little of my childhood. I was sold into slavery and grew up working in the arena, picking up body parts and spreading sand to cover up spilled blood. Between the games, I worked in the kitchens, where I first learned about preparing food. In time, I became a gladiator myself and trained with the others.”

“That was how you met Rikus?” Sorak asked.

“Yes. He had a partner who took an interest in me. She saw in me a younger version of herself, and so both she and Rikus became my protectors. Otherwise, things could have been much worse. Gladiators are a hard and ruthless lot, and a pretty, young half-elf girl would have been used harshly if she had no one to look after her. One day, I was purchased by a noble, who used his influence with Kalak’s templars to buy me as a plaything for himself. He was an old man, and his appetites were not so great. It was not difficult to please him, and it was easier by far than life in the arena, which was hard and brutal and often very short

I stayed with him for several years and learned much about the ways of the nobility. I learned how they lived, and what they liked, and how they preferred to spend their idle time, of which they had a surfeit.”

She crossed her legs under the table and, in doing so, her foot came briefly into contact with Sorak’s leg. She went on as if she hadn’t noticed.

“One night, while I was in bed with my master, the exertion proved too much for him, and he collapsed upon me. I thought that he had swooned, but when I rolled him off me, I discovered he was dead. It was late, and the servants in the mansion were all asleep. I took what money I could find in his quarters and escaped. I managed to make my way to the elven market, where I took a small room at an inn. I worked in the kitchen of the inn during the day, and at night, I went to the gaming houses. I had learned gaming at my former master’s house, watching him play with his friends, and I learned that while some games were mostly ruled by chance, others could have the chances of winning greatly increased by use of clever strategy. I paid close attention, and learned well.”

“And you built the Crystal Spider with your winnings?”

“Not entirely,” she said. “It would have been dangerous to try keeping all that money with me, and there was no place I could have hidden it that would have been truly safe. I had a friend in a merchant house, and I invested, buying shares in caravan goods and thereby participating in the profits. And what profits I made, I kept reinvesting. I invested cautiously and wisely so that I never had all my money in the same venture. That way, the risk was minimized. Eventually, I had enough to open up my own establishment. By then, I was well known to the merchant houses, and a number of them saw potential profits in the venture and chose to help finance the Crystal Spider.”

“So then you have partners,” Sorak said.

“Yes,” she replied, “but most of the money it took to build this house was mine, and so I retain control. However, there are two merchant houses that have strong interests in the success of my establishment. And if what you told Kikus was true, they will doubtless want to meet you and perhaps contribute to the reward the council promised you.”

“It was true,” said Sorak, “but I must confess to being puzzled as to how the council is acting in the matter. Neither you nor Rikus seems to trust the templars, and yet, it is they who have been charged with investigating what I reported to the council.”

“The templars can be trusted to look after their own interests,” Krysta said. “Where it concerns the security of the city, their own interests are involved most intimately. If Tyr were to fall under the domination of another city, such as Nibenay, the templars would be among the very first to fall, as they would pose the greatest threat. You may rest assured that their investigation will be a thorough and honest one. They do not wish to see Tyr fall under anyone’s dominion save their own.”

“So then the new government is threatened not only from without, but from within,” said Sorak.

“Very much so,” Krysta replied. “The templars once served Kalak, who was a defiler, and Tithian was the senior templar. When Kalak was slain, Tithian became the king, and if you ask me, he was not much better, but at least he was held in check somewhat by the new council under first Agis, then Rikus and Sadira. Now Tithian is gone, and the council rules the city. The templars sit upon the council, in the person of Timor, and they have strong allies, both in the council and among the nobility. Councilman Kor is Timor’s staunchest supporter, for he believes the templars will win out in the power struggle and is therefore already feathering his nest. And the nobles have little love for the new government, which freed their slaves.”

“What about the merchant classes?” Sorak asked. “The merchant houses are keeping to a strict neutrality,” said Krysta. “Whoever governs Tyr, they shall still have to do their business, and they deem it wisest to offend neither of the factions.”

Their food was brought to them, and Sorak found himself unconsciously licking his lips over the aroma of braised tital that rose from Krysta’s plate. “Kivara!” he said. “Stop it!”

“Must we eat like desert rats?” she asked petulantly. “I am starving for some flesh!”

“After all” added Eyron, “it is not as though you have not eaten meat before.”

“I have not eaten meat,” protested Sorak. “You have eaten meat. There is a difference.”

“Somehow, it escapes me,” Eyron said. “The flesh I eat nourishes your body.”

“Leave him alone,” the Guardian said, interceding. “He does not disturb or argue with you when you make your kill. He has a right to choose what will sustain him.”

“This paltry roughage would not even sustain a rasclinn,” Kivara grumbled.

Sorak ignored the exchange and simply ate his vegetables. Beneath the table, Krysta’s foot brushed up against his leg. He tried to move his leg back to avoid the contact, but it remained exactly where it was. Puzzled, he tried to move it once again, with no more result.

“Kivara,” he growled inwardly, “what are you doing?”

“Nothing,” she replied with a tone of innocence.

Krysta began gently rubbing her foot against his calf.

“You are only encouraging her,” he said. “Stop it.”

“Why? It feels nice.”

“You are interfering with me,” he said angrily. “I will not have it!”

“Some braised z’tal would go nicely with these vegetables,” she replied.

“Kivara!” said the Guardian. “You are shameless, and this is not the way we function!”

“Oh, very well,” Kivara said in a sulking tone.

Sorak pulled his leg back.

“What were you thinking just now?” asked Krysta.

“That if we are going to be spending time together, we had better be certain that we understand each other,” Sorak replied. “I cannot give you what you desire.”

“Cannot, or will not?” she asked, with a mocking smile.

“Is there a difference?”

There is to me,” she said. “Would you welcome my advances if it were not for your vow?”

“I am certain that part of me would,” he replied, with a wry inner grimace at Kivara, “but part of me would feel an obligation to another.”

Krysta raised her eyebrows. “Another? So then there has been a woman in your life?”

“Not in the way that you might think,” said Sorak. “She is someone I grew up with. A villichi priestess.”

“Ah,” said Krysta with a smile. “I see. Passion can be no less intense for being chaste. Or was it chaste?”

“It was. And I would prefer not to discuss it any further.”

“Very well,” said Krysta. “I shall respect your vow, despite the challenge posed by tempting you to forsake it. But tell me, if you had not taken a vow of celibacy, would you still refuse me because of this young priestess?”

“It is not that simple,” Sorak said. “But if I were free to respond to you in the way you wish, I would not hesitate to do so.”

“A most diplomatic answer,” Krysta said, “and not entirely satisfying. But I suppose that it shall have to do.” She glanced down at the table and shook her head. “It is almost funny. I cannot count the men who have desired me, but the one I want the most, I cannot have.”

“Perhaps that is why you want him,” Sorak said.

She smiled, “Perhaps. Would you care for some dessert?”