“Your blade is safe enough,” the Stranger said with a smile, noting his alarmed reaction. “It is in its scabbard, lying with your tunic, there.”
Sorak looked where the stranger pointed and saw that Galdra was, indeed, safely lying by his side, not three feet away, atop his tunic. “A lot of men would have been tempted to take it for themselves,” he said. The stranger merely shrugged. “I did not care for the shape of it,” he said simply. “A handsome weapon, to be sure, but not suited to my style of fighting. I suppose I could have sold it. No doubt, it would have fetched a great deal of money, but then I would have had the worry of wondering what to spend it on. Too much money can only bring trouble to a man.”
“What is your name, stranger?” Sorak asked.
“I am called Valsavis.”
“I am in your debt, Valsavis. My name is Sorak.”
Valsavis merely grunted.
Sorak felt his strength returning to him as he finished the raw meat. It was z’tal flesh, and it tasted exceedingly good. “I must heal myself, Valsavis, so that I can go after the men who took my friend.”
“So? You are adept at healing? You are a druid, then?”
“What of it if I am?”
Valsavis shrugged. “I have had occasion to be healed by druids in the past, I bear them no ill will.”
Sorak closed his eyes and allowed the Guardian to come to the fore. Under her breath, she spoke the words of a healing spell and concentrated her energies, drawing some additional power from the earth, but not enough to harm any growing thing. Sorak felt his strength returning as the wound began to heal.
Moments later, it was done, and the Guardian withdrew. Sorak stood, removed the bandage and the poultice, and went over to get his tunic and sword.
“That was uncommonly quick,” Valsavis said, watching him with interest.
“I have a gift for healing,” Sorak replied as he buckled on his sword.
“And apparently a gift for recovering from the effort it requires,” Valsavis said. “I have seen druids perform healing spells before. It nearly always leaves them drained, and they require hours of rest.”
“I have no time for that,” said Sorak. “I thank you for your kindness, Valsavis, but I must go help my friend.”
“Alone?” Valsavis said. “And on foot?”
“I have no mount,” said Sorak.
“I do,” Valsavis said. “My kank is staked just behind these rocks.”
Sorak stared it him. “Are you offering to help?” Valsavis shrugged. “I have nothing better to do.”
“You owe me nothing.” Sorak said. “Rather, he is who owe a debt to you. Those men who took my friend were probably a party of marauders. They will be heading for their camp. We will be greatly outnumbered.!!
“If they reach their camp,” Valsavis said. Sorak examined the trail leading from the rocks. “There are six or seven of them, at least,” he said. “Nine,” said Valsavis.
Sorak glanced at him with interest. “Nine, then. And we are only two.”
“Without me, you would be only one.”
“Way would you risk your life for me?” asked Sorak. “I have no money, and cannot pay you.”
“I did not ask for payment.”
“Why, then?” Sorak asked, puzzled. Valsavis shrugged again. “Why not? It has been a uneventful journey. And I am no longer of an age where I can afford to remain idle very long. I seed to keep my hand in, or all of the good jobs will go to younger men.”
“And what if we should fail?” Sorak asked “I had never thought that I would live this long,” Valsavis replied flatly. “And the thought of dying in bed does not appeal to me. It lacks flamboyance.”
Sorak smiled. “Somehow, I had never thought of death as flamboyant.”
“Death itself is merely death,” Valsavis said. “It’s bow one lives, up to the final moment, that matters.”
“Well then, let us see if we can introduce some marauders to their final moment,” Sorak said.
“That was not spoken Eke a druid healer,” said Valsavis, raising an eyebrow at him.
“As you said, the ways of Athas can be harsh,” Sorak replied. “Even a healer must learn how to adapt.” He clapped his hand to his sword.
“Indeed,” Valsavis said, getting to his feet. He kicked some dirt onto the fire to put it out. “I estimate they have perhaps three or four hours’ start. And they are mounted.”
“Then there is no time to waste,” said Sorak.
“We shall catch them, never fear,” Valsavis said.
“You seem very confident,” said Sorak.
“I always catch my quarry,” said Valsavis.
3
The trail was not difficult to follow. Nine riders, mounted on overburdened kanks, could not move without marking their passage. They seemed to be in no hurry. And why not? thought Sorak. They think I’m dead. They hadn’t even paused to check his body. He had been down on the ground, unmoving, with an arrow in his back, and they had Ryana to occupy all their attention. A chill went through Sorak as he considered what they might have done to her.
She would never have gone quietly, and under normal circumstances, the marauders would have had a fight on their hands that would have proved much more than they had bargained for. But Ryana had been utterly exhausted from their long trek across the i plain. If she had fallen asleep, they might have taken her easily.
Sorak tried not to think about what they might do to her. She was no ordinary woman. She was not only very beautiful, she was also a villichi priestess. However, it was possible her captors might not have realized that. Ryana did not look like most villichi. Her coloring was different, and though she was tall for a woman, she lacked the exaggerated length of neck and limb that characterized villichi females. Her proportions were closer to the human norm. If Ryana was smart-and she was-she would not reveal herself, but would bide her time while she regained her strength so that she could pick her opportunity. But if they had harmed so much as one hair on her head ...
For the most part, Sorak and Valsavis rode in silence, save for the occasional exchange regarding signs that the marauders left behind. Sorak’s respect for the muscular old warrior was growing rapidly. The mercenary was a superb tracker. Nothing missed his alert gaze. At an age when most warriors would have long since retired, with a woman to take care of them in their declining years, Valsavis was still at the peak of his powers. Sorak wondered what sort of life the man had led, where he had come from, and where he was bound. The tribe wondered about him, too, and in a way that made them feel profoundly uneasy.
“I do not trust this man, Sorak,” said the Guardian. “Be careful,”
“Can you not see what is in his mind?” asked Sorak mentally.
The Guardian did not reply at once. After a moment, she said, “No, I cannot”
Her reply surprised him. “You cannot probe his thoughts?”
“I have tried, but it is of no avail. I simply cannot penetrate his defenses.”
“Is he warded against telepaths?” asked Sorak.
“I cannot left,” the Guardian replied, “but if he is, the wards are powerful and subtle. There are some individuals who cannot be probed, whose minds are shielded by their own self-contained defenses. Such individuals are strong in spirit, emotionally powerful, and rarely reveal themselves.
They do not trust easily, and they are often dangerous to trust. Their essence remains locked away deep within themselves. They are often loners who do not feel the lack of love or warm companionship. They often do not feel much of anything at all.”