“It has been many years, my lord,” she said, uneasily. “He may no longer be alive.”
“Valsavis lives,” said Nibenay, stating it as a fact not to be disputed. “Bring him to me.”
“As you command, my lord,” said Veela, bowing as she backed out of the chamber. The heavy, carved wooden door closed behind her of its own accord.
The light carriage lurched up the rutted trail leading through the foothills of the Barrier Mountains. Seated in the shade of its canopy, Veela watched the trail carefully as the driver urged the kank forward up the slope. It had been many years since she had been here last, many years since she had even left the city, and she was concerned that she might not remember the way. Yet, even after all this time, here and there, details of the trail looked familiar. She had recalled the wide, sweeping bend in the trail as it circled around a large rock outcropping and ran parallel to the slope for a short distance before it circled around again and continued on an incline through the canyon.
About midway through the canyon, she recalled, there should be a path leading off to the left, into the trees. She remembered that it was difficult to spot, and so she kept a careful watch for it. Nevertheless, she missed it, and the carriage had to turn around- no easy feat on such a narrow trail. She had to get out while the driver backed the kank up, slowly pushing the small carriage off the trail and up the slope, then forward slightly. Swearing to himself, he repeated the process twice more before he could turn the rig around. Veela got back in, and this time they proceeded at an even slower pace as she carefully scanned the slope for the path. She almost missed it again.
“Stop!” she called out to the driver. As the carriage stopped, she got out and walked back several yards. Yes, there it was, almost impossible to see, it was so heavily overgrown. Merely a narrow footpath, scarcely more than a run left by an animal on its habitual daily trek. There was no possibility of proceeding any other way than on foot.
“Wait here till I return,” she told the driver, and started up the path. She used the power bestowed upon her by the Shadow King to clear the way as she walked up the slope. The underbrush that had overgrown the path withered and died before her as she went.
The path followed a serpentine course up the steep slope, bending to the left, then to the right, then to the left again through the trees and around rock out-croppings as it wound its way up to the summit of the hill. After a while, she passed the tree line and emerged between two boulders into a clear area near the summit, covered only by rocks and scrub brush, short mountain grass and wildflowers. She had reached the summit of the foothills, and the mountains beyond loomed above her. The path continued up the steep incline for a short distance and then gradually leveled off as it curved around some rocks.
As she passed the boulders, she glanced down and saw the lower slopes of the foothills, one of the very few places on Athas, aside from the forest ridge of the Ringing Mountains, where green and growing things could still be found. In the crescent-shaped valley below was the city of Nibenay, and in the distance to the southwest lay the city of Gulg. And all around, as far as the eye could see, was barren desert. Directly to the south, stretching out like a gleaming ocean of crystal, was the Great Ivory Plain, a vast, wide sea of salt. It was a spectacular view, and for a moment, she simply stood there, catching her breath and taking it all in. Then, in the distance, she heard the unmistakable sound of wood being chopped.
She continued on, entering the not-quite-level clearing at the top. Before her was a small cabin made entirely of rough-hewn logs. Behind it was a smaller building, a shed for storage, and some animal pens. The cabin was otherwise completely isolated. Some smoke curled up from the stone chimney.
As Veela came closer, following the path that led around to the front of the cabin, she could smell the pleasant aroma of burning pagafa wood. There was a small covered porch attached to the cabin, with some crudely built wood furniture, but no sign of the wood chopper. The chopping sounds had ceased. In front of the porch, she saw a large pagafa stump with an axe embedded in it, and beside the stump, a pile of freshly chopped firewood. She looked around. There was no sign of anyone. She was about to climb the four wooden steps to the porch when a deep, gravelly voice suddenly spoke behind her.
“I thought I smelled templar.” She whirled around. The man standing directly behind her, no more than four feet away, had suddenly appeared as if from out of nowhere, moving silent as a ghost. He was tall and massively built, with a full head of long gray hair that fell down past his shoulders.
He had a thick gray beard, and his face was lined with age and well seasoned by the weather. He had been a very handsome man, and was handsome still, for all his years and fearsome aspect. He had once had a well-shaped nose, but it had been broken several times. He still had all his teeth, and his eyes belied his age, sparkling with alertness. They were a startling shade of azure blue. An old scar made by a knife or sword came up out his beard, crossed his left cheekbone and disappeared beneath his hair.
He wore a sleeveless hide tunic fastened by a thick belt with several daggers at his waist, studded wristlets, and hide breeches tucked into high, laced moccasins. His shoulders were broad and powerful, and his chest was huge, rippling with muscle, tapering in a V-shape to his narrow waist. His forearms were scarred and corded with dense muscle, and his upper arms were thicker around than Veela’s thighs. His bearing was erect and loose, and he conveyed an impression of immense physical power.
“Greetings, Valsavis,” she said.
“Veela,” he said, in his rough voice. “It has been a long, long time. You have grown old.”
She smiled at his insolence. He always was direct. “And so have you,” she said. “Perhaps too old,” she added, lifting her chin to gaze challengingly into his eyes.
“For what?” he asked.
“For that which you had once done best.”
“If the Shadow King believed that, he would not have sent you,” said Valsavis simply, reaching for his axe. He picked up a piece of pagafa wood and placed it on the stump. He raised the axe and split it with one powerful blow.
Veela marveled at his insolence. He had turned his back upon a templar and gone back to work! “You have not changed,” she said. “You are still the same insufferable barbarian you always were.”
He continued splitting wood at a leisurely pace. “If that offends you, you know the way back,” he said.
She smiled despite herself. Most men would have trembled at being addressed by a templar of the Shadow King. This one spoke to her as if she were no more than a serving wench. She should have been offended, gravely so, and yet was not. It had always been that way with him. She had never quite understood why.
“His Majesty King Nibenay wishes to see you,” she said.
“I had deduced as much,” Valsavis said. “I did not think you came all this way merely for a social call.” He continued chopping wood.
“He wishes to see you at once,” Veela added emphatically.
Valsavis kept on splitting wood. “Is he in immanent danger of death?”
Veela looked surprised. “Why, no. Of course not. The Shadow King shall live forever.”
“Then what is another day?” Valsavis asked. Veela felt the color rising to her cheeks. “I may be tolerant of your insolence, Valsavis, for the fact that it amuses me, but the Shadow King has no such forgiving traits!”
Valsavis stuck his axe back in the stump and turned around slowly, stretching his bulging muscles. “Nibenay has not required my services in years,” he said. “And for all those years, I have remained forgotten by His Majesty the Shadow King. Now, suddenly, he is impatient for my presence. Clearly, he has need for a service only I am able to perform. I have waited years for him to find me useful once again. Now let him wait.”