The Nomad (34 page)

Sorak feinted slightly with his shoulder, and Valsavis started to lunge, but quickly recognized the feint and caught himself. They continued circling, cautiously, moving their blades, neither one offering the other an easy opportunity. It resembled a curious sort of dance, each of them moving, watching, feinting, reacting, and recovering, neither making the slightest mistake. And the longer it continued, the more the tension and stress increased, the greater grew the likelihood that one of them would make a slip.

The odds should have been in his favor, Sorak thought, for Valsavis was badly wounded, but he had at least a day to recover his strength while he waited for them at the bottom of the tower, and his long experience and iron determination had taught him to ignore pain and exhaustion.

Yet, at the same time, for Sorak, the experience was completely new. He could not depend, as he had learned by force of habit, on the alertness of the Watcher, nor could he summon forth the Guardian to probe his opponent’s mind. And even if he could, Valsavis had already proved himself immune to telepathic probes. Sorak also knew the sharp instincts of the Ranger were now lost to him, and Eyron’s abilities at calculation and strategy were gone, as well. He could rely on just one thing—the training he had received at the villichi convent.

“Do not try to anticipate,” Sister Tamura had told them over and over during weapons training. “Do not think about the outcome of the fight. Do not allow your emotions to rise to the surface, because they will defeat you every time. Find a place of stillness in yourself, and place your awareness completely in the present.”

In the present, Sorak reminded himself as he felt his concentration start to slip, and in that moment, Valsavis lunged. Sorak barely brought up his blade in time to parry, and the mercenary reacted swiftly, lifting his knife in a vicious, slashing stroke. Sorak countered it, and what had been a tense, slow, and silent dance suddenly exploded into a frenzied flurry of flashing, clinking blades as they moved together, then sprung apart, neither scoring a cut.

Valsavis was breathing heavily, but he had drawn upon his inner reserves and was moving lightly on the balls of his feet, weaving his knife around in quick, complicated patterns as Sorak continued to move his own blade in response, each of them standing a bit closer now, waiting for the one faulty or slightly delayed countermove that would leave an opening.

Suddenly, Valsavis came slashing in and Sorak took the stroke on his own blade, and once again, their knives flashed in a rapid blur and a staccato symphony of metal upon metal. Sorak winced as one of the cuts struck home, opening a gash in his right forearm.

He sprang back quickly, before Valsavis could move in to pursue the advantage. Once again, they began to circle, their knife blades describing rapid, flowing arabesques in front of them. Gith’s blood, he’s quick, thought Sorak. He had never seen anyone so fast. After all he had been through, where was he getting the energy? He had barely been able to stand moments before. What was holding him up?

“You fight well, elfling,” said Valsavis, weaving his blade through the air. “It has been a long time since I have had an opponent worthy of my skill.”

“Pity you put your skill to such base uses,” Sorak said.

“Well, one goes where the work is,” Valsavis said and immediately moved in, slashing at his face.

Reacting purely by instinct, Sorak jerked his head back, giving a sharp hiss of pain as the knife opened a cut on his cheek, just below his eye, and at the same time, he brought up his own knife and slashed Valsavis across his forearm.

Instead of moving back, Valsavis took the cut and aimed another slash at Sorak’s face, in the opposite direction, and the blades clinked together two, three, four, five, six times before Sorak and Valsavis moved apart again, both bleeding from fresh wounds.

On the floor, behind them, Ryana stirred slightly and groaned.

Without taking his eyes off Sorak, Valsavis leapt backward, pivoted quickly, and kicked her in the head. She collapsed again with a grunt as Valsavis turned to face Sorak, who was moving in.

Don’t get angry, Sorak told himself, keeping his gaze locked with his opponent’s. Don’t get angry, that’s what he wants. Concentrate, stay in the present…

“If you kill me, she will come after you,” he told Valsavis as their blades danced.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Valsavis said.

“Kara has sworn not to interfere in this, but her oath does not bind her after the fight is over.”

“That was thoughtless of me, wasn’t it?” Valsavis said, feinting toward him.

Sorak ignored the feint and tried one of his own. Valsavis didn’t fall for it.

“Even if you kill me, you will never reach the Shadow King with what you know.”

“But if I kill you, I shall only have two to worry about, not three.” He saw an opening and darted in.

Sorak tried to block, but was too late. He cried out as the knife opened a deep gash in his upper arm. Valsavis kept coming. As he stepped in and Sorak took the slash on his blade, Valsavis brought his knee up and drove it into Sorak’s groin. Sorak grunted, and his eyes bulged with the shocking pain. His knees started to give. Valsavis struck him a sharp blow alongside his head with the elbow of his handless arm.

As Sorak started to go down, he slashed at Valsavis and drove his left thumb hard into the mercenary’s solar plexus, collapsing his diaphragm.

The wind whooshed out of Valsavis, and he staggered back, gasping for breath. Before he could move out of reach, Sorak, striking out from a kneeling position, opened a deep gash in his thigh. For several moments, the fight came to a standstill as they scrambled apart.

Doubled over, Sorak fought to block the waves of dizzying pain. Valsavis, also crumpled, tried to get his wind back.

Groaning, Sorak put his head down, and the knife slipped from his fingers. Valsavis immediately lunged toward him, exactly as he had expected. With a smooth motion, Sorak drew a dagger from the sheath tucked into his high-topped moccasin and threw it. The blade struck Valsavis in the shoulder. He grunted with pain and instinctively brought his hand up, dropping his knife.

As Sorak tried to get back up, the huge mercenary kicked out at him and caught him in the head. Sorak fell to one side, then rolled as Valsavis kicked at him again. He twisted and lashed out with his leg, sweeping the warrior off his feet.

Valsavis went down hard, falling backward, but immediately brought his legs back and kicked up to his feet once more. The move threw him within reach of Kara, and before the startled pyreen could react, he quickly grasped Galdra by the hilt and pulled it free of the scabbard she was holding.
“No!”
she cried out.

But he turned to bring it down on Sorak. It flashed with a blinding, eldritch light and shattered into fragments.

“Aaah! My eyes?”
Valsavis cried out. He reached up and pulled the knife from his shoulder and started slashing out all around him, still blinded by the brilliant flash.

Sorak backed away from him, and then his foot struck something behind him and he tripped and fell over Ryana’s prostrate body.

Immediately, Valsavis lunged toward the sound, but he tripped over Ryana as well and went down on top of Sorak.

For a moment, Kara watched anxiously as they struggled on the ground. Then there was a soft, thumping sound, a knife plunged into flesh and someone gave out a wheezing gasp. And silence.

Kara stood, immobile, her breath caught in her throat. Finally, Valsavis moved. Her heart sank for a moment, but then she saw him roll over onto his back and Sorak slowly emerge from beneath the body. Kara expelled her breath in a long sigh of relief and rushed to his side.

Valsavis was still alive, but the knife protruding from his chest gave clear evidence that he would not be for long. Already, his eyes were starting to unfocus. His breaths came in ragged wheezes, and blood frothed on his lips.

“Well fought… elfling,” he said, struggling to get the words out. “I… wouldn’t have… wanted… to live out… my life… as a… cripple… anyway. Sorry about… your sword.”

“It’s just as well,” said Sorak, leaning on Kara for support as he gazed down at him. “I never wanted to be king.”

“You would… honor me… if you… took mine.”

“As you wish.”

“Did you… ever… learn… your truename?”

“It’s Alaron,” said Sorak.

“Alaron,” Valsavis repeated, his eyes starting to glaze. “Don’t let… the corpses… chew… my bones…”

“I won’t.”

“Thank you… uhhh! Damn…” His breath escaped him in a long and rattling sigh, and then he breathed no more.

“Ohhh, my head…” Ryana said, regaining consciousness.

Sorak turned and crouched beside her. “Are you all right?”

She looked at his bloody face, scared by a deep slash, and her eyes grew wide. “What happened?”

“Valsavis.”

He helped her sit up, and she saw him, lying stretched out on his back.

“Is he…?”

“Dead,” said Sorak.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” she said.

Kara turned and went over to where the pieces of the elven sword lay scattered on the floor. She bent down and picked up the largest remaining fragment. It was the silver wire-wrapped hilt, with about a foot of broken blade remaining.

Ryana saw it, and her eyes widened once again. She gasped and turned to look at Sorak questioningly.

“The legend was true,” he said. “Valsavis tried to strike me down with it, but Galdra would not serve a defiler.”

“For generations, it was kept safe,” said Kara. “And now…” She merely shook her head sadly as she held the broken blade.

“It served its purpose,” Sorak said. “Besides, I have another now.” He picked up the sword that had belonged to Valsavis. “A handsome and well-balanced blade,” he said. “Fine steel, very rare. I will try to put it to better use than he did.”

“Take this, just the same,” said Kara, handing him the broken sword. “Keep it as a symbol of what you have achieved, and what we struggle for.”

Sorak took it from her, holding Valsavis’s handsome sword in one hand and the broken blade in the other. He gazed at it thoughtfully. When it had been whole, there had been a legend engraved on it in elvish. “Strong in spirit, true in temper, forged in faith.” Now, only part of that legend remained.

“Strong in spirit,” he read aloud. He nodded. “A sentiment more true now than it ever was before. I have found my own unique spirit, at long last.”

“Then it will always have deep meaning for you,” Kara said. “Carry it with you, Alaron.”

He glanced up at her, then smiled and said, “My name is Sorak.”