The Broken Blade (Dark Sun: Chronicles of Athas 3)

“And this does not frighten you?”

Sorak shrugged. “There is no love lost between preserver and defiler. Simply being what I am has made me the enemy of the dragon kings. I knew that when I chose to take my vows.”

“Yes, but taking preserver vows is not the same as making a personal enemy of the Shadow King.”

“Perhaps not,” said Sorak. “But there is little use to being afraid. Nibenay has tried to kill me several times. As you can see, I am still alive, so perhaps the dragon kings are not all-powerful, as they would have everyone believe.”

“Still, being marked for death by a sorcerer king is the sort of thing that would terrify most men.”

“Perhaps, but I should think that I would find your job much more dangerous,” said Sorak. “Nibenay’s primary concern is to complete his dragon metamorphosis. I may have aroused his ire, but he will not spare much energy to snuff out the life of one insignificant preserver. You, on the other hand, face death every time you board your ferry. So which of us has more to fear?”

Tajik smiled. “I have always thought the rewards of my job justified the risks. What justifies the risk for you?”

“Well, to put it in dwarven terms,” said Sorak, “the satisfaction of staying true to my focus. Accepting the risk and living with it is a sort of compromise.”

“I suppose we all make compromises and take the good with the bad,” said Tajik, taking the hint and not pressing his inquiries. “Well, I shall let you finish your bath. I will have some more water heated for Ryana. She did not go swimming in the silt, as you did, but I am sure she would appreciate a good, hot soak. And then you shall be my guests for dinner, and afterward, I hope you will accept the hospitality of my home for the night.”

“That is very generous of you,” Sorak said. “But it is really not necessary to go to so much trouble.”

“Do not concern yourself. It is no trouble at all. I rarely have company and will enjoy showing you my village. We may not have the luxuries of a city such as Tyr or Balic, but we do know how to entertain our guests.”

After they had both bathed and dressed, Tajik took them to dinner at an eating house that boasted “the best larder in South Ledopolus.” It was a short walk from his home in the center of town, and Sorak marveled at the difference between the streets of South Ledopolus and those of Tyr or Nibenay. In most towns and cities, and even in most villages, there was no shortage of beggars. Not so South Ledopolus. Since the town was situated on a caravan route, and well isolated from any other settlements except North Ledopolus, the only transient traffic was that brought by the caravans, and beggars could not afford to book passage.

The streets of the village were also remarkably clean, reflecting a dwarven obsession with neatness and order. Even though the streets were hard-packed dirt, Tajik told Sorak with a sense of pride that they were regularly swept and graded by kank beetles pulling weighted drags through town once every two weeks and after each rain. There was a narrow ditch for runoff at the side of each street, and well-planed wooden sidewalks had been constructed on both sides of the street, shaded from the desert sun by overhangs made from wood planks or cactus ribs.

The buildings were freshly plastered, painted in muted tones of reds and pinks and tans. Tajik told them that the owners of the buildings were responsible for maintaining a clean facade. Chipped or flaking exteriors resulted in fines levied by the council. It was a remarkably pleasant looking village, with gently winding streets and well-groomed pagafa trees providing shade and color. With its tidy shops and inviting hostelries, it did not look at all like the rollicking, wide-open caravan town Sorak had expected.

On the other hand, the mercenary presence was very evident. Everywhere he looked, Sorak saw lean and muscular, hard-bitten and well-armed men mixing with the dwarven population. Some were human, some were half-elves, but all looked tough. Sorak wondered about the women. Men such as these had needs to satisfy, and they often liked to satisfy them without any encumbrances. Yet, he saw no women of easy virtue wandering the streets. It probably meant that there were pleasure houses where such things were kept discreetly out of sight.

The ferry captain was clearly respected in the community. He was were greeted effusively and given the best table in the house. The whitewashed adobe walls were painted with murals of desert scenes, and the tables were covered with clean white cloths, unusual even in cities. The dwarven staff gave them prompt and courteous attention, and Tajik suggested that they order braised erdlu steaks with herb sauce and wild rice and baked, honey-glazed gava root. He flushed and immediately apologized, realizing his error.

“Forgive me,” he said, glancing at Ryana awkwardly. “I had forgotten that villichi priestesses do not eat flesh. I did not mean to give offense.”

“None was intended, and none taken,” Ryana replied with a smile. “I am not offended by others eating flesh. For myself, I would prefer some simple vegetables. The wild rice and gava root sound perfect.”

Tajik looked relieved. “In that case, may I also suggest the spiced bread, which they do very well here, and the mulled ale, which is excellent.”

“It sounds delightful,” said Ryana.

“And what of yourself, my friend?” asked Tajik, turning to Sorak. “Do you also abstain from meat?”

Ordinary, Sora

k would have answered yes.

Though elves were omnivorous and halflings were carnivorous, even to the extent that they often ate human flesh, he had been raised in the villichi convent and had always followed the villichi ways. However, his other personalities had remained true to his origins. They had craved the taste of meat, which he had forsworn. To avoid a conflict, he had reached a compromise of sorts with his more predatory personalities. Though he had refrained from eating flesh, after he went to sleep, his other personalities would assume control of his body, and would go out to hunt. They would stalk and make their kill as halflings did, consuming the flesh still raw and bloody.

Though divested of his other personalties, Sorak felt an unfamiliar craving brought on my the smells from the kitchen. Since leaving Bodach, he had eaten only wild desert plants and a mixture of nuts and dried fruits. Though he had taken vows as a preserver, those vows did not specifically prohibit him from eating meat. Ryana’s vows as a villichi priestess did, and though she had broken those vows by leaving the convent, she still kept to the spirit of them. He was neither priest nor villichi. He knew that his body had eaten meat regularly in the past, though he had no memory of it.

“I think I shall try the erdlu.”

Ryana glanced at him curiously, raising her eyebrows.

“Excellent choice,” said Tajik, beaming.

Ryana pursed her lips and said nothing.

When the meal came, it was delicious. Sorak ate ravenously. His first taste triggered a craving for more. He had never felt anything like it before.