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

“You must have been hungry,” Tajik said with a grin, watching him eat. “Here, try some of this ale.”

“Thank you, but I prefer water,” Sorak said.

“Water?” Tajik said with surprise. “You prefer water to ale?”

“I do not drink spirits,” Sorak said.

“Not even wine?”

Sorak shook his head. “I have no taste for it.”

“Pity,” Tajik said, shaking his head sadly. Like most dwarves, he loved to drink, and he quaffed the ale as quickly as the serving girl refilled the pitcher. Sorak had heard that dwarves could out-drink anybody, and watching Tajik swill the ale, he believed it.

“So, have you come to South Ledopolus in search of employment, or are you just passing through?”

Sorak hesitated. “I have not yet decided,” he replied after a moment.

“Ah. Well, if you choose to stay, for however long, perhaps I could be of assistance. I am not without influence here, and would be pleased to give you a recommendation.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that,” Sorak said. “But for the present, we would simply like to rest from our journey before making further plans.”

“Where were you traveling from?” asked Tajik. “Most people come to South Ledopolus by way of the caravan route, yet you came across the estuary.

Don’t tell me you walked all the way from the Mekillots?”

“That is the way we came,” said Sorak, which was the truth, though not the whole truth.

“A long, hard journey,” Tajik said. “But not really a surprising one, for two people who had crossed the Barrens. You came from Salt View then?”

Ryana nodded. “Yes, we spent some time there.” Which was also true.

“The gaming houses of Salt View are not the sort of place one would expect to find a villichi priestess,” Tajik said.

“Our pilgrimages take us all over the world,” Ryana replied. “Besides, why preach to the converted? Wherever there is hope of spreading the preserver cause, that is where you’ll find us.”

Tajik nodded, apparently satisfied, but Sorak had a feeling the ferry captain suspected they were withholding information. Without his telepathic personalities, though, Sorak could not know. He saw no reason to distrust Tajik, but prudence advised against being completely frank with him.

“What can you tell me of a mercenary named Kieran?” Sorak asked, to change the subject.

Tajik frowned and shook his head. “The name is not familiar to me.”

“He was the one who gave me his water on the boat,” said Sorak.

“Ah, the one dressed like a walking catalog of rare hides?” asked Tajik.

“That’s him,” said Sorak.

The ferry captain shook his head. “I noticed him. Who could not, with clothes like that? But I have never seen him before. His name is Kieran, you say?”

“Yes, that was the name he gave me.”

“Hmm. Well, I could ask around. Is there a particular reason for your curiosity?”

“He offered me employment,” Sorak said. “He said he was on his way to Altaruk to accept a position as captain of the guard with the House of Jhamri.”

“Indeed?” said Tajik, raising his eyebrows “That speaks highly of his capabilities. Jhamri hires nothing but the best for senior officers. If this Kieran has offered you employment, perhaps you should accept. You will not find anything in South Ledopolus that could compare with the salary you would receive working for a merchant house in Altaruk.”

“I told him I would consider it,” said Sorak. “But I should like to know something of a man’s background before I agree to work for him.”