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

The feeling was surreal. It was as if the templar were looking straight at him and speaking to him directly. At the same time, he felt not himself at all. It was as if his body had somehow become alien to him. It felt large, grotesque and… but then the templar’s next words mesmerized him.

“Valsavis is dead. The Nomad has fulfilled his mission. Somehow, he must have managed to make contact with the Sage. Now, he will be truly dangerous.” The templar smiled wanly. “You haven’t the faintest idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

Sorak felt his head shake slowly.

“No matter. You do not need to understand. Your needs are simple. That must be reassuring. In a way, I envy you your simplicity. You eat, drink, sleep, defecate, and kill. But then, that is what you were bred for. The subtleties of life escape you, and yet it concerns you not. How refreshing, in a primitive way. Does my conversation bore you?”

Another head shake.

“No? Well, I rather doubt you would admit it if it did. Perhaps it truly does interest you in some way. I do not imagine anyone has ever bothered to converse with you before. What would be the point? You could not answer, anyway. Doubtless, the only words anyone ever spoke to you were commands… or pleas for mercy. And those last fell on deaf ears, of course. No one ever taught you mercy. I doubt you even understand the concept.

Still, I’ve come to find our one-sided conversations comforting. Do you know why?”

Brief head shake.

“Because a templar has no one in whom she can confide. Oh, when she’s young, she can share confidences with her senior sisters, but as she grows older, she learns about such things as palace intrigue and political maneuvering and soon realizes she can profit best by keeping her own council. Her life becomes a maze of ritual and duty, and she becomes isolated, commanding of respect and fear and yet, a lonely woman. Do you know what it means to feel lonely?”

This time, a nod.

“Ah. Of course. I thought you would. Then perhaps you can understand. Have you ever mated? No? Not even once? Well, who knows, that may be for the best. That means you cannot have unreasonable expectations. Do you know how old I am?”

Head shake.

“I am almost two hundred years old. That surprises you. I look old, but not that old, eh? Well, I am. Magic can extend one’s life, if one knows how to use it.” The templar sighed. “My husband’s magic. A power so great it makes me tremble, even after all these years. I was brought to him when I was just fifteen, but I had already learned something of love. Oh, I was a virgin, else I would not have been acceptable, but I was not entirely innocent, you see. There was a boy, a lovely boy of seventeen… I can still see his face as clearly as if he were standing right here in front of me. I can still recall our cautious rumblings, clumsy and yet tender. We swore we would always love each other, but we were afraid to go much further than sweet kisses and intimate caresses. And then I was chosen for the harem of the Shadow King and I never saw him again.

“No, not true,” the templar continued, after a brief pause. “I saw him once, many years later. I chanced across him in the street. He was afraid even to look me. I imagine he found himself a fat little wife and sired fat little sons, and lived his life… and died. This is the first time I have even spoken of him in over a hundred and fifty years, and yet, even though his bones now molder in a grave, he has never left my thoughts. I think back to those bygone days of girlhood and wish just once, we could have had the courage to…”

The templar fell into a long, contemplative silence. Finally, she looked up, and the wistful look was gone, replaced by the cold, regal demeanor of a servant of the Shadow King.

“Memories. They serve no useful purpose. And we are here to serve a useful purpose.”

Sorak felt an unwholesome thrill of anticipation ru

n through him. It was not his feeling at all. It made his skin crawl, and yet, at the same time, he somehow felt what the other was feeling, and it repelled him.

“Let us go, my silent friend,” the templar said, rising to her feet. “It is time for you to do what you do best. You will not have the sort of audience you are accustomed to, but I will be close by. An audience of one, but one who has a true appreciation of your craft. And soon, very soon, you will have an opportunity to test your skills against one who should, by all accounts, provide a proper challenge to your abilities. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

An eager nod.

“Yes. I rather thought you would. But tonight, if our reports have been correct, there will be some fine amusement for you. And by tomorrow, all of Altaruk will be abuzz with talk of your doings… and the Veiled Alliance will know the meaning of fear.”

* * *

“Sorak! Sorak! Oh, Sorak, wake up, please!”

Ryana bent over him anxiously. He blinked several times and brought his hands up to his forehead. It felt as if his head were splitting, and he was covered with sweat.

He was lying on his back on a bedroll spread out on the ground. The first orange-tinted light of dawn was visible on the horizon as the dark sun slowly rose over the Sea of Silt. He sat up slowly, with a groan.

Kieran came and knelt at his side. “You had us worried, my friend,” he said. “You were gone for a long time. Over four hours. And whatever it was you saw, it must have been a nightmare, judging by the way you thrashed and moaned.”

Sorak took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, sitting with his head in his hands.

Ryana put her arm around him. “It’s all right,” she said softly. “Whatever it was, it’s over now.”

He shook his head. “No, it is not over,” he said in a dull voice. “It is only just beginning.”

“What did you see?” asked Kieran, gazing at him intently.