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

“Thank you, my lord,” said Sorak. “In that case, with your permission, I shall take my leave and see you in the morning.”

“Until tomorrow,” Ankhor said. He turned to Ryana and bowed. “My lady…”

“Well, it turns out there was no reason for concern, after all,” Ryana said as they walked away. “Lord Ankhor bears no grudges over the incident with Korahna and we now have a place to stay without having to walk all over town in search of one. A quiet apartment over a shop sounds nice. A real home for a change, after all those nights spent sleeping on the ground.” She smiled and took his arm. “It will be our first place together.”

“Our first place,” he said, hugging her close. “I like the sound of that. But don’t grow accustomed to the idea. There is no telling how long it will last.”

They asked directions to the Street of Clothiers, only a short walk away. It did not take long before they found the shop with the sign of the blue boot hanging over the entrance. Lorian was just about to close up for the day when they came in, and after they introduced themselves and gave him Ankhor’s message, he welcomed them effusively and gave them the key, telling them the entrance was through the alley to the right and up a flight of stairs.

“I know it may sound foolish,” said Ryana, putting her arm around Sorak’s waist as they left the shop, “because we may never be able to settle in one place for very long, but I still feel excited. This is going to be our first real home.”

“It is only an apartment above a shop.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Ryana as they turned into the alley. “It will be ours, a place you can come home to. Home to me.”

The attack came suddenly and swiftly. Sorak felt a sharp, glancing blow against the side of his head, and he went down, grunting with pain.

Instinct and years of training took over, and he rolled quickly to his feet, drawing his sword as he came up. They were rushed from both sides of the alley. Five came from behind, five from in front.

Ryana had been seized from behind by two of the attackers, but she stomped down hard on one’s foot, twisted away, and flipped the other over her hip. As he fell, she drew her sword, but before she could get it clear of the scabbard, a blade took her from behind. She gave a grunting, gasping sound and stiffened, arching her back sharply with the impact.

A bloody sword tip emerged from her stomach.

“Ryana!” Sorak screamed, and then they were on him.

He drew Galdra with his free hand and waded into them like a man possessed. They tried to seize him and wrestle him to the ground, but he broke away, slashing one elf across the throat with Galdra and driving his sword deep into another’s mid-section. He kicked the elf he’d spitted off the blade, backward into three other attackers, and they went down beneath the dead weight of their comrade.

Spinning like a dervish, Sorak laid about him with both blades, screaming his rage at the top of his lungs. Within seconds, four elves lay dead, and the remainder found themselves with far more on their hands than they had bargained for.

The Shadows had abandoned any notion of taking him alive. It was either him or them. But in the narrow confines of the alley, their superior numbers gave them no advantage. Sorak did not remain still for so much as an instant, and the elves found themselves only getting into each other’s way.

Fighting with a fury he had never felt before, Sorak parried, struck, slashed, kicked and slammed into his opponents, and they fell one after the other. In the midst of the melee, he caught a glimpse of a familiar face.

“Edric!”

The elf paled and took to his heels, but there was no chance to give pursuit.

Three elves remained, and they suddenly found themselves fighting for their lives. Sorak gave them no chance to retreat. He parried one blow, turning the blade aside, and stepped in, stabbing Galdra deep in the elf’s stomach even as he blocked another stroke with his sword. He shoved the dying elf’s body away, spun around, ducked under a slash, and drove his blade up into his attacker’s throat.

The one remaining elf turned and ran in panic, but he never got farther than two steps. Sorak brought him down, tackling him from behind, and drove the broken blade into his back. He came up quickly, spinning around, but there were no more opponents. Edric had fled, but the others all lay dead or dying in the alley.

Then he heard a soft moan.

“Sorak…”

Ryana lay facedown in the alley in a large and rapidly spreading pool of blood. Sorak ran to her and crouched by her side, gently turning her over.

“Ryana!”

When he saw her wound, he knew there was no hope. No hope at all. The spark of life was already fading from her eyes as she gazed up at him.

“Ryana, no…”

She tried to breathe in shallow gasps, but blood bubbled up from between her lips. She coughed and made a terrible, grunting, choking sound, and managed to gasp out just three words before she died.

“I… loved… you…”

Sorak stared with stunned disbelief at the limp and lifeless body he was holding in his arms, and his mind tried to reject the unacceptable reality. He shook her, and called her name over and over again, and finally, as the awful knowledge sank in, he threw his head back and screamed, one long, drawn out, inarticulate wail of agony and despair. And in th