It had already begun when she first saw him all those years ago, and it would be many years more before it was completed. The arduous metamorphosis proceeded by slow stages, induced by powerful and complicated spells. For years now, it had occupied all of Nibenay’s attention. The people of his kingdom never saw him. He never ventured from his private chambers anymore. There were servants in the palace who had been there all their lives and had never even caught a glimpse of him. Veela was not sure if he ever slept, but each time she came to him, no matter what the hour, he was awake and either making the long and exhausting preparations for the next stage of his metamorphosis or resting from his efforts and battling the pain. What made it all worthwhile for him was the final goal. Once he had fully cast aside the last vestiges of his humanity, he would become the most powerful creature to walk the planet. And for Nibenay, the lust for power was everything. He had time to think of nothing else—
Except for the last few days, when there had arisen a new subject for his interest. And now, it seemed he could think of nothing else.
“The Nomad,” he said. “Tell me what you have learned.”
“He is an elfling, my lord,” she said.
“An elfling? What sort of creature is that?”
“The result of a mating between a halfling and an elf,” Veela replied.
“What nonsense is this?” said Nibenay. “Halflings and elves are mortal enemies!”
“Nevertheless, my lord, there apparently was such a union. I have personally heard from those who saw him, and they attest that he possesses the characteristics of both races.”
“Ill-omened creature,” said the Shadow King, turning away from her. “Go on. What more?”
“His name is Sorak, which means ‘nomad who travels alone’ in the elvish tongue, and hence his appellation. But he does not travel alone. He travels in the company of a villichi priestess.”
“Preservers,” said Nibenay with disgust, spitting the word out.
“It is also said that he is a master of the Way,” said Veela, “though he is scarcely more than a boy. And witnesses attest to this. How else could he have overcome two templars and several squads of half-giants in our city guard?”
“And where did one so young get his training in the Way? How could he have mastered it so quickly?” asked the Shadow King.
“I do not know, my lord,” said Veela, “but rumor has it he was trained by the villichi.”
“A male? In a villichi convent? Preposterous.”
“Perhaps, my lord. I have not been able to establish the veracity of this.”
“Continue.”
“It has been learned that he came to the city to seek out the Veiled Alliance,” Veela said.
“More preservers!” said the defiler king. “What has he to do with the Alliance?”
“I do not know, my lord, but they came to help him when he battled our half-giants. There were witnesses to this. And he was assisted by the city’s elves, as well.”
“Elves?”
“Mostly half-elves, my lord, but it is reported that there were full-blooded elves among them, also,” she replied.
“Since when do elves care about anything other than profit for themselves?” asked Nibenay. “The Veiled Alliance coming to assist this Nomad, that I can understand. He was battling the city guard. But why should elves care one way or the other?”
“Once again, my lord, I cannot vouch for the truth of these reports, but it is said that he is regarded by them as some sort of chieftain, perhaps even a king. Many of the city’s elves dispute the story, ridiculing it and claiming they would never give allegiance to any would-be elven king. However, elves did come to his assistance. That is undeniable. It is said he carries an enchanted sword about which there is some sort of foolish legend ... the ancient, lost sword of elven kings or some such thing.”
“Galdra!” said the Shadow King.
Veela frowned. “Why, yes, my lord. That is the name given to the sword in the stories I have heard.”
Nibenay stared out the window, as if deep in thought. “It is no mere story,” he replied. “At least, not that part of it. Galdra is real enough. The sword exists, though it has been lost for generations. Have you spoken with anyone who claims to have seen this sword?”
“I have, my lord.”
“Did they describe it?”
“Yes, my lord. I was told it is made of elven steel, though I have never heard of such a thing, and of an unusual configuration. The blade, as it was described to me, is something of a cross between a falchion and a cutlass, broad and leaf-shaped at the tip, with an ornate hilt wrapped in silver wire.”
“And is there a legend inscribed upon the blade?” Nibenay asked anxiously. “I do not know, my lord.” For a few moments, the dragon king remained silent, his tail twitching back and forth. Veela wondered at this sudden interest in this elfling known as the Nomad. He appeared in the city out of nowhere, caused rioting and havoc, and then just as quickly disappeared. No one knew what had become of him. “It could be,” said Nibenay at last. “It could be the sword called Galdra. If so, its reappearance after all these years is a bad omen. Alone, that would be significant enough, but in the hands of one whose like has never before been seen.... a preserver who can summon to his aid both the Alliance and the elves, a master of the Way despite his youthful age . . . and then there is his name. The Nomad. The one who always walks alone, and yet is not alone. Everything about him has the air of portent, curse him.”
In spite of herself, Veela could not resist a question. “Portent, my lord?” she said.
“I sensed his presence from the moment he came into the city,” said the Shadow King. “Yet, I did not know what it was. I only knew that something ... someone... had impinged on my awareness in a way that had not happened since....” His voice trailed off.
Veela was anxious for him to continue, but she had already overstepped her bounds. Nibenay seemed not to notice. She had never seen him like this before.
“What does a nomad do, Veela?” Nibenay asked finally.
“Why . . .” She was not sure how to respond. Should she take the question literally? “I suppose he ... wanders, my lord.”
“Yes,” said the Shadow King, drawing the word out into a sibilant hiss. “He wanders. Yes, indeed.”
Veela was at a loss to understand what he meant. Who was this Nomad that Nibenay, who had long since ceased to have any concerns about what went on in his city, was so preoccupied with? What was his significance that he should so trouble a sorcerer-king, before whose power every living creature quaked?
“Have you learned nothing else?” asked Nibenay.
“No, my lord. I have told you all I have been able to discover. And as I have said before, I cannot vouch for the veracity of some of the things I have been told.”
Nibenay nodded. “You have done well,” he said, giving her an unprecedented compliment. “There is more I need to know, however.”
“I shall make further inquiries at once, my lord,” said Veela.
“No,” he said. “He has left the city. I can no longer sense his presence. I doubt there is much more you can discover now.”
“As you wish, my lord,” she said, bowing her head.
She waited to be dismissed, but the order was not immediately forthcoming. Instead, the Shadow King issued another command.
“Bring me Valsavis.”
Veela’s eyes grew wide at the mention of the name. It was a name she had not heard spoken in years, a name that those few who still knew it rarely dared to speak aloud.