Sorak grimaced inwardly. The guards must have talked. That meant everybody on the staff probably knew by now. This nonsense about his being Alaron’s heir because he carried Galdra had to stop before it could spread any farther. They didn’t want a king, and he didn’t want to be a king—
“Someone is lurking in the shadows by that pagafa tree,” the Watcher said.
Sorak stopped. He was about halfway down the brick-paved path leading through the courtyard to the entrance of the gaming house. The path curved through a garden planted with desert shrubs and wildflowers. Several tall succulents with long spines stood like twisted giants in the courtyard, and small, night-blooming kanna trees swayed gently in the evening breeze, their fragrant white blossoms, closed during the day, now open to perfume the garden. Just in front of him was a small, artificial pool, with a footbridge running across it, and to the right of the footbridge stood a thick blue tree, its branches spreading out to shade the path. As Sorak watched, a cloaked and hooded figure stepped out from behind the trunk of the tree and stood on the path before him.
“Greetings, Sorak,” said the stranger. The voice was male. Resonant and deep. It was a mature voice, relaxed, confident. “You have had a busy night.”
“Who are you?” Sorak asked, remaining where he was. He ducked under so that the Guardian could probe the stranger.
“I fear that will not avail you,” the stranger said. “I am warded against psionic probes.”
“He is telling the truth,” the Guardian replied. “I cannot detect his thoughts.” Sorak glanced back toward the gate. “The gatekeeper can neither see nor hear us,” said the stranger, as if reading his thoughts, though he obviously only interpreted his backward glance. “What have you done to him?” asked Sorak. “Nothing,” said the stranger. “I have merely created a temporary veil around us, so that we may speak undisturbed.”
“A veil?” said Sorak. “As in the Veiled Alliance?”
“May I approach?”
Sorak nodded, but kept his hand near his sword, just in case.
“You have nothing to fear from me,” the stranger said. “Unless, of course, you come as an enemy of the Alliance.”
“I come as a friend.” The stranger came closer. “We have been watching you,” he said. Sorak could see that the lower part of his face, beneath his hood, was veiled. “There is little that happens in the city that we do not know about. You have been anxious to make contact with the Alliance. Why?”
“I need to speak with your leaders.”
“Indeed,” the stranger said, “there are many who would like to do so. What makes you different from all the others?”
“I was raised in the villichi convent. I am sworn to follow the Way of the Druid and the Path of the Preserver.”
“The villichi are a female sect. There are no male villichi.”
“I did not say I was villichi, merely that I lived among them and was trained by them.”
“Why would they accept a male among them? That is not their way.”
“Because I possess psionic abilities, and because I was cast out by my tribe and left to die in the desert. A pyreen elder found me and took me to the convent. I was accepted there at her request.”
“A pyreen elder, you say? What was this elder’s name?”
“Lyra Al’Kali.”
The stranger nodded. “The name is known to me. She is one of the oldest of the peace-bringers. And the wishes of a pyreen elder would carry considerable weight with the villichi. Perhaps you are telling me the truth. But you still have not told me why you wish to see our leaders.”
“I seek information that will aid me in my quest to find the Sage,” said Sorak.
“You have set yourself quite a task,” the stranger said. “Many have tried to find the Sage. All have failed. What makes you think you will succeed?”
“Because I must”
“Why?”
“Elder Al’Kali told me that only the Sage could help me learn the truth about my origins. I have no memory of my early childhood, nor of my parents. I do not know where I came from, or what became of them. I do not even know who I truly am.”
“And you believe the Sage can help you learn these things? That is all you wish from him?”
“I also wish to serve him,” Sorak said. “I believe that in doing so, I may find the purpose that has been lacking in my life.”
“I see.”
“Can you help me?”
“No. I do not possess the information that you seek. Nor would I give it so easily if I did. However, there are those among us who may be able to help you, but you will first have to prove yourself.”
“How can I do that?”
“We shall let you know. We had thought you might be an agent of the templars until they tried to have you killed tonight.”
“Then it was the templars,” Sorak said. “The men they sent against you were the very spies from Nibenay whom you exposed to the council.”
Sorak frowned. “The marauders?” He might have recognized them from the images he had picked up from Digon’s mind except that it had been dark, and there had not been much left to recognize after the Shade got through with them.
“One of them ran away,” the stranger said. “And you were followed coming back here.”
“I was followed?”
“You did not see the beggar trailing you at some distance?”
“No,” Sorak admitted. “I was preoccupied.”
“The beggar was a templar,” said the stranger. “They have been watching you ever since you appeared before the council. When the templars are on your trail, it is a wise thing to watch your back.”
I am grateful for the warning,” Sorak said.
The stranger nodded. “We will speak again,” he said.
“How shall I get in touch with you?” asked Sorak.
“When the time is right, we shall contact you,” the stranger said.
“Why do the templars wish me dead?” asked Sorak.
“I cannot say,” the stranger replied, “unless, perhaps, you have told them of your quest to find the Sage.”
“I have told only two people,” Sorak replied, “Krysta and Councilman Rikus.”
“Rikus has no love for the templars,” said the stranger. “He would have no reason to tell them anything. Krysta looks to her own interests first and foremost, but she has wealth enough not to be tempted by any reward the templars might offer for information about you. She also has a strong allegiance to Rikus and would not go against his wishes. Unless you have reason to believe otherwise.”
“Krysta would not betray me to the templars,” Sorak said.
“Then I cannot account for why they would want you dead,” the stranger said. “They clearly perceive you as a threat, but I cannot say why. However, I shall endeavor to discover their motives. The enemy of our enemy is our friend. Sometimes.”
“And is this one of those times?”
“Perhaps,” the stranger said. “In Kalak’s time, alignments were much more clear. These days, however, things are not simple. We shall speak again.”
The stranger passed him and went back toward the gate. Sorak watched him go, then turned back toward the entrance to the gaming house. It occurred to him that he should probably thank the man, and he pivoted about to do so, but the path leading back to the gate was suddenly deserted. The stranger had moved quickly. He ran back toward the gate, hoping to catch him.
“The man who just passed by here,” Sorak said to the gatekeeper. “Which way did he go?” The gatekeeper frowned. “What man?”
“The man in the hooded cloak. He passed by you not a moment ago.”
The gatekeeper shook his head. “You are mistaken,” he said. “No one has passed by here since you came through the gate.”
“But he had to have gone past you!” Sorak said. “There is no other way out!”
The puzzled gatekeeper shook his head. “I have not left my post, and no one has passed this way since you came through the gate,” he insisted.