“Where does this lead?”
“It’s an old escape route leading beyond the city walls,” said Kor as they ducked through, shutting the entrance to the passageway behind them.
“I never knew of this,” said Timor, hurrying through the narrow passageway, bent to keep from striking his head on the low ceiling.
“It was kept a secret from Kalak and the templars,” Kor said. “When Kalak ruled, the council had much to fear. This passageway was built to allow them an escape route from the sorcerer-king’s wrath in the event he ever turned on them.”
“How did you know of this?” asked Timor, cursing as he swept away the cobwebs in his path. “My grandfather was the architect who designed the small council chamber,” said Kor. “He was a prudent man.”
“If you know of this passage, then the others will know of it, also!”
“No, Rikus and Sadira know nothing about it, and I am the only one left now on the council whose family had served in Kalak’s time.”
“I cannot see a thing in this infernal darkness!”
“Just follow the passageway,” said Kor. “It leads to a hidden door concealed in a rock outcropping, outside the wall of the king’s gardens.”
“Why help me now, Kor, when you threw me to the carrion eaters back there?”
“Because I, myself, would have been next,” said Kor. “They knew I was your man, and they would have made me share your punishment.”
“So, craven coward to the very end, eh?” Timor said.
“You ran as well,” said Kor. “Besides, I do not find a desire for survival to be cowardly. And it was not I who brought you down, Timor. You did that to yourself. I supported you, but I never dreamed you’d go so far as to release a plague of undead upon the city!”
“I did not release them on the city, you fool! I sent them after that misbegotten elfling!”
“You should have left well enough alone,” said Kor. “That elfling was your downfall.”
“And I fully intend to be his,” Timor replied through gritted teeth. “I shall not rest until I find him and make him pay for his interference! His death will be a slow and excruciating one!”
“Wait, slow down,” said Kor from just ahead of him. “I think we are almost there. Yes, here is the doorway!” Timor waited.
“It sticks,” said Kor. “It has not been used for years. Here, help me push...”
Positioning himself beside Kor, Timor put his shoulder to the door. “If it wasn’t so close in here, I’d blow this blasted door right off its hinges!”
“And give away our position to anyone who might be watching from the city walls?” asked Kor. “Now who’s being the fool? Push!”
Both men grunted with effort, and the door slowly gave way. A crack of daylight appeared, and then grew wider as the door swung open on protesting hinges. Timor felt a fresh breeze on his face and inhaled deeply. The stale, musty air inside the passageway had made him feel faint. He stepped out through the door and straightened up. “Ahhh! My back was beginning to ache from being hunched over like—”
With a creaking, scraping sound, the door swung closed behind him. Kor had not come out. He was still inside the passageway, behind the door. “Kor! Kor! Come out! What are you doing?” Timor looked for a way to open the door, but he could find nothing that would open it from the outside.
“Kor! Open this door! Can you hear me? Kor!”
“Your friend is gone,” said a voice behind him. “He has performed his task, and has returned the way he came.”
Timor spun around. Behind him, just beyond the outcropping, stood a group of white-robed, hooded figures, gathered around him in a semicircle. All of them wore veils. Timor’s eyes bulged. The Alliance! Kor, that miserable traitor....
“If you think to fight us with your defiler spells, then try,” said the preserver wizard who had spoken.
“We would welcome the test.”
Timor licked his lips and glanced around fearfully. He no longer had his spellbook, and his memory suddenly refused to give up any spell that would serve this horrible occasion. Besides, they outnumbered him. He might get two or three of them, if he was lucky, but the others would quickly finish him. His mind raced to find a way out of this predicament, but he could find no solution. There was no escape.
Several of the hooded figures moved aside, and the elfling came forward, accompanied by a beautiful young villichi priestess.
“You!” said Timor.
Sorak simply stood there and gazed at the templar with a puzzled expression. “Why?” he said. And as he spoke, the Guardian probed the templar’s mind, and Sorak had his answer.
Timor gave an inarticulate scream of rage and launched himself at Sorak. Ryana quickly stepped forward and clubbed him down with her staff.
“So that was all it was?” said Sorak. “A mistaken assumption?”
“He attributed his own foul and devious motives to everyone around him,” said the Guardian. “He plotted against the others, so he believed they plotted against him. He was drunk with the idea of power, so he believed that others were no different.”
“He has only received his just desserts,” said Sorak, looking down at the templar, on his hands and knees upon the ground.
Timor gazed up at him, blood running from the cut on his head where Ryana had struck him. “Go ahead, you misbegotten, bastard, half-breed spawn! Go ahead and finish it! Kill me, damn you, and have done with it!”
Sorak gazed down at him and shook his head. “No, templar, not I,” he said. “You have brought me more pain than you could ever know, but their cause takes precedence.” He glanced around at the men in the white robes and veils.
“No!” said Timor. “Not them! I know only too well what they can do!” He grasped at Sorak’s leg. “Kill me! Strike me down! It was I who raised the dead against you! It was I who sent Rokan and his men to cut your throat!”
Sorak jerked his leg out of the templar’s grasp and turned away.
“Nooo!” screamed the templar. “Kill me! Use your sword! Kill me, damn you! For pity’s sake, kill me!”
Sorak kept on walking, away from the city, with Ryana at his side. Neither of them looked back as the hooded men closed in around the templar and he began to scream in earnest.
On a hill overlooking the city, Sorak and Ryana sat before a fire. Ahead of them, the desert tablelands seemed to stretch out into infinity.
“Why did you follow me?” asked Sorak softly as he held the scroll the Veiled Alliance had given him.
“Need you ask?” Ryana said.
“The mistress gave you leave?”
Ryana looked down and shook her head. “When I came out of the tower and learned that you had gone, I knew I had to follow.”
“You mean you left the convent without permission from the high mistress?”
“Yes,” she said. “I broke my vows. I cannot be a priestess any longer. Nor do I want to be. I just want to be with you.”
“You tracked me? All the way to Tyr?”
She smiled. “I am villichi. Following your trail through the mountains was not very difficult, but it took a while to find you once I reached the city. However, your reputation had spread quickly. Many spoke about the fearsome elfling fighter and master of the Way who worked at the Crystal Spider gaming house. I knew that it could only be you. But when I saw you with that half-elf girl, I thought...” Her voice trailed off.
“You of all people should have known better,” Sorak said.
She nodded. “Yes, I know. I know only too well. Still, you left without even telling her good-bye. I am sure she pines for you.”
Sorak glanced down at his sword. “If she pines at all, it is for an ideal, not for me.”
“You cannot always walk alone, Sorak, despite your name. No one can. You need me.”
“It would be better if you were to go back.”