“Then we’re going to be traveling through some territory that you’ve never seen before. Possibly that no man has ever seen before. . . .”
“You have a funny way of makin’ the obvious sound kind of profound,” said Stoor, laughing at his own wit.
It was funny, the way he said it, and Varian couldn’t help but smile himself.
“How far are we from the Burn?”
“About three hours before we hit the first part of it. I figure to swing south and avoid most of the Behistar Republic. There’s no sense in tanglin’ horns with any of that wild bunch there. We’ll check out the Burn, then if we come up short, head east to the Hesen River. From there, it’s only a little bit to the Ironfields.”
“You been there many times?”
“Ironfields? Yeah, sure. But I ain’t seen it all. Ain’t no man alive that’s seen it all. It goes on and on. It’s the biggest single thing I’ve ever seen in the World except for maybe the Slaglands. Don’t know which is bigger ‘cause they both seem to just go on forever.”
“I’ve never seen it. It must be awesome.”
“Awesome? Maybe that’s the word, I don’t know. You see all them wrecks, all the bones . . . you think: What the hell ever happened here? Who could’ve been so powerful?” Stoor shook his head. “It makes you think that whoever they were—the men of the First Age—they were a far better bunch than us. Than we’ll ever be. Yeah, I’ve never been to the Ironfields without havin’ a scary feelin’ come over me. . . .”
The Finder alarm on the control panel beeped into life. The screen indicated a larger mass south of their current position.
“That’s the monastery. See, what’d I tell you? if you didn’t have me along, you might go down there and waste a lot of supplies and time.” The old man laughed again.
Varian looked at him closely, trying to figure him out. It might be difficult to spend an indefinite amount of time with him. His manner was abrupt and, although straightforward, hard to take in large doses. He was authoritative and was obviously used to being in charge of things. Varian usually did not get along well with men such as that, yet Stoor’s age and inestimable experience seemed to temper the personality differences.
But Varian wondered what motivated him. He seemed to have the wanderlust, the need to be moving and constantly discovering. Stoor would be seemingly just as happy off in the Manteg hunting sphinders or lizards. And yet though he wanted to find the Citadel, he did not seem to exhibit any of the urgency or excitement that such a quest should instill.
They sat in silence for a while as Varian continued to think about the group he had aligned himself with. Stoor was something of a mystery and would continue to be until time unwound his true nature. Raim, his inseparable companion, was quite a bit simpler to understand.
From what Varian had been able to pick up in bits of offhand reference to the small, muscular man, Raim had been a Maaradin courier for a company in Borat. His reliability and courage were renowned and he often drew the toughest assignments, transporting diplomatic pouches throughout the World. That is, until the time when his small frigate was overtaken by a Behistar Raider and he was taken prisoner rather than killed outright because one of the officers recognized him as an upper-echelon courier. Since he had dispatched his packet over the side at the first sign of the Raiders, there was no concrete information or evidence Raim could have given them. But they still took him back to their renegade headquarters and tortured him.
Raim, although he would have been faithful to the last and would not have divulged any information, knew nothing of value to the Raiders that they did not already know. As punishment for not cooperating, they cut out his tongue and banished him to a cruel death in the Samarkesh Burn. It was there that old Stoor had found him, the old man himself on the run from the barbaric Raiders. Stoor nursed him back to health and carried him out of the Burn, where they met a platoon of the Home Militia out of the Maaradin Fortress. Raim swore his life to Stoor and had served him unswervingly ever since. That had been almost twenty years ago, and it had proved to be a perfect marriage. That last thought made Varian wonder about the two men’s sexual preferences, and he let the possibilities dwindle out of mind without really caring what the true situation was.
Tessa also filled his thoughts. They were now locked into a journey which would keep them in close company twenty-four hours a day. It was going to be a test for them, for everyone. They would be traveling harsh, unknown territory, and there would be no place to go to be alone for any large amounts of time. Everyone would get to know everyone else intimately, and there would be the usual discoveries—the good ones and the bad ones about who did what, and how, to each other’s pleasure or distress. She was a special person to him. Varian found himself thinking of her at the oddest moments and he knew what that meant. His life had been a series of hellos and good-byes, and in the final analysis he had always known that he had lived for himself, that he had fought and killed and rambled along for his own survival only. He had never taken the time to think about anyone else, and yet he was doing it now.
Looking over at Stoor, who squinted against the glare, armwrestling the controls of the vehicle and
