“Nothing quite so spectacular, I fear,” said Sorak with a wry grimace. “I merely learned of a marauder plan to ambush a caravan from Tyr and passed on a warning to the merchant house.”
“I see. And what of the tale of your crossing the Stony Barrens and rescuing a princess of the royal house of Nibenay?”
“That one is true,” admitted Sorak.
“Really? Then the Shadow King is in your debt?”
“Hardly,” Sorak said. “The princess in question had taken preserver vows and been exiled as a result. An ambitious nobleman from Gulg had seized her and planned to force her into marriage so he could lay claim to kinship to the royal house of Nibenay. The girl asked for my help, and as a fellow preserver, I could not refuse.”
“And so you stole her from the nobleman and fled across the Barrens?” Tajik asked.
Sorak nodded.
“Incredible,” said Tajik. “They say no one has ever tried to cross the Barrens and survived.”
“It was not an experience I would care to repeat,” said Sorak.
“And what of the nobleman?”
“He died,” said Sorak simply.
“And the princess? What became of her?”
“She returned to Nibenay and joined the Veiled Alliance.”
“So that part of the story is true, then,” said Tajik. “I would never have believed it. A daughter of the Shadow King enlisted in the Veiled Alliance!” He shook his head in amazement. “That must have made the old dragon king absolutely furious.”
“He does not hold me in very high regard.”
“And this does not frighten you?”
Sorak shrugged. “There is no love lost between preserver and defiler. Simply being what I am has made me the enemy of the dragon kings. I knew that when I chose to take my vows.”
“Yes, but taking preserver vows is not the same as making a personal enemy of the Shadow King.”
“Perhaps not,” said Sorak. “But there is little use to being afraid. Nibenay has tried to kill me several times. As you can see, I am still alive, so perhaps the dragon kings are not all-powerful, as they would have everyone believe.”
“Still, being marked for death by a sorcerer king is the sort of thing that would terrify most men.”
“Perhaps, but I should think that I would find your job much more dangerous,” said Sorak. “Nibenay’s primary concern is to complete his dragon metamorphosis. I may have aroused his ire, but he will not spare much energy to snuff out the life of one insignificant preserver. You, on the other hand, face death every time you board your ferry. So which of us has more to fear?”
Tajik smiled. “I have always thought the rewards of my job justified the risks. What justifies the risk for you?”
“Well, to put it in dwarven terms,” said Sorak, “the satisfaction of staying true to my focus. Accepting the risk and living with it is a sort of compromise.”
“I suppose we all make compromises and take the good with the bad,” said Tajik, taking the hint and not pressing his inquiries. “Well, I shall let you finish your bath. I will have some more water heated for Ryana. She did not go swimming in the silt, as you did, but I am sure she would appreciate a good, hot soak. And then you shall be my guests for dinner, and afterward, I hope you will accept the hospitality of my home for the night.”
“That is very generous of you,” Sorak said. “But it is really not necessary to go to so much trouble.”
“Do not concern yourself. It is no trouble at all. I rarely have company and will enjoy showing you my village. We may not have the luxuries of a city such as Tyr or Balic, but we do know how to entertain our guests.”
After they had both bathed and dressed, Tajik took them to dinner at an eating house that boasted “the best larder in South Ledopolus.” It was a short walk from his home in the center of town, and Sorak marveled at the difference between the streets of South Ledopolus and those of Tyr or Nibenay. In most towns and cities, and even in most villages, there was no shortage of beggars. Not so South Ledopolus. Since the town was situated on a caravan route, and well isolated from any other settlements except North Ledopolus, the only transient traffic was that brought by the caravans, and beggars could not afford to book passage.
The streets of the village were also remarkably clean, reflecting a dwarven obsession with neatness and order. Even though the streets were hard-packed dirt, Tajik told Sorak with a sense of pride that they were regularly swept and graded by kank beetles pulling weighted drags through town once every two weeks and after each rain. There was a narrow ditch for runoff at the side of each street, and well-planed wooden sidewalks had been constructed on both sides of the street, shaded from the desert sun by overhangs made from wood planks or cactus ribs.
The buildings were freshly plastered, painted in muted tones of reds and pinks and tans. Tajik told them that the owners of the buildings were responsible for maintaining a clean facade. Chipped or flaking exteriors resulted in fines levied by the council. It was a remarkably pleasant looking village, with gently winding streets and well-groomed pagafa trees providing shade and color. With its tidy shops and inviting hostelries, it did not look at all like the rollicking, wide-open caravan town Sorak had expected.
On the other hand, the mercenary presence was very evident. Everywhere he looked, Sorak saw lean and muscular, hard-bitten and well-armed men mixing with the dwarven population. Some were human, some were half-elves, but all looked tough. Sorak wondered about the women. Men such as these had needs to satisfy, and they often liked to satisfy them without any encumbrances. Yet, he saw no women of easy virtue wandering
