Terry Brooks - The Weapons Master's Choice

Why did he feel this way? Why was Lyriana different from every other woman he had ever encountered? Because it was undeniable that she made him feel something others didn’t; he could admit it if not embrace it. He was attracted to her–had been attracted to her from the first–in a way that was both visceral and emotional. It was a deep and painful longing, one that transcended anything he had ever felt.

Lyriana. What was it about her that compelled him so strongly? But try as he might, he could not identify it.

They rode through the day, traveling north and east to the shores of the Tiderace, where the Ravenshorn ended in huge cliffs that rose thousands of feet over the waters of the ocean. There was no passage offered along the shoreline and no trails into the mountains that would allow for horses. So after spending the night where they stopped to make their camp, they released their horses the following day to find their way home again and set out on foot. This was new country to him, a place to which he had never traveled and about which he knew nothing. They walked all that day and the next, climbing and descending along narrow footpaths, wending their way among massive rock walls and towering peaks, as tiny as ants against the landscape. The air turned cold the higher they went, and on the third night it was so frigid they rolled into their blankets and huddled together for warmth inside a shallow cave. But there was little warmth to be found, and they rose early. That day was the worst, so bitter that ice formed on the surface of the rocks and the wind cut with the sharpness of a knife’s blade.

But Lyriana never once asked to rest. He made her stop when he thought it necessary, but he never heard her complain and never saw her falter. She was amazingly strong and resilient, and she knew exactly where to go, leading him on with a determination and certainty that he did not once think to challenge.

They spoke little as they proceeded, in part because of the wind’s howl and in part because she seemed to prefer it that way. His attraction to her did not diminish, but he sensed that she had moved away from him and might not come back again. He did not think it was anything he had said or done, but was instead based on something else altogether.

Even in the absence of conversation, he watched her. He watched her all the time, compulsively and unrepentantly. She walked ahead of him, and he studied the movement of her body, her gait steady and fluid. He tried to look away, but found himself drawn back time and time again. Watching her was so pleasurable that he quickly found justification for doing so. She was in his care. She was vulnerable in ways he was not. She was right in front of him; where else was he supposed to look?

At least it passed the time. It made his travel more pleasant.

But it made his heart ache, as well. It made him think of things he had not thought about in years.

On the eighth day, having crossed through the Ravenshorn and begun their descent on the far side, they came in sight of Tajarin.

It was late in the afternoon, the skies heavily clouded and the smell of rain in the air. They were close enough to sea level by now that the chill was mostly gone, and a more temperate breeze warmed them sufficiently that Garet Jax had shed his travel cloak and strapped it over one shoulder. Lyriana still wore hers, however, seemingly indifferent to the rise and fall of the temperature. Ahead, through gaps in the peaks of the Ravenshorn, small swatches of dark water were visible where the Tiderace could be glimpsed. They were navigating a twisting path through deep clefts and narrow defiles when the way forward abruptly widened, and there was the city.

Garet Jax stopped where he was and stared. To say that Tajarin was bleak was a monumental understatement. It was a ragged jumble of walls and battlements and towers that looked to have been charred by a massive fire that–in some long–ago time–had swept the city. Everything visible was blackened; no hint of color showed. Low–slung clouds scraped the tallest buildings and cast a pall over the whole of the city, leaving it layered in shadows. There were no people visible on the walls. Within, no one could be seen moving about.

There were no lights anywhere, not even atop the watchtowers. The city looked dead.

Who comes to a place like this?

He could not imagine. It was certainly not a trade route; their journey in had confirmed that. There was nothing attractive or interesting about it, nothing that would bring people to visit for any but the most pressing of reasons.

Lyriana caught his attention. “My people–those who are not already prisoners of Kronswiff–are in hiding. But make no mistake. The Het are abroad and keep watch upon this road–and on the Tiderace, as well.”

He pondered how they might escape notice when entering the city. Nightfall would help, if the moon and stars stayed hidden behind the clouds and no torchlight revealed their approach. He studied the bending of the narrow road that led up to the city gates, and then visually backtracked its route to see if another choice might present itself.

He found what he was looking for quickly enough. But while scaling the walls would prove easy enough for him, he wasn’t so sure about Lyriana. And he would need her help once he was inside to find his way.

They descended farther, still sufficiently concealed against the dark backdrop of the mountains to escape being caught out. But once the way forward flattened and smoothed into a gentle slope leading up to the gates and the mountain walls fell away, he moved her back into the rocks.

“Sit here,” he told her, after taking a quick look around to be certain they were well enough concealed.

She sat obediently, finding amid the boulders a resting place against a broad stone surface. Leaving her there momentarily, he stepped back outside their shelter to scan the scarred walls of the city, making sure there was no fresh activity, then rejoined her.

“We’ll wait here for darkness,” he said. “Then we’ll go into the city and find Kronswiff and his Het.”

“What will you do when you find them?”

His gray eyes found hers. “Whatever I think best.”

“But you will set my people free?”

He nodded, saying nothing. He took some bread from his backpack, tore off a hunk, and handed it to her. Then he took some for himself.

“There are a great many for you to overcome,” she said.

He shrugged. “There always are.”

“I wish I could help you.”

“Maybe you can. Do you know where Kronswiff can be found once we’re inside the walls?” He waited for her nod. “Then that will be help enough.”

They were silent for a long time after that, finishing their spare meal and washing it down with water from their skins. The darkness began to deepen as night settled in, and the wind died into a strange hushed silence.

“Why do your people stay in Tajarin?” he asked. “What keeps them here?”

She shrugged. “It is their home. For most, it is all they know. They seek quiet and seclusion; they desire privacy. They find it here.”

“But doesn’t it bother them to be so isolated? Surely no travelers come this way, or any traders. How do you manage to live? Have you livestock of any sort? Or crops? How do you find food?”

“We have gardens that in better weather yield crops. We have some livestock, a sufficient number that we don’t starve. Sometimes we leave long enough to bring back supplies from other places. But no one comes to Tajarin. Not even ships, as in the old days. There are not enough of us to bother with. And the waters of the Tiderace are treacherous. The risk is not worth it. Only Kronswiff and his Het have come here in my lifetime. No one else.”

He hesitated. “Have you thought about leaving? About going somewhere else? Before now, I mean? Before you came looking for me?”

She looked down at her feet. “Not before now.”

The way she said it suggested that maybe she was considering the possibility. Perhaps because of him. But he said nothing of this, leaving the matter where it was. Another time, he would ask her, when this business with her people was over and done.

He kept them waiting another hour, remaining in the concealment of the rocks, biding their time. Her reticence was a clear indicator of her wishes, and they talked little. He let her be until the light was gone from the skies and the blackness complete, and then he brought her to her feet and took her back out onto the road.

The way forward was dark with shadows and gloom. His eyesight was good in the darkness–perhaps because he had spent so much time there–and after leaving the road he found their path to the walls of the city without difficulty. Standing motionless, he listened for long moments, but heard nothing. Producing a slender rope, he then fastened it to a collapsible grappling hook and heaved it over the wall. It caught on the first try, and after testing it with his weight he went up the wall like a spider. Once safely on top and having determined he was alone, he motioned for her to fasten the rope about her slender waist. Then he hauled her up, hand–over–hand, to join him.

Stashing the rope and grappling hook in his pack, he searched the maze of empty squares and city streets below. “Which way do we go?” he whispered.

She led him down a stone stairway to their left and from there into the heart of the city. Tajarin was built on a series of terraced levels that descended from high above the Tiderace–from where they had first stood upon the city walls–to the shores of a waterfront. Ships rocked at their berths against sagging wooden docks, and not one of them looked fit enough to set sail. Everywhere he cast about, he found dilapidation and ruin. The city appeared not to have been cared for in years. Decay and rot had weakened crossbeams and supports, and even the walls were beginning to crumble where wind and rain had scoured and eroded their surfaces.

The minutes crawled past as they made their way down one empty street after another, past gloom–filled alleyways and alcoves, past buildings dark and silent. No other person appeared, and not a single sound could be heard save the rush of the wind through the towers and parapets and the wash of the waves against the piers and shoreline.

Garet Jax glanced about, his gaze shifting. Is there anybody here at all? Where are Lyriana’s people?

Only once did he detect another presence, and he backed them into a darkened entry and waited in silence as a pair of the Het passed by on their way to the back wall. A changing of the guard, he assumed, so at least he knew the city was not entirely abandoned and his purpose in coming was not in vain.

Finally, after descending through four of the terraced levels, they arrived at a complex of boxy, multistory buildings connected by adjoining walls so that they resembled a jumble of monstrous blocks. He had seen such buildings before in other cities, each designed to achieve the same purpose–to create something awe inspiring, something magnificent due solely to size and weight. But there was never any beauty or grace in such fat, squat structures no matter how large, and so it was here.

Ignoring his hesitation, Lyriana moved past him along the facing wall to where a single door was recessed into the stone. She produced a key from her pocket, and in moments they were inside, standing in the darkness.

He waited as he heard her rummaging about, and then abruptly a small light flared and he saw that its source was a crystal she was holding. “This way,” she whispered.

They crept down countless corridors deep into the interior of the complex, edging their way forward with the help of the crystal’s bright light. They passed dozens of doors and a handful of chambers open to the passageways they followed, but everything remained silent and empty. Once, they descended one set of stairs, and then shortly afterward climbed back up another. There were no lights anywhere. In a few of the corridors they passed down, windows closed over by heavy drapes and wooden shutters let in slivers of ambient light through cracks in the fabric and boards.