The Nomad - By Simon Hawke Page 0,2

into wings. Though he never alluded to it, Veela knew that he was often in great pain from the slow and excruciating transformation.

It had already begun when she first saw him all those years ago, and it would be many years more before it was completed. The arduous metamorphosis proceeded by slow stages, induced by powerful and complicated spells. For years now, it had occupied all of Nibenay’s attention. The people of his kingdom never saw him. He never ventured from his private chambers anymore. There were servants in the palace who had been there all their lives and had never even caught a glimpse of him. Veela was not sure if he ever slept, but each time she came to him, no matter what the hour, he was awake and either making the long and exhausting preparations for the next stage of his metamorphosis or resting from his efforts and battling the pain. What made it all worthwhile for him was the final goal. Once he had fully cast aside the last vestiges of his humanity, he would become the most powerful creature to walk the planet. And for Nibenay, the lust for power was everything. He had time to think of nothing else…

Except for the last few days, when there had arisen a new subject for his interest. And now, it seemed he could think of nothing else.

“The Nomad,” he said. “Tell me what you have learned.”

“He is an elfling, my lord,” she said.

“An elfling? What sort of creature is that?”

“The result of a mating between a halfling and an elf,” Veela replied.

“What nonsense is this?” said Nibenay. “Halflings and elves are mortal enemies!”

“Nevertheless, my lord, there apparently was such a union. I have personally heard from those who saw him, and they attest that he possesses the characteristics of both races.”

“Ill-omened creature,” said the Shadow King, turning away from her. “Go on. What more?”

“His name is Sorak, which means ‘nomad who travels alone’ in the elvish tongue, and hence his appellation. But he does not travel alone. He travels in the company of a villichi priestess.”

“Preservers,” said Nibenay with disgust, spitting the word out.

“It is also said that he is a master of the Way,” said Veela, “though he is scarcely more than a boy. And witnesses attest to this. How else could he have overcome two templars and several squads of half-giants in our city guard?”

“And where did one so young get his training in the Way? How could he have mastered it so quickly?” asked the Shadow King.

“I do not know, my lord,” said Veela, “but rumor has it he was trained by the villichi.”

“A male? In a villichi convent? Preposterous.”

“Perhaps, my lord. I have not been able to establish the veracity of this.”

“Continue.”

“It has been learned that he came to the city to seek out the Veiled Alliance,” Veela said.

“More preservers!” said the defiler king. “What has he to do with the Alliance?”

“I do not know, my lord, but they came to help him when he battled our half-giants. There were witnesses to this. And he was assisted by the city’s elves, as well.”

“Elves?”

“Mostly half-elves, my lord, but it is reported that there were full-blooded elves among them, also,” she replied.

“Since when do elves care about anything other than profit for themselves?” asked Nibenay. “The Veiled Alliance coming to assist this Nomad, that I can understand. He was battling the city guard. But why should elves care one way or the other?”

“Once again, my lord, I cannot vouch for the truth of these reports, but it is said that he is regarded by them as some sort of chieftain, perhaps even a king. Many of the city’s elves dispute the story, ridiculing it and claiming they would never give allegiance to any would-be elven king. However, elves did come to his assistance. That is undeniable. It is said he carries an enchanted sword about which there is some sort of foolish legend… the ancient, lost sword of elven kings or some such thing.”

“Galdra!” said the Shadow King.

Veela frowned. “Why, yes, my lord. That is the name given to the sword in the stories I have heard.”

Nibenay stared out the window, as if deep in thought. “It is no mere story,” he replied. “At least, not that part of it. Galdra is real enough. The sword exists, though it has been lost for generations. Have you spoken with anyone who claims to have seen this sword?”

“I have, my lord.”

“Did they describe it?”

“Yes, my lord. I