were a startling shade of azure blue. An old scar made by a knife or sword came up out his beard, crossed his left cheekbone and disappeared beneath his hair.
He wore a sleeveless hide tunic fastened by a thick belt with several daggers at his waist, studded wristlets, and hide breeches tucked into high, laced moccasins. His shoulders were broad and powerful, and his chest was huge, rippling with muscle, tapering in a V-shape to his narrow waist. His forearms were scarred and corded with dense muscle, and his upper arms were thicker around than Veela’s thighs. His bearing was erect and loose, and he conveyed an impression of immense physical power.
“Greetings, Valsavis,” she said.
“Veela,” he said, in his rough voice. “It has been a long, long time. You have grown old.”
She smiled at his insolence. He always was direct. “And so have you,” she said. “Perhaps too old,” she added, lifting her chin to gaze challengingly into his eyes.
“For what?” he asked.
“For that which you had once done best.”
“If the Shadow King believed that, he would not have sent you,” said Valsavis simply, reaching for his axe. He picked up a piece of pagafa wood and placed it on the stump. He raised the axe and split it with one powerful blow.
Veela marveled at his insolence. He had turned his back upon a templar and gone back to work! “You have not changed,” she said. “You are still the same insufferable barbarian you always were.”
He continued splitting wood at a leisurely pace. “If that offends you, you know the way back,” he said.
She smiled despite herself. Most men would have trembled at being addressed by a templar of the Shadow King. This one spoke to her as if she were no more than a serving wench. She should have been offended, gravely so, and yet was not. It had always been that way with him. She had never quite understood why.
“His Majesty King Nibenay wishes to see you,” she said.
“I had deduced as much,” Valsavis said. “I did not think you came all this way merely for a social call.” He continued chopping wood.
“He wishes to see you at once,” Veela added emphatically.
Valsavis kept on splitting wood. “Is he in immanent danger of death?”
Veela looked surprised. “Why, no. Of course not. The Shadow King shall live forever.”
“Then what is another day?” Valsavis asked. Veela felt the color rising to her cheeks. “I may be tolerant of your insolence, Valsavis, for the fact that it amuses me, but the Shadow King has no such forgiving traits!”
Valsavis stuck his axe back in the stump and turned around slowly, stretching his bulging muscles. “Nibenay has not required my services in years,” he said. “And for all those years, I have remained forgotten by His Majesty the Shadow King. Now, suddenly, he is impatient for my presence. Clearly, he has need for a service only I am able to perform. I have waited years for him to find me useful once again. Now let him wait.”
Veela’s jaw dropped open with disbelief. “No one defies the Shadow King!” she said with shock. “No one!”
“Then let him strike me down,” Valsavis said. He made a dismissive motion with one hand before she could respond. “Oh, I know he could, and easily, with no more effort than it would take for him to blink one of his evil yellow eyes. But he shall not, because he needs me. And it must be a task of some importance, else he would not have sent you, rather than some lowly messenger, as he had done in years gone by. I was preparing supper. Will you share it with me?”
She gaped at him as he turned without awaiting a reply, picked up an armload of wood, ascended the porch steps, and went into the cabin. Not knowing what else to do, she followed him.
After a hearty supper of roasted kirre steaks, together with wild mountain rice seasoned with herbs, they sat down on wood benches by the fireplace to enjoy some hot, spiced tea brewed from a mixture of wild herbs. It was a blend Valsavis had concocted, and it was delicious.
“You may have missed your calling,” Veela said as she took another sip. “You could have been a master cook. Dinner was superb.”
“I master everything I attempt,” Valsavis said simply. “There is no point in doing anything by halfway measures.”
“So do it with a master’s skill, or do not do it at all?” she asked. “Is that why