The Nomad - By Simon Hawke Page 0,86
magic of the Breastplate of Argentum did not affect the enchanted elven steel. And Sorak did not know it.
Valsavis saw the blade approaching, apparently floating toward him of its own accord, and quickly turned to face it, his eyes growing wide with surprise. At once, he took a fighting stance.
“Sorak!” Ryana called out. “Your blade! He can see it!”
Startled, Sorak stopped, still about eight or nine feet from the mercenary.
“So,” Valsavis said, “that is the power of the talisman. It confers invisibility.” He snorted with derision. “Were you so afraid to face me that you had to approach by stealth?”
Sorak reached behind him with his left hand and unfastened the breastplate, first at the waist, then at the neck. It fell to the ground at his feet, rendering him visible once more. “Very well,” he said. “Now you see me. The next move is yours, Valsavis.”
“As you wish,” Valsavis said with a smile. And, to their surprise, he sheathed his sword.
Sorak narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“Now what?” asked Valsavis, raising his eyebrows and folding his muscular arms across his chest.
“What are you up to, Valsavis?” Sorak asked uncertainly.
“I? Why, nothing. I am merely standing here.”
“Take care, Sorak!” Ryana shouted. “Nibenay will use him as a conduit for his power!”
“No,” said Valsavis. “He shall not. I am no sorcerer, but even I know that such an act would require a great expenditure of power, and the Shadow King hoards his powers jealously. The metamorphosis always remains his first priority. Besides, there is no need for me to depend upon the Shadow King. As you can see, I have sheathed my sword. It has served me well these many years and I have no wish to see it break upon that magic, elvish blade.”
“Watch out, Sorak!” cried Ryana. “He has some trick in mind!”
Valsavis shrugged. “No tricks,” he said. “Go on, elfling. Now is your chance to be rid of me, once and for all. So… strike.”
“Damn you,” Sorak said, lowering his blade. Valsavis smiled. “You see?” he said. “I had complete faith in you. You would not hesitate to fight if I attacked. But you would not kill an unarmed man who offers no resistance. That would be murder. Being a preserver does have certain disadvantages.”
“What do you want, Valsavis?” Sorak demanded, an edge in his voice.
Valsavis glanced down at the talisman, lying on the tiled floor and glowing faintly. “That… for a start.”
“You shall not have it.”
“Well, perhaps not right this moment, but we shall see,” Valsavis said. “You managed to shake me loose once. You shall not do it a second time. I will stay right on your heels until you lead me to your master. And there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.”
“I would not be so sure,” said Sorak, sheathing Galdra. “You were right, Valsavis. I cannot not kill a man who simply stands there and offers no resistance. But I can knock him senseless.”
Valsavis grinned and uncrossed his arms, putting his fists on his hips. “You? Knock me senseless? Now that is something I would like to see.”
“Very well, then,” Sorak said. “Watch.”
He slipped back and allowed the Guardian to the fore. Abruptly, a small, silver coin came flying up out of the treasure horde and spun across the chamber with a soft, rushing sound like an arrow flying through the air. It struck Valsavis hard in the side of his head, just above his ear. Valsavis flinched, recoiling, and brought his hand up to the spot. It came away wet with a drop of blood. Another coin followed, and then another, and another, and another. Bracelets, jewels, golden plates and silver goblets, amulets and more coins followed in rapid succession as Valsavis backed away and brought his arms up to protect his face. More and more pieces of the treasure came flying up out of the pool, hurtling toward him with great speed and force, striking him about the head and body, cutting him and raising painful welts and bruises.
Valsavis staggered backward, crying out, not so much with pain as with rage and frustration. His arms could not ward off all the objects that came flying at him, striking with greater and greater force. He spun around, doubling over, trying to hunch down and make himself a smaller target, all to no avail. The hail of treasure continued relentlessly as Ryana joined her power to the Guardian’s, and they hurled one piece after another at him, taking care to make sure that none of