the truth about my origins. I have no memory of my early childhood, nor of my parents. I do not know where I came from, or what became of them. I do not even know who I truly am.”
“And you believe the Sage can help you learn these things? That is all you wish from him?”
“I also wish to serve him,” Sorak said. “I believe that in doing so, I may find the purpose that has been lacking in my life.”
“I see.”
“Can you help me?”
“No. I do not possess the information that you seek. Nor would I give it so easily if I did. However, there are those among us who may be able to help you, but you will first have to prove yourself.”
“How can I do that?”
“We shall let you know. We had thought you might be an agent of the templars until they tried to have you killed tonight.”
“Then it was the templars,” Sorak said. “The men they sent against you were the very spies from Nibenay whom you exposed to the council.”
Sorak frowned. “The marauders?” He might have recognized them from the images he had picked up from Digon’s mind except that it had been dark, and there had not been much left to recognize after the Shade got through with them.
“One of them ran away,” the stranger said. “And you were followed coming back here.”
“I was followed?”
“You did not see the beggar trailing you at some distance?”
“No,” Sorak admitted. “I was preoccupied.”
“The beggar was a templar,” said the stranger. “They have been watching you ever since you appeared before the council. When the templars are on your trail, it is a wise thing to watch your back.”
I am grateful for the warning,” Sorak said.
The stranger nodded. “We will speak again,” he said.
“How shall I get in touch with you?” asked Sorak.
“When the time is right, we shall contact you,” the stranger said.
“Why do the templars wish me dead?” asked Sorak.
“I cannot say,” the stranger replied, “unless, perhaps, you have told them of your quest to find the Sage.”
“I have told only two people,” Sorak replied, “Krysta and Councilman Rikus.”
“Rikus has no love for the templars,” said the stranger. “He would have no reason to tell them anything. Krysta looks to her own interests first and foremost, but she has wealth enough not to be tempted by any reward the templars might offer for information about you. She also has a strong allegiance to Rikus and would not go against his wishes. Unless you have reason to believe otherwise.”
“Krysta would not betray me to the templars,” Sorak said.
“Then I cannot account for why they would want you dead,” the stranger said. “They clearly perceive you as a threat, but I cannot say why. However, I shall endeavor to discover their motives. The enemy of our enemy is our friend. Sometimes.”
“And is this one of those times?”
“Perhaps,” the stranger said. “In Kalak’s time, alignments were much more clear. These days, however, things are not simple. We shall speak again.”
The stranger passed him and went back toward the gate. Sorak watched him go, then turned back toward the entrance to the gaming house. It occurred to him that he should probably thank the man, and he pivoted about to do so, but the path leading back to the gate was suddenly deserted. The stranger had moved quickly. He ran back toward the gate, hoping to catch him.
“The man who just passed by here,” Sorak said to the gatekeeper. “Which way did he go?” The gatekeeper frowned. “What man?”
“The man in the hooded cloak. He passed by you not a moment ago.”
The gatekeeper shook his head. “You are mistaken,” he said. “No one has passed by here since you came through the gate.”
“But he had to have gone past you!” Sorak said. “There is no other way out!”
The puzzled gatekeeper shook his head. “I have not left my post, and no one has passed this way since you came through the gate,” he insisted.
“I see,” said Sorak slowly. “Well, never mind. I must have been mistaken.”
He turned back toward the entrance. Magic, he thought, with a certain amount of trepidation. He knew very little of magic. He had a feeling that his education was about to begin.
* * *
Timor glared at the templar who stood, trembling, before him. “You mean to tell me that five men, all expert murderers, were unable to dispose of one miserable, half-breed peasant?”
“He is no mere peasant, my lord,” the templar replied, biting his