The Complete Darkwar Trilogy. Raymond E. Feist

shrugged. ‘If there was any treasure here, do you think I’d be wasting time sheltering myself from the hot sun? No, I’d be living like a raj down in Maharta!’ He laughed. ‘Treasure? Think on it, my young friend: if that had ever been true, by the time word of it reached you, someone would have already looted this cave.’ He turned and indicated with a gesture that the cave was empty.

      ‘Oh, sometimes people miss things,’ said the young man. ‘I think I’ll have a look for myself.’

      Nakor stepped nimbly in front of him. ‘I don’t think you wish to do that.’

      ‘Why not?’ asked the young man, drawing his sword.

      Tomas stepped into their view and stood barring the entrance. ‘Because I would be very annoyed if you tried.’

      Nakor stepped to one side, his eyes scanning the area, making certain that he knew where the other four riders were. The young man’s companions took one look at the towering presence that was Tomas and suddenly an afternoon’s lark became a potentially deadly confrontation. One of the young men nodded to the other three, and they all turned and began riding away.

      The young man glanced over his shoulder and laughed. ‘Cowards,’ he said. He eyed Tomas as he started circling to his left. ‘You’re a big one, that’s for sure.’

      During Tomas’ boyhood, chance had placed him in a deep cavern where a Valheru, a Dragon Lord, one of the ancient rulers of Triagia world, once resided.

      By donning the Valheru’s armour – the very suit he wore this day – Tomas’ mind and body had been changed, until he had become a living embodiment of that ancient race. The role of consort to the Elf Queen, being a father, and protecting of his adopted people had shaped him far more than the ancient legacy he carried, but it made him no less dangerous. There were perhaps only a dozen men who could face Tomas in combat and survive, and all of them were magic users. Even the finest swordsmen around, such as Talwin Hawkins, might only delay being cut down a few extra minutes.

      Nakor turned his attention from the fleeing riders back to the lone youngster approaching Tomas. There was something about him that made Nakor feel uncomfortable. The little Isalani gambler walked over to the young man’s horse and took the creature’s reins. He led him a short distance away, giving the two combatants more room.

      With a slightly mad glint in his eye the young man said, ‘You’re really going to try to keep me from going in there?’

      ‘I’m not going to try, boy,’ said Tomas. ‘You will not set foot in that cave.’

      ‘That makes it more difficult for me to believe there’s nothing of value in there worth seeing,’ he replied.

      ‘What you choose to believe is of no concern to me,’ said Tomas, as he stopped moving and made ready to receive the attack.

      With a fluid motion and a speed which Nakor would not have thought possible, the black-haired youth stepped forwards and threw a wicked combination attack that actually caused Tomas to step back. Tomas blocked his blows, but they were fast and hard and he couldn’t take his eyes off his opponent.

      Nakor felt around and found a short bush to tie off the horse as he kept his eyes fixed on the combat. The young warrior was more than merely a boy. There was an efficiency of strength and motion in his swordplay that outshone even the greatest swordsmen on Midkemia. And more, the ferocity of his blows was actually forcing Tomas to retreat.

      The ring of steel on steel was as loud as hammer on anvil, and Nakor knew that this was far more than an ordinary youth they faced. As each second passed, the pitch and intensity of the battle increased, and soon the flow of the combat seemed like nothing but a frenzied assault.

      As the youth continued his attack, Nakor suddenly realized what he had been sensing. ‘Don’t kill him, Tomas. I want to question him!’

      Tomas was now hard pressed not to try for a kill, but he shouted, ‘I’ll try to keep that in mind, Nakor.’ The human-turned-Valheru had greater weapons than the strength of his arms, and he now decided that the contest had gone on long enough.

      Tomas had attempted to tire his opponent out at first, having no desire to harm a young man whose only crime appeared to be recklessness. Yet now he was hard pressed to keep an advantage, and the youth seemed to be growing stronger with each passing minute.

      Tomas said, ‘Enough!’ He began to disengage his blade when his opponent followed through. Tomas pushed forwards with all his strength, sliding his own golden blade along the boy’s steel so that they stood face to face. Suddenly, Tomas reached out with his left hand and seized the man’s right wrist.

      Instantly he felt his own right wrist being seized in return, for it was the only move the youngster could make without being defeated quickly. Tomas was surprised by his strength, as it was far greater than that of any human he had faced. But it was still no match for the strength of a Dragon Lord reborn and Tomas used that strength to force the lad backwards.

      Then came the instant that Tomas sought: his opponent was off balance In a move so swift that Nakor could hardly credit his senses, Tomas pushed, yanked and twisted his own blade, sending the youth sliding backwards on the seat of his trousers across the ground. His sword tumbled through the air to be caught in Tomas’ free hand.

      The youngster was halfway to his feet before he felt two crossed blades pressed against either side of his neck. ‘I wouldn’t move,’ suggested Nakor.

      Motionless, the young man looked at each blade, knowing that with one quick slice, Tomas could remove his head from his shoulders as easily as slicing a turnip. His eyes darted from the warrior, to Nakor, and back, and he said, ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’

      Tomas said, ‘Now, if I let you get up are you going to show some manners?’

      ‘Assuredly,’ agreed the dark-haired youth.

      Nakor came over and as Tomas stood away, the little man asked, ‘What is your name?’

      The youth, towering over Nakor, looked down and grinned. ‘I’m Ralan Bek, little man. Who are you?’

      ‘I am Nakor. I’m a gambler. That is Tomas. He’s a Dragon Lord.’

      Bek looked at Tomas and laughed. ‘As no man has ever bested me with a sword, I’ll accede to being bested by a legend. A Dragon Lord? I thought you were beings of myth.’

      Tomas raised an eyebrow. ‘Only a few know about the myths. Where have you heard of the Valheru?’

      Bek shrugged. ‘Here and there. From this tale and that. You know, stories around the campfire.’

      Nakor said, ‘I would like to know more about you and your life.’

      Bek laughed again. ‘I stand here without a weapon, so I’m inclined to tell you anything you wish to know, little man. Shall we have peace?’

      ‘Peace?’ echoed Nakor, looking at Tomas.

      Tomas nodded. He reversed Bek’s sword and handed it to him. ‘Peace.’

      The young man re-sheathed it and said, ‘So, there is some treasure in there, then?’

      Nakor shook his head. ‘Gold and gems, no. But there is something of special interest to us and it would bring nothing but ill to anyone else. It is important, but it is also very dangerous.’

      ‘I’ll not dispute him again,’ said Bek, indicating Tomas, ‘just to see if you are lying or not. But what could be more valuable than riches?’

      ‘Knowledge is always valuable,’ said Tomas.

      ‘And dangerous, I have found,’ said Bek. He motioned to his horse. ‘If you have no objection, I should catch up with my companions. They are an unruly and troublesome bunch without me to tell them what to do. Besides, they’ll have drunk the inn at Dankino half dry by the time I get there.’

      ‘Actually,’ said Nakor, putting his hand on Bek’s arm