The Nomad by Simon Hawke Page B

marauders’ campfire long before they saw them. The marauders were taking no trouble to conceal their presence. This was their territory, and they were confident in the security of numbers.
    Valsavis had been exactly right. There were nine of them. They had not even taken the trouble to post guards. They were all grouped together around the campfire, laughing boisterously and cooking their supper. Passing around a wineskin, they seemed well pleased with themselves.
    And why shouldn’t they be, thought Sorak as he and Valsavis watched the marauders from the shelter of some bushes. They had not only enjoyed a successful hunt, but had stumbled upon an unexpected prize, as well.
    Ryana sat nearby, leaning back against a boulder. Her hands were tied behind her, and her arms were bound tightly to her sides by a rope around her chest. Her feet were tied, as well, at the ankles and the knees. She could barely move at all, and the position she was in had to be excruciatingly uncomfortable. Sorak could not tell if she was hurt or not. She was not moving.
    “We are going to have to get in closer,” he said, softly.
    “Not yet,” Valsavis said, putting a restraining hand on his chest. “Your priestess is safe, for the moment. The marauders will not harm her.
    She will fetch a high price at a slave auction, and the bidders do not like damaged goods. Let these carrion eat and drink their fill. A man does not move as quickly when his belly is full.”
    Sorak nodded in agreement. “Your advice is sound,” he said. “They will be more vulnerable after they have bedded down for the night.”
    “Especially if they continue to drink like that,” Valsavis said. “This may be a great deal easier than we had thought. Pity.”
    “Pity?” Sorak said with surprise. Valsavis shrugged. “There is no challenge in slitting the throats of sleeping drunks.”
    “I am not interested in challenge, but in Ryana’s safety,” Sorak replied.
    “Yes, I can see that,” said Valsavis. “But I have been curious about something. Villichi priestesses possess psionic powers that their training hones to a fine edge. I wonder, why has she not used them to free herself?”
    Sorak shook his head. “I do not know. Perhaps she bides her time, as we do, and waits for the best opportunity.”
    “She does not look like a villichi,” said Valsavis. “I would not have taken her for one. Doubtless, the marauders have not either, else they would have been more careful with her.” He paused a moment, then, as if it were no more than a casual question that had just occurred to him, he asked, “What is the nature of her gifts?”
    “Mind over matter,” Sorak replied. “It is called telekinesis. It is the most common ability with which villichi are born.”
    Valsavis noted that for future reference. “Then she can use her power to free herself from her bonds,” he said. “That will help us when the time comes to make our move. Let us hope that she does not make her move first, and prematurely.”
    “She is clever,” Sorak said. “She will choose her time.”
    “Why does she travel with you?” asked Valsavis. “In my experience, villichi priestesses do not much care for the company of males, regardless of their race. Nor are they generally in need of their protection.”
    “Ryana is my friend,” said Sorak, as if that explained everything. He suddenly became aware that Valsavis was asking a great many questions, and volunteering little information about himself. “It was fortunate for us you came along when you did. How did it happen that you were traveling in such an isolated area?”
    “I was on my way to the village of Salt View,” Valsavis said, “as I assume you must have been.”
    “Why do you assume that?” Valsavis shrugged. “Where else would you be going? Save for the marauder camp, it is the only settlement for many miles around.”
    “Most travelers would have taken the canyon pass,” said Sorak.
    “Where a man traveling