Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 3 - The Amber Enchantress (17 page)

“Tyr,” Sadira answered truthfully, realizing that her accent had probably already told him that much. “How did you arrive here?”

“With an iron caravan.”
The sorceress ran a hand up her hip. “I earned my passage. The captain was pleased.” “No doubt,” the prince sneered. He studied her for several moments more, his face vacant of any hint that he found her attractive or enticing. At last, he said, “You will come with me
—
Sadira of Tyr.”

The sound of her name struck Sadira like a war-hammer. The sorceress immediately began to wonder how the prince had learned her identity, but could think of no reasonable answer. She knew that he had not used the Way to probe her mind, for Agis had practiced such invasions against her until she recognized them instinctively. Besides, it appeared that Dhojakt had been looking for her since the moment he entered the square, and that could only mean she had been betrayed. The Sun Runners, of course, were the obvious suspects
—
save that Sadira had no reason to believe they knew her true identity.

But now was not the time to wonder about such things. Ignoring the knot of panic forming in her stomach, she asked, “Where are we going?” The sorceress neither denied nor confirmed her name, for she knew that even if the prince was unsure of his identification, he would insist on interrogating her.

“To the
Forbidden
Palace
,” the prince answered, motioning one of the half-giants forward. “You will follow Ghurs.”

The sorceress obeyed. Dhojakt was no doubt prepared for her to flee. It would be wiser to save her energies until later, when she could hope to take him by surprise.

Dhojakt's templars returned a few moments later. Between them was a frightened youth of Raka's age, also dressed in a sarami of green hemp. The boy threw himself to the ground at Sadira's feet. “Tell them I was not with you!” he begged.

Sadira glanced over her shoulder at the prince, preparing to summon the energy for a spell. The youth's plea, however, had not provided the distraction the sorceress needed. Dhojakt's eyes were fixed on her back, his thick lips twisted into a faintly amused sneer.

The templars grabbed the young man's shoulders and dragged him back to his feet. Keeping his eyes fixed on Sadira, the youth cried, “Please, say you do not know me!”

Sadira looked away. “They wouldn't believe me.”

Although the sorceress suspected her words to be true, a pang of guilt shot through her breast. By doing as the youth asked, there was a slim chance she might have won his freedom. Unfortunately, if the templars realized they had captured the wrong person, they would probably resume their search for Raka. Sadira could not allow that to happen, for doing so would place Nibenay's Veiled Alliance at risk. Instead, she would try to save the boy later, when Raka had had plenty of time to disappear.

It did not appear Dhojakt would give her that chance. “We have no need of the youth,” he said.

One of the templars pulled a dagger from her belt and raised it to strike.

“No!” Sadira yelled, spinning around to face Dhojakt.

The prince motioned the templar to stop. “Obviously, this boy is not of the Veiled Alliance, or he would never have allowed himself to be captured alive,” said Dhojakt. “Is there some other reason I should spare his life?”

“Is there any cause to take it?”

The prince smiled at her calmly. “I need no cause.”

He nodded to the templar, signaling her to finish what she had begun.

Though she had no doubt Dhojakt expected her to attack, the sorceress turned her palm downward. Before she could summon the energy for a spell, a tremendous sizzle echoed through the square. A woman's voice screamed in agony, and the templar who had been preparing to kill the innocent youth fell to the ground. Her back was covered with a bubbling slime that had already dissolved the flesh clear to the bone.

The prince raised a hand and pointed across the square, to where Raka was peering from behind the trunk of an agafari tree. “There's the one we want,” Dhojakt said. “After him!”

The uninjured templar and both half-giants obeyed the prince, sending astonished townsmen scurrying in all directions. Raka fled, and, closer to Sadira, so did the astonished youth who had been mistaken for the young sorcerer.

Sensing the time had come for her to escape as well, Sadira began to draw the energy for a spell. Dhojakt's claws clattered across the cobblestones and he was beside her almost instantly.

“Don't,” the prince advised, his corpulent lips drawn back and his bony mouthparts dripping venom. “Before you die, my father wishes to hear how you learned of the
Pristine
Tower
.”

“You know where I'm going?” Sadira gasped. Despite her shock, the sorceress did not cut off the flow of energy rising into her body.

“You have been warned,” Dhojakt snapped. He reached out to grasp Sadira, at the same time lowering his gruesome mouth to her neck.

The sorceress leaped back. Her feet had barely touched the ground when a golden flare shot from the darkness of a distant alley. The streak blasted into the prince's temple, exploding into a ball of blazing embers that would have reduced a half-giant's head to a lump of charred bone.

The spell did not even scorch Dhojakt. The prince shook his head as though dazzled by the light, then scowled at the tunnel from which he had been attacked.

The attack stunned Sadira more than it had Dhojakt. It did not seem unusual that another member of the Veiled Alliance had been secretly watching her exchange with Raka, but the sorceress could hardly believe the unseen wizard had moved so quickly to defend her. The Tyrian Alliance would not have extended such protection to a stranger.

Nevertheless, Sadira was determined not to waste the bravery of the Nibenese. Judging from how easily the prince had resisted the previous spell thrown at him, the sorceress knew it would be futile to use magic to injure him. Instead, she could only hope to keep him detained long enough for her and her saviors to flee.

Dhojakt grasped her wrist and started toward the alley. “You shall pay for your brazenness.'” he yelled.

Sadira plucked a thread from her robe. She laid the
strand across his arm, simultaneously uttering an incantation. The filament lengthened, wrapping itself around Dhojakt hundreds of times in the span of a single instant. From the head to the last segment of his centipedelike body, the prince was swaddled in a mesh of constricting fibers.

The sorceress pulled free and ran toward her rescuer's tunnel. She was only a few yards from her goal when she heard Dhojakt's voice. “Do you really think you'll escape Nibenay when I'm looking for you?”

Sadira looked over her shoulder. The prince was still entwined, but he had curled himself into a ball. With the claws of his many legs, he was furiously ripping apart the strands of her magical net
—
strands that should have been impervious to cutting or tearing for another hour.

“In the name of Ral!” she gasped. “Is there no magic that will stop you?”

The Bard's Quarter

Sadira fled into the alley, leaving Dhojakt in the square. Once she had gained the sheltering darkness of the tunnel, she paused and called into the shadows.

“I owe you my life. Where to now?”

No one replied. From behind the sorceress came the sound of more clattering. She glanced back and saw that Dhojakt had freed his hands. He was pulling the magical mesh off his torso as if it were ordinary rope. He kept his nose turned in her direction, his nostrils flaring as he tested the air for her scent.

The sorceress moved deeper into the tunnel. “Hello?”

When her only answer was the distant sound of running feet, Sadira decided to waste no more time looking for her rescuer. She rushed into the darkness, not waiting even the single moment it would take for her elven vision to become active. A few steps later, she came to a corner and saw light streaming in from the right.

Sadira rushed around the corner and felt a huge, knobby hand grasp her by the wrist. A hulking form stepped away from the alley wall, silhouetting itself against the far end of the tunnel.

“Magnus!”
Sadira gasped.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” came the windsinger's reply.

A taller, more slender form stepped into view from the opposite wall. “You cost Faenaeyon a lot of silver, and he wants it back,” said Rhayn, brandishing a bone dagger. “He's sent the whole tribe out to look for you.”

Sadira cast a nervous glance back toward Sage's Square. Of course, she saw nothing bur darkness, which only made her more fearful of the threat that would soon be coming after her. “Faenaeyon's not going to get his coins back, especially if we don't get out of here.”

Sadira started to move forward, but Magnus pulled her back. Rhayn pressed the dagger to the sorceress's throat. “Not until we come to an agreement.”

“You don't understand!” Sadira objected. “Prince Dhojakt will be
—
”

“I know all about Prince Dhojakt,” hissed Rhayn. “Who do you think saved you from him?”

“You?”
Sadira gasped.

Rhayn nodded. “My spells may not be as powerful as yours, but they serve their purpose,” she said. “Now, as you pointed out just a moment ago, you owe me your life. I'll settle for a favor that costs you a great deal less.”

“What do you want?” Sadira asked, listening for any sign that Dhojakt had entered the other end of the tunnel.

“Do you remember the matter we discussed at the
Silver Spring
?”

“The overthrow of Faenaeyon,” Sadira responded.

Rhayn nodded. “Will you help me, or would you rather return to the prince? Answer quickly
—
I doubt you have much time to think matters over.”

“I'll do it,” Sadira answered. “Assuming you'll keep me hidden from Dhojakt until I can make other arrangements.”

Rhayn did not take her dagger from the sorceress's throat. “And you won't change your mind just because Faenaeyon's your father?”

“How do you know that?” Sadira asked.

Rhayn looked at Magnus, who wagged his large ears back and forth. “The same way we know why you're so keen to go to the
Pristine
Tower
,” the windsinger said “You'll do as Rhayn asks?”

“Faenaeyon's blood may run in my veins, but he's no father to me,” Sadira said. “I'll help you
—
if Dhojakt doesn't kill us first.”

Rhayn nodded to Magnus, and the windsinger led Sadira out of the tunnel at a trot. Rhayn lingered behind and removed a vial of green liquid from her shoulder satchel. She opened the top and poured the entire contents over the floor where the trio had been standing, then joined the other two.

“Why'd you do that?” Sadira asked.

“Dhojakt knows your smell,” explained the elf. “This will keep him from tracking you
—
and us.”

With that, she motioned to Magnus, who led them through the city's alleys to a crumbling gateway opening into the Elven Market. This area of Nibenay had once been a vast palace. Its battered walls were still decorated with stone reliefs that depicted a jungle unlike anything Sadira had ever seen. On the ground, naked hunters armed with broad-tipped spears stalked all sorts of vicious animals, and sometimes even bare-breasted women, through a tangle of vines and blossoming trees. Above the warriors' heads, lethargic snakes hung draped over low branches, and inert lizards clung to smooth stretches of bark. In the canopy of the jungle, flitting from one branch to another, were all manner of birds, magnificently plumed and so plump it seemed impossible they could fly.

The reliefs could not have been a starker contrast to the pungent bazaar that now occupied the citadel's outer ward. With a total disregard for order, dozens of elven tribes had pitched their hemp pavilions and lizardskin marquees upon the courtyard. Wherever Sadira looked, leering elves were barking offers to sell everything from honey-boiled cactus to dwarven children.

With Magnus's immense bulk blazing a trail through the close-pressed throng, the trio steered their way through the mad bazaar as Sadira might the familiar halls of Agis's mansion. Finally, they passed beneath another gate, this one leading to what had once been the palace's inner courtyard, and the babble of the elven bazaar faded to a distant buzz.

The grounds of this small ward were so tightly packed with mud-brick shacks that Magnus could barely walk down the lane. On every second stoop sat a handsome man or comely woman, strumming dulcet notes on a lute or sitar, often accompanying the tune with the practiced voice of a vagabond troubadour.

Despite the sweet sounds, Sadira had to fight to keep from retching as they moved deeper into the ward. The sour aroma of stale broy poured from every doorway, and amorphous piles of rubbish filled the sweltering air with the stench of human refuse.

Magnus stopped in front of a small building decorated with human skulls and the skeleton of some six-legged rodent as large as a halfling. “This is the one.” “Watch Sadira,” Rhayn said.

“Why are we here?” Sadira asked. “Isn't this the Bard's Quarter?”

“Very observant,” Rhayn answered, stepping toward the door. “As for why we're here, you'll understand that soon enough.”

Magnus took the sorceress's arm in his hand, and held it in a firm grip. “Don't worry,” he said. “Rhayn knows what she's doing.”

Despite the windsinger's reassurances, Sadira kept a careful watch in both directions. Bards were notorious assassins, as well versed in the arts of killing as they were in singing and poetry. From the stories she had heard, they would not hesitate to murder someone for the sole purpose of testing a new technique.

Rhayn returned just a few minutes later, accompanied by peculiar-looking half-elf with skin as white as bone and a star tattooed over one eye. In his hands, the minstrel carried a small wine cask, which he placed at Magnus's feet.

“One goblet and your troubles will be gone,” he said, speaking to Rhayn.

“And the antidote?”
Rhayn demanded, holding out her hand.

“The price was for the wine,” the bard said, turning away. “The antidote is extra.”

Rhayn reached for her dagger, but Magnus caught her arm and shook his head.