by Troy Denning
"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.
"A wise beast you have," said the minstrel, slowly turning around to sneer at Rhayn. "Only a fool would try to best a bard at his own art."
"I'm no beast," Magnus growled. "And Rhayn is no fool. The price she offered was for the antidote as well as the wine."
The bard glared at the windsinger, then switched to a brotherly smile. "Come now, my friend. We're only talking about another silver." He reached up to place an amicable hand on Magnus's shoulder.
The sudden switch from hostility to goodwill sent a cold shiver down Sadira's spine. She turned one palm toward the ground and plunged the other into her satchel, searching for the pocket that contained her sulfur balls. "Touch him and there'll be a scorched hole where you and your house once stood."
The bard quickly drew his hand away from the wind-singer, and Sadira glimpsed a dark needle disappearing between two of his fingers.
"Very observant" the man said. He eyed the sorceress's hands for a moment, then slowly withdrew a bone vial from his pocket. It was decorated with what appeared to be musical notes. "This is enough to protect twenty of your tribesmen from the poison. Two drops before drinking will counteract any amount of wine, but you'll need twice that dose if you wait until after the poison has taken effect." He handed the vial to Rhayn, then passed an open palm over a closed fist. "Our business is done. You have nothing to fear if you do as I have explained."
With that, he went back into his house.
Magnus turned to Sadira. "I think you just saved my life. Thank you."
"You're welcome," the sorceress answered, confident that she had. She raised an eyebrow at the cask by his feet. "I thought you were only going to disable Faenaeyon?"
"Snakes have many kinds of venoms," Rhayn answered, motioning for the windsinger to pick up the keg "Not all are fatal."
As they started out of the quarter, Sadira asked, "And exactly what do you want me to do?"
"Very little," she said. "Simply return to the tower with us. We'll claim that we found you with this cask of wine—"
"I told you before I won't take the blame," Sadira said. "That's especially true now, since I don't know how long I'll need to hide with the Sun Runners."
"No one will blame you—or anyone else," said Rhayn. "It'll look like Faenaeyon drank himself into a stupor and never recovered."
"And you expect me to believe this poison will affect only your father?" Sadira asked.
"It'll have the same effect on anyone who drinks it, but Faenaeyon is as selfish with his wine as he is with his silver," Rhayn said. She held up the small bottle of antidote. "Besides, that's why I have this. If someone else sneaks a swallow, I'll slip it to him before anyone realizes he's been poisoned."
Sadira stopped and reached for the bone vial. "I'll keep the antidote," she said. "If you betray me, I'll give it to Faenaeyon—and your plan will be for naught."
"You've nothing to fear," Rhayn said, withdrawing the vial.
Sadira continued to hold out her hand and did not move. "I agreed to help you and I will—but not because I'm a fool," she said. "It suits me to stay with the Sun Runners for a time, but I won't involve myself in your plot unless I have a safeguard."
"After what you did for Magnus, I would not let you come to harm," said Rhayn.
"Surely, you don't expect me to believe that?"
"If I were you, I suppose I wouldn't," Rhayn sighed. She handed the flask to Sadira. "But I warn you, if you try to betray us, the tribe will accept my word and Magnus's over anything you say."
"Of course," Sadira answered. She turned and briskly led the way out of the Bard's Quarter, walking well ahead of her companions.
As the sorceress stepped through the gate leading into the Elven Market, she bumped into a young elf coming around the corner. The young warrior's jaw fell slack, and he stared at her as though looking at the king of Nibenay himself.
"I beg your pardon," Sadira said, moving to step around him.
The elf grabbed the collar of the blue smock the sorceress was wearing, reaching for his dagger with the other hand. Sadira stomped on the arch of his foot and pulled away, leaving a long strip of cloth in the astonished elf's hand.
"Leave me alone," she warned.
The elf pulled his dagger and cautiously limped toward her. "Who'd have thought I'd find you so close to camp?"
The young warrior's face, with its hooked nose and square jawline, seemed only remotely familiar to Sadira. "Are you a Sun Runner?" she asked.
"How many other tribes have you robbed?" the elf demanded. "Come with me. Faenaeyon wants to—"
The youth stopped speaking in midsentence and peered over Sadira's shoulder. "Magnus, Rhayn! What are you doing here?" he demanded. His gaze dropped to the heavy keg in the windsinger's hands. "Where did you get that?"
There followed an uncomfortable silence as Sadira waited for her companions to respond. When both Magnus and Rhayn seemed too stunned to answer, Sadira did it for them. "As you can see," she said, gesturing at her captors. "I've already been caught." "With a cask from the Bard's Quarter?" the youth demanded, pointing his dagger at the poisoned wine "What fool did you intend to drink that?"
This time, not even Sadira could think of a reasonable answer. There was only one thing to do with a cask from the Bard's Quarter, and the young warrior certainly seemed to realize what that was. Even if the sorceress claimed that the wine had been intended for someone else, Faenaeyon would never drink it now.
Then Sadira thought of the antidote in her pocket. "There's nothing wrong with this wine," she said. "Maybe you'd like to share some with me?"
The warrior scowled at her. "I'm no fool."
"This wine is not poisoned, Gaefal, if that is what you are thinking," said Rhayn, picking up on Sadira's tactic. "I'll have some, too."
"How can you know this wine's safe to drink?" the youth demanded.
"Because she didn't get it here," said Magnus. "We saw her buy it from the Swift Wings."
"I saw no wine in the tent of the Swift Wings. And their camp is on the other side of the market," Gaefal said, waving the cloth he had ripped from Sadira's collar toward the far end of the courtyard. "Why let her come all the way to the Bard's Quarter if you saw her back there?"
As he realized the answer to his own question, the young warrior's jaw dropped. "You're lying," he gasped, backing away. "I don't know why, or what you're up to, but you're lying."
He turned and began to push his way into the crowd.
"Gaefal, come back!" yelled Magnus.
When the young warrior showed no sign of obeying, Rhayn pulled her dagger and threw it. The blade struck the boy squarely between the shoulder blades, sinking clear to the hilt. He cried out once, then sprawled face-first onto the cobblestones.
A few astonished cries rose from the crowd, then people scurried away a
s fast as they could. In the Elven Market, someone died every day. If this time it happened to be an elf, it was more a cause for relief than concern.
For a moment, the three stood outside the Bard's Quarter in absolute silence, staring at the boy's unmoving body. Finally, Magnus allowed the cask to slip from his thick fingers. "Rhayn!" he gasped. "In the name of the Silt Wind, what have you done?"
"Stopped him from giving us away, that's what," the elf answered. She pushed the windsinger toward the youth's inert body. "Now heal him, then we'll decide what to do."
Sadira started to follow Magnus, but Rhayn pointed at the cask. "Don't let that out of your sight," she said. "Someone will steal it."
The sorceress began to object, but when she thought of what would happen to the hapless thief who stole the keg of poisoned wine, Sadira saw the wisdom of Rhayn's command.
The windsinger's lyrical voice began to drift over the cobblestones, carried on a soft breeze. He was singing the same healing canticle he had used to mend Sadira's wounds. It was a calm, melancholy tune with an undertone of hope and kindness, and Magnus rendered it beautifully.
Before the sorceress had come to fully realize how angry she was at Rhayn Cot attacking the youth, she found all of her wrath fading away in the dulcet harmony of the healer's song. There was no room in her heart except for the emotions that the music demanded of her: sympathy for the young man's pain, and the desire to bear some of his suffering.
The song ended too soon. Sadira rolled the heavy keg over to Magnus and Rhayn. The windsinger kneeled on the ground, the injured elf's limp body cradled in one massive arm. To plug the hole in Gaefal's back, he had used the shred of cloth the young warrior had ripped from Sadira's collar.
"What's wrong?" Sadira asked. "Can't you heal him?"
The windsinger fixed his dark orbs on her face and slowly shook his head. "Even the winds of mist cannot bring a man back from the dead." He glanced up at Rhayn, who was staring at the boy with an expression of disbelief and horror. "You have gone too far," he said reproachfully.
"I didn't mean to kill him, but we couldn't let him return to camp and tell on us," Rhayn whispered. She ripped her eyes from the youth's face and studied the area. There were no onlookers, for wise pedestrians in this pan of the city made it a point not to interfere in the business of others. Nevertheless, the three companions were quite noticeable. In avoiding the area, the passersby had created a conspicuous circle of emptiness around the body.
"We'd better leave," Rhayn said. "Sooner or later, a templar will come."
Magnus nodded and laid the body down on the street. He gave Rhayn's dagger back to her, then took the cask and started to leave.
"What about Gaefal?" Sadira asked, unable to believe Rhayn and the windsinger would leave the body lying in the street.
"We can't take him back to camp," Rhayn answered. With that, she turned to follow Magnus toward the center of the market.
Sadira stood over the body a while longer, wondering what courtesies Sun Runners normally showed their dead. Finally, she decided that, given what she knew of elves so far, it might well be customary to let them lie where they fell. She turned and went after her two companions.
When she caught up, Sadira said, "Rhayn, I want no part of helping you become chief if it means murdering innocent people."
Rhayn stopped and spun on the sorceress. "What does a defiler care about one elf's death?"
Hoping her eyes did not show how much Rhayn's question had hurt, Sadira retorted, "I may be a defiler, but I have never killed one of my own."
Rhayn grabbed Sadira by the arm. "You are not a Sun Runner," she hissed. "It doesn't matter to you whether one of us dies or we all do. You'll take the wine to my father."
"Don't be so sure," Sadira countered.
"Would you really want the Veiled Alliance to discover that the legendary Sadira of Tyr is a defiler?" Rhayn asked, releasing the sorceress's arm. "And to believe that she would betray them to the king of Nibenay?"
"It would be a simple thing for me to kill you," Sadira warned. "I should probably do that anyway, considering what you are saying."
"And would that not make you a murderer, too?" Rhayn asked. The elf studied Sadira for several moments, then gave her a conciliatory smile. "Let us do what we must and be done with each other," she said. "There is no reason for empty threats."
"My threat is not empty," Sadira said. "I'll help you with Faenaeyon, but only so long as it suits me to stay with the Sun Runners—and provided there are no more murders."
"Then we are agreed," Rhayn said. "As long as we both do what we have promised, neither of us need worry about the threats of the other."
TEN
Sweet Wine
Sadira rolled the cask toward the dark archway, followed closely by Magnus and Rhayn. They were entering the moldering tower where the Sun Runners had made camp. The building's ancient foundations had settled badly, and it seemed to the sorceress that the derelict structure remained upright only because it stood propped against the walls in one corner of the Elven Market.
Before crossing the threshold, the sorceress stopped and braced herself against the heavy barrel as if resting. Without raising her head, she whispered, "Won't Faenaeyon wonder how I could push this thing through the Elven Market?"
"Not as much as he'd wonder why we're carrying it for you," hissed Rhayn. The elf gave Sadira a rough shove, then barked, "Go on!"
With a great heave, the sorceress pushed the cask across the threshold. The shadows were thick with the musty smell of kank offal, and the constant tick-tick of nipping pincers echoed off the stone walls. As Sadira's eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that the round tower's first floor consisted of a single arcade. Most of the stilted pillars now teetered on the edge of collapse, and half of the double-tiered arches lay broken and scattered in the dust.
"Welcome back, my sweet," said Faenaeyon, speaking from the shelter of the darkness. "How nice to see you again."
To Sadira's surprise, the chief did not sound angry. "I wish I could say the same," she answered suspiciously.
The sorceress peered into the gloom and saw Faenaeyon leaning against one of the unsteady pillars. He stepped away from it and came toward her. Without acknowledging either Magnus or Rhayn, he pointed a dagger-length finger at the wine cask. "What have you there?"
"Nothing that concerns you," Sadira said. "And by searching for me, you have accomplished little except wasting your tribe's time. I don't have your silver."
Faenaeyon's eyes flashed in irritation, but he did not let the smile leave his lips. "Of course not," he answered. "And even if you did, you could not repay me for the ten coins it cost to bribe the gate-sergeant."
"Then what do you want with me?"
"I only wish to offer you a place to stay," the chief answered, waving a hand toward the curving staircase that ran up the tower's outside wall. "Nibenay is a dangerous place."
"So I have learned," Sadira said, rolling the cask toward the stairwell.
Although Faenaeyon's lack of hostility surprised her. Sadira did not believe for an instant that he viewed her as anything but a prisoner. His politeness only meant he wanted her to help him recover the coins he had lost—
and probably many more. If she did not respond to his courtesy, the sorceress knew, Faenaeyon would be fully prepared to resort to more direct means to enforce her cooperation.
Sadira reached the stairs and stooped down to pick up the cask.
"Let me help you with that," Faenaeyon said, moving to take the keg.
Following the advice Rhayn had given her not to yield the wine readily, Sadira pushed the elf away. "If I'm truly a guest, then you'll leave me to my wine."
Faenaeyon glanced at Rhayn and Magnus with an amused smirk, then gestured toward the stairs. "If that is what you wish," he said.
With a grunt, Sadira picked up the cask. Although she was not a weak woman, she managed to climb only a dozen stairs before her arms grew so fatigued that they began
to tremble. She stopped and rested the keg on a step.
"Are you sure you don't want me to carry that for you?" Faenaeyon asked, coming up the stairs behind her.
The sorceress blocked his way.
"Perhaps Magnus, then?" he suggested.
"I can do it," Sadira snapped.
The chief scowled and backed away from the sorceress, growling, "What's wrong? Do you think we're going to steal it?"
"Yes," Sadira answered frankly.
Faenaeyon smiled broadly and deceitfully. "And risk our friendship?"
"I'm your prisoner, not your friend," Sadira said. "If we were friends, you'd return the purse you took from me"
"That was business," Faenaeyon said sharply. "As was your little deception at the Dancing Gate."
Sadira lifted the cask and struggled up more steps, beginning to fear her father truly had no intention of stealing the keg from her. After another half-dozen stairs, Sadira had to put the cask down again. This time, she gave up trying to carry the heavy load and settled for rolling it up the steps one by one. Faenaeyon hovered a few feet behind, peering over the sorceress's shoulder, ready to catch the barrel if she happened to let it slip.
By the rime she reached the second story, Sadira's breath was coming in heavy gasps.
"Welcome back to the camp of the Sun Runners," said Huyar.
The black-haired elf stood in a short passageway, which led to a jagged arrow loop that overlooked the streets outside the Elven Market. The flushed yellow light of the afternoon sky streamed in behind him, so that the sorceress could hardly separate his craggy features from the edges of the window-slit.
To the other side of the landing, the room opened into what had once been the foyer of someone's official chambers. Several stone benches hung from the walls, flanking the battered remains of a decorative fountain. At the back of the small parlor, an arched doorway opened into a much larger compartment, though the floor had long since collapsed into the arcade below.
Ignoring Huyar, Sadira rolled the cask toward the next set of stairs. As soon as there was space, Faenaeyon slipped past her and snatched the barrel.
