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“Both of them were,” Sadira said, enjoying the astonishment her answer brought to the faces of the captain and his assistant. Smiling to herself, she took a long drink from her mug. The broy was warm and spiced with a pungent herb that disguised its underlying sourness while enhancing its enrapturing powers. “They’re both my lovers, but no man is master to me,” she said.

“Nibenay is a long distance to travel just to escape men who have no claim on you,” observed Osa, speaking with the thick tongue of one who could not hear her own words.”

“I travel not to escape someone, but on an errand,” Sadira said, realizing that her hosts’ questions were more than casual inquiries. “Why are you so interested in my reason for traveling to Nibenay?”

“We must know the cargo we carry-”

“Lorelei is not cargo,” Milo said reproachfully. He gave Sadira a friendly smile. “What Osa means is that we’re concerned for your welfare. Nibenay is not like Tyr. Lone women are always in great danger there. Perhaps you should stay with us in the compound of House Beshap.”

From the way Osa frowned, Sadira guessed that there was more to this invitation than simple kindness-and more to their relationship than that of captain and drive master.

“Thanks, but no,” Sadira said. “I’ll be safe enough.”

The captain did not look discouraged. “Then you know someone in Nibenay?”

“I can take care of myself,” Sadira answered. She lifted her mug to her lips and looked away, hoping to forestall any more questions.

Milo waited for her to empty the vessel, then said, “You really must allow me to be your guide.” He took Sadira’s mug, drawing a frown from Osa, and started to refill it. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Thanks, but no,” Sadira said, holding out a restraining hand.

“To which, my guide services or my broy?”

“To both,” Sadira answered. “I’ve had enough to drink. Besides, that’s not why I came over. I heard something earlier-a trill, somewhere out in the sands.”

“Hungry lirr,” Osa said. “I see pack at dusk.”

“All the same, have a look,” Milo ordered.

“Guards have ears, not me-”

“Do it!” the captain insisted.

“Yes, Captain!” Osa snapped, reaching beneath her sarami and withdrawing a curved blade of bone. She set her square jaw and glowered at Sadira briefly, then looked back to Milo. “Three wives enough,” she growled, glaring at him fiercely. With that, she stalked over to the wall.

“Three wives?” Sadira asked, watching the mul woman climb out of the campsite.

Milo’s swarthy skin deepened to a darker shade. “Two of them stay in Nibenay.”

“And the third?” Sadira looking toward Osa.

“What a man won’t do to keep a good drive master,” the captain said wistfully.

After Osa had disappeared into the darkness, Sadira said, “I was serious about that whistle, you know. I couldn’t quite place the sound, but I know I’ve heard it before-and it was no lirr.”

“Perhaps it’s raiders,” said Milo. “If so, they’ll be sorry they picked this caravan. Osa may not be my most beautiful wife, but she’s by far the best fighter employed by House Beshap.”

Sadira gripped the pommel of her cane more tightly. “Do you think we’re likely to be attacked?” she asked apprehensively.

“It has happened many times before. The desert is full of elves and other thieves,” the captain said, shrugging nonchalantly.

When he made no move to silence the camp, Sadira asked, “Aren’t you going to prepare for battle?”

“No. The drivers need their music,” Milo said. “Besides, if we had to stop dancing every time someone heard a strange sound in the desert, we would be a sad caravan indeed.” He returned his gaze to the whirling figures, letting his head bob to the beat of the finger drums. “About your visit to Nibenay,” he said, still watching dancers. “I wish you’d reconsider and stay at House Beshap. If one of the sorcerer-king’s agents should happen to see you dance, you would never be allowed to leave the city.”

Sadira was tempted to accept the offer, for few places in any city were as secure as a merchant house’s compound. Nevertheless, she wanted no watchful eyes, friendly or otherwise, tracking her movements while she was in Nibenay. “I won’t stay long,” she replied firmly, “and my acquaintances will look after me while I’m there.”

“You mean those who wear the veil?” the captain asked.

Under her breath, Sadira cursed. Although she had not given him much of a hint, the captain had guessed her plan accurately. Upon entering Nibenay, she intended to contact the Veiled Alliance, hoping that the secret league of sorcerers would provision her and help find a reliable elf-if such a thing existed-to guide her to the Pristine Tower.

Sadira forced a laugh from her throat, trying to sound both amused and surprised. “What makes you say a thing like that?”

Milo studied her for a moment, then motioned at the sorceress’s cane. “That does,” he said. “You carry a fine steel dagger on your hip, yet hardly seem aware of it, while you treat your cane as a warrior would a fine sword. If you walked with a limp, such a thing might be understandable, but one who dances as you do needs no crutch. Therefore, your cane must be a magical weapon, and you must be a sorceress.”

“Very observant, but you’re wrong,” she said, wishing her mind were not so clouded by broy. “The cane’s value is sentimental. It belonged to my mother.”

Milo smiled politely. “Was she a sorceress, too?”

Sadira scowled, wondering if Milo intended to abandon her here. Like most common people, caravan drivers seldom tolerated the presence of a sorcerer, blaming all spellcasters for the magical abuses that had reduced Athas to a wasteland. “If you’re so sure I’m a sorceress, why have you brought me so far?” Sadira asked.

“Because you’ve paid for your passage, and I am an honest man,” Milo answered. “Besides, I know the difference between defilers and honest sorcerers. If you were the type who ruined the land to cast a spell, you would not be going to visit the Veiled Alliance.”

The captain’s reasoning was logical. Although Sadira had never contacted any Veiled Alliance outside of Tyr, she had heard enough about the different societies to know none of them tolerated defilers. In spite of Milo’s reassurances, though, Sadira still thought it wiser not to admit her identity.

“Perhaps you are the sorcerer,” she said. “You certainly seem to know more about the Veiled Alliance than I do.”

“Not because I am a sorcerer, but because one of my wives dabbles in the art,” Milo said. He leaned closer to Sadira and, in a hushed voice, added, “She has been trying to contact those who wear the veil for many months. I was hoping you might assist her.”

“I’m sorry, I really wouldn’t know-”

Sadira stopped in midsentence, for again she heard the strange trill ringing above the ryl pipes. This time, being farther away from the music, she recognized the sound as the dulcet chirping of a singing spider. The half-elf had heard the sound only once before: on the other side of the Ringing Mountains, in the halfling forest.

Milo frowned at the sorceress. “What’s wrong?”

“Didn’t you hear that chirping?”

The captain nodded. “A bird of some sort. I don’t recognize what kind but-”

“Is wasn’t a bird,” Sadira interrupted. “It was a spider.”

“A spider that chirps-and that loud?” the captain replied, disbelievingly. “You were right-you have had too much broy.”

“No,” Sadira insisted, laying her cane in the crook of her arm. “These spiders are huge. The halflings of the Ringing Mountains hunt them for food-”

“We’re a long way from the mountains,” said Milo.

Sadira had to agree. The spiders were gentle creatures that made their homes in trees and fed themselves on puffy fungus that covered the forest floor. It did not seem likely that they could survive a trip into the desert, where there were neither many trees nor any fungus, yet the sorceress felt certain the chirping was very close to the sound the beasts made when they rubbed their spine-covered legs together.