“Hey, over here!” called the glib voice.
Sadira looked across the canyon again. This time, her vision was clear, and she saw a tall, lean shape with silver hair. Behind him, scattered over the hard packed sands of the caravan trail, were a hundred more tall figures. Dozens of kanks were milling about on both sides of the road, foraging on the clumps of golden salt brush strewn here and there in the red sands.
“Elves,” Sadira hissed in a disgusted voice. “This is worse than a nightmare.”
Ignoring the elf who had called to her, Sadira found the end of the vine and pulled, ripping a half-dozen barbs from her skin. She regretted her action instantly. The rest of the plants recoiled, planting their barbs more deeply and setting her legs ablaze with pain.
The vines retreated toward the crater, dragging the sorceress along with them. Screaming, Sadira tried to kick free, but her struggles only set the barbs more deeply. She clutched at a soot-covered rock and managed to hold herself motionless. The vines continued to retract, ripping long gouges in her flesh, and finally she let go.
Black fume hissed from the crater, carrying the sorceress’s name on its breath: “Sadira.”
“Nok?” she screeched.
The sorceress reached back and grabbed her satchel, barely managing to catch it before passing out of reach. Pinning the cloth sack beneath her swollen arm, she reached inside and fumbled around until she found a gummy yellow ball. She tossed the bag aside and turned her palm toward the ground.
It took precious moments to collect the energy she needed, for all the plants within her normal range were dead. She had to reach out beyond the blackened area, to the cacti that had barely felt her touch earlier. Even when the sorceress found what she needed, the life-force did not flow smoothly through the corrupted ground. She had to concentrate hard to keep it from dissipating into the starved soil.
By the time Sadira had collected the power she needed, the vines had pulled her within a few yards of the hole. In the hissing black breath that came from the crater, she smelled the musty decay of the forest. Sadira threw the yellow ball into the hole and spoke the words of her spell, hoping she would survive what happened next.
For a moment, the sorceress continued to slide toward the crater, scratching and clawing at the filthy rocks in a vain attempt to stop the movement. Then a tremendous roar sounded from the hole and a cone of fire shot into the sky. Tongues of flame arced over Sadira’s head, lapping at the ground near her satchel and casting an orange glare over the rocks at her side. Searing heat scorched her back and the smell of singed hair filled her nostrils. the sorceress did not complain, for the grip of the vines relaxed, and she no longer felt herself being pulled toward the crater.
A rousing cheer drifted from the far side of the chasm, as though she had put on a show for the enjoyment of the elves. Sadira looked across the canyon and saw them waving their lances in the air.
“Filthy thieves,” the sorceress whispered.
She turned around and faced the crater. The smoke of her fireball still rose from the hole in black wisps, carrying with it a few charred oak leaves. Most of the vines had been reduced to lines of ash, although a twisted mass of blackened fibers was still draped over Sadira’s legs.
Hissing in pain, the sorceress began pulling the thorns of these vines from her flesh. When she was at last free, Sadira struggled to her feet and grabbed her satchel. She turned and staggered away as fast as she could.
“Hey, woman! Where are you going?” called the elf. “Isn’t this your kank over here?”
Sadira ignored him and continued onward. The last time she had listened to an elf had been before Tyr’s liberation, when a slick-tongued rogue named Radurak had offered to help her escape a pair of the king’s guards. In the end, he had stolen her spellbook and sold her into slavery. She did not see any reason to think this occasion would be any different.
“Stop!” the elf cried, his voice echoing down the length of the canyon. “We just want to help.” He did not sound like he wanted to help. To Sadira, he sounded angry.
When Sadira did not obey, the elf made his final plea. “It won’t cost anything!”
The sorceress paid him no attention, for although they often claimed otherwise, elves never helped anyone for free. She continued up the road a few more steps, then stumbled and fell to her knees.
“Woman!” the elf yelled, no longer trying to conceal his irritation. “We can see what happened. Halfling tracks all over, a carrier drone with a spear in her thorax, your legs torn to shreds, your arm the color of a hatchling queen. You need help-and soon.”
Sadira looked toward the elf and squinted, amazed at his eyesight. She could barely tell the color of his hair, yet he could see her clearly enough to detail her wounds. She had heard that the vision of full-blooded elves was keen, but she had not guessed it was this good.
When the sorceress made no move to rise or to answer, the elf continued, “I’ll save you if you bring me across!”
Sadira frowned, wondering how the elf knew she could. When she looked around, however, the answer was clear. From the swath of land she had blackened, it was obvious that, in her efforts to escape the halflings, she had used at least one powerful spell to destroy the bridge. It would not be unreasonable for the elves to assume that a sorceress of such power could levitate one of their number across the canyon.
After a few moments of thought, Sadira decided to accept the offer. It was certainly possible that the elf would betray his word and try to take advantage of her, but that hardly mattered at the moment. Whatever his intentions, he was right about one thing: without help, she would soon die. The sorceress rose and started to leave the blackened area.
“What’s the matter with you?” screamed the angry elf. “Don’t you speak the trade language?”
Sadira did not even try to shout an explanation, for she knew the words would not escape her swollen throat. Instead she waved an arm in the direction she was going, pointing to an area where plenty of cacti still rose from between the stones.
The elf and his tribe finally understood. As she stumbled forward, they mirrored her progress, moving along the dunes rimming the opposite side of the canyon. It took Sadira several minutes to travel the short distance to undefiled ground, but eventually she reached a place where the plant life showed no sign of the destruction she caused.
Sadira put her satchel on the ground, then withdrew a small parchment and rolled it up. Holding the tube to her lips she cast one of her simplest spells.
“Tie a line to an arrow and shoot it across the canyon,” she whispered, her parched throat aching even from that small exertion.
The elf looked from Sadira to where the voice had sounded at his side, then spoke to his companions. One of them quickly returned with an arrow attached to a coil of twine and fired it across the chasm. The shaft clattered to the ground a few yards away. Sadira quickly retrieved it before the string, which was settling into the canyon, dragged it away. The sorceress looped the line of braided plant fibers around a rock. That done, she lifted he parchment tube to her lips again. “Hold your end of the line,” she whispered. “And bring water.”
The elf nodded, then sent two companions back to the kank herd. A short time later, they returned with a ceramic jug and gave it to the speaker. Sadira found it peculiar that they would carry something as precious as water in a vessel that could be so easily broken, but she quickly put her misgivings aside as she pondered the size of the jar. It was so big that the elf had to use both hands to carry it. Apparently, he intended to be sure she had plenty to drink.