Sadira could not let that happen.
She met the elf’s gaze. “What will you do if I can’t bring your tribe across?”
The elf pointed westward. “A path descends into the Canyon of Guthay from both sides,” he said. “Its is only three days’ run, but the beasts that live in the bottom have a taste for our kanks.”
Remembering the foul smell her mount had emitted upon being wounded, Sadira made a sour face. “Nothing could eat a kank.”
“Every creature is food for some other,” the elf said. “That is the law of the desert.”
Satisfied that there was no way to bring the windsinger across the chasm without casting her spell, Sadira decided to strike the best bargain she could in return for her service. “Your healer will look after me until I am well.”
“Done,” the elf said.
Sadira held up her hand. “You will supply me with plenty of food and water.”
He nodded. “Of course-we are good hosts.”
“And you’ll escort me to the Pristine Tower.”
The elf studied for several moments. Finally, he said, “You are cunning. I like that.”
Sadira scowled at the flattery. “What is your answer? Will you take me there or not?”
“No, no, of course not,” said the elf grinning smugly. “We both know that if I agree to such a thing, you cannot trust me to keep any other promise.”
A terrible thought came occurred to Sadira. “Why not?” she demanded. “The tower’s real, isn’t it?”
“It’s real enough,” the elf answered, raising a peaked eyebrow at Sadira’s question. “But only a fool-”
“Then you must take me there,” Sadira interrupted, breathing easier. “Unless you prefer to risk your kanks in the chasm.”
“I would drive my kanks off the canyon rim before willingly coming within sight of the Pristine Tower,” countered the elf. “Why does one of such beauty wish to visit it?”
“That’s my business,” Sadira answered. “Why are you so afraid of it?”
“If you don’t know, you have no business going there,” the elf replied evasively. He looked across the chasm to his waiting tribe. “But I’ll take you to Nibenay. With luck and enough silver, you’ll find a guide there.”
Sadira nodded, convinced that she would strike no better bargin with the elf. “I’ll need my spellbook,” she said, motioning at her satchel. “And a couple of hours of quiet.”
“In that case, we’d better cover your wounds,” the elf said, ripping a pair of strips from the hem of Sadira’s tattered cape.
By the time the sun had begun to descend toward the jagged peaks in the west, Sadira was ready to cast her spell. Whispering in a parched voice, she told the elf to have his tribe line up near the rim of the canyon. They should be ready to move quickly when she gave the word.
After the elf had relayed her instructions, Sadira turned her palm toward the ground. Before summoning the energy she needed, however, she turned to him and said, “After I finish, there’ll be nothing but ash and rock on this hillside. If the desecration angers your tribe, I trust they’ll be wise enough not to show it.”
“The desert is vast, and there is plenty of forage elsewhere,” he replied. “Besides my tribe understands sorcery. My own daughter dabbles in the art.”
“Good,” Sadira said. “I’d hate to do to you what I did to the halflings.”
The elf narrowed his eyes, “Among friends, there is no need for threats.”
“Among friends, I wouldn’t make them.”
Sadira spread her fingers and summoned the energy she needed. The hillside was quickly covered with withered, blackened cacti. Not wishing to see the damage she caused, the sorceress closed her eyes and focused her thoughts on draining every last bit of energy from the ground. When she had cast the spell to destroy Nok’s bridge, she had been too angry and frightened to notice her emotions. This time, she had no such insulation; she just felt dirty.
At last, the flow ceased. Sadira was at once exhausted and invigorated, her body prickling with stolen life-force. She opened her eyes and pointed her finger at the far side of the canyon, speaking the words of the spell. In front of the elf tribe, a dark circle appeared in the emptiness over the canyon.
“Tell them to jump,” Sadira gasped. She backed away from the canyon rim and collapsed to her haunches, clutching her satchel to her breast. Her vision was swimming with black dots, and she felt as though she might retch at any moment.
“How do I know this isn’t a trick?” the elf demanded.
Sadira looked up and waved her hand at the blackened scarp. “Do you think I would have done this just to kill a few elves?” she rasped. “The portal won’t last long. Tell them to jump!”
The elf did as she asked and the first warrior stepped into the black circle. When he appeared on Sadira’s side of the canyon, a great cheer rose from the rest of the tribe. Within a few moments, they were driving their reluctant kanks into the black circle, then, as the terrified beasts emerged on the other side of the abyss, chasing them up the scarp. The elf came and stood next to Sadira, who watched the procession through drooping eyelids, too exhausted to ask which was the windsinger.
Some time later, the sorceress felt her satchel being pulled from her arms. Her eyes popped open and Sadira found herself staring at a tall woman with close-cropped red hair. The elf was strikingly beautiful, with a regal nose, pouting mouth, and almond-shaped eyes as deep and brilliant as sapphires. Cords of sinuous muscle covered her long legs and lanky arms, and the waist of her slender body was unbelievably thin and wasplike.
Standing next to her was a massive creature of one of the New Races. He had two legs and two arms, but there ended his resemblance to anything faintly elven. His knobby hide was mottled and faintly reptilian in appearance. Before Sadira’s eyes, it was changing from the rusty red hue of the sands across the valley to the inky black pigment of the defiled lands. The man-beast’s limbs were as thick and round as faro trees, and knotted with wide bands of muscle. For feet, he had huge pads with three bulbous toes, each sporting an ivory-white claw. His hands were his largest single feature, with four bolelike fingers and a stumpy thumb.
The thing’s face was all muzzle, his enormous smiling mouth filled top and bottom with needlelike teeth. His eyes were set on opposite sides of his head, so that they could look straight ahead or to opposite sides as he chose. Directly behind these giant orbs were a pair of eloquent ears, triangular in shape and currently turned to the sides in an expression of solace.
“I am the windsinger Magnus,” he said, speaking in a surprisingly gentle voice. He waved a cumbersome hand at the elven woman next to him. “This is Rhayn, daughter to Chief Faenaeyon.”
“Faenaeyon!” Sadira croaked, searching for the tall elf whom she had first brought across.
Magnus’s ears turned forward in curiosity. “I assumed you two had introduced yourselves,” he said.
“My father’s name means something to you?” demanded Rhayn, studying Sadira’s face more closely.
The sorceress shook her head. “I’ve heard the name before, but it was probably someone else.”
“Unlikely,” said Rhayn. “Elves are named for the first interesting thing they do after learning to run. In our tongue, Faenaeyon means ’faster than the lion.” How many children do you suppose survive to bear such a name?”
“Not many,” Sadira conceded. As she realized that she had probably just met the father who had abandoned her into slavery, the sorceress had a sinking feeling in her stomach.
“So, what have you heard about Faenaeyon?” Rhayn asked.
“Before sorcery was permitted in Tyr, he was known as someone who sold spell ingredients,” Sadira said, deciding it would be wiser to keep her secret.
“That would describe half the elves in the city,” Rhayn said.
When Sadira offered no further explanation, the elf gave Magnus a doubting look, then took a large waterskin off her lean shoulder and passed it to Sadira. From the vessel’s lack of seams and bulbous shape, the sorceress guessed it had once been the stomach or bladder of some desert beast. She opened the neck and drank deeply of the rank water, hardly able to take her eyes off her father’s face.