Resentment had become common for Huyar since the sorceress had ingratiated herself with Faenaeyon. Whenever she wanted something, the chief looked to his son to provide it. Sadira suspected that her father had no true fondness for Huyar, but pretended to favor the gullible warrior only because it made him more willing to do his bidding.
Glowering at his son, the chief opened the purse he had taken from Sadira and gave her two of her own coins. “Will you get them back for me?”
Sadira shook her head. “Think of it like this-you’re not losing two silvers, you’re saving three.” She took the coins and slipped them into the pocket of her tattered cape. “I’ll go ahead and cast my spell on one of the guards. Allow a quarter hour for it to work its enchantment. Then, when you reach the gate, be sure to speak to the same guard I did.”
Faenaeyon, looked suspicious. “Perhaps I should go with you.”
Sadira had an answer ready to counter her father’s concern. “It’ll be easier to work my magic if I’m alone,” she said. “I’ll be waiting for you on the other side of the gate.”
The chief’s gray eyes dropped to the pocket where she had deposited the coins. He bit his lip, then nodded and looked away. “Two silver is not so much.”
“You’ll save more than that,” Sadira said, leaning forward to tap the inside of the kank’s antennae.
The beast slowly worked its way ahead of the tribe, two of its six legs striking the ground with each beat of the distant drums. A short time later, she passed between two argosies drawn up close to the city walls, one to either side of the road. A long line of Nibenese porters worked to unload each of the mighty fortress wagons, carrying heavy vessels and huge baskets into the dark shadows beneath the musician’s balcony. The great mekillots that drew the argosies, hill-sized lizards with a penchant for making snacks of unwary passersby, were turned away from the road.
Sadira slowed her kank to a walk and glanced over her shoulder. Her father’s tribe was more than a hundred yards behind. It was approaching in its customary disarray, the warriors moving together in a confused, noisy mass while their sons and daughters tended to the difficult work of keeping the kanks from straying into the king’s fields.
Sadira turned forward again and, as she passed into the shadows beneath the musicians’ balcony, found a sharp-featured half-elf stepping into the road. He wore a long checkered scarf wrapped around his head and a yellow sarami swaddled over his body. In his hands he clutched a spear of blue-tinted agafari wood.
“Nibenay welcomes you,” he called.
As he spoke, two guards forced their way past the bustling porters and crossed their spears to bar Sadira’s path. She waved a hand over her mount’s antennae, bringing it to a complete stop. The music from the balcony above reverberated through the stone ceiling, echoing off the walls in sonorous tones that were slightly less compelling than those drifting into the desert.
Sadira reached into her pocket and extracted one of the silver pieces Faenaeyon had given her. Holding it out for the man, she said, “If you overlook the baggage of the elf tribe following me, there will be nine more of these for you.”
The guard opened his palm and bowed. “If that is true, my eyes will not see.”
“Good,” Sadira said.
She released the coin, and the guard signaled his fellows to let her pass. As she rode through the gateway, the sorceress felt confident she had at last escaped the elves. Faenaeyon would never pay a bribe of nine silver, and the guard would not allow the Sun Runners to pass through the gate until he received the coins he had been promised. With luck, the tribe would be turned away from city altogether. Even if that was not the case, it would be delayed long enough for Sadira to lodge her mount. Then she would search out someone from the Veiled Alliance and ask for the secret organization’s help in finding a guide to the Pristine Tower.
The gateway opened into a muggy, foul-smelling courtyard surrounded by a warren of mountainous towers and gloomy portals. To all sides, square doorways led into the bases of jagged minarets, reminding Sadira of nothing quite so much as the ancient mines that honeycombed the peaks west of Tyr. Huge sculpted faces, sometimes vaguely human and sometimes completely monstrous, covered every available surface.
From the corners of the buildings peered long-nosed giants with disapproving frowns and blank stares. Where there should have been windows were gaping, fang-filled mouths. Columns carved to look like stacked skulls supported the balconies and overhangs. Even the walls were masked by fat cherubic visages with glutonous smiles, or by skeletal countenances of long-tusked fiends.
Between these looming buildings ran narrow, twisting lanes covered by vaulted ceilings of stone. Lines of Nibenese porters bustled down two of these dark tunnels, carrying their heavy loads to the emporium of some merchant house in the heart of the city.
Sadira directed her kank into what seemed to be the widest street. She had expected the shaded lane to be cool and pleasant. Instead, a stifling wind drifted down the tunnel, carrying with it the sour smell of too much humanity and the putrid scent of unkempt stables.
The sorceress urged her mount past a dozen Nibenese citizens and entered another courtyard, also encircled by sculpture-covered towers. Many of the doorways were larger than normal, with kanks and riders moving into and out of them. Sadira rode halfway through the plaza to an anonymous-looking livery, then dismounted and led her beast toward the door. She was greeted by an elderly, bald-headed man dressed in a grimy sarami.
“You wish to lodge your mount?” he asked.
“How much?”
“Three days boarding for a king’s bit,” he answered, referring to the ceramic coins most cities used as common currency. “We will feed it every night and water it every five.”
Sadira nodded. “I’ll pay when I return and my kank is in good health.”
The old man shook his head. “That’s not the way in Nibenay,” he said. “You pay in advance-every day if you like. If you don’t return before your money runs out, I sell your mount.”
Sadira fished her second coin out of her pocket. “You can give me change?”
“I can,” the man replied.
He snatched coin and let her inside. The lowest floor of the gloomy building was a workshop filled with slaves laboring to repair howdahs, carts, and even a massive argosy wheel. Sadira caught only a glimpse of this room before her guide took a torch from a wall sconce and led her up a dark ramp spiraling through the interior of the unlit building. The over-sweet stench of kank offal was terrible, and Sadira had to pinch her nose closed to keep from gagging.
Soon they reached the first of the dark animal pens. As they passed each gate, a kank stuck its mandibles through the bone bars and clacked them at the newcomer. Sadira’s beast returned the gestures, keeping up a constant clatter as they slowly climbed the steep ramp.
Dozens of pens later, they reached one with an open gate. The bone grid was held aloft by a rope running through a wooden pulley and tied off to a bone stake in the wall. The old man allowed Sadira’s mount to pass by the vacant pen, then stopped. He forced the beast to back into the stall by standing in front of it and tapping its right-hand antenna.
As the kank’s head went under the gate, it stopped and began waving its antennae in agitation.
“Go on stupid beast,” the old man said
He raised his hand and stepped toward the kank. Sadira saw an angry glint in the beast’s eyes. “Careful!” she cried, pulling the old man back just in time to avoid the kank’s snapping mandibles.
The beast started forward, but Sadira quickly stepped to its side and grabbed an antenna. She yanked on the stalk and forced it back into the pen.
“When I let go, drop the gate,” she said, looking over her shoulder. The liveryman, who was staring at her kank with his mouth hanging agape, made no move to obey. “Do as I say!”