Sadira listened to the wise men continue their debate for several minutes. Finally, she repeated her gesture, this time pretending to scratch her nose, and left. As she stepped away, a thin youth wearing a sarami of green hemp bumped into her.
“I thought you would never leave,” he said, bowing low and running his own hand over his lips.
The young man stood a head shorter than the half-elf, with ginger-colored skin and warm-brown eyes. His features were gentle and boyish, with the thin line of a mustache creasing his upper lip. He took Sadira’s arm and led her toward a basin in the center of the grove, where a trickle of water spilled from the mouth of a stone mantis.
“What do you need?” the youth asked.
“Assistance,” Sadira answered, wasting no time in getting to the point. She had only a few moments before the boy left, for the less time they spent together the less dangerous the meeting was for both of them. “I’m looking for someplace called the Pristine Tower, located in the desert to the east. I need supplies, a guide if you can supply one, and silver.”
“You ask a great deal,” the youth commented.
“It’s in a good cause,” Sadira said. “The secret of the Dragon’s birth is hidden in the tower. I hope to uncover it.”
“To what end?” the youth asked.
“The Dragon has demanded a thousand lives from the city of Tyr. I’m trying to save those lives-and perhaps many more from Nibenay and the other cities of Athas.”
The youth stopped and studied Sadira for a few moments, his brow furrowed in thought. Finally, he said, “If that is truly your goal, I fear you are too late-at least this session.”
“What do you mean?” Sadira asked.
“Once each year, the king sends his son into the desert with a thousand slaves,” the boy said. “The prince and his retinue returned just a few days ago-without their charges, as always.”
“He delivered the slaves to the Dragon?” Sadira asked.
“We don’t know,” the youth answered. He shrugged, then began weaving his way through the trees. “Our spies have never returned from these journeys. Your explanation sounds as reasonable as any.”
“Then I don’t have much time before the Dragon reaches Tyr,” Sadira said.
“Perhaps four weeks,” the Nibenese agreed. “Gulg lies directly between the two cities, so the Dragon will certainly stop their first. It’s even possible that he will travel north to Urik or south to Balic before going to Tyr-”
“I doubt it,” Sadira said. “I need your help now more than ever. Can I count on it?”
“The decision is not mine,” the boy answered, turning to go. “But I will tell you this much. If my master believes you, I know he’ll help.”
Sadira caught the boy by the arm. “Then please tell your master that it is Sadira of Tyr who needs assistance.”
The young man’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “Sadira?” he gasped. “The one who-”
“Yes,” Sadira answered, touching her fingers to his lips. “And I’m very much in need of your help.”
The youth bowed to her. “I have heard the minstrels sing of your bravery and your beauty, but never did I expect to meet you in person,” he said. “I wager you shall have all you need.”
Sadira pulled the young man upright, blushing at his open adoration. “Please hurry,” she answered. “Where shall I meet you, and when?”
“Call me Raka. We shall meet-”
He stopped speaking, for the crowd had suddenly parted to allow a pair of half-giants through. Following close behind was the man-beast official Sadira had avoided earlier, his bulbous eyes sweeping the faces of everyone in the square.
In a terrified whisper, Raka hissed, “Prince Dhojakt!”
Sadira slipped her arm through the crook of Raka’s elbow, pulling him close and fawning at him. The surprised youth stumbled and nearly fell, but Sadira caught him. Running a long finger under his chin, she gave him a beguiling smile. “Relax, my young sweet. Soon, you will know the thirty-six positions of love.”
“I will?”
Dhojakt’s gaze reached the pair and stopped. He started toward them, his bulbous eyes fixed on Sadira’s amber hair. The sorceress’s heart began to pound fiercely, for the prince was clearly searching for someone, and she had the sinking feeling it might be her.
The sorceress released Raka’s arm and pushed him away. “Sorry, little boy,” she said, flashing Prince Dhojakt a frankly wanton smile. “It seems I’ve found a deeper purse.”
Without waiting to see how Raka would respond, she walked toward Dhojakt with a wildly exaggerated sway to her hips. “See something you like, Mighty One?”
Scowling, the half-giants positioned themselves between her and their master. Dhojakt’s templars stepped forward to go after Raka, but Sadira’s maneuver had already bought the youth several seconds-enough time, the sorceress hoped, for him to fade into the grove.
As the templars bustled past Sadira, the half-elf suggestively ran her eyes over the flabby torso of the nearest guard. Resisting the temptation to glance back and see if Raka had escaped, she laid a hand on the inside of the half-giant’s thigh and fixed her gaze on Dhojakt.
The prince studied Sadira for several moments, his eyes never drifting from her face. Accustomed to dealing with all sorts of looks from men, the sorceress did not let the seductive smile leave her lips.
“Well?” she asked.
“Where are you from?” the prince demanded. When he drew his corpulent lips back to speak, Sadira noticed that in the place of teeth, he had bony mandibles.
“Tyr,” Sadira answered truthfully, realizing that her accent had probably already told him that much.
“How did you arrive here?”
“With an iron caravan.” The sorceress ran a hand up her hip. “I earned my passage. The captain was pleased.”
“No doubt,” the prince sneered. He studied her for several moments more, his face vacant of any hint that he found her attractive or enticing. At last, he said, “You will come with me-Sadira of Tyr.”
The sound of her name struck Sadira like a war-hammer. The sorceress immediately began to wonder how the prince had learned her identity, but could think of no reasonable answer. She knew that he had not used the Way to probe her mind, for Agis had practiced such invasions against her until she recognized them instinctively. Besides, it appeared that Dhojakt had been looking for her since that moment he entered the square and that could only mean she had been betrayed. The Sun Runners, of course, were the obvious suspects-save that Sadira had no reason to believe they knew her true identity.
But now was not the time to wonder such things. Ignoring the knot of panic forming in her stomach, she asked, “Where are we going?” The sorceress neither denied nor confirmed her name, for she knew that even if the prince was unsure of his identification, he would insist on interrogating her.
“To the Forbidden Palace,” the prince answered, motioning one of the half-giants forward. “You will follow Ghurs.”
The sorceress obeyed. Dhojakt was no doubt prepared for her to flee. It would be wiser to save her energies until later, when she could hope to take him by surprise.
Dhojakt’s templars returned a few moments later. Between them was a frightened youth of Raka’s age, also dressed in a sarami of green hemp. The boy threw himself to the ground at Sadira’s feet. “Tell them I was not with you!” he begged.
Sadira glanced over her shoulder at the prince, preparing to summon the energy for a spell. The youth’s plea, however, had not provided the distraction the sorceress needed. Dhojakt’s eyes were fixed on her back, his thick lips twisted into a faintly amused sneer.
The templars grabbed the young man’s shoulders and dragged him back to his feet. Keeping his eyes fixed on Sadira, the youth cried, “Please, say you do not know me!”
Sadira looked away. “They wouldn’t believe me.”