Rhayn nodded to Magnus, and the windsinger led Sadira out of the tunnel at a trot. Rhayn lingered behind and removed a vial of green liquid from her shoulder satchel. She opened the top and poured the entire contents over the floor where the trio had been standing, then joined the other two.
“Why’d you do that?” Sadira asked.
“Dhojakt knows your smell,” explained the elf. “This will keep him from tracking you, and us.”
With that, she motioned to Magnus, who led them through the city’s alley to a crumbling gateway opening into the Elven Market. This area of Nibenay had once been a vast palace. Its battered walls were still decorated with stone reliefs that depicted a jungle unlike anything Sadira had ever seen. On the ground, naked hunters armed with broad-tipped spears stalked all sorts of vicious animals, and sometimes even bare-breasted women, through a tangle of vines and blossoming trees. Above the warriors’ heads, lethargic snakes hung draped over low branches, and inert lizards clung to smooth stretches of bark. In the canopy of the jungle, flitting from one branch to another, were all manner of birds, magnificently plumed and so plump it seemed impossible they could fly.
The reliefs could not have been a starker contrast to the pungent bazaar that now occupied the citadel’s outer ward. With a total disregard for order, dozens of elven tribes had pitched their hemp pavilions and lizard-skin marquees upon the courtyard. Wherever Sadira looked, leering elves were barking offers to sell everything from honey-boiled cactus to dwarven children.
With Magnus’s immense bulk blazing a trail through the close-pressed throng, the trio steered their way through the mad bazaar as Sadira might the familiar halls of Agis’s mansion. Finally, they passed beneath another gate, this one leading to what had once been the palace’s inner courtyard, and the babble of the elven bazaar faded to a distant buzz.
The grounds of this small ward were so tightly packed with mud-brick shacks that Magnus could barely walk down the lane. On every second stoop sat a handsome man or comely woman, strumming dulcet notes on a lute or sitar, often accompanying the tune with the practiced voice of a vagabond troubadour.
Despite the sweet sounds, Sadira had to fight to keep from retching as they moved deeper into the ward. The sour aroma of stale broy poured from every doorway, and amorphous piles of rubbish filled the sweltering air with the stench of human refuse.
Magnus stopped in front of a small building decorated with human skulls and the skeleton of some six-legged rodent as large as a halfling. “This is the one.”
“Watch Sadira,” Rhayn said.
“Why are we here?” Sadira asked. “Isn’t this the Bard’s Quarter?”
“Very observant,” Rhayn answered, stepping toward the door. “As for why we’re here, you’ll understand that soon enough.”
Magnus took the sorceress’s arm in his hand, and held it in a firm grip. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Rhayn knows what she’s doing.”
Despite the windsinger’s reassurances, Sadira kept a careful watch in both directions. Bards were notorious assassins, as well versed in the arts of killing as they were in singing and poetry. From the stories she had heard, they would not hesitate to murder someone for the sole purpose of testing a new technique.
Rhayn returned just a few minutes later, accompanied by a peculiar-looking half-elf with skin as white as bone and a star tattooed over one eye. In his hands, the minstrel carried a small wine cask, which he placed at Magnus’s feet.
“One goblet and your troubles will be gone,” he said, speaking to Rhayn.
“And the antidote?” Rhayn demanded, holding out her hand.
“The price was for the wine,” the bard said, turning away. “The antidote is extra.”
Rhayn reached for her dagger, but Magnus caught her arm and shook his head.
“A wise beast you have,” said the minstrel, slowly turning around to sneer at Rhayn. “Only a fool would try to best a bard at his own art.”
“I’m no beast,” Magnus growled. “And Rhayn is no fool. The price she offered was for the antidote as well as the wine.”
The bard glared at the windsinger, then switched to a brotherly smile. “Come now, my friend, we’re only talking about another silver.” He reached up to place an amicable hand on Magnus’s shoulder.
The sudden switch from hostility to good will sent a cold shiver down Sadira’s spine. She turned one palm toward the ground and plunged the other into her satchel, searching for the pocket that contained her sulfur balls. “Touch him and there’ll be a scorched hole where you and your house once stood.”
The bard quickly drew his hand away from the windsinger, and Sadira glimpsed a dark needle disappearing between two of his fingers.
“Very observant,” the man said. He eyed the sorceress’s hands for a moment, then slowly withdrew a bone vial from his pocket. It was decorated with what appeared to be musical notes. “This is enough to protect twenty of your tribesman from the poison. Two drops before drinking will counteract any amount of wine, but you’ll need twice that dose if you wait until after the poison has taken effect.” He handed the vial to Rhayn, then passed an open palm over a closed fist. “Our business is done. You have nothing to fear if you do as I have explained.”
With that, he went back into his house.
Magnus turned to Sadira. “I think you’ve just saved my life. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” the sorceress answered, confident that she had. She raised an eyebrow at the cask by his feet. “I thought you were only going to disable Faenaeyon?”
“Snakes have many kinds of venoms,” Rhayn answered, motioning for the windsinger to pick up the keg. “Not all are fatal.”
As they started out of the quarter, Sadira asked, “And exactly what do you want me to do?”
“Very little,” she said. Simply return to the tower with us. We’ll claim that we found you with this cask of wine-”
“I told you before I won’t take the blame,” Sadira said. “That’s especially true now, since I don’t know how long I’ll need to hide with the Sun Runners.”
“No one will blame you-or anyone else,” said Rhayn.
“It’ll look like Faenaeyon drank himself into a stupor and never recovered.”
“And you expect me to believe this poison will affect only your father?” Sadira asked.
“It’ll have the same effect on anyone who drinks it, but Faenaeyon is as selfish with his wine as he is with his silver,” Rhayn said. She held up the small bottle of antidote. “Besides, that’s why I have this. If someone else sneaks a swallow, I’ll slip it to him before anyone realizes he’s been poisoned.”
Sadira stopped and reached for the bone vial. “I’ll keep the antidote,” she said. “If you betray me, I’ll give it to Faenaeyon-and your plan will be for naught.”
“You’ve nothing to fear,” Rhayn said, withdrawing the vial.
Sadira continued to hold out her hand and did not move. “I agreed to help you and I will-but not because I’m a fool,” she said. “It suits me to stay with the Sun Runners for a time, but I won’t involve myself in your plot unless I have a safeguard.”
“After what you did for Magnus, I would not let you come to harm,” said Rhayn.
“Surely, you don’t expect me to believe that?”
“If I were you, I suppose I wouldn’t,” Rhayn sighed. She handed the flask to Sadira. “But I warn you, if you try to betray us, the tribe will accept my word and Magnus’s over anything you say.”
“Of course,” Sadira answered. She turned and briskly led the way out of the Bard’s Quarter, walking well ahead of her companions.
As the sorceress stepped through the gate leading into the Elven Market, she bumped into a young elf coming around the corner. The young warrior’s jaw fell slack, and he stared at her as though looking at the king of Nibenay himself.
“I beg your pardon,” Sadira said, moving to step around him.
The elf grabbed the collar of the blue smock the sorceress was wearing, reaching for his dagger with the other hand. Sadira stomped on the arch of his foot and pulled away, leaving long strip of cloth in the astonished elf’s hand.