Before crossing the threshold, the sorceress stopped and braced herself against the heavy barrel as if resting. Without raising her head, she whispered, “Won’t Faenaeyon wonder how I could push this thing through the Elven Market?”
“Not as much as he’d wonder why we’re carrying it for you,” hissed Rhayn. The elf gave Sadira a rough shove, then barked, “Go on!”
With a great heave, the sorceress pushed the cask across the threshold. The shadows were thick with the musty smell of kank offal, and the constant tick-tick of nipping pinchers echoed off the stone walls. As Sadira’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that the round tower’s first floor consisted of a single arcade. Most of the stilted pillars now teetered on the edge of collapse, and half of the double-tiered arches lay broken and scattered in the dust.
“Welcome back, my sweet,” said Faenaeyon, speaking from the shelter of the darkness. “How nice to see you again.”
To Sadira’s surprise the chief did not sound angry. “I wish I could say the same,” she answered suspiciously.
The sorceress peered into the gloom and saw Faenaeyon leaning against one of the unsteady pillars. He stepped away from it and came toward her. Without acknowledging either Magnus or Rhayn, he pointed a finger at the wine cask. “What have you there?”
“Nothing that concerns you,” Sadira said. “And by searching for me, you have accomplished little except wasting your tribe’s time. I don’t have your silver.”
Faenaeyon’s eyes flashed in irritation, but he did not let the smile leave his lips. “Of course not,” he answered. “And even if you did, you could not repay me for the ten coins it cost to bribe the gate-sergeant.”
“Then what do you want with me?”
“I only wish to offer you a place to stay,” the chief answered, waving a hand toward the curving staircase that ran up the tower’s outside wall. “Nibenay is a dangerous place.”
“So I have learned,” Sadira said, rolling the cask toward the stairwell.
Although Faenaeyon’s lack of hostility surprised her, Sadira did not believe for an instant that he viewed her as anything but a prisoner. His politeness only meant he wanted her to help recover the coins he had lost-and probably many more. If she did not respond to his courtesy, the sorceress knew, Faenaeyon would be fully prepared to resort to more direct means to enforce her cooperation.
Sadira reached the stairs and stooped down to pick up the cask.
“Let me help you with that,” Faenaeyon said, moving down to take the keg.
Following the advice Rhayn had given her not to yield the wine readily, Sadira pushed the elf away. “If I am truly a guest, then you’ll leave me to my wine.”
Faenaeyon glanced at Rhayn and Magnus with an amused smirk, then gestured toward the stairs. “If that is what you wish,” he said.
With a grunt, Sadira picked up the cask. Although she was not weak woman, she managed to climb only a dozen stairs before her arms grew so fatigued that they began to tremble. She stopped and rested the keg on a step.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to carry that for you?” Faenaeyon asked, coming up the stairs behind her.
The sorceress blocked his way.
“Perhaps Magnus, then?” he suggested.
“I can do it,” Sadira snapped.
The chief scowled and backed away from the sorceress, growling, “What’s wrong? Do you think we’re going to steal it?
“Yes,” Sadira answered frankly.
Faenaeyon smiled broadly and deceitfully. “And risk our friendship?”
“I’m your prisoner, not your friend,” Sadira said. “If we were friends, you’d return the purse you took from me.”
“That was business,” Faenaeyon said sharply. “As was your little deception at the Dancing Gate.”
Sadira lifted the cask and struggled up more steps, beginning to fear her father truly had no intention of stealing the keg from her. After another half-dozen stairs, Sadira had to put cask down again. This time, she gave up trying to carry the heavy load and settled for rolling it up the steps one by one. Faenaeyon hovered a few feet behind, peering over the sorceress’s shoulder, ready to catch the barrel if she happened to let it slip.
By the time she reached the second story, Sadira’s breath was coming in heavy gasps.
“Welcome back to the camp of the Sun Runners,” said Huyar.
The black-haired elf stood in a short passageway that led to a jagged arrow loop overlooking the streets outside the Elven Market. The flushed yellow light of the afternoon sky streamed in behind him, so that the sorceress could hardly separate his craggy features from the edges of the window-slit.
To the other side of the landing, the room opened into what had once been the foyer of someone’s official chambers. Several stone benches hung from the walls, flanking the battered remains of a decorative fountain. At the back of the small parlor, an arched doorway opened into a much larger compartment, though the floor had long since collapsed into the arcade below.
Ignoring Huyar, Sadira rolled the cask toward the next set of stairs. As soon as there was space, Faenaeyon slipped past her and snatched the barrel.
“This is too heavy for you,” he said, lifting the barrel as though it were empty.
Though she was relieved Faenaeyon had finally taken the wine, Sadira found herself vaguely disappointed that Rhayn had been so right about their father’s gluttony. “So much for friendship,” she said.
“Friends share, do they not?”
Slipping the keg under one arm, the chief used his steel dagger to pry the stopper from the tap hole, then sheathed the weapon and hefted the cask high over his head. The fruity wine sloshed from the opening and went down his throat in a red stream.
Rhayn and Magnus stepped from the first stairway and crossed to the second set of stairs, which led to the tower’s third story. They did not tarry long enough to cast even a single glance in the chief’s direction.
At last, Faenaeyon lowered the cask and closed his mouth. Though only a few seconds had passed since he started to drink, his eyes were already glazed. “Too sweet, but powerful,” he said, holding the wine toward the sorceress. “Have some.”
Sadira’s heart leaped into her throat. From the speed with which the drug was taking effect, the sorceress feared she would not be able to sneak away and drink the antidote before falling into a stupor.
“Come,” said Faenaeyon, squinting as though he were having trouble seeing Sadira.
Huyar pushed the sorceress forward. “Do not insult the chief by making him ask again,” he said. “He does not often share his wine.”
Faenaeyon tilted the cask, spilling a stream of poisoned wine over the sorceress’s face. She stepped away. “I prefer to drink from a mug,” she spat, using the sleeve of her tattered smock to wipe the red fluid from her lips.
Her comment drew laughter from both Faenaeyon and Huyar, then the chief waved his son toward the stairs. “Fetch her one,” he said, “and be quick about it. My thirst is great, and I would not forgive myself if I finished all this wine before you returned with a mug for our guest.”
Huyar hesitated to do as commanded. “Be careful,” he said. “She may try to flee.”
“If I wanted to escape, do you really think I would have allowed Rhayn and Magnus to bring me here?” Sadira demanded in an imperious tone. “I have cause of my own for returning to the Sun Runners.”
Huyar narrowed his eyes. “What cause?”
“My reasons are not for you to know,” Sadira answered, looking away. “Now fetch me a mug, while some of my wine remains.”
“I’m not your servant,” Huyar spat. Nevertheless, he stepped into the stairwell.
As the warrior climbed out of sight, Faenaeyon chuckled. “You should be more careful of Huyar’s feelings,” he said. “Someday, he’ll be chief.”
“I won’t be with the Sun Runners that long,” Sadira answered sharply.
“Don’t be so sure,” slurred the chief.