As Dhojakt clattered over Faenaeyon’s unconscious form, Sadira tossed a tube of carved wood onto the steps and spoke a string of mystical words. With a sonorous rumble, the stairwell stretched to an impossible length. Suddenly the prince and her father were so far away they could barely be seen.
The sorceress turned away, already listening to the distinct tick of Dhojakt’s claws growing louder in the magical tunnel. She had delayed the prince for the time being but Sadira knew it would not be long before he and the templars who followed were upon her again.
The sorceress stepped onto the third story, where the stairwell opened into a round chamber. At one time, the room may have been divided into smaller compartments, for the stone baseplates of the long-vanished walls still traversed the floor in various locations. Now it was a single large garret, littered with pottery shards, scraps of hemp cloth, and the bones of a small animal.
The Sun Runners had tied a half-dozen ropes to the ceiling beams, but had not yet thrown the lines out the tower windows. Instead, the warriors were firing arrows at someone below. Sadira found Rhayn and Huyar standing together, on opposite sides of a doorway opening onto empty air. A pair of stone buttresses were all that remained of the balcony that had once hung outside.
As she approached, Sadira said, “Let’s go! Dhojakt is less than a minute behind me.”
“You first,” said Huyar, waving Sadira ahead.
The sorceress peered outside and found herself looking down upon the avenue that bordered the outside wall of the Elven Market. Standing in the street directly below the tower was a company of Nibenese half-giants. To defend themselves from the Sun Runners’ arrows, they were holding their wooden shields over their heads in a makeshift roof.
Sadira pulled a handful of powdered sulfur from her satchel. “Tell your warriors to put their bows away and drop their lines on my command,” she said. “And have someone bring Magnus. I’ll clear the way for our escape.”
As Rhayn passed the instructions along, the sorceress turned to Huyar. “I need some water.”
The elf ignored her and searched the room with a frown on his face. “What happened to Jeila and Faenaeyon?”
“Jeila’s dead, and Faenaeyon’s with the Nibenese.”
Huyar clamped a hand over Sadira’s arm. “You won’t save yourself that way,” he growled. “You’re not leaving until Faenaeyon’s safe.”
“You left him downstairs, not me. I’m the one who tried to help him,” Sadira said, jerking her arm away from the warrior. “And if you don’t get me the water I need, I’ll leave the Sun Runners here to face Dhojakt’s wrath. It’d be easier if I didn’t have to save your whole tribe as well as myself.”
Huyar glared at her for a moment, then spun around and grabbed a skin from a nearby warrior. Sadira opened her hands and instructed him to pour water over the sulfur. When the powder had turned into yellowish muck, she flung it out the window and spoke the words of her spell.
Instead of falling to the ground, the mudball hung motionless in the air. A cloud of yellow mist began to form, spreading steadily outward. From the street below came the concerned murmurs of half-giants, along with their commanders’ exhortations to stand firm. Sadira allowed the cloud to expand until it covered the entire company.
Rhayn came over, two huge satchels slung over her back and dragging Magnus’s floating form behind her. “Hurry! Dhojakt’s coming-with a company of templars behind him.”
“Storm!” Sadira said, waving her hand outside.
With a peal of thunder and a flash of golden lightning, the cloud burst open. Fire rained down on the half-giants in a deluge of flame. The shields covering their heads dissolved into shreds of fume, and in the next instant the air was heavy with the rancorous smell of burning flesh. The half-giants stumbled away, their bodies trailing smoke and their screams ringing through the streets like howling wind.
Sadira waited an instant for the firestorm to die down, then yelled, “Drop your lines!”
A half-dozen ropes sailed out the windows. Almost before the ends hit the cobblestones, the first elves were dropping to the streets below. Sadira moved toward the line dangling from the balcony door, but Huyar pushed her back.
“Not before the last Sun Runner has gone,” he snapped, waving forward a powerful woman with a heavily lined brow.
Rather than hold things up by fighting over the matter, the sorceress stepped over to wait with Rhayn. Already, half of the tribe had left the chamber, carrying their personal satchels on their back. Nevertheless, thinking it would be wise to be prepared for Dhojakt, Sadira scooped a handful of grit off the floor and prepared another spell.
Once that was done, Sadira looked across Magnus’s body and asked, “Do you rehearse these sorts of escapes often?”
Rhayn shook her head, keeping a careful eye on the stairwell. “We never practice,” she said. “We do this so often there’s no need.”
Sadira heard Dhojakt’s legs rattling. She cried out her incantation and threw the grit in her hand at the sound. A furious sandstorm rose at the mouth of the stairwell, blowing down the dark hole with such fury that the entire tower trembled. Although it was impossible to hear anyone screaming above the wind, the sorceress knew that those trapped in the squall’s fury would be crying out in agony as the flesh was scoured from their bones by whirling sand.
“That should stop him!” Rhayn yelled.
The elf had barely spoken when Dhojakt stepped from the stairwell. The prince’s expression showed no sign that he felt the sand raking over his skin. He held his body perfectly upright, as though the ferocious wind were no more than a breeze to him.
Sadira looked toward the ropes and saw that there were still several elves waiting to descend each of them. Even if she were able to push her way into line, she would never be able to reach the street before Dhojakt was once again upon her.
The prince’s black eyes searched the room for a moment, then came to rest on the sorceress. When he moved toward her, a pair of elven warriors stepped to block his path-not so much for Sadira’s benefit, she was sure, as to protect Huyar and the other elves who still had not descended the rope.
The warriors swung their bone swords, striking Dhojakt so hard that, even over the roar of Sadira’s magical wind, the thud of their blows was audible. The blade of one weapon snapped at the hilt and went skittering across the floor, while the other bounced off as though it had struck stone.
The prince did not even slow down. Stepping between the two elves, he finished one with a punch to the heart, sinking his hand fist-deep into the warrior’s chest. The other he killed more artfully, reaching up behind the tall elf’s back and snaking a hand around to grab his chin. With a quick jerk of his arm, Dhojakt snapped his victim’s neck, then threw the body aside and continued inexorably toward Sadira.
“Let go, Rhayn!” the sorceress yelled, taking Magnus’s wrist and pulling the windsinger toward the doorway. “Unless you want to learn to fly.”
“I’ll take my chances with you!” Rhayn answered, casting a frightened glance at Dhojakt.
Huyar and the other elves in front of the door scattered before Magnus’s bulk. Sadira and Rhayn pushed the windsinger out of the tower, throwing themselves onto his immense chest. At first, they dropped rapidly, but their descent slowed after a few feet, and they sank toward the scorched street more or less under control.
“Just hold tight,” Sadira advised. “Were going to be fine.”
“I don’t think so,” Rhayn answered, looking toward the tower.
Sadira craned her neck and, to her dismay, saw that she and Rhayn were descending more slowly than the elves on the ropes. Already, Huyar had jumped onto a line and descended farther than they had.