Beneath each row of arches ran a wide aisle, flanked on either side by stalls barely large enough to hold the men and women lying in them. Along the back of the pens stood the high brick walls to which the slave ropes were attached.
As they reach the end of the aisle, Raka asked, “Is that the elf you seek?”
Sadira nodded, then led the way around the pillar so entwined with vines that its stone surface was not visible. “I saw no sign of templars or royal guards,” she said.
“Nevertheless, they are here,” the youth answered. “One of our agents tried to buy him this morning, but the price was outrageous. House Shom does not wish to sell this particular elf-no doubt because Dhojakt has concluded that he is your guide. The prince is using him as bait.”
They passed a bony old man watering the gallery’s vines from a huge bucket. He kept his eyes focused on his work, paying no attention to pleas for water coming from his fellow slaves.
“You’re right, of course,” Sadira answered, casting a wary eye toward the crowd ahead. For all she knew, half the sarami-clad women in it were templars, and the agents wearing the tabards of House Shom could just as readily have been royal guards. “It’d be too simple if all we had to do was buy him back.”
They made their way up the aisle, to where Magnus and Huyar were studying the gangling arms and square heads of two tareks. Though the windsinger had used his magic to heal the injury he had suffered during yesterday’s battle, he seemed tired and could not quite keep his massive body from swaying as he stood waiting. He wore a dark burnoose with the hood pulled over his head. The robe did little to hide his immense size, but at least it concealed the burn marks on his chest.
“Did you find him?” asked Huyar, who had not bothered with a disguise. If Dhojakt’s agents were present, they would not be able to tell him from a warrior of any other tribe. “Has he recovered from his stupor?”
“We found him, but he’s still sick,” Sadira said. “Our agreement stands?”
“Of course,” the elf answered. “Provided Faenaeyon returns to his senses and tells us where to find the Pristine Tower.”
Sadira did not expect Huyar to keep his word, of course. The warrior would say anything to recover his father, but she knew he would not absolve her of Gaefal’s death so easily. The sorceress was also so keenly aware that once Faenaeyon returned to the tribe and was given the antidote, the final decision about going to the tower would rest in his hands.
Still, Huyar’s promise and the fact that Sadira was the one who had rescued him could only help persuade the chief to take her to the Pristine Tower. He could still refuse-but the sorceress would deal with that possibility when it occurred. For now, what was important was rescuing the elf.
Sadira was more worried about the motives of Rhayn and Magnus for helping her. They were both cunning enough to realize that she intended to use the antidote to clear the chief’s mind, yet they had agreed to her bargain as readily as anyone else. Perhaps, as Rhayn had claimed to her all along, they had no wish to see Faenaeyon come to any physical harm. Or perhaps they had a different scheme-such as using the wine they had secreted away to poison him again.
Whatever their plan, the sorceress did not want to concern herself with it. As long as the Sun Runners took her to the Pristine Tower, she did not care what happened to Faenaeyon-at least that was what she told herself.
Sadira turned to Raka. “The Alliance is ready to help?”
Before the youth could answer, a tremendous crash sounded from the other end of the emporium. Terrified screams echoed down the aisles. When Sadira looked toward the noise, she saw a plume of dust rising form a pile of debris that had once been an arch. Next to it stood the stump of a marble pillar, its clinging vines still smoking from the effects of a fire-based spell.
Raka smiled at Sadira. “The Alliance is already testing our enemy’s response.”
The gallery filled with alarmed cries and more than a few buyers moved to leave. A handful of Shom agents joined the stream, ignoring the pleas of the slaves they were leaving behind. Most vendors, however, remained at their posts, reassuring their shocked customers that it was much wiser to remain where they were and finish the deal. Those with exceptionally nervous patrons even managed to turn the event into a negotiation advantage, grabbing the arms of their frightened clients and making it clear they would not let go until a bargain had been struck.
A handful of guards bearing shields with House Shom’s triple dragonfly rushed toward the collapsed arch, but no one else. “If Dhojakt’s templars are here, they aren’t showing themselves,” Raka observed. “Tell me when you’re ready for the next move.”
Sadira looked to Huyar. “After today, I suspect House Shom will want to avenge itself on Faenaeyon’s tribe,” she said. “I hope you’re right about how easy it will be to recover your kanks and leave the city.”
“I didn’t say they would be our own kanks we recovered,” he answered. “As for leaving the city, our warriors should have left at dawn. When we meet Rhayn, she’ll tell us where the tribe is gathering.” He gave Magnus a spiteful glance, then added, “Unless she’s decided it would be easier to name herself chief by abandoning us here.”
The windsinger scowled. “You know better,” he snapped. “Faenaeyon’s warriors would never stand for such a thing.”
“Go on, Huyar,” Sadira said, motioning him toward the door.
The elf did not obey. “I should stay with you,” he said. “Faenaeyon is my father-”
“Someone must wait at the door, to keep a watch in case Dhojakt is setting up an ambush outside,” Sadira said. “And only an elf will look natural loitering out there. They’ll think you’re trying to pick pockets.”
“If you insist,” Huyar agreed. “But I warn you, if something happens to Faenaeyon-”
“He’ll be no worse off than now,” Magnus snapped, shoving the elf toward the exit.
Huyar glared at the windsinger, then turned and stalked off.
Raka left next, saying, “When you hear thunder, you’ll know we’ve attacked. Wait a few moments after that before freeing your elf. Meet me in Sage’s Square at first light, and I’ll sneak you all out of the city.”
After the youth disappeared around the corner, Magnus and Sadira lingered in front of the tareks, waiting for the diversion to begin. Soon, the sorceress noticed a house agent moving toward them. She signaled her disinterest in bargaining by taking Magnus’s arm and guiding him up the aisle. “While we’re waiting for Raka, answer a question I’ve been curious about.”
“If it’s in my power,” the windsinger promised.
“Why are you so close to Rhayn?” Sadira asked. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re in love with her.”
“Do you think I can’t love because I’m of the New Races?” the windsinger demanded, an angry glimmer in his black eyes.
“I don’t doubt you can,” Sadira answered. “It was Rhayn I referred to. Elves are the ones who can’t love.”
Magnus flattened his ears. “Why would you think that?”
“Look at Faenaeyon,” Sadira said. “My mother loved him until she died, yet he abandoned her into slavery.”
“You’re confusing love with responsibility,” Magnus said.
“They’re the same,” Sadira objected. “When I love a man, I care about what happens to him.”
“Care, perhaps,” the windsinger allowed. “But you don’t trap him by taking over his life. When elves love, they do it freely-with no obligations and no promises. That way, everyone can do as they choose.”
“My mother did not choose bondage!” Sadira hissed.
“She didn’t choose freedom either,” the windsinger countered. “She could have escaped-or died trying.”
“She had a child to think of!” the sorceress growled.