When the youth shook his head, Huyar grabbed him by the throat. “You’ll show us or die!”
“Then I’ll die,” gasped a youth. He glanced at Sadira. “I won’t aid a defiler.”
Sadira tried to pull Huyar’s arms away. “Let him go,” she said. “You won’t save us by killing him.”
Instead of releasing the youth, Huyar pressed his thumbs into the boy’s gullet. A terrible gurgling sound came from Raka’s throat as he struggled to free himself.
The sorceress turned to her father. “This will accomplish nothing,” she said.
The warrior reluctantly took his hand from the boy’s throat, then pushed him away. “Go, and be happy Sadira of Tyr is a forgiving fool,” he said.
From the far end of the alley came the shuffle of dozens of stumbling feet, accompanied by the cracking of whips and the harsh commands of Nibenese templars. When the youth grasped his bruised throat and started in the opposite direction, Faenaeyon caught him by the shoulder.
“Not into Sage’s Square,” said the chief, pointing Raka toward the press gang. “You can repay me by serving as a decoy.”
“That’s not why I saved him,” Sadira objected, taking Raka’s arm. “He’ll come with us. If it comes to a fight, we’ll all be better off.”
The youth pulled free of the sorceress. “I’d rather take my chances with the templars than a fight at defiler’s side.” With that, he reached into his purse for a spell component, then ran down the alley screaming. “Death to Dhojakt!”
“Raka!” Sadira cried. “No!”
She started to follow, but Faenaeyon caught her arm and held her back. “This way, daughter,” he said, carrying her into Sage’s Square.
They had barely entered the smoky plaza when an olive-colored light flashed from the alley, accompanied by a sonorous hiss of air. For a moment, Raka’s triumphant voice echoed through the lane, but it was abruptly cut off by the sizzle of a lightning bolt.
Ahead of Faenaeyon, a trio of huge silhouettes came rushing toward the clamor. In one hand, each of the half-giants carried a curved sword, and in the other a trident with barbed tongs. The dark circles of their eyes were fixed on Faenaeyon and his group of elves.
“If I put you down, you won’t do anything foolish, will you?” whispered the chief.
“I’ll be fine,” Sadira answered, her voice unusually timid. Raka’s last words weighed heavily on her mind, and she found herself wondering if she really could justify all the vile things she had done in the name of fighting the Dragon.
The half-giants stopped in front of Faenaeyon. “What’s that noise?” demanded the leader, regarding the elf suspiciously.
“Alliance ambush,” Faenaeyon answered, casting a nervous glance in the direction of the alley. “It looks like they’re coming this way-probably to attack you.”
“Why d’you say that?”
Faenaeyon looked in the direction of the alley again. “Haven’t you heard? Sadira of Tyr’s in the city,” he said. “If you ask me, she’s come to free the slaves, like she did in her own city.”
The comment set Sadira’s heart to pounding madly, but the half-giants remained oblivious to her discomfort. Instead, they studied each other with worried expressions, then the leader waved the group onward. “You keep quiet about that sorceress,” he warned. “No one’s supposed to know she’s here.”
The chief shrugged. “If that’s what you want, but you hear of nothing else in the Market,” he said. “Which way to the Snake Tower from here?”
The half-giant pointed toward the hazy mouth of another alley, then took his two companions and cautiously crept toward the lane where Raka had just perished. Faenaeyon led the group across the plaza, half-carrying the sorceress to prevent her limp form being too noticeable.
As they passed through the covered lane, the chief finally released Sadira’s arm.
“You were a little brazen back there, weren’t you?” the sorceress asked.
It was Rhayn who answered. “It’s the best way,” she said. “Otherwise, they think you’re trying to hide something.”
“We are-remember?” Sadira replied, her limp forcing her to struggle in order to keep up with the others. “And what happened to my kank? Did the liveryman have it killed?”
“I think you have it backwards,” answered Rhayn. “According to his slaves, when the old man opened the gate to have someone look it over, the drone grabbed him and left. His assistants followed the thing to the palace gates, where your beasts performed some tricks for the guards. After that, both the kank and the man were taken inside. Neither one’s been here since.”
“Tithian!” Sadira hissed.
“What does your king have to do with this?” asked Faenaeyon.
“According to Dhojakt, Tithian’s the one who told him I was in Nibenay,” Sadira answered.
Magnus shook his head in bewilderment. “How?”
“Through the kank,” Sadira replied. “Tithian’s become a fair mindbender. I think he’s been using the Way to spy on me through my mount. That’s the only way he could have known I’m in Nibenay, or that I was going to the Pristine Tower.”
“I thought Tithian was supposed to be a good king,” said Faenaeyon. “Why would he betray you?”
“You were a better father than Tithian’s been a king,” Sadira retorted. “As for his betrayal, apparently he doesn’t want me going to the Pristine Tower. Neither does Dhojakt.”
“So perhaps you should rethink your plans,” suggested Faenaeyon, ignoring the sorceress’s backhanded slight. “If the son of a sorcerer-king doesn’t-”
“I’m going,” Sadira interrupted. “If they’re so determined to keep me away, there must be good reason. I don’t know what it is yet, but I’ve got to hurry. It won’t be long before the Dragon reaches Tyr, and I want to be waiting for him,”
“Then by all means, let us hurry,” Faenaeyon said, somewhat sarcastically.
The chief led the way out of the alley and into a broader street that ran along the back side of the merchant emporiums. He always moved more or less toward the mountainous bluff on the north side of the city, stopping occasionally to ask his way. Sometimes, the nervous pedestrian would refuse to answer, scurrying past with a protective hand on his purse. More often, the passerby appeared relieved that the elves had only stopped for directions and not to accost him.
The walk was hard on Sadira’s injured leg. Even had she been healthy, it would have been a struggle to keep pace with the elves’ long legs. Now, with them in a hurry and every step a struggle for the sorceress, it was all but impossible. Within a half hour, she had to ask them to slow down.
“Perhaps we should hide in the city for a day or two,” Magnus suggested. “I can’t do anything more for your leg until tomorrow, and without a kank you won’t make it more than a few miles into the desert.”
Sadira shook her head. “No, we must leave today. From what Raka said, the sorcerer-king’s busy healing his son. When that’s done, he may turn his attention to me.”
“In that case, perhaps we should leave Sadira here,” Huyar suggested, looking at his father. “We wouldn’t want to endanger the tribe on her behalf.”
“I decide when the tribe is in peril, and on whose behalf we should endanger it,” Faenaeyon said, frowning at his son. “If necessary, you’ll carry Sadira on your back.”
“Thank you,” the sorceress said. “It’s nice to know you can be a man of honor.”
Faenaeyon smiled insincerely. “Thank you.”
“But before we leave the city, there’s one thing I need to get,” she added.
Her father’s smile vanished. “No,” he said, starting off again.
“It won’t be much trouble,” Sadira insisted, “and I’ll need it when I reach the Pristine Tower.”
Faenaeyon stopped and gave her a puzzled look. “What is it?”
“Obsidian balls,” she answered. “For the shadows.”
By the way the color drained from her father’s face, the sorceress knew he had seen the shadows when he visited the tower. After a moment, Faenaeyon regained his composure, then asked, “Do you have any coins?”
“Of course not,” Sadira answered. “You took all-”