“I have no coins, either,” the elf answered. “And now is no time to steal them. If you need obsidian, we’ll trade for it on the trail, or take it from a caravan.”
Before she could object, Faenaeyon motioned to Magnus and Rhayn. “See that she keeps up,” he said, resuming his pace.
It was not much longer before they came to a small plaza. Across the square rose the sheer-sided bluff that bordered Nibenay’s north side. Carved into the rocky face of this crag were dozen different palaces, each a different height above the ground. Above the mansions, a low stone wall crowned the cliff, forming the defensive fortifications that protected this part of the city.
Before the cliff, separated from it by a short distance, rose a high tower. It had been fashioned in the form of a tangle of coiled snakes, with hundreds of scale-shaped windows glistening along its exterior walls. At the base of the turret, the entrance was shaped in the form of a serpent’s gaping mouth.
A meandering skywalk, also carved in the shape of a serpent, ran from the tower to each cliffside palace. The highest walkway ran to the city wall, atop which Sadira could barely make out the tiny forms of a half-dozen sentries scattered over a distance of many yards.
Faenaeyon led his small group to the base of the tower. As they reached the mouth of the stone serpent, a pair of mul guards stepped out to block their path. The two men were armed with curved swords of obsidian, and wore tabards bearing the crest of a black scorpion. Although neither appeared much older than Rikus, their bodies had grown soft. To Sadira, their appearance suggested that they were the pampered gladiators of a nobleman, and had been retired from combat for use as household guards.
The sorceress’s father tried to walk directly between the two men, not bothering to acknowledge them. The tallest mul placed a hand on the elf’s chest and shoved him back down ramp.
“Where are you going?” the guard asked.
Faenaeyon glared at the mul. “I’ve business with Lord Ghandara,” he said. “Not that it’s any of your concern.”
The two muls lowered their swords, but did not step aside. “No one told us to expect you,” said the second one.
“That’s because I haven’t announced myself,” Faenaeyon replied. He grabbed Sadira by the arm and pulled her roughly forward. “I thought perhaps he might be interested in making a purchase.”
Accustomed to the role of a slave, Sadira lowered her chin and looked frightened. At the same time, she allowed her pale eyes to wander over the muls, as though unable to resist the temptation of admiring their bodies.
Her silent appeal worked well. The mul circled around her, studying her figure from every angle. “Lord Ghandara has fine tastes,” said the tallest. “I’m not sure this stock is up to his standards.”
Sadira lifted her chin and scowled, then bit her lip as though preventing herself from making a sharp retort. As she had hoped, the guards laughed, then stood aside. “I’ll show you the way,” said the tallest.
“No need to trouble yourself,” answered Faenaeyon, leading his small company up the ramp. “I’ve been there before.”
As Sadira entered the tower, she felt as though she were plunging into an enchanted well. An ambient green light suffused the air, lighting the dust on her skin like tiny gems sparkling in a thousand colors. Ahead, the corridor divided into three branches. From each puffed a hot breeze thick with the smell of mildew and rot, masked by the overly-sweet aroma of burning incense.
Faenaeyon ushered them into the right-hand corridor and started up the steep, spiraling slope. The hallway was lined by the scale shaped windows she had seen from outside. By peering out the openings, she could see that they were rapidly climbing to the top of the tower. Whenever they circled around to the north side, the view of the plaza below was replaced by the sheer crags of the rocky bluff. Once in a while, they passed one of the cliffside palaces, where a pair of stern-faced sentries stood guard over the causeway connecting their master’s home to the tower. Sometimes, it seemed to Sadira that she heard feet walking down the corridor toward them, but only once did they meet anyone-an old woman carrying an empty fruit basket to market.
When she felt reasonably certain they would not be overheard, Sadira asked, “Faenaeyon, what are we going to do once we reach the top of the tower?”
“There’ll be a pair of royal guards,” the elf answered. “I’ll kill them, and we’ll cross to the wall.”
Sadira peered out a window. It was fifty feet to the ground, and the sorceress could not imagine the height of the outside wall would be any less. “Then what?”
“You’ll cast the spell you used to bring the tribe across the canyon,” the chief answered. “We’ll be gone before the sentries notice us.”
Sadira stopped walking. “No,” she said. “To use that spell, I’d have to defile. I won’t do that again.”
“You must,” Faenaeyon said, continuing up the ramp. “It’s the best way.”
“Then you should have asked me before bringing us here,” Sadira said.
Faenaeyon whirled on her. “I don’t need to ask!” he snapped. “I am chief, and you’ll do as I say.” He glared at her for a moment, then continued up the corridor with no further discussion.
Rhayn slipped a hand under Sadira’s arm and dragged her after the chief. Soon, the passage leveled off and curved toward the north side.
“Leave the guards to me,” Faenaeyon whispered. “Magnus, you and Huyar keep the gate open. Rhayn, watch over Sadira!”
A few moments later, the corridor broadened into a square foyer. To one side, a bone portcullis hung over a short passage leading to the causeway. Just behind this gate, a narrow hall opened off the main corridor and turned sharply to the right, apparently opening into a small chamber that could not be seen from the main passage. A short stretch of the causeway itself was barely visible, suspended over the empty space between the tower and the city wall.
As Sadira’s father had predicted, a pair of guards stood at the portcullis. They were both full humans, wearing purple saramis, with white tabards bearing the insignia of a cilops over the top. In their hands, they held short spears and shields, both made of blue agafari wood.
The guards crossed their spears in front of the causeway. “What are you doing here?” asked one.
Faenaeyon continued to walk toward them at a leisurely pace, holding his hands well away from his dagger sheath. The guards took the precaution of leveling their spearpoints at him, though they did not seem alarmed by his innocuous approach.
“You can’t come any farther,” said the first guard.
The chief stopped in front of the two men and allowed them to press the tips of their spears to his chest.
“Go on and get out of-”
Faenaeyon sprang into action, thrusting his hands up between the two spears and spreading them apart. Before the guards could cry out, he grabbed them both by the backs of their necks. One after the other, he pulled their heads down and smashed their faces into his knees. The Nibenese cried out and dropped their spears, then the elf pushed them over to a wall and beat their heads against the stones until they fell unconscious.
“As I promise, a simple matter,” he said, motioning the others forward.
Magnus and Huyar went into the passages and picked up the spears of the unconscious guards. Before Rhayn and Sadira stepped beneath the portcullis, however, a Nibenese templar rushed out of the side corridor. She took one look at the unconscious guards, then turned toward the causeway, already opening her mouth to call for the king’s magic.
Sadira grabbed the woman’s hair and jerked her head back, smashing the edge of her other hand into the templar’s throat. The Nibenese gurgled in pain, then Rhayn ended her life by plunging a bone dagger into her heart.
“Not as simple as you thought,” Sadira said, shaking her head at her father.
“Things have not turned out so badly,” Faenaeyon said, leading the way across the causeway.