Faenaeyon scowled. “So?”
“I thought you’d want to share your gift with your favorite daughter,” the sorceress said, gesturing at her sister. Rhayn scowled, unsure of which cup contained the antidote. Sadira smiled, hoping the gesture would reassure Rhayn, then asked, “Doesn’t a gold coin deserve a fine gift in return?”
Faenaeyon smiled. “So it does,” he said, passing the mug to his daughter.
Rhayn’s face went white, but she accepted the wine.
Despite the festivities of the night before, the tribe was packed and ready to run by mid-morning. Sadira, who had sat up late studying her spellbook, was among the last to join the train. The sorceress rode one of her sister’s kanks, leading Magnus’s beast on her downwind side. The windsinger’s back was covered with a fresh coat of balm, and she still found its pungent smell grossly offensive.
Sadira was glad that she had made Magnus tend her cilops’s bite before she saw to his arrow stings. His song that morning had been so effective that she considered herself healed. The only remaining sign of her injury was a slight tightness in the muscle. If she had waited until after she spread the salve over the windsinger’s back, however, she would still be in pain. The unguent had hardly touched his knobby hide before Magnus had grown so drowsy he could barely speak, much less sing.
Sadira located Rhayn near the front of the tribe, her youngest infant slung on her back and the rest of her children mounted on kanks behind her. As the sorceress rode up to join her sister, she could not help yawning.
“Why are you so tired?” Rhayn demanded.
“I was up late,” Sadira answered, tapping the satchel where she kept her spell book. “I thought it wise to learn some special enchantments, in case Dhojakt comes after us.”
“A wise precaution, but it is no excuse to be tired,” Rhayn countered. “I feel wonderful, and I did not sleep at all.”
“Then how did you spend the night?”
Rhayn gave her sister a wry smile. “Bolstering my support,” she said. “Today, the Sun Runners choose a new chief-though they may not realize what they’re doing.” She motioned for Sadira to dismount, then led the half-elf to a small gathering of warriors.
As they merged with the group, Sadira saw Faenaeyon stretched out on the ground. The chief lay with his sunken eyes shielded by a coarse cloth, and his tongue half-protruding from between his lips. His skin was flaxen, and sweat ran off his face in tiny rivulets. The sorceress’s stomach felt queasy with guilt.
If Rhayn felt any similar emotions, she did not show them. The elf strode directly over to Huyar and pointed at the chief’s sickly form. “What did you do to him?” she demanded. “Were you afraid he’d change his mind and make you keep your promise to Sadira?”
Sadira bit her lip, amazed by her sister’s nerve. Rhayn’s audacity reminded the sorceress of Tithian-and that frightened her, more for the Sun Runners than for herself.
Whatever Sadira’s misgivings, the attack served its purpose. Huyar was immediately on the defensive. “It wasn’t me,” he snapped, pointing at Sadira. “This is the second time she’s offered him wine, and it’s the second time he’s fallen sick.”
Rhayn furrowed her brow thoughtfully, then glanced at Sadira as if considering the point. For a moment, the sorceress feared her sister intended to betray her, but the elf finally looked back to Huyar and shook her head. “Then how come I’m not sick?” she asked. “I drank as much wine as Faenaeyon.”
When Huyar could not provide as answer, Rhayn pointed at Faenaeyon’s pallid face. “Whatever’s wrong, I don’t want to wait here until he recovers. We’re too close to Nibenay.”
“Agreed,” said Huyar, his tone reasonable enough. “I thought we’d run south, toward the Altaruk trade routes.”
“I say we keep your promise to Sadira,” Rhayn said. She pointed east.
“Are you mad?” Huyar shrieked. “You heard what Faenaeyon said about the tower.”
“We aren’t going to the Pristine Tower, just to the Cleft Rock well,” Rhayn answered. “From there, Sadira can find her own way.”
“No,” said Huyar “There’s still the matter of my brother’s death.”
“And Faenaeyon will pass judgment on that when he recovers-no doubt long before we reach the well,” said Rhayn.
Huyar shook his head stubbornly. “I won’t allow it.”
“It’s not for you to decide,” Rhayn replied.
Grissi stepped over to the pair. “I’d say we’re at an impasse.” She stepped between the two and started dragging her heel through the dirt, scraping a faint line along the rocky ground. When she finished, she stepped over it and stood next to Rhayn.
A swirling cloud of dust rose from the jumbled mass as the elves pushed and shoved back and forth across the line. Within a few moments, the line Grissi had drawn was completely erased, but there was no doubt about where it had been. The tribe stood divided into two nearly equal halves, with one part behind Rhayn and the other behind Huyar. Only Sadira, Magnus, and the young children had not joined one group or another. Between the two bands was a no-man’s land less than a yard wide, and both Huyar and Rhayn were busy counting the number of elves on their side of this border.
As she studied the two groups, Sadira noticed that Huyar’s supporters were primarily older warriors who remembered Faenaeyon’s days as a great chief. Rhayn’s group included the women who traditionally supported her, but also nearly every young man in the tribe. Sadira was surprised to see so many of them on her sister’s side, for during the wrestling contests the day before, many had appeared to support Huyar’s champions. Apparently, Rhayn’s nocturnal efforts to bolster her support had been quite remarkable.
Huyar and Rhayn finished counting at almost the same moment. They looked at one another with smug satisfaction.
“It seems we will go south,” Huyar announced.
“No, we will go east,” Rhayn countered, pointing at Sadira and then to Magnus. “You have forgotten two of our tribe.”
Huyar’s face went white. “They don’t count!” he snapped. “Only members of the tribe old enough to run can choose.”
“They are more than old enough,” Rhayn said. “And they are both Sun Runners-or have you forgotten that yesterday Faenaeyon named Sadira one of us?”
“But they still can’t run,” said one of the men standing on Rhayn’s side. “Our customs are clear on this.”
Many warriors from both halves of the tribe voiced their agreement on this point. Rather than risk losing the support of anyone on her side of the line, Rhayn nodded.
Then she pointed at Faenaeyon. “He cannot run, either,” she said. “He does not count.”
It was Huyar’s turn to yield. He did so graciously, saying, “That is fair. But now we each have the same number of warriors on our side. How are we to decide who will lead the tribe until Faenaeyon is better?”
“A race?” suggested a woman in Rhayn’s group.
“No, let them wrestle,” countered a man from Huyar’s.
Rhayn shook her head and raised her arms to silence the crowd. “Its no secret that Huyar and I detest each other,” she said. “I say we settle this once and for all. A fight to the death.”
By the astonished silence that fell over the tribe, it was clear that such contests were not common occurrences among the Sun Runners.
Finally, one of the women on Rhayn’s side gasped, “Why would you do that?” Though Sadira could not see who had asked the question, she recognized the voice as belonging to Meredyd.
Rhayn glanced in Sadira’s direction, then said, “I only suggest what is best for the Sun Runners.” She waved her hand at the two halves of the tribe. “As long as Huyar and I both remain, we will be divided as we are now. If one of us is gone, then so is the division.”
Sadira realized that Rhayn was purposely giving her no choice except to use magic to guarantee victory. If Huyar won the fight, Rhayn’s corpse would not even be cold before Sadira was put to death for Gaefal’s murder. There was a heartless genius in her sister’s plan that reminded Sadira more and more of Tithian.