In the center of Tyr, the setting sun cast a scarlet glow upon the imperious Golden Tower. The spire looked as though it were dripping with blood. Next to the palace loomed the massive ziggurat, its heart blackened by the shadows of evening. In the blazing light that outlined its extremities, Sadira could see thousands of tiny silhouettes swarming over the great structure, and she knew Kalak’s slaves were still at work.
Counting herself lucky not to be among them, Sadira stooped a little farther beneath her load of sticks. She fixed her eyes on the dusty road and walked into the gloomy gateway, hoping that if she ignored the gate guards and their overseer, they would ignore her.
A half-giant stepped into her path, and Sadira found herself staring at a pair of hairy, sandaled feet over half a yard long. For a moment, she remained motionless, studying the guard’s huge, black-nailed toes. At the same time, she reviewed in her mind the spells she knew, trying to guess which one would prove most useful in this situation.
When the guard did not step aside, Sadira slowly lifted her gaze. Though not particularly muscular, each of the half-giant’s thighs were as thick as a tree trunk and probably heavier. Over his round belly, which was solid and powerful despite its shape, he wore a purple tunic emblazoned with Kalak’s golden star. He cradled a great club of polished bone across his stomach, at a height about even with the half-elf’s eyes.
Sadira tilted her head back and looked upward, setting aside her load of sticks. The half-giant’s shoulders were as broad as she was tall. Atop his stout neck sat a huge head with a drooping jaw and baggy, sad-looking eyes.
“Yes, Mountainous One?” she asked, giving him a charming smile.
Instead of answering, the half-giant looked to the templar. Though Sadira’s pale blue eyes remained focused on the guard, her mind was on the bureaucrat standing to one side of the road. The man had a portly build and pale hair, with puffy cheeks and tight, pursed lips. His red-rimmed eyes were studying the half-elf with a casual, imperious attitude. The beguiling sorceress quickly judged him to be a lonely, bitter man, just the sort to fall prey to her charms.
“Ask the girl who she belongs to,” the templar commanded with exaggerated arrogance. Though Sadira was clearly no girl, it was the habit in Tyr to address slaves as if they were children.
Without waiting for the half-giant to repeat the question, Sadira turned her alluring smile on the templar. “I belong to Marut the tool-shaper,” she said in a silky voice.
The sorceress allowed her eyes to run over the official, finishing by meeting his gaze. When the templar raised his brow at her interest, Sadira coyly looked away and pretended to be embarrassed. A faint blush spread across her high, smooth cheeks. “I have here handles for Marut’s axes,” she said.
Sadira had no idea who Marut was, or even if such a person really existed. All she knew was that her contact in the Veiled Alliance had instructed her to reply in this manner when questioned. On the few occasions when the guards had interrogated her before, the answer had always secured her release.
“Marut will be happy to loan his slave to the king.” The templar’s voice was cold and emotionless, but his eyes were studying the half-elf’s fine features and surveying the svelte figure beneath her tattered cloak with a covetous air. “Perhaps I shall even present you to him myself, girl.”
Both half-giants chuckled lewdly, then the one behind the sorceress moved to grab her.
Sadira eluded his grasp. “I beg you, handsome sir! I’m already late and my master will beat me!”
The sorceress fell to her knees in front of the pudgy official. She surreptitiously opened her tattered robe so it would expose the revealing smock beneath, but was careful not to open it so far that the stolen dagger on her hip became visible. At the same time, she touched the palm of her free hand to the ground, summoning the power for the spell she hoped would save her. It rushed up her arm and gathered inside her swiftly, for there was an ample supply of energy this close to the king’s fields.
Under her breath, she whispered the incantation that would shape her spell, at the same time disguising the mystical gestures by bowing her head and hunching her shoulders. It was risky to employ magic against templars, for it was always possible that they would recognize when a spell was being cast and interrupt it.
A huge hand seized the half-elf’s shoulder. “Come here, slave, or you won’t even make it to the king’s pens.”
As the guard lifted her off the ground, Sadira fixed her eyes on the templar’s. She released the spell by pursing her full lips as if blowing him a kiss.
The man narrowed his beady eyes and frowned. He ran his plump hand over his face and shook his head, but when he looked back to Sadira, there was a warmth to his gaze that had not been there before. Her spell had worked. Now the templar would want to help her, as long as it posed no risk to him. All she had to do was find the right words to convince him that no harm would come to him if he did.
With her feet dangling off the ground, Sadira pleaded, “Please, at least let me take these handles to Marut. I’m sure he’ll allow me to return to you.”
The templar bit his lip indecisively, then shook his head stubbornly. “I don’t know this Marut. I have no reason to believe he’ll send you back.”
“Marut is a trustworthy man, a loyal subject of the king,” Sadira countered, grimacing against the pain of the half-giant’s grip.
The templar scowled at the guard holding the slender sorceress. “If you bruise the girl, I’ll have your head!”
The half-giant nearly dropped her. The jaw of the other one, who was standing next to the templar, fell slack.
As Sadira’s captor put her feet back on the cobblestones, the templar said, “Letting you go is out of the question. I’m to confiscate every slave that comes through this gate.”
Sadira realized that the templar’s fear of his superior was stronger than his desire for her. The half-elf could hardly believe it, but decided it might be wiser to press along a different course. She pointed at the bundle of sticks she had dropped in the road. “If I don’t deliver those handles to my master tonight, Marut won’t be able to make the picks he’s supposed to give the Ministry of Works tomorrow.”
“You said the handles was for axes,” rumbled a half-giant.
Without looking away from the chubby templar, Sadira hastily explained. “He usually makes axes, but the ministry needs more picks for the brick pits.”
To her relief, the templar nodded. “I’ve heard that.”
“Without my master’s tools, the ministry will be short of bricks,” she said, locking her clear blue eyes on those of the portly man. “Maybe you should escort me to Marut’s shop, then bring me back here after we’ve delivered the handles. I’m sure your superior would be most grateful for your initiative, and so would I.”
She gave the portly official a promising smile, but did not allow it to linger too long on her lips. The key to bringing him entirely under her influence was to make him believe that she was truly attracted to him, which wouldn’t be too difficult since it was something he clearly wanted to believe anyway. She just had to be careful not to alert him to her act by overdoing it.
“Don’t listen to her, Pegen!” said the half-giant next to the templar. “You can do as you want with the girl, anyhow.”
Sadira lifted her peaked eyebrows and allowed her mouth to fall open as if in fear. She stepped away from the templar, saying, “What does he mean, Pegen? What are you going to do to me?”
This tactic worked perfectly. The templar scowled at the half-giant, angered that Sadira’s attraction had suddenly turned to revulsion. “Quiet or you’ll be hauling bricks on the ziggurat tomorrow!” He turned back to the half-elf. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything to you.”