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“I think I’d better have a look at their purses,” the barman laughed, accepting the mug. Before he returned to the counter, though, his face grew serious. “Are you in trouble?”

Although the half-elf and the red-bearded man were familiar to each other by sight, she did not know how much to reveal. The only thing she knew about him was that he could reach her contact in the Veiled Alliance. Otherwise, both he and she had deliberately avoided prolonged conversations, for if the king’s men ever caught either one of them, the less they knew about each other the better.

“A templar tried to seize me for the ziggurat,” she said, leaving the matter with a simple explanation.

The server nodded. “They’ve been confiscating slaves all day. Press gangs have been through here three times arresting drunks. That’s why the square is so quiet this evening.” He fetched Sadira another mug of bitter wine, then asked, “Should I expect the templar that was after you?”

The half-elf shook her head. “Not until the dead can walk.”

The man relaxed, his face betraying his relief. He handed the mug to Sadira. “I’ll pull the curtain just to be safe. By tipping that bench over, you’ll open an escape tunnel. Use it if you hear anything strange out here.”

Sadira glanced at the stone couch. “Where does it lead?”

“To UnderTyr,” he said, “and a Temple of the Ancients.”

“No!” Sadira gasped. She knew very little about the ancient temples, except that they had been built before Athas had become a desert. According to rumor, most were filled with vast amounts of metal treasure defended by the ghosts of those who had worshiped long-forgotten, or long-dead, gods. “There’s a temple under this wineshop?”

“Not directly under it,” the barman answered. “But if something happens and you use the escape tunnel, don’t be in a hurry to find that temple. From what I hear, you’d be better served giving yourself over to Kalak’s templars.”

With that, he stepped away and pulled a drape across the back of the shop. The drape was made entirely from snake scales that had been pierced and threaded together. Each scale had been sealed with shiny lacquer to preserve and heighten its natural color. The result was a scintillating curtain of many different hues-sandy yellow, rusty orange, cactus green, and a half-dozen others.

Sadira drank her second mug of sapwine more slowly, forcing herself to sip the powerful drink. Although she felt like gulping the entire mug to quench her thirst, with the curtain closed, she doubted that a refill would be forthcoming. The fermented resin was the foulest drink available in the wineshops of Tyr, but the half-elf still wanted to savor it. On Tithian’s estate, all she ever received to drink was water.

As the half-elf sipped the last of her wine, an old man stepped around the edge of the curtain. He had robust, proud features, with a heavy forehead accented by coarse white brows, a large, hooked nose between shrewd brown eyes, and a firmly set jaw. His beard was long and snowy. He wore a white, knee-length tabard, and over his shoulders hung an ivory-colored cape fastened at the throat with a copper clasp. In one hand he carried a mug filled with thick brownwine, and in the other a cane of dark wood. The cane’s pommel, a ball of polished obsidian, was both unusual and striking. Sadira found it difficult to tear her gaze from the beautiful black sphere, but she did, for she knew its owner did not like people staring into it.

The old man eyed the half-elf carefully, taking a long drink from his mug. At last, he pointed his cane at her and asked, “What are you doing here, young lady? I didn’t send for you.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Ktandeo,” Sadira replied, smiling warmly. She rose and wrapped the man in her willowy arms.

“Watch my drink!” he snapped, holding his mug away from his body as a few drops of its contents sloshed over the edge. “This is the good stuff.”

Sadira was unintimidated by the old man’s peevishness. She was as close to him as any man, and she knew that beneath his surly manner lay a kind heart.

A few days before Sadira’s twelfth birthday, Tithian had hired a cantankerous old animal handler to train beasts for the arena. Ktandeo, who had sought the position in order to find a spy in the high templar’s household, then chose the young girl to be his helper. Over the next year, he had examined Sadira’s character, subtly presenting her with moral quandaries and tests of courage. The most vivid instance she recalled was when the old man had “accidentally” locked her in the cage with a hungry takis to see if she would panic. While he had fumbled with the latch, she stood motionless and let the bearlike creature sniff her from head to toe with its slime-oozing trunk. Ktandeo had not opened the door until the hulking animal bared its dagger-shaped fangs and started beating the floor with its bony tail-club. The only time Sadira had ever seen her mentor laugh was during the angry lecture that she gave him following her escape.

Then, one High Sun morning after they had sent the current lot of animals to the games celebrating the new year, Ktando had come to help her clean empty pens. He had asked her if she wanted to learn magic. Over the course of the next few weeks, he had taught her to fill the air with dancing lights. When she had asked to learn another spell, he had hesitated, saying he had already taught her too much. Only after weeks of her begging had he agreed to teach her another spell. This time, however, he had placed a condition on his gift. She would have to join the Veiled Alliance and serve it no matter what was asked of her.

Of course Sadira had agreed, for she saw in magic an avenue to escaping her bondage. Over the next four years, Ktandeo had taught her many spells, but he had also instilled in her a sense of purpose that went beyond simple escape. He began to speak of revolution, of overthrowing the king and giving the slaves their liberty. It was not long before Sadira shared his dream and had dedicated herself to liberating all of Tyr.

When Sadira reached sixteen and began to blossom into full womanhood, Ktandeo had brought his “daughter” to stay with him. Catalyna had been anything but a daughterly figure, with provocative eyes, a flirtatious smile, and a shapely body. Under her tutelage, Sadira had learned to make the most of her own beauty, and it was not long before she could procure an extra helping of faro needle gruel or a little extra water, using only the flash of an eye and a warm smile.

Once her training was complete, Ktandeo had helped her sneak out of the compound, then had taken her into Tyr and shown her how to find him by coming to this wineshop. Shortly afterward, both he and Catalyna had vanished from Tithian’s estate. Sadira had remained behind, quietly spying on members of the compound for the next five years. Mostly, her duties had consisted of using techniques Catalyna had taught her to loosen the tongues of guards and overseers. Twice each year, she ventured into Tyr to report the little she had discovered and to learn a new spell or two.

The young sorceress had finally decided to ask if there wasn’t someplace she could be more useful. Then Rikus had appeared in the gladiatorial pits. She had duly reported the mul’s presence to Ktandeo. A short time later, he had sent word to her to “become as close as possible” to the new mul, suggesting the Alliance needed his cooperation for a very special project. She had since learned that the special project meant having Rikus attack Kalak with a magical spear during the ziggurat games.

Clearing his throat, Ktandeo took a seat on the stone bench and folded his hands on the pommel of his cane. “Well?”

Sadira remained standing. With a quaver in her voice, she said, “Rikus is injured. He may not live.”

The old man’s face darkened.

Sadira told her contact all that had occurred since morning, omitting only her use of the magical tentacles against the first guard at the Break. By the time she had described her attempt to charm Pegen, and her eventual escape, her wine was gone.