“You’re treating us no better than our master does!” Sadira snapped. She reached beneath the bench and snatched her shoulder satchel. “And if you won’t send a healer to Rikus, I’ll help him myself.”
Before the old man could make a move to stop her, the half-elf threw the curtain aside and rushed toward the front of the wineshop. As she pushed past the patrons who had bought her first two mugs of sapwine, Ktandeo’s voice boomed, “Come back here!”
Sadira ignored him and rushed into the plaza, instinctively starting back down the street in the direction from which she had come. Before she had taken three steps, she saw several half-giants blocking the alleyway a short way ahead. The leader wore a helmet with a huge purple plume, a corselet made from the scaly underbelly of a mekillot, and a wide belt with a massive obsidian sword dangling from it. In his hands he held a pair of leashes.
At the other end of the leashes strained a pair of cilops. The giant centipedes stood as tall as Sadira and were more than fifteen feet long. Their flat bodies were divided into a dozen segments, each supported by a pair of thin legs. On their oval heads were three sets of pincer-like jaws, a single compound eye, and a pair of prehensile antennae that ran back and forth over the ground before the creatures.
Sadira immediately backed out of the alleyway, for the cilops were an escaped slave’s worst nightmare. She had heard stories of the horrid things tracking men across ten miles of stony barrens-more than a week after the slaves had passed and a wind storm had covered their trail with two inches of dust.
“That’s the girl!” cried a half-giant’s familiar voice. “She’s the one who killed Pegen!”
Sadira’s first instinct was to run for the wineshop before the half-giant released the cilops. As she spun around and looked toward it she saw both Ktandeo and the red-bearded barman watching her from its doorway, their curious faces betraying no hint that they knew her.
“Stop, slave!” cried the lead half-giant. “Stop or I’ll let me babies go!”
Sadira quickly realized she could not return to the shop with the half-giants so close behind. Not only would she be likely to expose it as an Alliance rendezvous, she would be risking Ktandeo’s capture. As angry as she was at him, she knew that was a risk she could not take.
Instead she turned away from the shop and rushed for another dark alley. There was not much likelihood that she would escape, but she knew her best chance lay in luring the cilops into the labyrinth of alleys in this section of the city and trying to confuse them by crossing and recrossing her own path.
Behind her, the half-giant cried, “Last chance!”
Sadira glanced over her shoulder and saw that the leader and his tracking beasts had stepped into the plaza. Beneath the sign of the Drunken Giant, Ktandeo and the barman were still watching with calm looks of curiosity on their faces, though the old man was anxiously tapping his cane on the ground.
“Girl, over here!”
When Sadira returned her attention to the direction she was running, she saw a seven-foot figure poking his lanky torso and gaunt-featured head from an open door. He had pale, yellowish skin, dark hair, and pointed ears, with smooth, almost feminine cheeks and lips. His fleece cloak was obviously expensive, as was the garish feathered cap on his head.
“Of all the terrible luck,” Sadira cried.
The elf flashed a broad grin, then drew a flask from beneath his cloak. “This will throw even the cilops off your scent,” he said. “I promise.”
Sadira looked over her shoulder again, considering what her chances of escape might be without the elf’s help. The half-giant had moved several steps into the plaza and was just withdrawing his pets’ leashes from their collars. Behind him, the two gate guards and several more half-giants were rushing from the dark alley.
Salira ran toward the elf, whispering, “I know I’m going to regret this.”
FIVE
SHADOW SQUARE
The old man paused at the entrance to a narrow alley and peered down the shadowed corridor as if gauging the likelihood of being attacked there. Agis caught up to the fellow and gently tapped him on the shoulder. The man spun around, raising his wooden cane as if to strike with its pommel, a remarkable ball of polished obsidian.
“What?” the old man demanded, thumping the noble on the chest with the cane’s tip. He had robust, proud features with a hooked nose and a long mane of white hair.
“Pardon me,” Agis said. He lifted his hands so it would be clear he intended no violence. “I’m not familiar with the streets of the Elven Market. Would you be kind enough to direct me to a suphouse called the Red Kank? It’s located in Shadow Square.”
The old man frowned, then asked, “What do you want in a place like Shadow Square?”
Agis raised his brow, for the Elven Market was not the kind of place where strangers asked those sorts of questions. “The same thing as anyone else who goes there,” he answered evasively. “The sun is hot, and I’m thirsty.”
Though the noble didn’t have a clear idea why most people went to Shadow Square, the answer was the only one he would give. He had no intention of telling the old man his true reason for going to the Red Kank, which was to meet an influential group of his fellow senators. They wanted to discuss the Senate’s response to Kalak’s slave confiscations, and all of them had agreed it would be best to meet in a place templar spies were not likely to frequent.
The stranger studied Agis for several moments without replying. The noble was just about to leave when the fellow finally said, “You’d be well-advised to avoid Shadow Square. It’s no place for someone of your class to go-especially alone.”
“Your concern is well-taken,” Agis said. “If you’ll direct me to the Red Kank, I’ll no longer be alone.”
The old man shook his head in resignation. “I hope your companions have more sense than you do,” he grunted, pointing his cane down the street. “Walk down this street until you reach the pawnshop, then take the alley to the left. It opens into Shadow Square.”
“My thanks.” Agis replied, reaching for his purse.
The man laid his cane sharply across the noble’s hand. “I don’t want your coin, son,” he said. “If you expect to leave the market alive, don’t flash your gold around.”
Agis took his hand away from his purse, ignoring the dull ache in his knuckles. “Any other advice?”
“Yes,” the white-haired man said. He moved his cane to the noble’s back, then tapped the steel dagger concealed beneath his cloak. “No matter what happens, keep that thing in its sheath. You’ll live a lot longer.”
In light of the stranger’s earlier advice to avoid Shadow Square, this last comment seemed deliberately ominous.
“Is there some reason you’re trying to keep me out of Shadow Square?”
“Not really,” the old man replied. “It makes no difference to me whether you live or die.” With that, he turned and stepped into a nearby alley.
Agis frowned at the stranger’s parting words, then signaled Caro to join him. He had instructed the dwarf to wait behind so the old man would not be alarmed by the approach of two strangers. After the blows his knuckles and chest had suffered, the noble was glad he had not startled the old fellow any more than he had.
As the valet hobbled forward, Agis marveled again at the aged dwarf’s ingenious escape from Tithian’s press gang. A thirsty and bruised Caro had returned to the Asticles estate the same evening that the high templar had confiscated Agis’s male slaves. According to the dwarf’s report, Caro had pretended to collapse after a few miles of walking. When the templars kicked and lashed him to get him moving again, he had refused to budge or even look up. Finally Tithian had ordered the dwarf abandoned at the roadside. After the column had moved on, Caro had walked back to the estate.
Agis was surprised that such a simple escape plan had worked, but not that Caro had returned. The old slave had devoted his entire life to serving the Asticles family and, in typical dwarven fashion, he was willing to endure any hardship rather than break his commitment.