As the afternoon wore on, the nobles began to grumble about the quality of the stock and complain bitterly that half the slaves would die before they reached the estates. Radurak took their protests in stride and continued to smile, as well he might. The slaves were drawing ten times their value. Some desperate nobles were even bidding on men so feeble they had to be carried into the yard.
Finally, as dusk began to fall and the square was plunged into swarthy shadows, the elves brought no more slaves into the makeshift yard.
“I’m afraid you have depleted my stock,” Radurak said.
A disappointed murmur ran around the courtyard. As bad as the elf’s slaves were, they were all that had been available in Tyr since Tithian’s confiscations had begun.
The pale elf smiled warmly, then raised his hands, “As a way of thanking you for your patronage, I have a special treat.”
Radurak clapped his hands twice. Immediately a pair of elves escorted a lithe half-elf female into the yard. For the benefit of their human customers, the elves carried a pair of torches that cast an enchanting yellow light over the slave-girl. Agis could see that she was as beautiful as any noblewoman, with a willowy figure and elegant features. Her long amber hair spilled over her shoulders in silky waves, and her pale blue eyes were as clear as the finest gem. Had Agis been the sort of man to take concubines, she was the woman he would have wanted.
Radurak had dressed Sadira in a gossamer gown that revealed just enough of her charms to make any man want to see more, but she deliberately moved with an awkwardness that she hoped would make her seem inept and stupid. She was far from happy about being sold in Radurak’s heinous auction and intended to do everything she could to bring him a small price.
It had been Radurak who had offered Sadira refuge from the king’s men three nights past. As soon as the half-elf had passed through the doorway from which the elf had hailed her, he had emptied a vial of noxious liquid on the threshold, filling the air with mordant fumes. They had stepped away from the doorway just before the cilops reached it, but Sadira had heard the animals let out terrible screeches of pain. The square then erupted into frightened screams as the beasts rushed blindly about, attacking anything they touched.
Radurak had taken advantage of the confusion to lead Sadira through a tangle of halls and rooms, emerging in an alley on the far side of the building. As the sorceress had stepped out the door, several of the elf’s tribesmen had seized her, binding and gagging her. Shortly afterward, Radurak had discovered her spellbook and taken it away, threatening to destroy the volume if she gave him any trouble. He had also offered to return it if she did not try to escape before she was sold. Sadira had reluctantly agreed to his terms, for her spells were too valuable to lose-though she had her doubts about whether or not he would keep his word. If not, she would think of a way to make him pay.
“I personally bought this slender beauty in the slave markets of Gulg,” Radurak lied, “where it was said that she is the daughter of the chieftain of the great Sari tribe-”
“Master, you have me confused with somoene else,” Sadira interrupted, smiling sweetly and batting her eyes at the repulsive elf. “I’ve never been out of the Tyr Valley.”
Her interruption brought a round of laughter from the nobles gathered in the yard, but Radurak was not amused. He stepped to her side and, cuffing her with the back of his hand, hissed, “Remember your book, wench!”
Before Sadira could respond, Ktandeo’s voice asked, “How much?”
“Fifty gold,” Radurak replied. It was elven practice to run an auction by naming a price and selling to the first person to match it, or failing that to sell to whoever came closest.
“I’ll pay it,” Ktandeo replied.
Sadira breathed a sigh of relief. Ktandeo had no doubt seen her accept Radurak’s help, so she was not surprised that the old man had tracked her down. Neither was she surprised that he was coming to her aid, for as he himself had said, it would be disastrous if she fell into the templars’ hands. The sorceress was shocked to see him taking the elf’s price so quickly, however, for he had always struck her as a shrewder fellow than that.
Radurak smiled at the old man. “You are a gentleman who appreciates quality, sir.”
An astonished murmur rustled through the crowd, for the price was five times what had been paid for any slave that day. It had grown too dark for Agis to read the sorcerer’s expression, but he had no doubt that the slave girl was the reason for the old man’s presence.
“I’ll pay fifty-five gold,” Agis called, breaking with established bidding protocol.
A charge of excitement shot through the crowd, and Caro hissed, “You have fallen to a new low, Master.”
“I don’t want her for myself,” Agis explained, motioning his dwarf to be silent.
“Sixty gold,” the old man replied, his voice rock steady. Radurak looked from one man to the other, then shrugged and smiled. “It seems I have underestimated the value of my merchandise. My tribe is open to any offer.”
Agis started to speak again, then abruptly changed his mind. Suddenly, bidding against the old man seemed a foolish thing to do. He found himself thinking that he already owned hundreds of slaves and this one was really not as special as she looked. The thought also crossed his mind that Radurak had waited until dusk in order to conceal some flaw that would become readily apparent tomorrow morning.
“Will you bid again on the right?” Radurak asked. “She is a true beauty. I’m sure you won’t be sorry.”
The elf’s words brought Agis back to his senses, and he realized the thoughts that had been going through his mind were not his own; they had been planted by some outside influence. His training in the Way told him that the influence could not have been psionic in nature. He would have felt it entering his mind had it been so.
With a start, Agis realized that the old man had cast an enchantment on him. He started to complain, but realized that at an auction being run in such a place by a tribe of elves, his protest would have seemed absurdly naive and comical. Instead, he said, “Sixty-five gold.”
Agis turned to Caro, then whispered, “Keep up the bidding. Whatever you do, don’t let the half-elf get away.”
“But she’s only-”
“Just do it!” Agis ordered. “You’ll see why later.”
The noble closed his eyes and visualized a solid wall of faro trees rising out of the ground to surround his intellect, their spine-covered boughs intertwining so thickly that it was impossible for something so small as a needle-worm to crawl through the hedge without being ripped to shreds. This living barrier kept growing and arched over the top of his mind like a bower, protecting him against attack from above as well as from the side. He imagined the roots of the trees reaching deep inside him, drawing upon his energy nexus for the power to make the defenses strong. The hedge was not impenetrable-nothing was to a master of the Way-but Agis knew that the sorcerer would find it difficult to slip any more spells past it.
Once his own mind was defended, Agis set about attacking his opponent’s. Normally he would not stoop to using the Way to win an auction, but if the old man was calling upon magic, Agis saw nothing dishonorable in using his own abilities.
The senator opened his eyes and looked across the court yard. Though it was too dark to see the sorcerer’s face, in his mind Agis pictured the old man’s shrewd brown eyes. Closing his mind to anything but those eyes, he summoned enough psionic energy to create a psychic messenger-in this instance, an owl. He gave the owl feathers that matched the color of the sorcerer’s eyes and sent it flying silently toward his opponent. As the owl approached its target, its brown feathers disappeared against the irises of the old man’s eyes, then slipped into what lay beyond.