The Amber Enchantress

FOURTEEN A NEW CHIEF

In a dirt circle that the children had carefully cleared of rocks, two elven warriors stood with their shoulders pressed together and one arm locked over the back of the other’s neck. They had coated their bodies with tangy oil squeezed from fresh yara buds, shaved the hair from their heads, and stripped down to their breechcloths, Both women breathed hard, the powerful muscles of their long legs bulging with effort as they struggled to keep their feet.

The rest of the tribe stood outside the ring. The adults cheered for the warrior upon which they had wagered, while the children mimicked the contest by wrestling each other on the rocky ground. Magnus lay on his stomach at the far end of the ring. His pockmarked back was covered with a foul-smelling balm, which the elves claimed would relieve the sting of the many arrow wounds he suffered that morning. Judging from the vacant look on his face and the gray tone of his eyes, it had accomplished its task mainly by putting him into a slumber.

Faenaeyon sat atop a boulder near Magnus, a huge flask of broy in his hand. His face was contorted into a scowl, with an angry silver light burning deep within sunken, glazed eyes. He gnawed constantly at his fingernails, hardly seeming to notice as he ripped away strips of cuticle.

As Sadira watched her father, the taller of the two wrestlers slipped her free arm around her opponent’s waist and spun in beneath the other’s shoulders. “Good, Katza!” yelled Huyar, along with dozens of other tribe members. “Finish it!”

Katza, a woman with a heavily lined face and the tip of one pointed ear missing, pulled her opponent onto her back. She spun her shoulders around to finish the throw, hurling the other woman headlong toward the ground. The defender, who was a head shorter than her opponent and half again as stocky, thrust out her arms to break the fall. For a moment, it appeared she would tumble onto her back. Then, at the last instant, she brought her feet down and sprang away in a cartwheel. Landing just inside the circle, the wrestler spun around and fixed a black-eyed glower on her rival.

“Yes, Grissi!” cheered Rhayn. “Toss that kank-riding trollop into the bushes!”

Katza cast an angry glance in Rhayn’s direction. Calling a full-blooded elf a kank-rider was a terrible insult, as it implied she was not fast enough to keep up with the tribe on foot. “You’re next, tul’k kisser!” growled the wrestler.

“How you going to wrestle with a broken leg?” demanded Grissi, moving forward.

Although Faenaeyon had called the wrestling tournament to celebrate the escape from Nibenay, the tribe hardly seemed in a festive mood. If the chief had expected the contests to bring his warriors closer together, he had been miserably wrong. So far, every match had deteriorated into a rivalry between Rhayn and Huyar, with their supporters taking sides behind them. The rest of the tribe wagered more on which group would win the day than on the wrestlers themselves.

As Grissi neared the center of the ring, Katza slipped to the side and snapped her leg out in a vicious kick. The blow caught the shorter elf in the face, with the big toe striking the eyeball itself. Grissi’s knees buckled and she reached for her eye, barely managing to keep her feet. The entire crowd gasped in astonishment. Even Faenaeyon winced, but no one cried foul.

Katza moved forward with a smug expression, reaching out to grasp her reeling opponent’s arm. Grissi let her have it, apparently concentrating all her efforts on retaining her feet. The lop-eared elf pulled her stunned opponent toward her, preparing to deliver the final throw.

Just then, Grissi came alive. She retracted the arm that Katza had seized, pulling her astonished attacker along with it. Then she smashed her forehead into the bridge of Katza’s nose. The cartilage shattered with a resonant crack and blood erupted from both nostrils.

As Katza reached up to cover her face, Grissi grabbed her around the neck with one arm and squatted down to slip the other between her opponent’s thighs. She pulled Katza’s body onto her shoulders, then, in one swift motion, she stood up and catapulted the lop-ear elf out of the circle. Five of Huyar’s supporters barely managed to leap aside as Katza sailed past and crashed into a rock pile.

“I win,” Grissi growled, not bothering to see if her opponent would be capable of returning to her feet. Her eye was bloodshot and rimmed with red, but it seemed to have survived intact. “Who’s next?”

A young elf standing next to Huyar to began to strip. “Your tricks won’t fool me,” he said, throwing his burnoose to the ground. “Shave my head!”

While the youth’s friends prepared him for competition, the camp buzzed with the drone of elves settling old wagers and placing new ones. A pair of Katza’s older children dragged their mother off to rest, but no one else paid the woman any attention.

The green-eyed woman who had tried to help Sadira during the escape from the Elven Market stepped to the sorceress’s side. Sadira now knew the woman’s name to be Meredyd, for one of the first things the sorceress had done after rejoining the tribe had been to thank her for her efforts.

Meredyd’s lips were spread wide in an affected smile. She had a deep cleft in her long chin and a tangle of brown hair that just concealed the tips of her pointed ears. Her hips and abdomen were so swollen with pregnancy that Sadira wondered how she had found the strength to make the long run from Nibenay.

“I’ve noticed you have no knife,” said Meredyd. She reached beneath her burnoose and withdrew a long dagger with a blade of sharpened bone. Its ivory handle had been carved in the shape of intertwined serpents, with their heads forming the pommel. “I came across this one in Nibenay,” she said. “Perhaps you’d like it?”

The offer was not as generous as it seemed. At the beginning of the wrestling tournament, Faenaeyon had announced Sadira’s true identity and declared her one of the Sun Runners. Everyone had acted as though he were bestowing a great honor on her, but the chief’s true intentions had not been lost on the sorceress. By naming her a tribe member, he was trying to instill a sense of obligation in her that would make it easier for him to assert his authority.

Since then, Sadira had been presented with many gifts, including the new cape covering her shoulders and the soft leather boots on her feet. As the sorceress had quickly discovered, each present carried with it the obligation to voice her support of a request about to be made of Faenaeyon.

“I could use a dagger,” agreed Sadira. “What do you want in return?”

Meredyd’s smile grew more sincere. “You know of Esylk’s daeg, Crekun?”

The sorceress nodded. Crekun was a handsome man from another tribe who had been severely injured during a battle with the Sun Runners. Esylk had put him on a litter and nursed him back to health, and he had been her slave ever since. “What do you want with Crekun?”

Meredyd’s hand dropped to her swollen belly. “It would be better for this child if Crekun was a Sun Runner.” With a murderous scowl on her face, she glanced toward a russet-haired woman with a brazen figure and plump lips. The target of Meredyd’s animosity stood near Huyar, shaving the head of the young warrior about to challenge Grissi. “Otherwise, if it happens to resemble its father, Esylk will claim the child as her property-probably when we are near some city’s slave market.”

“There will be no children sold into slavery if I can help it,” Sadira said, accepting the gift from Meredyd’s hand.

As she sheathed the weapon, Katza’s oldest son, Cyne, returned from his mother’s camp bearing a skin of broy. He pushed his way to the front of the crowd, then stepped past Magnus’s litter and offered the fermented kank-nectar to Faenaeyon. “My mother’s arm has been broken. Therefore, I ask that Grissi wrestle her next match with one arm bound to her side.” He did not even go through the customary ruse of pretending his gift was intended as anything but a bribe.

Faenaeyon hardly glanced at the youth as he took the broy. Setting the skin down at his side, the chief looked over the boy’s head to the rest of the crowd.

As Sadira expected, Huyar’s followers voiced their agreement with the youth’s suggestion, and Rhayn’s supporters opposed it. But Cyne’s impatience cost him dearly with the majority of elves, who were still neutral in the conflict between Huyar and Rhayn. Irritated at his rudeness in not buying their support with gifts or promises, they also raised their voices against this proposal. Some of them even went so far as to suggest that Grissi’s opponent be the one whose arm was bound.

After gauging his tribe’s reaction, Faenaeyon looked back to the boy. “You heard the tribe,” he said. Though his words were already slurred, he refilled his flask from the skin the youth had given him. “My thanks for the broy.”

Cyne flicked his wrist and a silver coin slipped from his burnoose sleeve. Holding the disk before Faenaeyon’s eyes, he said, “It’s not the tribe I ask.”

The chief’s eyes darted to the silver and he stuck his palm beneath the boy’s nose. “Is that my coin?”

“It is now,” the youth said, dropping the silver into the outstretched hand. He remained standing before Faenaeyon while the chief massaged the coin’s surface with his fingertips.

Finally, Faenaeyon said, “Grissi will fight with one arm bound to her side.”

A disapproving murmur rustled through the camp, which Faenaeyon quickly silenced with a stern glower. From what Sadira had gathered about tribal politics, most chiefs took bribes-but only under a suitable pretext. Her father ignored even this minor convention, however, trusting his strong arm to keep warriors from protesting too loudly.

Cyne stepped away from the chief, sneering at Grissi triumphantly. The black-eyed woman met his gaze with a confident chuckle, then looked back to the man who had challenged her. “I’ll be ready in a moment,” she said, stepping over to have her arm bound. “How about you, Nefen?”

Nefen strode forward, rubbing a last handful of yara buds over his skin. “I’m waiting now.”

Noticing that her father still had not taken his eyes off his new coin, Sadira whispered to Meredyd, “I hope you have a few silver up your sleeve.”

The pregnant elf shook her head. “I can only hope that Esylk does not have any, either.”

Grissi stepped into the ring, one arm bound to her waist, and Nefen entered form the other side. There was no formal challenge, nor any kind of declaration that the match had begun. The crowd simply quieted and the two wrestlers moved toward each other with hatred in their eyes.

Confident he could easily overpower his handicapped opponent, Nefen rushed forward. It was a bad mistake. Grissi stopped his charge with a powerful thrust kick to the stomach. As her opponent bellowed out in shock and pain, she whirled around and used her other leg to kick him again. With the momentum of the spin, this blow lifted Nefen off his feet and sent him flying out of the circle. He crashed into Esylk and they both dropped to the ground.

“That’s not wrestling!” objected Huyar.

“Maybe, maybe not-but she won. That’s what counts,” answered Rhayn, stepping forward to unbind her champion’s arm before someone suggested that it remain tied for the rest of the tournament. “Who’s next?”

When no one volunteered immediately, Meredyd took advantage of the lull to step over to the boulder where Faenaeyon sat. She took a beautiful belt-purse of lacquered lizard scales from beneath her cape and held it out to the chief. He continued to stare at the coin Katza’s son had given him, apparently noticing neither the pregnant elf nor her gift.

“Faenaeyon, I have something here for you to keep your coin in,” she said.

The chief looked up, his eyes burning with avarice, and snatched the purse away.

Meredyd waited a moment for him to thank her, but he did not. Finally, she pressed on with her request. “It seems to me that Crekun has been Esylk’s daeg long enough,” she said. “Crekun should be a Sun Runner by now.”

Unlike Katza’s son, Meredyd had carefully prepared her case with the rest of the tribe. Close to half of the warriors present raised their voices in agreement, and many more nodded their heads. Only Huyar and a handful of Esylk’s friends opposed the suggestion.

Faenaeyon responded to the chorus by lifting Meredyd’s purse to his ear and shaking it. When he heard nothing inside, the chief frowned and looked at the woman who had given it to him. “It’s empty.”

The smile on Meredyd’s lips faded. “I had intended to fill the purse with silver,” she said, barely controlling her anger. “But our sudden departure from Nibenay prevented that.”

Faenaeyon shrugged, then opened the bag and slipped his silver coin into it. “My thanks for the purse,” he said, tying it to his belt. “But I fear Crekun has not forgotten his loyalties to the Sand Swimmers. He’ll remain Esylk’s wife for …” The chief let his sentence trail off while he eyed Meredyd’s swollen belly. “He’ll remain Esylk’s wife for two more months-unless you’ve a coin to put in my new purse.”

Meredyd narrowed her eyes and stared at Faenaeyon with unabashed hatred. Seeing the woman’s hand drop toward her dagger, Sadira moved forward to prevent her from doing anything foolish. The sorceress had no sooner stepped into the ring than Huyar followed her, with Rhayn close on his heels.

“When I was a child, my mother could speak of nothing but how wisely and well you led this tribe!” Meredyd snarled. “But now we might as well call ourselves quarry slaves as elves-”

Sadira caught Meredyd’s arm and pulled her away from the boulder, almost tripping over Magnus’s prone form. “Come and have more broy. Perhaps the drink that’s loosened your tongue will put it to sleep,” she said loudly. More quietly, she whispered, “Will getting killed help your child?”

Meredyd studied Sadira for a moment, her eyes flashing with anger. “I won’t let Esylk sell this baby!” she snapped.

“What my chattel produces belongs to me,” said Esylk, pushing her way roughly to the front of the small group gathered near the chief.

Sadira glared at Esylk. “A child belongs to its mother,” she said.

“Good point, Sadira,” Faenaeyon said suddenly. “You’ve won me over.”

Sadira glanced over her shoulder and saw that Rhayn and Huyar now stood on opposite sides of her father. Between her thumb and forefinger, Rhayn held a small circle of shimmering yellow metal. Faenaeyon’s enraptured eyes were fixed on the disk, as were those of the entire tribe-and with good reason. On Athas, not even diamonds were as scarce as gold coins.

“From this moment forward, Crekun is a Sun Runner,” the chief pronounced. “Children sired by him are to be treated as children sired by any of our other warriors.”

Rhayn smiled. “You are wise, my chief,” she said, passing her hand over his broy and dropping the gold coin into it.

Faenaeyon’s eyes widened and he drained the entire flask in one long gulp. When he finished, he took the gold coin from between his teeth and carefully polished it on his burnoose. “That’s no way to treat gold,” he complained, putting the coin into the purse Meredyd had given him.

“My apologies,” Rhayn said. She picked up the skin of broy Cyne had provided earlier and refilled Faenaeyon’s empty flask. “Drink up, father.”

As Faenaeyon lifted his glass again, Sadira joined her sister. “That was unusually generous,” she whispered. “Or are you just trying to upset Huyar?”

“I did what was best for the tribe,” Rhayn answered, taking Sadira by the arm and leading her away from the rest of the elves. “Meredyd earned the favor of many warriors. Faenaeyon was wrong to ignore them because she had no coins.”

“But a gold coin!” Sadira said. “Where did you find it?”

“I make a habit of saving things that might prove useful at crucial times,” Rhayn answered, walking toward her family’s fire-circle. “And now, I must ask you to give me something that you have been saving.”

Rhayn touched her fingers to her lips and said nothing else until they reached their destination. All of her children were still at the wrestling match, so the two women were completely alone.

“I’m not going to give you the antidote,” Sadira whispered, surmising what her long-sister wanted. “I don’t want Faenaeyon poisoned.”

“Why not?” Rhayn demanded, opening a kank pack. “You’ve seen what he can be like, and I have no more coins. How will you bribe our chief when Huyar demands vengeance for Gaefal’s death?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sadira said. “Only Faenaeyon knows how to find the Pristine Tower.”

“I’ll take you to Cleft Rock,” Rhayn said. “From what Magnus tells me, you can travel on alone from there.”

The sorceress shook her head. “I’ll take my chances with Faenaeyon.”

“What makes you think he’ll honor Huyar’s promise?” Rhayn demanded. She pulled out the wineskin that she and Magnus had filled from the poisoned cask.

“Maybe he won’t, but why wouldn’t he at least take me as far as Cleft Rock?”

“Because the tribe needs money, and that well is far from any city or caravan route where we can steal it,” Rhayn answered. “But don’t take my word for it. Tonight is when we make requests of the chief. Make yours and see what he says.”

Sadira studied the elf for a long time, trying to imagine a reason she should not do as her sister suggested. When she could think of none, she nodded and turned to go. “I will.”

Rhayn caught her shoulder. “You’ll need a gift,” the elf said, holding out the wineskin. “Take two cups, and put the antidote in one. If Faenaeyon agrees to take you, pour his wine into the one with the antidote.”

The elf did not need to say what Sadira should do, if he refused. She and Rhayn prepared the gift, then the sorceress put a few drops of the antidote on her tongue-in case she found herself drinking from the cup without the antidote. They returned to the wrestling circle, Sadira carrying the wineskin over her shoulder and the two mugs in separate hands.

When Faenaeyon saw the sisters, he motioned Rhayn to his side. “Daughter!” he said, giving her a mug of broy. “Come and drink with me.”

The chief touched his cup to his daughter’s, then they both quaffed down the sour-smelling stuff as though it were water. When Faenaeyon lowered his flask again, Sadira stepped forward to make her request. Huyar cut her off and refilled his father’s cup from his own skin.

“I’m sorry I lack a gold coin to give you, my chief,” said the elf.

“So am I,” answered Faenaeyon, squinting at him drunkenly.

“It pains me to see the chief of the Sun Runners with so few coins in his purse,” Huyar continued, giving Sadira a sidelong glance. “It’s a pity that the tribe’s new sorceress did not also think to free your coins when she rescued you from the Slave Market-or perhaps she did. Could it be that Rhayn has made a gift to you of your own coin?”

“You know better than that, Huyar!” spat Rhayn. “You were with us when we escaped Nibenay. Did you see any of Faenaeyon’s purses?”

“That doesn’t mean they weren’t there,” Huyar countered. “Sadira is a powerful sorceress. It would have been a small matter for her to conceal them.”

Faenaeyon scowled at Sadira. “This is true,” he said, slurring his words heavily. “Did you steal my coins, woman?”

“No!” Sadira snarled. “If Huyar had the sense of a drone, he’d know that you would not have been sent to the slave market with your purses hanging from you belt. By now, your coins lie in the vault of the sorcerer-king himself.” She glared at her rival, then added, “Perhaps he would like to go there and recover them for you?”

Faenaeyon looked to Huyar. “Would you?”

“What I would like to do and what is possible are different things,” said the warrior.

“A good answer,” Faenaeyon laughed. He turned his attention to Sadira, who was still holding the cups and the wineskin. “Now, what have you?”

“Wine,” Sadira answered.

“Not as good as gold, but it will do,” Faenaeyon answered, reaching for the mug that contained the antidote.

Sadira pulled it away. “First, I have a request.”

Frowning, the chief withdrew his hand. “I trust it will not be too demanding.”

“Just answer a question,” Sadira replied. “Do you intend to honor Huyar’s promise? The wine is my gift to you, as long as you answer truthfully.”

Faenaeyon studied her with a doubtful scowl, then shrugged. “The Sun Runners have better places to go than the Pristine Tower,” he said, snatching the mug he had reached for earlier-the one with the antidote. “Now, give me my wine!”

Sadira cursed under her breath, but smiled at Faenaeyon and filled the cup. Before he could drink, however, she said, “Didn’t you notice that I brought two mugs?”

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.

After studying Rhayn for several moments, Huyar started to speak, but Sadira interrupted before he could accept the challenge. “Today, I run with the tribe,” she called, sliding off the kank. “That gives me a voice in choosing our leader, does it not?”

“Yes,” called Grissi.

“Only if she survives,” countered Esylk. “And not just one day-I say that when she can no longer run, her voice no longer counts!”

“Agreed,” Sadira said, stepping to Rhayn’s side of the line. “Let’s go. I must reach Cleft Rock as soon as possible.”