The Amber Enchantress

FIFTEEN CLEFT ROCK

Sadira thought she and Grissi would never stop running. Each breath carried with it a searing wave of pain, and with every jarring step a dull ache rolled through her head. Hours ago, she had lost the feeling in her blistering feet, and she barely noticed as her numb legs carried her over the rocky ground.

“Keep running,” said Grissi, effortlessly trotting at the sorceress’s side. “We don’t have far to go.”

Had she not been so fatigued, Sadira would have hit the elf. Grissi had said the same thing four evenings in a row, after the rest of the tribe had disappeared into the desert and left them to plod along by themselves.

“Don’t,” Sadira croaked. “You’ve told me that too many times before.”

Even the sorceress did not recognize her own voice, for her throat was so swollen with thirst that she could hardly draw air down it.

“No, really,” Grissi said, pointing at the horizon. “Can’t you see them?”

Sadira lifted her eyes from the orange dust beneath her feet and glanced ahead. Her shadow lay next to Grissi’s, swimming over the broken ground like an oasis eel. The purple hues of dusk were just creeping up from between the rocks, while scattered across the plain were a handful of sword-length blades of grass that the kanks had neglected to crop on the way past. On the horizon, a strange, spider web grid of violet lines covered a gentle, dome-shaped knoll, but Sadira could see no sign of the tribe.

“Just a few more minutes and you can rest,” said Grissi.

“If I don’t collapse on that hill,” Sadira gasped.

This time, her words were barely recognizable. Grissi took the flattened waterskin off her shoulder, then unfastened the mouth and handed it to the half-elf. “Drink,” she said. “Your throat is closing up.”

Sadira shot her companion an angry scowl, then accepted the skin and closed her lips around the mouth. Taking care to keep her chin down so her eyes could watch the ground, she tipped the skin up. The sorceress continued to breathe through her nose as a trickle of hot, stale water ran down her throat. Without breaking her pace, she kept the skin raised high while she drained the last few drops of precious liquid.

Once the skin was empty, she thrust it back at Grissi. “You told me an hour ago we were out of water.” This time, her words were perfectly understandable.

“Never drink your last swallow of water until you’re within sight of the next one,” said the elf, slinging the empty skin over her shoulder.

Sadira peered again at the dark lines on the horizon. This time, it seemed she could make out the billowing crowns of hundreds of trees. “Thank the winds,” she gasped. “An oasis.”

“Not just any oasis. It’s Cleft Rock,” Grissi said, pointing toward the top of the knoll. “See?”

Sadira squinted at the distant trees. “No,” she said. “What am I looking for?”

“A split rock,” Grissi said. “I’ll never understand how city people go through life half blind.”

Sadira ignored this last comment, for the feeling was returning to her legs. Forgetting the throbbing ache in her back, she sped up to twice her previous pace. The exertion made her temples pound as though someone were driving a rockpick through them, but the sorceress did not slow down.

Soon, Sadira could see the elven camp. The warriors were scattered about the summit, gathered in dark clusters and preparing their evening meals. The children had already taken the kanks out to graze and were driving the beasts back up the hillside to tether them for the night.

“I must be getting faster,” Sadira observed. “Half the tribe’s usually asleep by the time I catch up.”

Grissi shook her head. “You’re no faster than before,” she said. “But today, we did not run so far.”

At last, the two women reached the bottom of the rise. As they climbed the slope, they had fight their way through a network of troughs filled with billowing chiffon trees and thickets of spongy yellow fungus. The channels had apparently been dug by some intelligent race, for they were arranged in a series of concentric rings and were the same depth and width. Occasionally, a narrow ditch ran from one channel down to another, giving the place its weblike appearance.

When the two women climbed out of the last trough, Grissi led the way to the crest of the hill. There, a circular monolith of black granite rose out of the dusty ground. The rock stood about as high as Sadira’s chest, and it was as big around as a large wagon. In the center was a jagged cleft, about two yards long and barely wide enough for a child to squeeze into. From its depths came a high-pitched hum, periodically broken by a rasping gurgle and the sound of trickling water.

Rhayn, Huyar, Magnus, and several other elves stood atop the monolith, gathered around the crevice. Their eyes were fixed on a hemp rope that had been attached to a spear’s shaft and dropped into the fissure. Grissi climbed onto the rock, then helped Sadira up.

“Give me something to drink,” Sadira gasped, bracing her hands on her knees and trying to control her heaving ribs.

Huyar surprised the sorceress by offering his flattened waterskin. Sadira cast a wary glance at his face. Seeing no treachery in his eyes, she lifted the bladder and poured the contents into her parched mouth. A trickle of hot, fetid water ran down her throat, then the bag was empty.

Sadira thrust the skin back to Huyar. “I’m in no mood for jests,” she growled. She looked to her sister, then asked, “Would you give me some fresh water?”

“What Huyar provided is all we have here,” answered Rhayn. “In a minute, the children will send up more.”

Sadira sat down on the warm stone, too exhausted to stand while she waited. Huyar stepped over the cleft and came to her side.

“You surprise me,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d last until we reached Cleft Rock.”

“Most of the time, neither did I,” Sadira answered, surprised by the elf’s grudging congratulations. “If I had been running only for myself and not for all of Tyr, I probably wouldn’t have.”

“How noble,” the elf said, his voice dripping sarcasm. “Then all of Tyr must be as happy as you are that our father has not recovered from his illness.”

“I’m not happy about Faenaeyon’s condition,” Sadira said, noticing that Rhayn was keeping an attentive ear turned toward their conversation.

“Come now,” said Huyar. “You must admit that it served you well. We have reached Cleft Rock.”

“What’s your point, Huyar?” Sadira asked.

“Only this: that in the morning, you’ll leave to find your tower,” the warrior said. “If you can help the chief recover, there’s no longer a need for you to withhold your help.”

“I can think of one reason,” said Rhayn, joining the pair. “The instant Faenaeyon’s awake, you’ll demand vengeance for Gaefal’s death.”

“Perhaps I was wrong about Sadira’s involvement,” Huyar said, flashing a smile at the half-elf. “I should thank you for trying to save his life, not blame you for this murder.”

Sadira shook her head, disgusted by the elf’s willingness to barter his brother’s death for political advantage. “Let me see if I’ve got this right,” she replied. “If Faenaeyon recovers, you’re first in line to be the next chief. But if Faenaeyon stays in a stupor, the advantage belongs to Rhayn because she’s the temporary chief.”

“This has nothing to do-”

“Don’t deny it! Let’s be clear about what you’re saying,” Sadira said. “If I’ll help the chief recover, you’ll let me go in peace and stop blaming me for Gaefal’s death-isn’t that what you’re offering?”

“If you were able to help Faenaeyon, it would convince me of your goodwill toward the entire tribe, yes,” said Huyar, studying the sorceress with a wary expression.

“I’m sorry, but it fell to Rhayn to keep your last promise. I don’t see how I could trust you to honor this one.” Sadira smirked at the elf.

“Besides, I have her obsidian,” the sorceress’s sister added, as much for Sadira’s benefit as Huyar’s. The same day Rhayn had been named chief, the Sun Runners had come across another caravan, and she had traded two kanks for several hunks of unshaped obsidian. Sadira did not know whether the shadows would accept the pieces as a gift, but it was the best she would be able to offer.

Huyar narrowed his eyes at the sorceress. “If you think this is over, you’re wrong,” he spat. “The Pristine Tower is still a long-”

The warrior’s threat was interrupted by a scream echoing out of the cleft. Sadira jumped to her feet and followed the elves to the fissure, then peered down into the darkness.

“Help!” cried a child. “They’re-”

The voice was cut off. The only sounds coming from the cleft were the high-pitched hum and rasping gurgle that Sadira had noticed when she had first approached the fissure.

“In the name of the wind, what’s wrong?” boomed Magnus.

When no one answered, Katza stepped forward. Her broken arm was still in a sling, but she seemed otherwise untroubled by the injury. “Cyne’s down there!” she said. “What are we going to do?”

Sadira had already taken her satchel from Grissi’s shoulder. She pulled out a handful of faro needles and began laying them out in a large square, with the rope at the center.

“Magnus, anchor that line,” Sadira said, motioning at the hemp cord. “A spear shaft might support the weight of a child, but I doubt that it will hold adults.”

“Then you can get us through this crack?” Katza asked.

Sadira nodded, summoning the energy for a spell. Considering the number of trees growing on the hillside, the flow of life-force seemed surprisingly weak. Nevertheless, by the time Magnus had tied the rope around his waist, the sorceress was ready. Motioning for the others to stand back, she cast her enchantment.

Inside the square she had laid out, the rock turned to fluid, then slowly swirled around in a sluggish whirlpool. The current began to move faster, and as it did, the liquid changed to mist. Soon, when nothing but vapor remained inside the square, all motion ceased and there was a black cloud where rock had been a few moments earlier.

Sadira took the rope, passing it over her shoulder and around her thigh. She stepped into the mist and started to slide downward, saying, “Before you follow, wait until Magnus feels me tug on the rope.”

After descending more than a dozen feet, Sadira left the dark cloud her spell had created. She found herself at the top of an immense cavern filled with steam. She could see the green outline of her rope dropping into the pink-glowing murk below, but beyond twenty yards, which was as far as her elven vision allowed her to see, there was nothing but darkness.

The sorceress pulled the rope tight across her thigh and stopped her descent, listening for any noises that might hint at what was happening below. She heard nothing but the same hum she had detected from outside, punctuated at short interludes by a strangled gurgle and the sound of trickling water.

Sadira looked up and saw a vaulted ceiling shaped from porous white stone that bore a faint resemblance to pumice. The dome had not been carved, for its contours were so softly rounded that the structure looked more grown than hewn. The entire surface seemed to glisten with tiny, pink-glowing droplets that occasionally fell free and plunged into the darkness below.

Deciding it would be wisest to see what she was getting into, Sadira pulled a wooden ball form her satchel. She pointed her palm toward the ceiling to summon the energy for a light spell, but did not feel the tingle of life-force entering her body. Instead, mottled pastel colors glowed deep within the porous stone above her hand. She pulled harder, and the stain deepened in hue and spread outward, but still no energy came to her body. Sadira gasped and closed her hand, both puzzled and frightened. The ceiling itself seemed to be absorbing the life-force she summoned, but she never heard of any rock that could do such a thing.

The sorceress put the ball back and continued her descent into the pink haze. As she slid down the rope, the humming and the gurgling grew steadily louder and more ominous, until at last noises completely muffled the sound of trickling water.

Within a few moments, the cavern bottom came into view. Below the sorceress rose the jagged form of a huge crystal, glowing red-hot and standing at least as high as Sadira. A thick coat of minerals crusted its exterior, while a shrill hum rose from its hollow interior. Every few seconds, a raspy sputter interrupted the buzz. A puff of steam, glowing red to elven vision, billowed into the air.

Sadira came down next to the crystal, atop a gently sloped dome of porous rock. After disentangling herself, she tugged on the rope to signal the others to come down, then drew the dagger Meredyd had given her. She stepped away from the rope, feeling strangely blind. She could see her own body and the floor of the cavern, but the chamber was so large that its walls were beyond the range of her elven vision. Never before had she experienced quite the same sensation of standing alone in the dark.

A drop of condensation hit the top of Sadira’s head, then she felt a warm trickle running down her face. She wiped the bead off her brow, then licked the water from her finger. It was the temperature of her own skin, but tasted clean and fresh.

Huyar came down the rope, followed by Grissi, Katza, and ten more elves. Except for Katza, who carried only a dagger, all were armed with longbows and bone swords.

“Where’s Rhayn?” Sadira asked.

“The chief must stay with the rest of the tribe at times like this,” said Grissi.

“You’ll have to trust me instead,” said Huyar, smirking at the sorceress. He motioned to the other elves. “Spread out and see what you can find.”

It was only a moment before Katza called, “Over here! Tracks!”

Sadira and the others followed the sound of her voice, traveling a short distance down the sloping floor. Once they had come close enough to see her, they found the woman kneeling near the edge of the huge chamber. Runnels of steam condensation, glimmering pink, were running down the domed ceiling in glistening rivulets. This water was collecting in a shallow black brook that apparently ringed the entire cavern. On the opposite side of the stream opened a tiny corridor, so small that even a dwarf could not have stood upright inside it.

“What did you find?” Huyar asked.

With her good hand, Katza pointed to a few clumps of damp dirt. “Someone came out of that tunnel and into the cavern,” she said. “It looks like they went back the same way.”

“What race would you guess, and how many?” Sadira asked.

Grissi, who was also studying the faint trail of mud, shook her head. “Several humans-it’s impossible to say how many, but their feet were too large to be our children.”

“Could they be from Nibenay?” the sorceress asked. She feared that, guessing she would have to pass through this oasis, Dhojakt had sent a company of retainers to ambush her.

“They could be,” Huyar said, scowling. “Let’s go and see.”

He waded across the black stream and crawled into the cramped tunnel, followed by the other elves. After pausing to gulp down several mouthfuls of water, Sadira brought up the rear. She followed the elves through the passage and onto a slender causeway, which crossed a chasm so narrow and deep it could only be described as an abyss. From its bowels came the gurgle of another stream, though it sounded as though the brook was a mile away.

Like her companions, the sorceress found herself gasping in wonder. From one side of the grotto came a crisp breeze, carrying on its breath the musty scent of unseen passageways and the cool touch of dew. From the other side came the whisper of a distant waterfall, though it was impossible to tell whether it was draining the abyss or falling into it.

When they reached the other end of the bridge, the trail turned left and ran along a narrow ledge. To one side lay the chasm, while the other was lined with vaulted doorways, none of which came up any higher than Sadira’s chest. As she passed each one, the sorceress peered down its length. Usually, she saw nothing but twenty yards of corridor running through the same porous stone that encased the rest of the grotto.

Once in a while, though, the tunnel was short, and Sadira could see that it opened into some vast chamber. Several times, she glimpsed a magnificent arch or column rising into the darkness beyond the passageway, and once she even saw a huge room of stacked arcades.

Finally, crawling on his hands and knees, Huyar led the way into one of the side corridors. As each of the other elves followed him into the passageway, they gasped in alarm, then let out a sigh of relief and scrambled through as fast as they could.

When Sadira’s turn came, she saw the reason for the elves’ concern. The walls of this passageway were lined with notches that appeared to be crypts, though none could have held a person any larger than a child. Each hollow was faced with a strange sort of translucent stone that Sadira had never seen before, a little too cloudy to be glass with a texture as smooth as ivory. In each hollow she could make out the form of a small body, and at first Sadira feared they were the elven children.

When she peered into one of the crypts more closely, the sorceress saw that the hazy figure inside was not that of a child. Rather, it seemed to be a mature man, with skin as viscid as clay, short-cropped hair, and even features. He was dressed in a plain tabard, with a small skullcap on the top of his head. Only the fact that Sadira’s elven vision saw his body in a cold blue tint suggested that he was dead.

“What do you make of it?” asked Grissi, speaking from a short distance ahead. “An ancient dwarf?”

“No. From what I’ve heard, ancient dwarves were rugged and hairy,” Sadira said. She cupped her hands around her face and pressed them against the transparent covering, trying to get a clearer view of the little man. “He looks more like a halfling!”

“Way out here in the desert?” Grissi scoffed. “Never. Halflings are mountain-dwelling savages.”

The little man’s eyelids flittered open and a pair of dark pupils turned toward Sadira’s face. She jerked away from the crypt, a shudder of fear running down her spine. “It moved!” she gasped, starting down the passageway. “Let’s get out of here.”

They crawled past a dozen more crypts, then followed the rest of the party into an intersecting tunnel. This passageway was high enough for Sadira to stand upright, but the elves could only rise if they kept their upper bodies hunched over like baazrags.

Huyar pointed down the corridor, to a sliver of rosy light spilling into the tunnel from a hole in the roof. “That’s where the tracks lead,” he whispered.

“What’s your plan?” Sadira asked.

“If it’s the Nibenese, they probably came for you,” said Huyar. “If so, I’ll give you to them.”

“No!” hissed Grissi. “Faenaeyon named her one of the tribe. When she was the first to descend the rope in pursuit of our children, she proved it’s an honor she deserves.”

“Grissi’s right,” agreed Katza. “If you would betray her, you’d betray one of us.”

Huyar bit his lips. “You couldn’t think I really meant to give her over, could you?” he asked. “What I intend to do is use her as bait.”

The elf outlined a simple plan that stood a good chance of success, except for a single detail that he could not have realized. Sadira pointed at the porous white stone from which the cavern had been shaped. “This rock blocks the flow of magic,” she said. “I can’t prepare spells until I’m outside.”

“Then it will be up to us to make sure you have time enough,” Huyar said, motioning at himself and the other warriors.

With that, he nocked an arrow in his bow and, moving with a sort of squatting waddle, went down the corridor. At the opening, he paused long enough to let his eyes adjust to the dusky light, then peered outside. Apparently he found no one guarding the exit, for he motioned to the others to follow him and climbed through the hole.

Only Sadira stayed behind, crouching beneath the opening and holding her spell ingredient in her hand. For a long time, she heard nothing from outside. She began to fear they had guessed wrong about who had taken the children and why.

Finally, a Nibenese woman, almost certainly a templar, called out, “Have you come for your children, elf?”

“Yes,” answered Huyar. “Why did you take them from us?”

“We couldn’t hope to beat your tribe to this oasis with a full company of half-giants,” the woman replied, “so taking hostages seemed the surest way to get what we want.”

“Which is?”

“You know the answer as well as I do,” the templar replied.

“Surely, you can’t want our chief badly enough to follow us into the desert,” said Huyar, playing dumb. “After all, when you captured him the first time, you only sold him to the Shom slavers.”

“It’s not your chief we want, and you know it!” snapped the woman. “We value him no more than you do.”

“What do you mean by that?” Huyar inquired, his voice less wary than a moment earlier. “Our chief is our father.”

“Oh? Does your tribe make a habit of poisoning its fathers?” asked the templar. “Or was your chief’s condition when we captured him an exception?”

Sadira’s stomach knotted with the dread of what might happen next. For a long time, Huyar had remained silent. She began to fear he would grow so angry that he would forget about the children and return to attack her.

At last, the elf replied, “Faenaeyon may have drunk some bad wine. I assume you want the woman who served it to him?”

Although this was not the way the elf had said the conversation would go, the sorceress did not turn to leave. Even Huyar was cunning enough not to trust the templars to honor any bargain they made. No matter what Sadira had done, his best chance of recovering the children lay in executing the plan upon which they had agreed.

The templar must have signaled her reply with a gesture, for the sorceress did not hear it. Instead, Huyar said, “Then bring the children out where we can see them. Once we know they’re safe, we’ll go get Sadira and meet you halfway down the hill.”

“Then lay aside your bows,” said the templar.

“So you can kill us?” Huyar scoffed. “As long as our children are safe, you have nothing to fear. We would not risk their lives by attacking.”

“Very well, but we won’t hesitate to kill them if you break your word.”

There was a moment of silence, then Katza’s voice demanded, “Cyne, how could you let yourself be surprised by a bunch of city-dwellers?”

The demand was Sadira’s signal. She placed her spell ingredient, a small block of granite, between her teeth and scrambled through the opening. Even before the sorceress had climbed completely out of the hole, she began summoning the energy for a spell.

The exit opened into a small glade surrounded by a thicket of chiffon trees. Though dusk had completely fallen, both Ral and Guthay already hung high in the sky. The area was lit with a burnished amber radiance more than bright enough by which to see.

At the edge of the small meadow were the six templars who had brought the hostages forward. Each woman held a child in front of her body, with a dagger pressed to the young elf’s throat. Though the children were clearly frightened, they did not seem too panicked to follow their elder’s instructions. In fact, none of them were even crying.

“Now!” Sadira hissed, still clenching the granite block between her lips.

Without the slightest hesitation, the elves lifted their bows and fired over the heads of their children. As the astonished templars cried out, Katza yelled, “Run, children! Over here!”

By the time Sadira had pushed herself free of the hole, five templars lay dead with arrows in their skulls. The elves had missed only the woman holding Cyne. As the other bolted to freedom, the templar drew her blade across the boy’s throat. He did not die without a fight, managing to smash an elbow into her ribs as his lifeblood gushed out of the wound.

Screaming in rage, Katza rushed the woman with her dagger. Before she had taken three steps, six bowstrings hummed and a flight of arrows shot past. This time, they did not miss their target.

Sadira took the granite block from her mouth and threw it over the children’s heads, uttering her incantation. In the same instant, a hidden Nibenese sorcerer cast a spell, and a spray of rainbow-colored lights shot from the thicket. The sorceress and her companions were momentarily blinded.

Sadira heard a series of loud crackles as her own spell took effect. Though she could not see it, she knew that a high wall of granite was sprouting from the ground where her stone had landed. The barrier had been intended to serve as a temporary shield while the elves took their children and fled into the tunnel below, but she suspected the enemy’s spell would interfere with their plans.

Hearing the patter of small feet coming toward her, Sadira yelled, “Into the tunnel and back to the well chamber. Tie yourselves to the rope and tell Magnus to pull you up.”

A moment of silence followed, and Sadira feared that their children would not obey. Then Huyar snapped, “Do as she says!”

As the children clambered into the hole, Sadira summoned the energy for another spell. It seemed to take forever for her vision to clear, but at least she could make out the silhouettes of the Sun Runners around her.

Only Huyar and Grissi seemed to be recovering from the spell. The others were staring into the air with blank expressions on their faces, mumbling in awe and making no effort to shake the effects of the spray of color.

Huyar grabbed the nearest warrior and began slapping him. “Wake up!” His efforts had no apparent effect on the elf.

Sadira heard the hiss of arrows flying through the air, then a half-dozen dazed elves dropped to the ground without so much as a gasp. The sorceress looked toward the wall she had created. Three Nibenese soldiers, their tabards bearing the insignia of the royal cilops, were rushing around each end of the granite barrier.

The sorceress reached for another spell component, then heard the clatter of clawed feet scrambling across a patch of rocky ground. The Nibenese unleashed another flight of arrows, and this time Grissi was among those who fell. Huyar gave up trying to wake his dazed companions and reached for his sword.

“It’ll do no good!” Sadira said. “Dhojakt’s coming.”

“Then I hope he tears your eyes out,” the elf said, jumping into the hole.

Although Huyar did not know it, it occurred to Sadira that he had done exactly the right thing. She lowered herself into the opening until only her head and shoulders were protruding from it. While keeping a watchful eye on the Nibenese, she continued to draw the energy for as spell, but it did not reach for any components.

A moment later, Dhojakt came around the corner of her rock wall. In the moonlight, she could see him clearly enough to tell that his nose was swollen and purple, with a single huge lesion where there had once been two flaring nostrils.

Dhojakt’s black eyes went immediately to where Sadira was hiding. The sorceress saw a hateful light flicker in the pupils, then he said, “I thought this would be the easiest way to lure you away from your protectors.”

The prince pointed a finger in her direction, and Sadira allowed herself to drop into the tunnel below. Her body still tingled with the magical energy she had summoned, she turned and sprinted after the sound of Huyar’s fleeing feet. A loud sputter echoed behind her, and she glanced back to see black dust billowing through the hole. Thankfully, the cloud settled to the floor and did not spread down the passageway. Within moments, flaxen rays of moonlight were once again streaming through the opening.

Sadira looked away from the hole and waited until her elven vision began to function, then ducked into the cramped aisle where she had seen the halfling. There, she stopped and listened. Huyar’s footfalls had grown silent, and the only sound was the waterfall whispering in the abyss at the far end of the corridor.

A moment later, she heard the Nibenese archers enter the grotto, with the rattle of Dhojakt’s many legs close behind. Intentionally dragging a foot along the floor so they would hear her moving, Sadira crawled through the passageway-being careful not to look into any of the strange crypts, lest she witness another moving halfling.

Upon reaching the end she ducked around the corner to wait. In one hand, she held her dagger. With the other, she withdrew a small piece of hardened tree sap from her satchel. The milky nugget had been shaped to look like a lump of crystallized acid.

Soon, she heard the Nibenese soldiers crawling through the passage. As she had hoped, they were groping their way blindly. There had been no time to light torches, and, since he could not draw energy through the grotto’s white stones, Dhojakt had been unable to use his magic to help them see. At the end of the line, his claws ticking impatiently as he forced his men forward, came the prince.

Sadira watched as the first three men crawled from the small tunnel, their nervous faces glowing bright red. She held perfectly still until they realized they had left the cramped corridor behind and began to rise. At that moment, she attacked, slashing her dagger across the first man’s face and kicking him off the ledge in the same swift motion.

Sadira barely had to attack the second guard. He lashed out blindly with an obsidian short sword, the momentum of his swing carrying his blade toward the abyss. She stepped behind the swipe and used her shoulder to nudge him over the edge. He had not yet started to scream when she drove her dirk under the third guard’s chin. The man died with an astonished gurgle, then, as she stepped away, collapsed onto the ledge.

“What’s happening there?” demanded Dhojakt’s angry voice. “Go!”

The fourth guard obeyed, scrambling forward over his dead comrade’s body. Her body tingling with the thrill of combat and the magical energy she had summoned earlier, Sadira stepped forward again. This time the sorceress drove her blade into the hollow at the base of the man’s skull.

The fifth guard froze at the exit and would not move.

“I said go!” Dhojakt screamed.

The fifth and sixth soldiers were catapulted into the abyss as the angry prince rushed forward. Dhojakt poked his head out of the passageway and looked toward Sadira.

“You’ve caused me enough trouble!” he spat. His bony mouthparts were fully extended, dripping venom and clacking in fury.

Sadira backed away, keeping her dagger in front of her and the hardened tree sap hidden in her other hand. Dhojakt did not even try to summon the energy for a spell, no doubt having already discovered it would not work. Instead, he seemed only too happy to leave the safety of the tunnel and follow the sorceress onto the precarious ledge.

As the prince crawled over bodies of his two dead guards, Sadira stopped. To her right opened a dark passage. Though it offered the sorceress some small reassurance as a possible escape route, she suspected that if she needed to flee, she would not survive long enough to use it.

Dhojakt wasted no time attacking. Once he was past the dead men, he rushed forward-but not along the ledge where Sadira had expected him to approach. Instead, his centipede’s body slipped up the wall, and he approached while hanging from the side of the cavern. When he reached the doorway at the sorceress’s side, he stopped and reached down to grasp her.

“You should have let me kill you in Nibenay,” he said. “It would have saved us both a lot of trouble and pain.”

“You, perhaps, but not me,” Sadira said. She thrust the tree sap toward the prince’s face.

As he saw the crystal-shaped lump coming at him, Dhojakt turned away to protect his vulnerable nose. “That won’t work this time, stupid girl!” he said.

Sadira spoke her incantation, but the stream that shot from her hand was not one of poisonous acid. Instead, it was a thick, gummy resin that quickly covered the prince’s head and torso in a single globule. Realizing he had been tricked, Dhojakt laboriously twisted his head around to face the sorceress. As he tried to reach out for her, Sadira backed away and spoke a single command word.

The resin hardened into a milky bead, as solid as stone and just as inflexible. Beneath the amorphous globule, Sadira could barely make out the shape of the prince’s outstretched arms and the mandibles protruding from his mouth. The spell had not been large enough to cover his many legs, however. He resembled a giant centipede that had suffered the misfortune of being half-encased in a giant bead of frankincense.

Sadira sheathed her dagger, then grabbed the heavy globule and pulled. Dhojakt tried to cling to the porous wall with his clawed feet, but the weight of the milky bubble encasing his body was too much for him. With the sorceress’s help, the heavy globule slowly peeled away from the stone, until at last Sadira managed to push it off the ledge.

Then, all at once, the prince’s claws tore free. Dhojakt slipped over the edge and, his legs slashing at the sorceress in a desperate effort to drag her along, he disappeared into the darkness. Sadira slumped down on the ledge and listened to the prince’s feet scrape along the wall of the chasm.

There was no splash or final clatter. The rasp of the prince’s claws simply faded away long before it should have, with no suggestion that he had hit the canyon bottom.

The sorceress peered over the edge. She half-expected to see Dhojakt scrambling back up the cliff, but she found nothing except darkness below.

“Well done,” said Huyar’s voice. “Especially the dagger work against the guards.”

A startled cry escaped Sadira’s lips and she almost slipped over the ledge, but Huyar grasped her shoulder with a firm hand. As he pulled her to her feet, he slipped her dagger from its sheath, then pressed the blade against the small of her back.

“Let’s see what you have in your satchel, shall we?”

He used his free hand to remove the bag from her shoulder, then opened it and dumped the contents on the ground. Being careful never to let the dirk leave the sorceress’s back, he reached down and picked up the intricately carved vial that Magnus and Rhayn had procured in the Bard’s Quarter of Nibenay.

“What’s this?” the elf asked. Holding the flask next to Sadira’s face, he ran his fingers over the notes carved into its side. “The poison you used on our chief?”

“No,” Sadira answered. For the moment, the truth seemed her best option-she certainly could not hope to outrun or outfight the elf. “It’s the antidote.”