The Verdant Passage

TWO THE SORCERESS

Rikus stopped screaming.

The mul’s fighting sticks tumbled from his thick-fingered hands. His shoulders slumped, his knotted knees buckled, and his dark eyes rolled back in their sockets until only the whites showed. The gaj raised its black pincers, displaying the gladiator’s limp body as if it were a trophy. One hairy tentacle remained wrapped around Rikus’s brow, holding his head upright, and the others still clasped his wrists.

Sadira stopped a dozen yards from the gaj’s side. She had to fight to keep from gagging as she smelled the last whiffs of a fetid vapor. The mul’s body hung limply in the beast’s black pincers, with blood from the barb punctures streaming down his legs and dripping from his toes.

To the left of the gaj, Neeva returned to her feet, clearing her head with a violent shake. On the other side of the beast, Yarig had already stood and was lifting his spear in preparation for a charge. Anezka, whose spear remained lodged in the beast’s head, was standing farther away than Sadira, studying the creature with a look of confused anger.

On the wall surrounding the pit, Boaz screamed, “Let the spineless die!”

Though it would mean a severe punishment later, none of the slaves obeyed the trainer. When the gaj had lashed the mul with its bristly tentacles, the unfamiliar sound of Rikus screaming and the sight of his retreat had left no doubt that he was in trouble. Yarig had slapped aside the spears pointed at his throat, then slid down the rope to help his friend. Out of loyalty to her dwarven partner, Anezka had followed almost immediately. In the same instant, Neeva had plucked the spears from the hands of a trio of guards and dropped down into the sand, not even bothering with the rope.

To everyone’s astonishment except her own, Sadira had slipped past the confused guards and followed the gladiators into the pit. No doubt Boaz and all the others believed she had lost her coquettish head and rushed into the pit out of panic, but that was not the case. Sadira had entered the arena so she would be close enough to cast a spell if there appeared to be no other way to save Rikus.

It now seemed as if the mul would be torn into pieces by the time the other gladiators freed him from the gaj’s pincers. If the mul was to be saved, Sadira would have to use her magic-an act that would almost certainly place her own life in peril. In Tyr, as in other Athasian cities, only the king and his templars were permitted to use sorcery. Those who defied this law were put to death.

More importantly, anyone who understood the basics of spellcasting would know that Sadira had not attained such powers on her own. Tithian, her owner and the man who would likely interrogate her, would deduce that she was connected to the Veiled Alliance, the secret society of sorcerers dedicated to overthrowing the king. Doubtless he would want to know why the Alliance had recruited an agent in his pits. If he caught her alive, he would try to force the answer from her through a long and agonizing torture.

Even with all these considerations, Sadira had no choice but to use her magic. Rikus did not know it yet, but the Veiled Alliance had plans for him at the ziggurat games. Too much depended on those plans to let the gladiator die.

Preparing to cast her spell, Sadira took a deep breath and looked for some indication that the fighters were at last gaining the upper hand against their nemesis. She did not find it. The gaj was keeping both Yarig and Neeva at bay by using Rikus’s body like a massive hammer, and Anezka seemed at a complete loss without her spear.

“Neeva, Yarig, cover your eyes!” Sadira yelled.

Neeva frowned. “What?”

“Just trust me,” Sadira said sharply. “It’s for Rikus.”

Without waiting for a reply, the half-elf leveled her palm toward the ground and spread her fingers. Shutting out all other thoughts, she focused her mind on her hand, summoning the energy she needed for her magic. The air beneath her palm began to shimmer, then a barely visible surge of power passed through the air, entered her hand, and moved through her arm.

To the untrained eye, it might have appeared Sadira was extracting her magic from the ground, but that was not the case. While it was true that she drew the power for her magic from the life force of Athas itself, like all sorcerers she could only tap this mystic power through plants. The energy flowing into her body came to her from the smoketrees, needlebushes, and hornbushes surrounding Tithian’s slave compound. The ground was only a medium for transferring it.

When Sadira had gathered enough power for her spell, she closed her hand and cut off the flow of energy. If she took too much power too rapidly, the plants from which she was drawing the life force would die and the ground holding their roots would become sterile and barren. Unfortunately, few sorcerers were so careful with their powers, and it was their carelessness that had reduced Athas to a wasteland.

Now that Sadira had gathered enough mystic energy, she uttered the incantation that would give shape and direction to her magic, then threw a handful of sand at her target. A flashing cone of scarlet and gold spouted from her fingers and shot toward the gaj’s head in a sparkling beam of radiance. As it reached the beast, the stream broke into a froth of emerald bubbles, each of which burst into a spray of red or blue or yellow or any of a hundred other vibrant colors. Even to Sadira, who knew what to expect, the display was dazzling. The brilliance of all the clashing colors set her mind to reeling, and only the fact that she had known what the spell would do saved her from being stunned by the resplendent spectacle.

The gaj’s tentacles became flaccid, releasing Rikus’s head and wrists. Its red eyes faded to dull maroon. Then it retracted its sticklike legs, and its scaly shell sank to the ground. Unfortunately the pincers remained closed, with Rikus’s limp body still locked in the powerful mandibles. Where the gaj’s antennae had held him, red welts covered the gladiator’s skin.

Both Neeva and Yarig looked from Sadira to the motionless beast. “What happened?” asked the husky dwarf.

“It’s stunned,” Sadira replied, stepping toward the thing’s mandibles. “I cast a spell on it.”

The jaws of both gladiators fell slack. “That will mean your death!” Neeva uttered. “You’d do that for Rikus?”

“I already have,” Sadira replied.

On top of the wall, Boaz screamed, “What happened to the gaj? Lord Tithian will have your head!”

The scullery slave ignored him and tugged at a mandible. It did not open. “We’ve got to get Rikus free,” she said. “The gaj will recover soon.”

Neeva stepped to Sadira’s side and inserted a spear between the the mandibles. “Rikus never told me you were a sorceress.”

“I try not to tell all my secrets,” Sadira answered.

Neeva braced her foot against a mandible and pried with her spear. As the pincers slowly opened, Yarig laid aside his own weapon and started to pull Rikus free. The barbs, still piercing the mul’s abdomen, tore at the gladiator’s stomach.

“Wait!” Sadira said, laying one of her soft hands on the dwarf’s arm. “Neeva must open those pincers farther.”

“Can’t,” came the strained reply.

“What are you doing to the gaj?” Boaz demanded from the wall. “Stop! Don’t hurt it any worse.”

The guards shuffled toward the rope and started repeating their superior’s command to leave the gaj alone, but they did not move to enforce the order. Their hesitation did not surprise Sadira. Their fighting skills could not compare to those of the gladiators, and none of them was anxious to take the initiative in using force against the slaves.

Yarig retrieved his spear and placed it between the pincers, next to Neeva’s weapon. As the dwarf lent his ample strength to the effort, the mandibles opened another two feet. The barbs came out of Rikus’s stomach and blood poured from the wounds.

Sadira grabbed the big gladiator’s shoulders and pulled, but the mul was far too heavy for her.

“Anezka, help me!”

The halfling slowly stepped to her side and took one of Rikus’s arms. The two women pulled him from the pincers.

When the unconscious mul was free, Neeva and Yarig abandoned their weapons and allowed the pincers to close. Each grabbed one of Rikus’s arms, then dragged him toward the edge of the fighting pit. Sadira and Anezka followed a step behind, both glancing over their shoulders at the stunned beast, checking for signs of movement.

By the time they reached the wall, the gaj’s tentacles were beginning to twitch. Yarig grabbed the rope and climbed up, only to find Boaz waiting for him at the top. “I should leave you down there for the gaj,” the trainer hissed.

“We’d have to kill it,” Yarig replied simply, hesitating at the top of the rope. “Should I go back down?”

Boaz regarded the obstinate dwarf for a moment, annoyed at his own uncertainty. Finally the trainer stepped aside. “No. I’ll think of a more fitting punishment for your disobedience later.”

As Yarig scrambled out of the pit, Neeva picked Rikus up and lifted him as high as she could. Yarig turned and lowered himself onto his belly, then reached down for the unconscious mul. The dwarf’s arms were too short to bridge the gap, but Anezka took care of the problem by scrambling halfway up the rope and passing Rikus’s heavy arms to her partner.

“Got him!” Yarig said, struggling to pull the mul toward the deck, with Neeva pushing from below.

Behind Sadira, in the center of the pit, the gaj clacked its pincers loudly, snapping the abandoned spears with a series of sharp cracks.

Neeva gave a loud grunt, then heaved Rikus up over her head. Yarig seized the opportunity to gather his feet beneath him, then pulled the bulky mul to safety. Immediately, Anezka scrambled the rest of the way up the rope. Sadira dared to look over her shoulder. The gaj had risen to its feet and was pointing its hairy tentacles in the group’s direction.

“We’ve got to hurry,” Sadira called. “It’s awake!”

No sooner had she spoken than a pair of strong hands seized her by the waist. Before the half-elf realized what was happening, Neeva had passed her to Yarig, who effortlessly hoisted her to safety.

When Yarig set her atop the wall, Sadira spun around. The gaj was scuttling across the sandy floor of the fighting pit and was already halfway to the wall. Neeva leaped up and grabbed the rope, but Sadira doubted that the woman would reach the top before the creature caught her.

Since she had likely exposed herself as a sorceress earlier, Sadira decided she would do no additional harm by using her magic to save Rikus’s partner. She pointed toward the gaj and began to recite an incantation, preparing to shoot a bolt of magical energy into the beast’s head.

Just before she could cast the spell, Boaz shouted, “Stop her!”

The shaft of a guard’s spear came crashing down across Sadira’s forearm, misdirecting her attack. A burst of golden energy flashed from her fingertips and blasted into the pit, striking well to the gaj’s left. A geyser of sand sprayed thirty feet into the air.

The gaj ignored the blast and continued its charge, loudly clacking its mandibles and angrily waving its antennae. One of Neeva’s hands crested the wall, and Yarig grabbed her arm.

As the gaj reached the edge of the pit, it lifted the front end of its shell and began scraping at the base of the stones in a futile attempt to follow. The creature’s head lay only a few feet below Neeva’s ankles. Her other hand crested the wall, and she started to pull herself free of the pit.

One of the gaj’s tentacles lashed out and entwined Neeva’s bare calf. The woman cried out in pain and surprise. Her fingers slipped from the wall, but Yarig caught her arm and held it fast. Neeva regained her grip with the other hand. Still screaming in pain, she fought to drag herself up the wall.

The creature’s bristly antenna remained about her calf. Neeva jerked her leg upward, twisting savagely. With a loud pop, the stalk separated from the gaj’s head. The beast emitted a piercing screech, then scrambled away. A few yards from the wall, it retracted its legs and head, and quickly lowered its shell to the sand.

“Get it off!” Neeva shrieked, violently thrashing about. She tried to reach the tentacle around her leg, but the intense pain caused her arms and legs to jerk with agonizing spasms.

Sadira reached out to help, but found herself facing the sharp point of a guard’s spear. “Don’t even move,” the man threatened.

Ignoring the guard’s threat to the scullery slave, Yarig tried to assist Neeva, but Boaz stepped between him and the screaming woman. “I did not give you leave to help her,” he said.

The dwarf sneered and tried to sidestep the trainer. A guard lunged forward, pressing his speartip against Yarig’s ribs.

As Neeva continued to flail and scream, Boaz looked to the guards surrounding Rikus, who still lay prone on the deck. “Is the mul dead?”

One of the guards shook his head. “He’s breathing, but that’s about all.”

“Then see if you can keep him alive,” Boaz ordered. “We can’t have our champion dying in his sleep. Lord Tithian would not find that to his liking.”

The guard nodded, then bandaged the mul’s wounds. Only a few feet away, Neeva continued to cry out in pain. No one assisted her.

Boaz looked at Sadira next. “What are we to do with you, my bewitching little wench? As I’m sure you’re aware, the penalty for spellcasting is death.”

The scullery slave met the trainer’s gaze steadily, though her heart was pounding with fear. “Lord Tithian certainly will want to question me before I’m killed,” she said. Feigning confidence, she forced her voluptuous lips into a smile. “But I can see how that might make you uncomfortable. After all, Lord Tithian would not be happy to hear that you sent his prize gladiator to fight the gaj with only a pair of singing sticks.”

“So I should just forget what I saw?” Boaz asked, meeting Sadira’s smile with a cynical grin.

“That would be in your best interest,” she replied, careful to maintain an even tone.

“I have nothing to fear from Tithian,” Boaz said. “To him, the mul is just another slave.”

As the trainer studied her, Sadira looked for any sign of the doubt she hoped Boaz was feeling. Only the depth of his concentration gave her cause to think she had succeeded. Regardless of what the trainer claimed, Tithian would indeed be upset if he learned how Rikus had been injured. Boaz could be certain that the story would surface if he turned Sadira over to their master for interrogation.

“Perhaps I should kill you now,” Boaz threatened. “I could always throw you to the gaj.”

“That’s your choice,” Sadira answered bravely. “But Lord Tithian would be cheated of his opportunity to question me. Eventually he would learn of the magic I used today. Even if your guards keep silent, I’m sure these gladiators will tell him. Or would you kill all of them, too?”

As the trainer considered his next response, Neeva finally ripped the gaj’s antenna from her leg and flung it into the pit. Her anguished cries quieted to a moan. The sudden calm seemed to inspire Boaz.

The half-elf gave Sadira a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll consider your advice.” He looked from the slave girl to the guard beside her, who was now holding the spear at her throat. “Lock her in the Break.”

Sadira cringed. The Break was an old storage house with dozens of small silos built into the ground. It was Boaz’s favorite punishment. She was not sure what horrors the Break contained, but there were many, many rumors. The one thing Sadira knew for certain was that no slave survived imprisonment in the Break beyond five days.

The guard took the young woman by the arm. As he led her. away, the half-elf cast a final look at Rikus. Now two guards attended him. They had ripped the mul’s robe into strips and wrapped it around his stomach, but blood still seeped from beneath the bandage at an alarming rate. Sadira was glad to see the bleeding, however, for it was the only sign of life in the mul’s inert form.

Boaz motioned to the guard holding Sadira. “See that she is bound and gagged.”

Sadira’s heart sank with this last order. With bound hands and a gagged tongue, she could not use her magic. It would be impossible to make the gestures or utter the incantations of the spells she would need to make her escape.

The guard nodded, then leveled his spear at Sadira’s back. “You know where we’re going.”

Sadira led the way across the deck to a short flight of steps. Directly ahead were a dozen squat buildings. Their walls were constructed from dun-colored bricks made of mud, and animal hides covered their roofs. Between the buildings shuffled a handful of gaunt slaves. They carried buckets of water and food to the cells that housed Tithian’s gladiators and, more importantly, to the pens which held the exotic animals his hunters had captured for the ziggurat games.

Beyond the buildings rose the compound wall, a mud-brick barricade twenty feet high, capped by jagged shards of obsidian. At each corner, a high, flat-roofed tower rose above the wall. The towers’ roofs were covered with scaly hides.

A pair of guards stood in each of the four towers. They wore no armor, for anyone dressed so heavily would soon faint in the searing heat of an Athasian day, but each guard was armed with a crossbow, a small supply of steel-tipped bolts, and a steel dagger.

The steel weapons, Sadira knew, were more for intimidation than for actual use. On Athas, metal was more precious than water and as scarce as rain. Tyr was unique among Athasian city-states in that it controlled a working iron mine. For their metal, other cities had to rely on hard-bitten bands of salvagers. These hardy groups of fortune-hunters searched out lost armories and treasure vaults in the ancient ruins which were buried everywhere beneath the sands of the desert.

The fact that Tithian entrusted his tower guards with metal weapons was a sign of the high templar’s incredible wealth. Even in Tyr, where iron was relatively abundant, a steel crossbow bolt cost more than a healthy farm slave, and the daggers were worth as much as a good gladiator.

Sadira’s guard prodded her in the back with his obsidian spearpoint. “Quit stalling.”

Resisting the urge to try a spell immediately, the half elf descended the stairs leading from the arena deck. At the moment, Boaz and the other guards would be quick to react to the slightest hint of trouble, and Sadira knew better than to think she could fight a half-dozen ready guards. She would have to bide her time, then count on stealth to make good her escape.

Sadira walked to the Break, a small building at the far corner of the compound. Here, a guard gagged her with a grimy cloth and bound her hands behind her back with a rope that bit into her skin. She was handed over to a pair of guards in charge of the Break, who pushed her inside. As she descended a flight of stone steps, the dank stench of offal and unbathed humanity washed over her. She almost retched, then nearly choked on the gag that filled her mouth.

Laughing at her plight, the guards took her by the arms and dragged her forward. The rays of the crimson sun permeated the hide roof, lighting the interior with a ruddy glow that made the place seem even more corrupt and sickening.

The stone floor of the hut was covered with heavy rock slabs. The guards led Sadira to the far side of the room, then pushed one of the stone covers aside. A hushed hissing, not unlike the whispering of a soft wind, rose from the silo below. The cell was as black as obsidian, but Sadira could see the scene below as clearly as if it had been lit by a torch. From her elven ancestors, she had inherited infravision, the ability to see ambient heat when no other light source was present.

By the cool blue of the silo’s brick walls, Sadira knew that it was a circular hole about two-and-half feet in diameter and ten feet deep. There was just enough room to stand, but not to sit or lie down.

The cell was filled top to bottom with the green gossamer of a silky web. Throughout this web scurried dozens, perhaps hundreds, of pinkish reptiles that created a soft whisper by rubbing their pliant scales against the silk, the walls, and each other. They were about the length of Sadira’s fingers, with soft tubular bodies, arrow-shaped heads, small squarish ears, and compound eyes resembling those of an insect. She was not sure whether to think of them as lizards or snakes, for they had tiny legs and feet in front, but none on their hindquarters.

One of the guards grabbed Sadira beneath the armpits and dangled her over the pit. The half-elf groaned in alarm and braced her feet against the edges of the pit. She knew that struggling was futile, but the thought of being lowered into the squirming mass below was repulsive.

Her captor’s companion kicked the slave’s feet away from the edges of the pit, and the one holding her released his grip. Sadira plummeted through the web, bringing a shower of slimy flesh and sticky strands down about her as she fell. When she hit the bottom, her knees buckled and her shoulder slammed into the brick wall. Sharp bolts of pain shot through her ankles and knees, and her left arm went numb. She found herself wedged into the cramped silo with her buttocks resting on her heels.

Scaly ropes of flesh began to squirm over her bare legs, her shoulders, even down the back of her neck. Sadira let out a muffled scream of disgust and pushed herself into a standing position. The effort sent renewed streams of pain through her ankles and knees.

At the top of the silo, the two guards chuckled and slid the stone slab back into place.

Sadira stood in the cell, alone save for the repulsive creatures that rubbed their hissing scales against her skin and flicked her with their gritty tongues. She could not decide whether they were welcoming her to the colony or taste-testing the web’s latest catch. The sorceress consoled herself with the thought that the greatest danger posed by the reptiles was that they would drive her mad. She doubted that Boaz would tolerate the things if they foreshortened the torment of his victims by killing them.

The half-elf wasted little time panicking or bemoaning her fate, for she knew those were the reactions Boaz desired. Having been born into slavery, Sadira had long ago realized that, while her masters could use threats and violence to keep her in physical bondage, they could not control her mind or her emotions unless she let them. As long as she remained strong and refused to accept their right to enslave her, then she was at least spiritually free. Of course, spiritual freedom was a poor substitute for the real kind, but at least it kept hope alive.

The sorceress had seen too many people give up this last scrap of dignity. Sadira’s own mother, an amber-haired human named Barakah, had died apologizing to her daughter for the “crimes” she had committed, crimes that had resulted in Sadira being born a slave. The half-elf did not consider her mother’s actions to be crimes, however.

From what the half-elf had pieced together, as a young woman her mother had supported herself in one of the few outlawed occupations in Tyr. King Kalak had declared it illegal to sell or buy magical components. Naturally a thriving trade in chameleon skin, gum arabic, mica dust, adder’s stomach, and other hard-to-acquire items had sprung up in the notorious Elven Market. Barakah had made a living as a runner between the Veiled Alliance and the untrustworthy elven smugglers. She had also made the mistake of falling in love with an infamous elven rogue named Faenaeyon.

Shortly after Sadira had been conceived, the templars had raided the dingy shop where Faenaeyon lived and did business. He had escaped and fled into the desert, but the pregnant Barakah had been caught and sold into slavery. Faenaeyon had simply abandoned his lover and her unborn child, making no effort to buy their freedom or help them escape. A few months later, Sadira had been born in Tithian’s gladiatorial pits, and that was where she had been raised.

It was not where she intended to die. Sadira allowed the guards a few minutes to leave, then set about trying to escape. The gag was fairly easy to remove. The half-elf simply leaned her head to one side and rubbed her chin against her shoulder several times. The strip around her mouth rolled off her chin and down around her neck, then she spat the wad out of her mouth.

Next, she attempted to free her hands. Had they not been bound behind her, it would have been a simple matter to gnaw at the rope until she bit through it. Before she could do that, she had to work her hands around to her front. She tried to run her bound hands down her back and around her legs, but her arms were too short. She only strained her already throbbing shoulder.

Realizing that the tight quarters would never allow her to accomplish this first maneuver, she began to working her wrists back and forth behind her. With time, and she suspected she had plenty of that, she might be able to loosen the knot or stretch the hide enough to slip a hand free.

The repetitive action attracted the lizards. Within moments, the slimy reptiles tickled every inch of Sadira’s skin from the elbows down. They writhed over her arms with increasing agitation, their scales whispering as loudly as a strong breeze. The half-elf ignored them and continued to work her hands back and forth.

There was a sharp twinge inside Sadira’s elbow. When she felt a warm trickle running down her arm, she realized one of the creatures had bitten her. Dozens of raspy little tongues lapped at the blood, then she felt another twinge on the outside of her forearm. Both wounds bled more freely than they should have, and the lizards’ excitement mounted, filling the silo with a soft, steady drone. The half-elf began to fear that her efforts to liberate herself were driving the reptiles into a feeding frenzy. Fighting to ignore her growing revulsion, Sadira continued to work at the hide. She considered using the lizards to her advantage by trying to get them to chew off her bindings. Unfortunately they seemed more interested in licking blood than gnawing hide.

Soon her wrists began to sting where the thongs were cutting into them, and still more warm blood ran down over her hands. The little reptiles swarmed to the fresh food. A few even crawled into the tight crevice between her bound hands. Repulsed, she groaned and pressed her palms together, successfully crushing a pair of the gruesome things. Their bodies burst with a mushy pop, covering her palms with cool slime.

Noting how slick this scum was, Sadira realized that it would be useful in freeing her hands. Over the next few minutes, she continued to work her burning wrists back and forth. As they bled, she allowed many more lizards to crawl between her hands, and crushed them each in turn. Periodically, she tried to pull a hand free and found the thongs were still too tight. The reptiles continued to nip at her arms and lick the wounds around her bindings. She squashed several against the wall with a forearm. Soon, her hands and arms were soaked with a mixture of her own warm blood and cool lizard entrails.

Sadira tried again to free a hand. This time, her left hand slipped its loop. Her brief cry of joy echoed off the brick walls of the silo, but she doubted it could be heard outside. The half-elf immediately brought her hands around to her front and brushed the lizards off her bloody arms. Lacking anything better, she cleaned her hands as best as she could against her smock. Next she plucked the lizards from her hair. She didn’t bother with the creatures swarming over her legs, for they were too numerous and none seemed to be biting.

At last Sadira prepared to cast the first spell of her escape. Instead of pointing her palm downward to summon the force she needed, the sorceress directed it at the wall. Since she was already underground, there was no need to draw the energy from below before calling it toward her.

After she felt the surge of power enter her body, Sadira took a small ball of web from the wall and placed it under her tongue, then uttered an incantation. When the ball of web disappeared from her mouth, she knew her spell had worked and she would be able to climb the walls as easily as the lizards. The half-elf placed the pads of her fingers on the wall and pulled upward. Her body rose off the ground as though it were as light as a strand of silk.

The sorceress quickly climbed to the top of the silo, causing a distinct hiss each time she moved. Though her knees and shoulders ached terribly from the drop into the cell, her body seemed so light that its weight caused them no undo strain.

At the top of the cramped cell, Sadira paused to pick a few lizards off her legs, then brushed the rest away. Dangling from the wall as easily as if she were standing on a ladder, she summoned the energy for another spell, then took a deep breath and began to jostle the stone slab covering the silo. She was not trying to move it aside. Rather, the sorceress merely hoped to attract the guards’ attention and lure them into investigating the sound.

She did not have long to wait. Within a few moments, the slab began to slide open and a sliver of scarlet light appeared over her head. She retreated down the wall a short way, then waited for the door to open completely.

The first thing to appear in the widening crescent of light was the tip of an obsidian spear. Though the light hurt her eyes, she forced herself not to look away. When the dim silhouette of a guard took form at the other end of the spear, Sadira raised the lizards she had plucked off her legs toward him, then uttered her incantation.

She finished with a comment directed at her victim. “Think about this the next time you drop a nice girl down here.”

As she released the spell, the squirming lizards in her hand were transformed into writhing tentacles, each ten feet long and as black as the silo from which they came. They shot from Sadira’s hand like bolts of ebon-colored lightning straight for the guard’s face. He dropped his spear and yelled in surprise, but the black ribbons cut his scream short as they wrapped themselves around his face and neck. He stumbled away, gasping for air and madly tearing at the stalks constricting his neck.

If her Alliance mentor, a cantankerous old man named Ktandeo, had seen her use the spell, he would certainly have disapproved. He had forbidden her to learn or use magic of such potency. That kind of spell required the drawing of energy from a wide radius; if the radius was too small, the foliage tapped by the spell would die. Ktandeo thought the half-elf had not yet mastered her art enough to attempt such feats. Sadira thought differently, so she had secretly copied the spell and several others from his spellbook during her last clandestine visit. At the moment, she was glad she had.

The sorceress scrambled to the top of the wall. A second guard looked over the edge of the silo, a drawn dagger clutched in his hand. There was no time to cast another spell, so Sadira reached up and grabbed him by the collar.

“Come here,” she said, jerking as hard as she could on his shirt. “There’s something down here you should see.”

The surprised guard pitched forward, raising his knife to slash at Sadira’s arm. The half-elf quickly released him and pulled her arm out of harm’s way, but the man’s counterstrike did not save him. He was already leaning so far forward that he could not recover his balance. He cried out in alarm, and his dagger clattered to the floor. The guard himself followed a moment later, slipping headfirst into the darkness, his hands seizing wildly at the bricks in a futile effort to catch himself. An instant later, he hit bottom. The sharp pop and series of quick snaps that sounded from the base of the silo told Sadira that she need not worry about that particular jailer again.

She climbed out of the silo and picked up the first guard’s spear. He was still struggling with the magical tentacles that were wrapped around his face. Though he was hardly in a position to stop her from leaving, she stepped to his side and touched the spear to his ribs.

“This is for all the slaves who didn’t climb out,” she said, pressing harder on the point.

The guard stopped struggling and turned his tentacle-covered head in her direction. “No. Please!” he gasped, barely making himself understood through his constricted throat. “I … have … children-”

“So did my mother,” Sadira answered.

She pressed all of her weight against the shaft and drove the point deep into the man’s heart. A short cry of pain escaped his lips and his body trembled. An instant later, he fell motionless. Blood began to ooze from the wound.

After removing the guard’s dagger and belt, Sadira dragged his body to the silo. She dumped him on top of his partner without bothering to remove the spear from his heart or the tentacles from his head. As she pushed the stone slab over the pit, her thoughts were already turning to the next phase of her escape.

Sadira strapped the guard’s belt and dagger onto her narrow waist, then pulled a few stray strands of lizard web from her smock. She formed these strands into a small wad, then plucked a lash from her eyelid and sealed it in the silky ball. Pointing her palm at the ground, she summoned the energy for another enchantment. As she spoke the words of her incantation, the sorceress slowly rolled the wad between her fingers.

The web and the eyelash disappeared. The half-elf lifted her hand and waved it in front of her eyes. Like the rest of her body, it had become invisible.

Sadira wasted no time leaving the Break. She had only a brief time before her spell expired. In that time, the half-elf had to sneak back to her mud-brick cell and collect her spellbook from beneath the loose stone where she kept it hidden. Afterward, she would leave the estate by walking out the gate, passing beneath the noses of the guards charged with keeping her and her fellow slaves in the compound. By the time her magic lapsed, she hoped to be far away from the walls of Lord Tithian’s gladiator pits.

Though she wanted to check on Rikus’s condition, she knew that such an act held too many dangers, for guards and healers would surely surround him. She would simply have to trust in the mul’s natural hardiness and hope that he survived long enough for her to send help from the Veiled Alliance.