The Verdent Passage

by Troy Denning

  After another three hundred steps, Sadira paused, then looked down a dark lane weaving its way into a ramshackle region of dreary tenements and crumbling shanties. Though the windows and doors of the mud-brick buildings were dark, the slave-girl's elven eyes allowed her to see the sinister-looking residents who were watching the alley from every fourth or fifth building.

  "Doesn't this lead toward the Elven Market?" Pegen asked.

  "My master's just a short distance down the way," Sadira said. She stepped into the dark alley before the templar could object.

  The half-elf had gone no more than a few steps into the lane before she heard Pegen stumbling over the loose cobblestones in the street. He laid his hand on her burden and tugged.

  "Wait!"

  Sadira obeyed instantly, dropping her bundle on his feet. She reached beneath her cloak and drew the obsidian dagger she had stolen from the guard in the Break. The human templar, unable to see in the dark, stumbled over the sticks and fell. Sadira spun, raising her dagger to strike.

  The templar sprawled over the bundle face-first, cursing and struggling to push himself back to his feet. Sadira realized that it would be a simple matter for her to disappear into the labyrinth of shabby tenements in this pan of the city. Certainly that was what the Veiled Alliance would have wanted, for her contact had instructed her never to antagonize the king's bureaucracy unnecessarily.

  "Help me up, you clumsy girl," Pegen ordered. "I could have you lashed for this!"

  "Wrong thing to say," the half-elf said, deciding that "unnecessarily" was a relative term.

  With her free hand, Sadira grasped his bronze pendant. She jerked it up so that the chain lifted his double chin and exposed his corpulent neck. Pegen's eyes opened wide and looked toward her face, but remained unfocused and fearful in the darkness. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded in a gasping voice.

  "Seeing if this knife is sharp enough to cut through your fat throat," Sadira answered, laying the edge of her weapon's blade to the thick folds of skin beneath his chin-She had to press hard, but the blade was sharp enough.

  The feel of warm blood covered her hand. Pegen gurgled and clasped his hands over his throat. He rolled off the bundle of sticks and lay on his back, his life slowly seeping from between his fingers and his astonished eyes staring up at the night sky. Without waiting for him to die, Sadira cleaned her hand and the blade on his cassock, then ran down the dark streets at a sprint.

  The half-elf did not slow her pace until she had slipped between a pair of tenements into a small square where five lanes met. The plaza was bathed in bright yellow light, for it was surrounded by six wineshops, two brothels, and a gambling house, all of which had burning torches in the sconces outside their doors. Dozing men, mostly humans and elves, lay slouched against the sides of the buildings, and half-naked women were wandering to and fro looking for someone in need of companionship.

  Sadira stopped at the edge of the square and removed the blood-spattered cloak she was wearing. With the inside of a sleeve, she wiped the dust and sweat from her face, then stuffed the cloak into the satchel that held her spellbook. She ran her fingers through her amber hair in a half-successful attempt to remove the tangles. Despite her efforts, she knew she could not look even close to her best. Her recent run had left her chest heaving and her slender legs trembling with fatigue. Still, once she had done all she could to make herself presentable, she crossed the square to a wineshop whose entrance was adorned with a picture of a drunken giant.

  Inside, a brawny man with a balding head and an unkempt red beard stood behind a marble counter, using a ladle of carved bone to serve fermented goat's milk to three bleary-eyed patrons. As Sadira entered the shop, she caught the barman's eye, then casually drew her hand across her full lips and delicate chin. He nodded toward the back of the shop, then whispered something to one of his customers. The patron immediately rose and stumbled out of the shop.

  Sadira went to the back and sat on a small granite bench, placing her shoulder satchel beneath it. To her surprise, the red-bearded server brought her a mug of tart-smelling sapwine. As he approached, she smiled and said, "You know I don't have any money."

  "I know, but I can see you need something to eat and drink," the brawny barman said.

  "Why?" Sadira demanded, feeling embarrassed. She touched her fingers to her cheeks, suddenly frightened that she had missed a spot of blood. "Do I have something on my face?"

  The barman chuckled and shook his head. "No, you just look like you're thirsty," he said, motioning to two drunks sitting at the counter. "At least that's what those fellows must have figured. They're paying."

  Sadira gave the two men an enticing smile, then downed the mug of fermented tree resin in a single gulp. As the drink's powerful kick hit her, she closed her long-lashed eyelids and shook her head. Handing the mug back to the barman, she announced, "I'll have another."

  "I think I'd better have a look at their purses," the barman laughed, accepting the mug. Before he returned to the counter, though, his face grew serious. "Are you in trouble?"

  Although the half-elf and the red-bearded man were familiar to each other by sight, she did not know how much to reveal. The only thing she knew about him was that he could reach her contact in the Veiled Alliance. Otherwise, both he and she had deliberately avoided prolonged conversations, for if the king's men caught one of them, the less they knew about each other the better.

  "A templar tried to seize me for the ziggurat, she said, leaving the matter with a simple explanation.

  The server nodded. "They've been confiscating slaves all day Press gangs have been through here three times arresting drunks. That's why the square is so quiet this evening." He fetched Sadira another mug of bitter wine, then asked, "Should I expect the templar that was after you?"

  The half-elf shook her head. "Not until the dead can walk."

  The man relaxed, his face betraying his relief. He handed the mug to Sadira, then sat the carafe next to her. "I'll pull the curtain just to be safe. By tipping that bench over, you'll open an escape tunnel. Use it if you hear anything strange out here."

  Sadira glanced at the stone couch. "Where does it lead?"

  "To UnderTyr," he said, "and a Temple of the Ancients."

  "No!" Sadira gasped. She knew very little about the ancient temples, except that they had been built before Athas had become a desert. According to rumor, most were filled with vast amounts of metal treasure defended by the ghosts of those who had worshiped long-forgotten, or long-dead, gods. "Under this wineshop?"

  "Not directly under it," the barman answered. "But if something happens and you use the escape tunnel, don't be in a hurry to find that temple. From what I hear, you'd be better served giving yourself over to Kalak's templars."

  With that, he stepped away and pulled a drape across the back of the shop. The drape was made entirely from snake scales that had been pierced and threaded together.

  Each scale had been sealed with shiny lacquer to preserve and heighten its natural color. The result was a scintillating curtain of many different hues—sandy yellow, rusty orange, cactus green, and a half-dozen others.

  Sadira drank her second mug of sapwine more slowly forcing herself to sip the powerful drink. Although she felt like gulping the entire mug to quench her thirst, with the curtain closed, she doubted that a refill would be forthcoming. The fermented resin was the foulest drink available in the wineshops of Tyr, but the half-elf still wanted to savor it. On Tithian's estate, all she ever received to drink was water.

  As the half-elf sipped the last of her wine, an old man stepped around the edge of the curtain. He had robust, proud features, with a heavy forehead accented by coarse white brows, a large, hooked nose between shrewd brown eyes, and a firmly set jaw. His beard was long and snowy. He wore a white, knee-length tabard, and over his shoulders hung an ivory-colored cape fastened at the throat with a copper clasp. In one hand he carried a mug filled with thick brown wine, and in the other a cane o
f dark wood. The cane's pommel, a ball of polished obsidian, was both unusual and striking. Sadira found it difficult to tear her gaze from the beautiful black sphere, but she did, for she knew its owner did not like people staring into it.

  The old man eyed the half-elf carefully, taking a long drink from his mug. At last, he pointed his cane at her and asked, "What are you doing here, young lady? I didn't send for you."

  "It's good to see you, too, Ktandeo," Sadira replied, smiling warmly. She rose and wrapped the man in her willowy arms.

  "Watch my drink!" he snapped, holding his mug away from his body as a few drops of its contents sloshed over the edge. "This is the good stuff."

  Sadira was unintimidated by the old man's peevishness. She was as close to him as any man and knew that beneath his surly manner lay a kind heart.

  A few days before Sadira's twelfth birthday, Tithian had hired a cantankerous old animal handler to train beasts for the arena. Ktandeo, who had sought the position in order to find a spy in the high templar's household, then chose the young girl to be his helper. Over the next year, he had examined Sadira's character, subtly presenting her with moral quandaries and tests of courage. The most vivid instance she recalled was when the old man had "accidentally" locked her in the cage with a hungry takis to see if she would panic. While he had fumbled with the latch, she stood motionless and let the bearlike creature sniff her from head to toe with its slime-oozing trunk. Ktandeo had not opened the door until the hulking animal bared its dagger-shaped fangs and started beating the floor with its bony tail-club. The only time Sadira had ever seen her mentor laugh was during the angry lecture that she gave him following her escape.

  Then, one High Sun morning after they had sent the current lot of animals to the games celebrating the new year, Ktandeo had come to help her clean the empty pens. He had asked her if she wanted to learn magic. Over the course of the next few weeks, he had taught her to fill the air with dancing lights. When she had asked to learn another spell, he had hesitated, saying he had already taught her too much. Only after weeks of her begging had he agreed to teach her another spell. This time, however, he had placed a condition on his gift. She would have to join the Veiled Alliance and serve it no matter what was asked of her.

  Of course Sadira had agreed, for she saw in magic an avenue to escaping her bondage. Over the next four years, Ktandeo had taught her many spells, but he had also instilled in her a sense of purpose that went beyond simple escape. He began to speak of revolution, of overthrowing the king and giving the slaves their liberty. It was not long before Sadira shared his dream and had dedicated herself to liberating all of Tyr.

  When Sadira reached sixteen and began to blossom into full womanhood, Ktandeo had brought his "daughter" to stay with him. Catalyna had been anything but a daughterly figure, with provocative eyes, a flirtatious smile, and a shapely body. Under her tutelage, Sadira had learned to make the most of her own beauty, and it was not long before she could procure an extra helping of faro needle gruel or a little extra water, using only the flash of an eye and a warm smile.

  Once her training was complete, Ktandeo had helped her sneak out of the compound, then had taken her into Tyr and shown her how to find him by coming to this wineshop. Shortly afterward, both he and Catalyna had vanished from Tithian's estate. Sadira had remained behind, quietly spying on members of the compound for the next five years. Mostly, her duties had consisted of using the techniques Catalyna had taught her to loosen the tongues of guards and overseers. Twice each year, she ventured into Tyr to report the little she had discovered and to learn a new spell or two.

  The young sorceress had finally decided to ask if there wasn't someplace she could be more useful. Then Rikus had appeared in the gladiatorial pits. She had duly reported the mul's presence to Ktandeo. A short time later, he had sent word to her to "become as close as possible to the new mul, suggesting the Alliance needed his cooperation for a very special project. She had since learned that the special project meant having Rikus attack Kalak with a magical spear during the ziggurat games.

  Clearing his throat, Ktandeo took a seat on the stone bench and folded his hands on the pommel of his cane.

  "Well?"

  Sadira remained standing. With a quaver in her voice, she said, "Rikus is injured. He may not live."

  The old man's face darkened.

  Sadira told her contact all that had occurred since morning, omitting only her use of the magical tentacles against the first guard at the Break. By the time she had described her attempt to charm Pegen, and her eventual escape, her wine was gone.

  For several moments, Ktandeo sat frowning in thought. Finally he looked up, his brown eyes dark with anger, and sharply rapped her knuckles with his cane's black pommel. "You are playing a dangerous game, girl."

  Sadira's slim jaw dropped at Ktandeo's accusatory tone. "What?" she gasped, rubbing her aching hand.

  The old man gave her a disapproving scowl. "Is your control so good that you can cast a half-dozen spells a day, all under stress, and maintain the balance? Someone of twice your experience wouldn't have the stamina. I shudder to think of the damage you did."

  Sadira was glad she hadn't mentioned the tentacle spell along with the others. Ktandeo would probably have declared her a defiler, a sorcerer who abused the land. According to the traditions of the Veiled Alliance, members who became defilers were executed.

  "And was it really necessary to murder three—"

  "A templar and two slave guards!" Sadira objected.

  "Still human beings," Ktandeo countered. "You sound as though you're proud of yourself."

  "What if I am?" the half-elf demanded, rising to her feet. "Any one of them would have flogged, raped, or murdered me in an instant. As far as I'm concerned, I got to them before they got to me. Why shouldn't I be proud?"

  The old man also rose. "Listen to yourself!" he snapped, angrily waving his cane over her head. "You sound like a templar! What's the difference between you and them?"

  "The same as the difference between you and Kalak," she retorted. "If you're going to assassinate the king, why am I wrong to kill his men?"

  "Kalak is the source of our evil. He's the one who has outlawed magic, who defiles the land, who makes slavery a way of life, who rules his subjects with murder and fear-"

  "You can't believe that once Tyr is rid of him, his templars and nobles will suddenly become servants of good?"

  Ktandeo shook his head vigorously. "Of course not," he said. "But Kalak is the foundation. Knock him out and the rest of the structure will fall."

  "Even without Kalak, you're not going to topple the bureaucracy and the nobility without bloodshed," Sadira objected. "So I don't see what's wrong with fighting now."

  "Nothing is wrong with fighting, or even with ambush and assassination—as long as you're freeing a group of slaves, destroying a brickyard, or working toward another worthy purpose. But to kill out of hatred..." Ktandeo let the sentence trail off. "It isn't worthy of you, girl."

  Sadira lashed out with her lean arm and swept their mugs off the bench. They hit the stone wall and smashed into dozens of pieces. "Don't you address me like a slave!" she spat, her pale eyes flashing with fire. "And don't judge me. What do you know about being a slave? Have you ever felt the whip upon your back?"

  After a tense pause she said, "I thought as much."

  The red-bearded man stepped around the curtain, a pair of flagons in his hands and a small blackjack tucked into his apron. "I thought I heard someone drop a mug," he said, eyeing the earthenware shards on the floor. "Here's refills." He cast a meaningful glance at Ktandeo, then added, "Try not to spill them."

  "Now look what you've done," said the old man after the barman had gone. His voice was gentler than it had been a few moments before. He sat back down and carefully laid his cane across his lap so that he wouldn't be tempted to swing it around. "Now that you've exposed yourself, you'll have to go to another city."

  "I'm not leaving," Sadira replied,
struggling to keep from raising her voice. "I'm not ready to leave Rikus."

  "Rikus? What about him?" Ktandeo asked. He took a long draught from his mug.

  "I haven't asked him to throw the spear," Sadira answered. "In fact, he still doesn't know I'm in the Veiled Alliance."

  "At least you followed those instructions," the old man said.

  "I do try." Sadira felt a tear running down her cheek and quickly turned away to wipe it off her face. Ktandeo was the closest thing to a father she had ever known. Despite the fact that she thought he was being overly sensitive about the guards she had killed, the confrontation with him distressed her more than she liked to admit. When she turned her attention back to Ktandeo, the old man's brown eyes had softened, but he still held his jaw firmly set. "Once Tithian hears how you saved Rikus, he'll know you wear the veil. He'll look under every cobblestone in Tyr to find you."

  "But if I leave, who'll ask Rikus to throw the spear?" she objected.

  "Right now, I don't even know if there's going to be a spear to throw," Ktandeo said. "I haven't fetched it, and the way things are going, I won't be able to."

  "Why not?" Sadira demanded, alarmed.

  Ktandeo ran a large, liver-spotted hand over his wrinkled brow. "The king is striking at us," he said. "Already, his men have stormed the houses and shops of fifteen members. In defending themselves, they have killed fifty templars and a dozen half-giants, but the enemy is trying to capture our people alive. Each time they succeed, the king's mindbenders learn another name or two, and a little more of our network is exposed. Sooner or later, they'll get a grand councilor. When that happens..."

  Sadira resisted the temptation to ask what could possibly be more important than killing Kalak, for if there was a legitimate answer, it would be better not to know it if she was captured. Instead, she said, "I'll get the spear for you. By the time I return, things will be calmer and I can talk to Rikus then."

  Ktandeo shook his head. "The spear is being made by a halfling chief. If I send anyone else to get it, he'll kill them."