The Verdent Passage

by Troy Denning

  "I'll take that chance," Sadira offered. "You just send a healer to make sure Rikus is alive when I get back."

  "I'm not sending you to a certain death; I'm sending you away to safety," Ktandeo said, automatically reaching for his cane. He thumped the tip on the floor, then added, "And why this doting on Rikus? There are plenty of other gladiators."

  "Not like Rikus," Sadira returned.

  Ktandeo raised an eyebrow. "And what's so different about the mul?"

  Sadira felt hot blood rise to her cheeks. "He's a champion" she said, taking a gulp of wine and setting her mug back on the bench. "He's the only gladiator you can be sure will live long enough to get a clean throw at the king during the games."

  "We'll find another time and place to attack, Ktandeo answered, looking away with an unconcerned expression.

  "If that were possible, you would have attacked him by now," Sadira said, realizing that Ktandeo was toying with her, probably in an effort to determine the extent of her attraction to Rikus. She rose, continuing, "You're the one who told me to get close to Rikus and I did. If that upsets you, I'm sorry. It doesn't change the fact that we need him. You've got to send help to him, and I've got to stay here until he's conscious again."

  "No! You're letting your emotions cloud your judgment!" Ktandeo growled, also rising. "Think! If you stay in Tyr and Tithian tracks you down, what can you tell him? Not only can you identify me and this wineshop, you can describe our whole plan to him!"

  Then make sure I don't get caught!" Sadira answered.

  "That would be impossible, especially considering the way you've been talking tonight," Ktandeo snapped, thumping her in the chest with his cane. "As for Rikus, if I sent him a healer and that healer got caught, which would be likely, Tithian would know we're planning something for the mul. He'd guess what it was in an instant, and then our plan would be no good at all."

  The old man paused to scowl at Sadira. She could feel her lips trembling, but she did not know how to respond to Ktandeo. What he said made sense, but she could not accept the old man's cold logic. Rikus was more than a hulking mass of muscle who they hoped would kill Kalak, and she was more than a lifeless puppet to be discarded when she was no longer of any use.

  "You're treating us no better than our master does!" Sadira snapped. She reached beneath the bench and snatched her shoulder satchel. "I'm not leaving Tyr until Rikus is well and I've spoken to him!"

  Before the old man could make a move to stop her, the half-elf threw the curtain aside and rushed toward the front of the wineshop. As she pushed past the patrons who had bought her first two mugs of sapwine, Ktandeo's voice boomed, "Come back here!"

  Sadira ignored him and rushed into the plaza, instinctively starting back down the street in the direction from which she had come. Before she had taken three steps, she saw several half-giants blocking the alleyway a short way ahead. The leader wore a helmet with a huge purple plume, a corselet made from the scaly underbelly of a mekillot, and a wide belt with a massive obsidian sword dangling from it. In his hands he held a pair of leashes.

  At the other end of the leashes strained a pair of cilops. The giant centipedes stood as tall as Sadira and were more than fifteen feet long. Their flat bodies were divided into a dozen segments, each supported by a pair of thin legs. On their oval heads were three sets of pincer-like jaws, a single compound eye, and a pair of prehensile antennae that ran back and forth over the ground before the creatures.

  Sadira immediately backed out of the alleyway, for the cilops were an escaped slave's worst nightmare. She had heard stories of the horrid things tracking men across ten miles of stony barrens—more than a week after the slaves had passed and a wind storm had covered their trail with two inches of dust.

  "That's the girl!" cried a half-giant's familiar voice. "She's the one who killed Pegen!"

  Sadira's first instinct was to run for the wineshop before the half-giant released the cilops. As she spun around and looked toward it, she saw both Ktandeo and the red-bearded barman watching her from its doorway, their curious faces betraying no hint that they knew her.

  "Stop, slave!" cried the lead half-giant. "Stop or I'll let me babies go!"

  Sadira quickly realized she could not return to the shop with the half-giants so close behind. Not only would she be likely to expose it as an Alliance rendezvous, she would be risking Ktandeo's capture. As angry as she was at him, she knew that was a risk she could not take.

  Instead she turned away from the shop and rushed for another dark alley. There was not much likelihood that she would escape, but she knew her best chance lay in luring the cilops into the labyrinth of alleys in this section of the city and trying to confuse them by crossing and recrossing her own path.

  Behind her, the half-giant cried, "Last chance!"

  Sadira glanced over her shoulder and saw that the leader and his tracking beasts had stepped into the plaza. Beneath the sign of the Drunken Giant, Ktandeo and the barman were still watching with calm looks of curiosity on their faces, though the old man was anxiously tapping his cane on the ground.

  "Girl, over here!"

  When Sadira returned her attention to the direction she was running, she saw a seven-foot figure poking his lanky torso and gaunt-featured head from an open door. He had pale, yellowish skin, dark hair, and pointed ears, with smooth, almost feminine cheeks and lips. His fleece cloak was obviously expensive, as was the garish feathered cap on his head.

  "Of all the terrible luck," Sadira cried.

  The elf flashed a broad grin, then drew a flask from beneath his cloak. "This will throw even the cilops off your scent," he said. "I promise."

  Sadira looked over her shoulder again, considering what her chances of escape might be without the elf's help. The half-giant had moved several steps into the plaza and was just withdrawing his pets' leashes from their collars. Behind him, the two gate guards and several more half-giants were rushing from the dark alley.

  Sadira ran toward the elf, whispering, "I know I'm going to regret this."

  FIVE

  Shadow Square

  The old man paused at the entrance to a narrow alley and peered down the shadowed corridor as if gauging the likelihood of being attacked there. Agis caught up to the fellow and gently tapped him on the shoulder. The man spun around, raising his wooden cane as if to strike with its pommel, a remarkable ball of polished obsidian.

  "What?" the old man demanded, thumping the noble on the chest with the cane's tip. He had robust, proud features with a hooked nose and a long mane of white hair.

  "Pardon me," Agis said. He lifted his hands so it would be clear he intended no violence. "I'm not familiar with the streets of the Elven Market. Would you be kind enough to direct me to a suphouse called the Red Rank? It's located in Shadow Square."

  The old man frowned, then asked, "What do you want in a place like Shadow Square?"

  Agis raised his brow, for the Elven Market was not the kind of place where strangers asked those sorts of questions. "The same thing as anyone else who goes there," he answered evasively.

  Though the noble didn't have a clear idea why most people went to Shadow Square, the answer was the only one he would give. He had no intention of telling the old man his true reason for going to the Red Kank, which was to meet an influential group of his fellow senators. They wanted to discuss the Senate's response to Kalak's slave confiscations, and all of them had agreed it would be best to meet in a place templar spies were not likely to frequent.

  The stranger studied Agis for several moments without replying. The noble was just about to leave when the fellow finally said, "You'd be well-advised to avoid Shadow Square. It's no place for someone of your class to go-especially alone."

  "Your concern is well-taken," Agis said. "If you'll direct me to the Red Kank, I'll no longer be alone."

  The old man shook his head in resignation. "I hope your companions have more sense than you do," he grunted, pointing his cane down the street. "Walk down this street
until you reach the pawnshop, then take the alley to the left. It opens into Shadow Square."

  "My thanks," Agis replied, reaching for his purse.

  The man laid his cane sharply across the noble's hand. "I don't want your coin, son," he said. "If you expect to leave the market alive, don't flash your gold around."

  Agis took his hand away from his purse, ignoring the dull ache in his knuckles. "Any other advice?"

  "Yes," the white-haired man said. He moved his cane to the noble's back, then tapped the steel dagger concealed beneath his cloak. "No matter what happens, keep that thing in its sheath. You'll live a lot longer."

  In light of the stranger's earlier advice to avoid Shadow Square, this last comment seemed deliberately ominous.

  "Is there some reason you're trying to keep me out of Shadow Square?"

  "Not really" the old man replied. It makes no difference to me whether you live or die." With that, he turned and stepped into a nearby alley.

  Agis frowned at the stranger's parting words, then signaled Caro to join him. He had instructed the dwarf to wait behind so the old man would not be alarmed by the approach of two strangers. After the blows his knuckles and chest had suffered, the noble was glad he had not startled the old fellow any more than he had.

  As the valet hobbled forward, Agis marveled again at the aged dwarf's ingenious escape from Tithian's press gang. A thirsty and bruised Caro had returned to the Asticles estate the same evening that the high templar had confiscated Agis's male slaves. According to the dwarf's report, he had pretended to collapse after a few miles of walking. When the templars kicked and lashed him to get him moving again, Caro had refused to budge or even look up. Finally Tithian had ordered the dwarf abandoned at the roadside. After the column had moved on, Caro had walked back to the estate.

  Agis was surprised that such a simple escape plan had worked, but not that Caro had returned. The old slave had devoted his entire life to serving the Asticles family and, in typical dwarven fashion, he was willing to endure any hardship rather than break his commitment.

  Once Caro reached his side, Agis pointed down the alley and said, "The old man warned me not to go to shadow Square. Have you ever heard that there's anything particularly dangerous about it?"

  No, but I doubt that your friends would have suggested you meet there if that were the case," Caro replied, squinting up at Agis.

  On one of Caro's wrinkled cheeks was a yellow bruise the size of a fist. Hidden beneath the dwarf's robe were several similar marks and a few lash wounds. Though the evidence of his valet's beating angered the noble, he was relieved that the old servant had not suffered more. From the violence Caro had described, Agis had expected his slave to have any number of broken bones and deep, purple bruises from head to toe. Still, the senator knew even a minor wound could be painful, if not dangerous, for someone as old as Caro.

  "It's only been two days since your escape," Agis said. "Are you sure you're up to this?"

  "Didn't I say I was?"

  "Yes, but I know how dwarves are," the noble replied. "You'd die before you admitted you need to rest."

  "I'm fine," Caro replied. "Let's go."

  Agis started down the cramped street, his servant walking a step behind to watch for pickpockets. Though the midday sun could have baked bricks, the heat did not hamper the bustle of activity in the Elven Market.

  The street was lined by two — and three-story buildings that had not been plastered or painted, but simply left the natural grayish brown of their bricks. The first story of every building contained a shop with a broad door and a pass-through counter that opened to the sidewalk. The sly, leathery faces of elven merchants leered out of every window or door, inviting passersby inside to examine the exotic wares their tribes had brought to Tyr: unbreakable giant-hair ropes from Balic, fingerbone necklaces from Gulg, shields of impenetrable agafari wood from Nibenay, even fleece from the legendary Silt Islands.

  Sometimes an elf stretched his slim torso over a counter to tug at the sleeve of a well-dressed human or to pinch the purse of an unwary wanderer. Other times, one of the seven-foot shopkeepers blocked the path of an intimidated customer, babbling m a melodious voice about some worthless trinket.

  In the center of the street, men and women of all races scurried along in a tight-packed stream, their hands clutching their purses and their eyes alert for trouble. Here and there, the stream temporarily parted as it passed a pile of debris or a pair of brawling elves, no doubt serving as bait for cutpurses working the crowd.

  Agis walked down the middle of the avenue, for he had no interest in anything the elves had to offer. Most represented nomadic tribes that bought goods plentiful in one city and hauled them across the desert to sell in another place where such items were rare. In theory, this was what any merchant did, but the shifty elves were seldom satisfied with an honest profit. Elven tribes usually bought inferior goods and sold them at outrageous prices, or they raided legitimate merchants in the deep desert and sold the stolen cargo as their own.

  After several minutes of struggling through the crowd, Agis reached the point the old man had indicated—a dilapidated pawnshop, identified by the three ceramic spheres hanging over the door. He slipped out of the throng and stepped toward the alley, pausing to make sure Caro followed.

  "Hey, fellow!"

  The voice belonged to a golden-haired elf who leaned against a wall just outside the alley. Taller even than most of his kind, the elf wore a tawny burnoose wrapped around his lanky body and had a bronze, weatherbeaten face with cloudy blue eyes. "You lookin' for magic components? I got glowworms. I got wychwood. I even got powdered iron."

  "Isn't that stuff against the king's law?" Agis asked, hoping to silence the huckster.

  The elf raised his peaked chin. "You a templar?"

  "No."

  "Then what d'you care?" He looked away indignantly leaving the noble to stare at a pointed ear caked with dirt.

  Agis stepped into the alley, Caro following behind. The tall buildings provided some shade from the sun, but little relief from the oppressive heat of the day. Nevertheless, paupers and beggars had taken refuge in its shadows and lined both sides of the narrow corridor. As Agis picked his way through their legs, they silently extended their bony hands and filled the lane with desperate pleas for water and money.

  Resisting the temptation to part with a handful of coins, Agis glanced over his shoulder at Caro. "This is what comes when a king cares more about magic than he does his subjects," he said angrily. "If Kalak hadn't rejected my proposal to set up relief farms outside Tyr, these people would have food, water, and beds."

  "They're free," Caro replied. "At least they have that."

  "Freedom won't wet their throats," Agis snapped. "You've been a servant for most of your life. You know that such service means you'll always have enough to drink and eat, and a soft bed to sleep in."

  "I'd be glad to go hungry and thirsty a few days in exchange for my liberty," Caro replied, stepping to Agis's side.

  "Ever since you escaped from the press gang, you've been talking like this. Why?" Agis demanded. "Is there something you need? Just ask and you know I'll give it to you."

  "I need my liberty," Caro answered stubbornly.

  "So you can join these wretches? I won't do it. You're better off as my servant," Agis said. He swept his hand a the alley of derelicts. "They'd all be better off as my slaves."

  "But—"

  "I won't discuss it any further, Caro," Agis said, reaching the other end of the rank-smelling lane. "Don't bring the subject up again."

  "As you wish," the dwarf said, once again falling a step behind his master.

  The alley opened into a plaza, as the old man had promised. The scene in Shadow Square seemed more chaotic than the merchant row on the other side of the alley, but Agis saw nothing particularly dangerous. Dozens of tents had been pitched by elves either too poor or too cheap to rent a storefront. These elves were vainly accosting the dozens of half-elves,
dwarves, and humans who carried large ceramic pots toward the center of the square.

  There, a templar and a pair of half-giant guards collected a small tax from the pot-bearers for the privilege of filling a jug from the public fountain. It was a slow and tedious process, with a long waiting line, for the fountain consisted of a single trickle of water spilling from the mouth of a stone statue. The artist had shaped a braxat from the stone, a huge, hunchbacked creature resembling a cross between a baazrag and a horned chameleon. It walked on its hind legs and had a thick shell covering its back and neck. Agis could not imagine why the king's sculptors had selected such a grotesque beast for a fountainhead, save that the city populace was always curious about the seldom-seen creatures that roamed the wastes. Looking away from the fountain, Agis walked along the edge of the square, carefully studying the symbols painted above the building doorways. There was no writing on the signs, for in Tyr, as in most other Athasian cities, only nobles and templars were permitted to read or write.

  At last, Agis came to a red sign portraying a man mounted upon a kank, one of the giant insects that caravan drivers often used as beasts of burden. The insect had an abdomen from which was suspended a globule of honey. Judging that he had reached the Red Kank, Agis entered the suphouse, Caro close behind.

  Lit only by a handful of narrow windows, the interior of the building was quite dim. As Agis stood near the door, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, the babble of voices inside quickly died.

  Once his eyes were accustomed to the shadows, he found himself standing in a small square room. Dozens of surly-looking elves stared at him with intolerant expressions, their hands firmly closed around mugs of fermented kank-nectar, known locally as broy.

  A beefy man wearing a filthy linen apron hitched his thumb toward a set of stairs. "Your friends are upstairs, my lord."

  Agis nodded his thanks to the proprietor, then ascended the stairs and stepped out onto a second-story veranda overlooking Shadow Square. In the background rose Kalak's mountainous ziggurat, looming over the plaza like a dark cloud.