“No,” Sadira insisted, laying her cane in the crook of her arm. “These spiders are huge. The halflings of the Ringing Mountains hunt them for food—”
“We’re a long way from the mountains,” said Milo.
Sadira had to agree. The spiders were gentle creatures that made their homes in trees and fed themselves on puffy fungus that covered the forest floor. It did not seem likely that they could survive a trip into the desert, where there were neither many trees nor any fungus, yet the sorceress felt certain the chirping was very close to the sound the beasts made when they rubbed their spine-covered legs together.
“If isn’t the spiders, it’s someone imitiating them—and doing very well at it.” Sadira said.
“Like who?”
“It can only be halflings,” the sorceress said. “Their normal language is half bird squeaks and squawks. What I heard is probably a dialect they use to hunt spiders.”
“Halflings don’t come into the desert.”
“These have,” Sadira said. “You’d better prepare for battle.”
The captain rolled his eyes. “Please. The sentries have seen nothing—”
“And they won’t, until it’s too late,” Sadira countered. When Milo still made no move to stop the dancing, the sorceress said, “Come with me. I’ll show you.”
With that, Sadira walked over to the wall. Milo followed a step behind, reaching beneath his wrap to draw an obsidian blade. The pair climbed out of the campsite, then dropped into the dark sands outside the ancient foundation. The two moons lit the crests of the surrounding dunes in a shimmering yellow glow, leaving the troughs bathed in impenetrable purple shadows. Like a range of snorting hillocks, the silhouettes of the inixes loomed a short distance to the west. A gentle breeze blew from their direction, carrying on its breath the mordant smell of their reptilian bodies.
Sadira’s kank was staked few yards apart from the rest of the caravan mounts, isolated from the larger beasts to keep it from being inadvertently trampled. Like the inixes, her mount still carried its cargo—her personal belongings and her waterskin—in case the caravan had to leave in a hurry. A dozen spear-carrying sentries prowled among the animals, watching for elves or predators that had snuck into the area hoping to find an easy meal.
Milo started toward the animals, but Sadira caught his arm and led him in the opposite direction. “Halflings are hunters,” she explained. “They’ll all approach from downwind, where the inixes can’t smell them.”
“Lead the way. They’re your halflings.”
Sadira took him around the north side of the foundation, to a short stretch of moonlit cobblestones—all that remained of the ancient road the tower had once guarded. The lane ran a dozen yards north before being swallowed by the endless sands of the desert. The half-elf paused here, listening for signs of the halfings, then dashed into the sands across the road. Milo followed a few steps behind, easily keeping up with her in spite of his awkward robe.
Sadira guided them into the a dark trough and waited. Soon, her elven vision began to function, lighting the night up in a vivid array of colorful shapes. The special eyesight was one of the few inheritances she valued from her father. When no other light source was present, it allowed her to see in the dark by perceiving the ambient heat that all things emitted.
Sadira instructed Milo to grip the tip of her cane, then set off through the pink-glowing sands. She had to stay in the dark troughs and not look at the glittering crests of dunes. Even the weak light of the moons would wash out her elven vision, rendering her as sightless as a man staring into the crimson sun. Still, by staying in the shadows, she would have the advantage over any halflings they happened upon. The little men did not share the gift of elven vision and were as unseen in the dark as humans.
Despite his own blindness, Milo easily kept pace with Sadira. Within a few minutes, they had snuck a hundred yards into the sands, and the half-elf stopped at the base of a large dune. To their right was a small expanse of rocky, moonlit scrubland, with even higher dunes on the far side. In order to proceed any farther, they would have to cross the open area or climb over the mound ahead. Sadira elected to wait here, for any halflings approaching camp from this general area would face the same obstacles.
“Do you see something?” whispered Milo.
Sadira shook her head, then remembered he could not see the gesture in the dark. “No,” she said. “It’s better to hide. If the halflings hear us moving about, we’ll never find them.
They waited several minutes, the music of the ryl pipes drifting to them on the wind. Sadira’s body responded to the melody or its own accord, and she could only keep from swaying to its rhythm through a conscious act of will. Milo did not show as much restraint as she did, letting his head bob in time to the insistent beat.
At last, a short trill sounded from the other side of the moonlit expanse. It was answered immediately by another, and then a third.
“Do you hear that?”
“Yes,” Milo replied.
“Come with me,” Sadira said, concluding that her quarry was approaching camp somewhere beyond the open expanse.
The sorceress stepped onto the edge of the scrubland, then waited while the moonlight washed out her elven vision. The sweet smell of newly cropped tinchweed was mixed with the sour odor of fresh inix dung, and the sorceress guessed that this was where the drivers had grazed their mounts at dusk. The halflings had probably been here even then, watching in silence—no doubt looking for her and the cane that she had neglected to return to Nok. It was an unfortunate time for the halfling chieftain to decide that he wanted his weapon back, for she had no intention of giving it to him.
After Sadira’s sight returned to normal, she started across the brush-flecked field at a sprint with Milo close behind. They were about halfway across when a loud trill sounded from the shadows just ahead. Sadira halted, realizing that the halflings were even closer than she had thought.
Milo continued past her, whispering, “Let’s catch him!”
A thick-tongued voice cried out from ahead. “No, Milo!”
“Osa?” he gasped. A strident chirp sounded from ahead of the captain. He stopped abruptly and raised his sword, crying, “By Ral’s light!”
As Sadira moved forward to see what was wrong, the tip of a barbed spear burst through Milo’s back. When the sorceress reached his side, she saw that a halfling had risen from the center of a spinifex bush and attacked. The warrior’s eyes were gleaming yellow as he pushed his small spear further into Milo’s body.
Screaming in anger, the sorceress brought the obsidian pommel of her cane down on the halfling’s tangled mess of hair. It struck with a sharp crack, and the halfling collapsed in a heap.
Milo dropped his sword and stared at the spear in his stomach with disbelieving eyes. As the captain pitched onto his face, something rustled behind Sadira. She spun around and saw a halflling crawling toward her on his belly. The sorceress did not give him a chance to stand. She leaped to the warrior’s side and smashed his head again and again with her cane.
Sadira heard a set of heavy footsteps, then looked around to see Osa’s bulky form rushing toward her. The mul was limping badly, and the sorceress could see that the shaft of a barbed spear protruding from the woman’s thigh.
Osa stopped at Milo’s side and felt his pulse. When she detected no heartbeat, the mul kissed him in a last farewell, then snatched up his sword and looked to the sorceress. “Go!” she said, nodding toward the dune from which her husband and Sadira had come.
“I’m sorry about—”
Sadira did not have a chance to finish her apology, for Osa leaped to her feet and resumed her sprint across the moonlit field. The sorceress ran after the limping mul, but could not keep up even at her best pace.
As they approached the shadows where Sadira and Milo had hidden, several trills sounded ahead. Sadira stopped immediately, realizing a group of halflings was lurking in the darkness. Osa continued on, oblivious to the so
unds.
The sorceress pointed the palm of one hand toward the ground, spreading her fingers apart. Shutting out all other thoughts, she focused on her hand, summoning the energy for a spell. The air beneath her palm shimmered, then power began to rise from the ground into Sadira’s body. As soon as she felt the surge weaken, the half-elf closed her fist and cut off the flow. If she had pulled more energy into her body, she would have killed the plants from which she drew it, defiling the soil and rendering it barren for ages to come. By stopping when she had, however, the sorceress had caused no permanent damage to the land. Within a day, the shrubs would recover their lost life-force and continue to grow as if they had never been tapped.
By the time Sadira had gathered the power for her spell, a small group of halflings had moved to the edge of the field. Osa raised her sword and they raised their spears. Sadira grabbed a handful of pebbles from the ground and, uttering her incantation, threw them toward the warriors.
The stones shot past Osa with a loud clap of thunder. Each missile struck a target square in the chest, knocking the halfling off his feet and sending him sprawling to the ground in a spray of blood.
The sorceress had no chance to gloat over her victory, for another halfling cried out behind her. Sadira hazarded a glance over her shoulder and saw the silhouette of a warrior gesturing in her direction. Wasting no more time, the half-elf rushed to Osa’s side and pulled the mul into the sands. Together, they ran into the shadows of the large dune and stopped there to see what the halflings would do next.
“You throw rocks?” Osa asked, her eyes fixed on the halflings that the magical stones had killed.
Sadira nodded, wondering whether it would be better to sneak or run back to the campsite. Either way, there was no doubt that they should stay in the shadowy troughs between the dunes. Like half-elves, muls could perceive ambient heat when there was not enough light to see otherwise.
As Sadira was considering the problem, dozen of trills sounded from the other side of the field. She looked toward the sounds, but could see nothing beyond the open expanse of moonlit ground. The half-elf stepped farther into the shadows and lifted her cane.
“That sound like army, not hunting party,” said Osa, her thick voice too loud.
Although Sadira agreed with the mul’s conclusion, she was too stunned to say so. It appeared an entire tribe of halflings had come down from the mountains. Realizing that the caravan’s only hope of escape lay in her hands, Sadira lifted her cane. “Nok,” she whispered, activating its magic.
She felt the weapon begin to draw its energy from her body, and a purple glow twinkled to life within the obsidian pommel. At the same time, dozens of halfling warriors charged into the field. Sadira pointed the tip of the cane at them.
Before the sorceress could utter the name of her spell, Osa grabbed her arm. “Leave,” the mul ordered, dragging Sadira into the shadows. “We run.”
Sadira tried to pull free, but the woman’s grip was too powerful. “Let me go!” the sorceress yelled. “I can kill half of them now!”
If she heard Sadira’s protests, Osa gave no indication. Instead, still limping because of the javelin in her thigh, the mul dragged the sorceress into the darkness between the dunes. The halflings raced after the women, calling to each other in the chirping language of the forest spiders. Sadira wrapped the hem of her cloak over the cane pommel, masking the purple light that glimmered from its depths.
Even after Sadira’s elven vision had begun to work again, Osa did not release her. Instead, the mul kept her hand on the sorceress’s arm, leading the half-elf first into one dark trough and then down another. As they rushed past the walls of pink-glowing sand that enclosed them, Sadira was strangely conscious that the music in the campsite continued to play, its melody strained and worrisome.
Despite Osa’s evasive maneuvers, the halflings had little trouble following, tracking the two women by the soft patter of their feet. Each time the mul led the way through an intersection, a few halflings went down the second trough, sealing off any possibility that their quarry could circle back toward the caravan. Soon, the dunes were filled with the trilling of halfling warriors, and Sadira knew that she, at least, would be exhausted long before they could evade their pursuers.
After Osa had led them down what seemed the hundredth side trough, Sadira heard the twang of a bow. The blue streak of a tiny arrow flashed past her head, and the sorceress cringed with fear. Though the dart itself would cause a little injury, the last halfling arrow she had seen had been tipped with a powerful poison.
Another half-dozen bowstrings hummed, and more arrows flew toward Sadira and Osa. Fortunately, even halfling archers were not very accurate when firing on a dead run, and the darts all hissed harmlessly into the sand. Still, Sadira was far from relieved. It would not be long, she knew, before one of the shafts found its mark.
“We’ve got to do something,” Sadira hissed.
Knowing it was useless to call out to the earless mul, Sadira opted for direct action. As they approached the next intersection, the sorceress pumped her legs as fast as she could and slammed into the other woman’s back. Osa sprawled headfirst into the sand dune, dragging the half-elf down and hissing in pain as she banged the javelin still protruding from her thigh.
Sadira rolled onto her back and faced the halflings. Her maneuver had confused the warriors only momentarily, and those in front were already moving toward the sound of her labored breathing. The sorceress pointed her cane at them, allowing the hem of her robe to slip off its glowing pommel. The halflings swung their spears and tiny arrows in the direction of the purple light.
The warriors loosed their weapons in the same instant Sadira cried the name of her spell, “Clear-river!”
With a loud roar, a stream of force rushed from the sorceress’s cane. The invisible river hurled the spears and poison arrows back toward the halflings, then slammed headlong into the warriors themselves. The little men opened their mouths to scream, but their voices could not be heard above the raging torrent of magical energy. They stood against its current for only a moment, then were ripped from their feet and sent tumbling into the darkness.
A few moments later, after the river and its roar had finally died away, Sadira grew aware of Osa lying at her side. The mul woman was studying her with an expression that was equal parts awe and fear.
“Let’s go,” Sadira said, motioning toward the music from the camp.
Osa shook her head, her blank gaze fixed on the sorceress’s cane.
“I won’t hurt you,” Sadira said, speaking slowly so the deaf woman could read her lips. “I want to help the caravan.”
The expression returned to Osa’s eyes. Seeming to collect her wits, she said, “No. I send sentries back before Milo die.” The mul’s eyes grew sad for just a moment, then she clenched her teeth and fought her emotions back. “Wait here for better time.”
Sadira frowned in confusion, but nodded.
Osa smiled, then motioned at the steel dagger hanging on Sadira’s hip. “Let me borrow.”
The half-elf unsheathed her dagger and gave it to the mul woman. Osa immediately sat down and began cutting the barbed javelin from her wounded leg. Sadira turned away to stand guard, in case any of the halflings still scurrying through the dunes happened to stumble upon them.
A few minutes later, the distant melody of the ryl pipes grew louder and more inviting. The halflings fell silent, and the sorceress suddenly found herself shuffling toward camp. She tried to stop, but the song could not be denied. Her body swayed and rocked of its own accord, the music filling her head with colors and gripping rhythms that she could not chase away.
Osa came up beside Sadira and slipped the sorceress’s steel dagger back into its sheath. “Now we go,” she said, speaking with her usual thick-tongued loudness.
Through a rip in Osa’s sarami, Sadira saw that the woman had removed the spear and bandaged the wound with a strip of cloth. The mul still moved with a slight limp, though i
t was much less pronounced than when the javelin had been embedded in her thigh.
Osa took the sorceress by the hand and, with a considerable exertion of strength, prevented her from dancing straight toward the music. Instead, she guided Sadira back through the dark furrows between the dunes.
As they came within sight of camp, Sadira saw that the halflings were also dancing toward the music. The short warriors were whirling through the air in a frantic swarm, hurtling spears or firing arrows toward the campsite. On the other side of the ancient walls stood the caravan drivers, swaying to the melody and shooting arrows into the savage horde that the ryl pipes had drawn out of the desert.
“We go around,” Osa said, pointing to where the inixes and Sadira’s kank were still tethered. As the sorceress had told Milo earlier, the halflings had indeed approached from downwind. The area on the other side of camp was completely free of enemy warriors.
Osa skirted the open sands and crossed the cobblestone road north of the tower, still dragging Sadira’s squirming form by the hand. Although the sorceress appreciated the wisdom of drawing the little warriors into the open, she also saw that the results of the effort were far from certain. With their double-curved bows and the protection of the stone wall, the drivers had a distinct advantage over their charging foes. On the other hand, two dozen of their number already lay in the bottom of the sandy pit, and the rain of halfling shafts was taking a steady toll on those who remained standing. If many more of the caravan’s archers fell, there would not be enough of them to keep the halflings from pouring over the wall.
Osa stopped near the inixes, a couple of dozen yards from the tower. “Safe. No one mistake you for halfling,” she said. “I go back for Milo,”
Sadira’s feet shuffled forward. Despite the situation, she found herself actually enjoying the compulsions of the music. She guessed that the ryl pipes relied on some manifestation of the Way. Although magic could be used to influence a target’s thoughts, it seldom exerted such control over the raw emotions of so many. It was unfortunate that the ryl players could not use their powers to achieve a more physical effect on the halflings.
The Amber Enchantress Page 6