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?”
&
nbsp; “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.”
The Amber Enchantress Page 23