Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 1 - The Verdent Passage (11 page)

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 threeÑ”

“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 assassinationÑas 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.”

“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 barrensÑmore than a week after the slaves had passed and a wind storm had covered
their trail with two inches of dust.