Troy Denning - The Amber Enchantress

The man, a nikaal with dust-covered scales and a black mop of hair, cocked his reptilian head about at odd angles, turning his recessed ear slits in all directions. When he heard nothing unusual, he repeated his command. “Dance!”

Sadira stepped away from the dancing ring, where women of many races-nikaal, human, tarek, even dwarves-were leaping about a sour-smelling fire of dried inix dung. The men stood gathered around the circle, either playing instruments or simply watching the dancing women with eager eyes. They were all dressed in Nibenese fashion, with a colorful length of cloth wrapped around the waist, then passed diagonally over the upper body. To Sadira, it looked as though the saramis might come unwound at any moment, but so far the robes had stayed in place even through the wildest gyrations of the dancers.

Once she escaped the dancing ring, Sadira turned to examine the rest of the campsite, searching for the haunting sound that had interrupted her trance. The caravan had stopped in the ruins of a toppled tower, a circular basin half-filled with sand and lit by the flaxen light of the two Athasian moons. The small compound was surrounded on all sides by what had once been the tower’s foundation, a jagged wall that still rose anywhere from a few feet to a few yards above the ground. Atop the ancient wall stood a half-dozen sentries, their eyes fixed on the dark sands outside the camp. The sentries showed no sign of alarm, or even curiosity. Sadira began to wonder if she had imagined the sound.

Hoping she would hear the trill again if she moved away from the music, the sorceress retrieved her cane and walked over to a large cask a few yards away. Next to the keg stood Captain Milo, an attractive, dark-skinned man with a well-kept beard and rakish smile. With Milo was his drive master, Osa, a female mul as hairless and as powerfully built as Rikus. She had a square face, with thin lips, enigmatic gray eyes, and a scar-laced scalp that suggested she had spent more than a few years in the gladiatorial ring. On the sides of her head were small holes, surrounded by lumps of fire-branded flesh that had once been ears.

The captain filled a mug and handed it to the sorceress. “You dance well, Lorelei,” he said, using the name Sadira had been given when she joined the caravan.

“It’s hard not to, once you’re out there,” the half-elf answered, noticing that the mul woman was watching her lips. “They’re playing more than music on those instruments.”

“The music is enchanting,” the captain agreed, giving her a noncommittal smile. “And I am happy that you partook of it. Most passengers do not understand. They think the women dance for the men’s pleasure, not their own.”

“I dance for both,” Sadira replied, giving him a crooked smile. “What’s the harm if I dance and a man watches? There are more dangerous things to do with an evening, and whose business is it, anyway?”

“Perhaps the business of one of the gentlemen who was with you when we met,” Milo suggested. “I was under the impression that one of them was your …” he hesitated, looking for the right word, then said, “your special companion.”

“Both of them were,” Sadira said, enjoying the astonishment her answer brought to the faces of the captain and his assistant. Smiling to herself, she took a long drink from her mug. The broy was warm and spiced with a pungent herb that disguised its underlying sourness while enhancing its enrapturing powers. “They’re both my lovers, but no man is master to me,” she said.

“Nibenay is a long distance to travel just to escape men who have no claim on you,” observed Osa, speaking with the thick tongue of one who could not hear her own words.”

“I travel not to escape someone, but on an errand,” Sadira said, realizing that her hosts’ questions were more than casual inquiries. “Why are you so interested in my reason for traveling to Nibenay?”

“We must know the cargo we carry-”

“Lorelei is not cargo,” Milo said reproachfully. He gave Sadira a friendly smile. “What Osa means is that we’re concerned for your welfare. Nibenay is not like Tyr. Lone women are always in great danger there. Perhaps you should stay with us in the compound of House Beshap.”

From the way Osa frowned, Sadira guessed that there was more to this invitation than simple kindness-and more to their relationship than that of captain and drive master.

“Thanks, but no,” Sadira said. “I’ll be safe enough.”

The captain did not look discouraged. “Then you know someone in Nibenay?”

“I can take care of myself,” Sadira answered. She lifted her mug to her lips and looked away, hoping to forestall any more questions.

Milo waited for her to empty the vessel, then said, “You really must allow me to be your guide.” He took Sadira’s mug, drawing a frown from Osa, and started to refill it. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Thanks, but no,” Sadira said, holding out a restraining hand.

“To which, my guide services or my broy?”

“To both,” Sadira answered. “I’ve had enough to drink. Besides, that’s not why I came over. I heard something earlier-a trill, somewhere out in the sands.”

“Hungry lirr,” Osa said. “I see pack at dusk.”

“All the same, have a look,” Milo ordered.

“Guards have ears, not me-”

“Do it!” the captain insisted.

“Yes, Captain!” Osa snapped, reaching beneath her sarami and withdrawing a curved blade of bone. She set her square jaw and glowered at Sadira briefly, then looked back to Milo. “Three wives enough,” she growled, glaring at him fiercely. With that, she stalked over to the wall.

“Three wives?” Sadira asked, watching the mul woman climb out of the campsite.

Milo’s swarthy skin deepened to a darker shade. “Two of them stay in Nibenay.”

“And the third?” Sadira looking toward Osa.

“What a man won’t do to keep a good drive master,” the captain said wistfully.

After Osa had disappeared into the darkness, Sadira said, “I was serious about that whistle, you know. I couldn’t quite place the sound, but I know I’ve heard it before-and it was no lirr.”

“Perhaps it’s raiders,” said Milo. “If so, they’ll be sorry they picked this caravan. Osa may not be my most beautiful wife, but she’s by far the best fighter employed by House Beshap.”

Sadira gripped the pommel of her cane more tightly. “Do you think we’re likely to be attacked?” she asked apprehensively.

“It has happened many times before. The desert is full of elves and other thieves,” the captain said, shrugging nonchalantly.

When he made no move to silence the camp, Sadira asked, “Aren’t you going to prepare for battle?”

“No. The drivers need their music,” Milo said. “Besides, if we had to stop dancing every time someone heard a strange sound in the desert, we would be a sad caravan indeed.” He returned his gaze to the whirling figures, letting his head bob to the beat of the finger drums. “About your visit to Nibenay,” he said, still watching dancers. “I wish you’d reconsider and stay at House Beshap. If one of the sorcerer-king’s agents should happen to see you dance, you would never be allowed to leave the city.”

Sadira was tempted to accept the offer, for few places in any city were as secure as a merchant house’s compound. Nevertheless, she wanted no watchful eyes, friendly or otherwise, tracking her movements while she was in Nibenay. “I won’t stay long,” she replied firmly, “and my acquaintances will look after me while I’m there.”

“You mean those who wear the veil?” the captain asked.

Under her breath, Sadira cursed. Although she had not given him much of a hint, the captain had guessed her plan accurately. Upon entering Nibenay, she intended to contact the Veiled Alliance, hoping that the secret league of sorcerers would provision her and help find a reliable elf-if such a thing existed-to guide her to the Pristine Tower.