Troy Denning - The Amber Enchantress

Sadira forced a laugh from her throat, trying to sound both amused and surprised. “What makes you say a thing like that?”

Milo studied her for a moment, then motioned at the sorceress’s cane. “That does,” he said. “You carry a fine steel dagger on your hip, yet hardly seem aware of it, while you treat your cane as a warrior would a fine sword. If you walked with a limp, such a thing might be understandable, but one who dances as you do needs no crutch. Therefore, your cane must be a magical weapon, and you must be a sorceress.”

“Very observant, but you’re wrong,” she said, wishing her mind were not so clouded by broy. “The cane’s value is sentimental. It belonged to my mother.”

Milo smiled politely. “Was she a sorceress, too?”

Sadira scowled, wondering if Milo intended to abandon her here. Like most common people, caravan drivers seldom tolerated the presence of a sorcerer, blaming all spellcasters for the magical abuses that had reduced Athas to a wasteland. “If you’re so sure I’m a sorceress, why have you brought me so far?” Sadira asked.

“Because you’ve paid for your passage, and I am an honest man,” Milo answered. “Besides, I know the difference between defilers and honest sorcerers. If you were the type who ruined the land to cast a spell, you would not be going to visit the Veiled Alliance.”

The captain’s reasoning was logical. Although Sadira had never contacted any Veiled Alliance outside of Tyr, she had heard enough about the different societies to know none of them tolerated defilers. In spite of Milo’s reassurances, though, Sadira still thought it wiser not to admit her identity.

“Perhaps you are the sorcerer,” she said. “You certainly seem to know more about the Veiled Alliance than I do.”

“Not because I am a sorcerer, but because one of my wives dabbles in the art,” Milo said. He leaned closer to Sadira and, in a hushed voice, added, “She has been trying to contact those who wear the veil for many months. I was hoping you might assist her.”

“I’m sorry, I really wouldn’t know-”

Sadira stopped in midsentence, for again she heard the strange trill ringing above the ryl pipes. This time, being farther away from the music, she recognized the sound as the dulcet chirping of a singing spider. The half-elf had heard the sound only once before: on the other side of the Ringing Mountains, in the halfling forest.

Milo frowned at the sorceress. “What’s wrong?”

“Didn’t you hear that chirping?”

The captain nodded. “A bird of some sort. I don’t recognize what kind but-”

“Is wasn’t a bird,” Sadira interrupted. “It was a spider.”

“A spider that chirps-and that loud?” the captain replied, disbelievingly. “You were right-you have had too much broy.”

“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.