had greeted her on previous trips, Tyr seemed as silent as
the desert. The great boulevard that circled the inner perimeter of the wall was empty
save for a handful of artisans and well-robed merchants dashing along with their eyes
focused steadfastly on the cobblestones The food and wineshops opposite the city wall,
usually lit by torches and oil lamps until the early hours of morning, were uniformly
dark. The rich aromas she remembered Ñ fried rotgrubs, spicy silverbush, fermented kank
nectar-were absent. In their place, she smelled only fetid animal dung and the acrid smoke
of burning black rock.
Sadira turned left along the great avenue, following a route that she had traveled not
more than two dozen times in her life. Pegen walked at her side, his heavy boots ticking
an even cadence on the cobblestones. A few minutes later, as night was falling over the
city, Pegen laid a hand on Sadira's shoulder. He pointed down an avenue snaking its way
between two rows of three-story mud-brick buildings.
“Aren't we going to the Tradesman's District?”
Sadira paused and looked down the avenue. It was a broad street, well-lit by flickering
torches in door sconces. The half-elf had no idea where the avenue led. “Marut's shop
doesn't lie that way,” she said, pointing down the boulevard they were already traveling
on. “It's farther down here.” Pegen frowned. “If you say so.”
After another three hundred steps, Sadira paused, then looked down a dark lane weaving its
way into a ramshackle region of dreary tenements and crumbling shanties. Though the
windows and doors of the mud-brick buildings were dark, the slave-girl's elven eyes
allowed her to see the sinister-looking residents who were watching the alley from every
fourth or fifth building.
“Doesn't this lead toward the Elven Market?” Pegen asked.
“My master's just a short distance down the way,” Sadira said. She stepped into the dark
alley before the templar could object.
The half-elf had gone no more than a few steps into the lane before she heard Pegen
stumbling over the loose cobblestones in the street. He laid his hand on her burden and
tugged.
“Wait!”
Sadira obeyed instantly, dropping her bundle on his feet. She reached beneath her cloak
and drew the obsidian dagger she had stolen from the guard in the Break. The human
templar, unable to see in the dark, stumbled over the sticks and fell. Sadira spun,
raising her dagger to strike.
The templar sprawled over the bundle face-first, cursing and struggling to push himself
back to his feet. Sadira realized that it would be a simple matter for her to disappear
into the labyrinth of shabby tenements in this pan of the city. Certainly that was what
the Veiled Alliance would have wanted, for her contact had instructed her never to
antagonize the king's bureaucracy unnecessarily.
“Help me up, you clumsy girl,” Pegen ordered. “I could have you lashed for this!”
“Wrong thing to say,” the half-elf said, deciding that “unnecessarily” was a relative term.
With her free hand, Sadira grasped his bronze pendant. She jerked it up so that the chain
lifted his double chin and exposed his corpulent neck. Pegen's eyes opened wide and looked
toward her face, but remained unfocused and fearful in the darkness. “What do you think
you're doing?” he demanded in a gasping voice.
“Seeing if this knife is sharp enough to cut through your fat throat,” Sadira answered,
laying the edge of her weapon's blade to the thick folds of skin beneath his chin-She had
to press hard, but the blade was sharp enough.
The feel of warm blood covered her hand. Pegen gurgled and clasped his hands over his
throat. He rolled off the bundle of sticks and lay on his back, his life slowly seeping
from between his fingers and his astonished eyes staring up at the night sky. Without
waiting for him to die, Sadira
the desert. The great boulevard that circled the inner perimeter of the wall was empty
save for a handful of artisans and well-robed merchants dashing along with their eyes
focused steadfastly on the cobblestones The food and wineshops opposite the city wall,
usually lit by torches and oil lamps until the early hours of morning, were uniformly
dark. The rich aromas she remembered Ñ fried rotgrubs, spicy silverbush, fermented kank
nectar-were absent. In their place, she smelled only fetid animal dung and the acrid smoke
of burning black rock.
Sadira turned left along the great avenue, following a route that she had traveled not
more than two dozen times in her life. Pegen walked at her side, his heavy boots ticking
an even cadence on the cobblestones. A few minutes later, as night was falling over the
city, Pegen laid a hand on Sadira's shoulder. He pointed down an avenue snaking its way
between two rows of three-story mud-brick buildings.
“Aren't we going to the Tradesman's District?”
Sadira paused and looked down the avenue. It was a broad street, well-lit by flickering
torches in door sconces. The half-elf had no idea where the avenue led. “Marut's shop
doesn't lie that way,” she said, pointing down the boulevard they were already traveling
on. “It's farther down here.” Pegen frowned. “If you say so.”
After another three hundred steps, Sadira paused, then looked down a dark lane weaving its
way into a ramshackle region of dreary tenements and crumbling shanties. Though the
windows and doors of the mud-brick buildings were dark, the slave-girl's elven eyes
allowed her to see the sinister-looking residents who were watching the alley from every
fourth or fifth building.
“Doesn't this lead toward the Elven Market?” Pegen asked.
“My master's just a short distance down the way,” Sadira said. She stepped into the dark
alley before the templar could object.
The half-elf had gone no more than a few steps into the lane before she heard Pegen
stumbling over the loose cobblestones in the street. He laid his hand on her burden and
tugged.
“Wait!”
Sadira obeyed instantly, dropping her bundle on his feet. She reached beneath her cloak
and drew the obsidian dagger she had stolen from the guard in the Break. The human
templar, unable to see in the dark, stumbled over the sticks and fell. Sadira spun,
raising her dagger to strike.
The templar sprawled over the bundle face-first, cursing and struggling to push himself
back to his feet. Sadira realized that it would be a simple matter for her to disappear
into the labyrinth of shabby tenements in this pan of the city. Certainly that was what
the Veiled Alliance would have wanted, for her contact had instructed her never to
antagonize the king's bureaucracy unnecessarily.
“Help me up, you clumsy girl,” Pegen ordered. “I could have you lashed for this!”
“Wrong thing to say,” the half-elf said, deciding that “unnecessarily” was a relative term.
With her free hand, Sadira grasped his bronze pendant. She jerked it up so that the chain
lifted his double chin and exposed his corpulent neck. Pegen's eyes opened wide and looked
toward her face, but remained unfocused and fearful in the darkness. “What do you think
you're doing?” he demanded in a gasping voice.
“Seeing if this knife is sharp enough to cut through your fat throat,” Sadira answered,
laying the edge of her weapon's blade to the thick folds of skin beneath his chin-She had
to press hard, but the blade was sharp enough.
The feel of warm blood covered her hand. Pegen gurgled and clasped his hands over his
throat. He rolled off the bundle of sticks and lay on his back, his life slowly seeping
from between his fingers and his astonished eyes staring up at the night sky. Without
waiting for him to die, Sadira
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