Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 1 - The Verdent Passage by Troy Denning Page A
Authors: Troy Denning
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cleaned her hand and the blade on his cassock, then ran
down the dark streets at a sprint.
The half-elf did not slow her pace until she had slipped between a pair of tenements into
a small square where five lanes met. The plaza was bathed in bright yellow light, for it
was surrounded by six wineshops, two brothels, and a gambling house, all of which had
burning torches in the sconces outside their doors. Dozing men, mostly humans and elves,
lay slouched against the sides of the buildings, and half-naked women were wandering to
and fro looking for someone in need of companionship.
Sadira stopped at the edge of the square and removed the blood-spattered cloak she was
wearing. With the inside of a sleeve, she wiped the dust and sweat from her face, then
stuffed the cloak into the satchel that held her spellbook. She ran her fingers through
her amber hair in a half-successful attempt to remove the tangles. Despite her efforts,
she knew she could not look even close to her best. Her recent run had left her chest
heaving and her slender legs trembling with fatigue. Still, once she had done all she
could to make herself presentable, she crossed the square to a wineshop whose entrance was
adorned with a picture of a drunken giant.
Inside, a brawny man with a balding head and an unkempt red beard stood behind a marble
counter, using a ladle of carved bone to serve fermented goat's milk to three bleary-eyed
patrons. As Sadira entered the shop, she caught the barman's eye, then casually drew her
hand across her full lips and delicate chin. He nodded toward the back of the shop, then
whispered something to one of his customers. The patron immediately rose and stumbled out
of the shop.
Sadira went to the back and sat on a small granite bench, placing her shoulder satchel
beneath it. To her surprise, the red-bearded server brought her a mug of tart-smelling
sapwine. As he approached, she smiled and said, “You know I don't have any money.”
“I know, but I can see you need something to eat and drink,” the brawny barman said.
“Why?” Sadira demanded, feeling embarrassed. She touched her fingers to her cheeks,
suddenly frightened that she had missed a spot of blood. “Do I have something on my face?”
The barman chuckled and shook his head. “No, you just look like you're thirsty,” he said,
motioning to two drunks sitting at the counter. “At least that's what those fellows must
have figured. They're paying.”
Sadira gave the two men an enticing smile, then downed the mug of fermented tree resin in
a single gulp. As the drink's powerful kick hit her, she closed her long-lashed eyelids
and shook her head. Handing the mug back to the barman, she announced, “I'll have another.”
“I think I'd better have a look at their purses,” the barman laughed, accepting the mug.
Before he returned to the counter, though, his face grew serious. “Are you in trouble?”
Although the half-elf and the red-bearded man were familiar to each other by sight, she
did not know how much to reveal. The only thing she knew about him was that he could reach
her contact in the Veiled Alliance. Otherwise, both he and she had deliberately avoided
prolonged conversations, for if the king's men caught one of them, the less they knew
about each other the better.
"A templar tried to seize me for the ziggurat, she said, leaving the matter with a simple
explanation.
The server nodded. “They've been confiscating slaves all day Press gangs have been through
here three times arresting drunks. That's why the square is so quiet this evening.” He
fetched Sadira another mug of bitter wine, then asked, “Should I expect the templar that
was after you?”
The half-elf shook her head. “Not until the dead can walk.”
The man relaxed, his face betraying his relief. He handed the mug to Sadira, then sat the
carafe next to her. “I'll pull the
down the dark streets at a sprint.
The half-elf did not slow her pace until she had slipped between a pair of tenements into
a small square where five lanes met. The plaza was bathed in bright yellow light, for it
was surrounded by six wineshops, two brothels, and a gambling house, all of which had
burning torches in the sconces outside their doors. Dozing men, mostly humans and elves,
lay slouched against the sides of the buildings, and half-naked women were wandering to
and fro looking for someone in need of companionship.
Sadira stopped at the edge of the square and removed the blood-spattered cloak she was
wearing. With the inside of a sleeve, she wiped the dust and sweat from her face, then
stuffed the cloak into the satchel that held her spellbook. She ran her fingers through
her amber hair in a half-successful attempt to remove the tangles. Despite her efforts,
she knew she could not look even close to her best. Her recent run had left her chest
heaving and her slender legs trembling with fatigue. Still, once she had done all she
could to make herself presentable, she crossed the square to a wineshop whose entrance was
adorned with a picture of a drunken giant.
Inside, a brawny man with a balding head and an unkempt red beard stood behind a marble
counter, using a ladle of carved bone to serve fermented goat's milk to three bleary-eyed
patrons. As Sadira entered the shop, she caught the barman's eye, then casually drew her
hand across her full lips and delicate chin. He nodded toward the back of the shop, then
whispered something to one of his customers. The patron immediately rose and stumbled out
of the shop.
Sadira went to the back and sat on a small granite bench, placing her shoulder satchel
beneath it. To her surprise, the red-bearded server brought her a mug of tart-smelling
sapwine. As he approached, she smiled and said, “You know I don't have any money.”
“I know, but I can see you need something to eat and drink,” the brawny barman said.
“Why?” Sadira demanded, feeling embarrassed. She touched her fingers to her cheeks,
suddenly frightened that she had missed a spot of blood. “Do I have something on my face?”
The barman chuckled and shook his head. “No, you just look like you're thirsty,” he said,
motioning to two drunks sitting at the counter. “At least that's what those fellows must
have figured. They're paying.”
Sadira gave the two men an enticing smile, then downed the mug of fermented tree resin in
a single gulp. As the drink's powerful kick hit her, she closed her long-lashed eyelids
and shook her head. Handing the mug back to the barman, she announced, “I'll have another.”
“I think I'd better have a look at their purses,” the barman laughed, accepting the mug.
Before he returned to the counter, though, his face grew serious. “Are you in trouble?”
Although the half-elf and the red-bearded man were familiar to each other by sight, she
did not know how much to reveal. The only thing she knew about him was that he could reach
her contact in the Veiled Alliance. Otherwise, both he and she had deliberately avoided
prolonged conversations, for if the king's men caught one of them, the less they knew
about each other the better.
"A templar tried to seize me for the ziggurat, she said, leaving the matter with a simple
explanation.
The server nodded. “They've been confiscating slaves all day Press gangs have been through
here three times arresting drunks. That's why the square is so quiet this evening.” He
fetched Sadira another mug of bitter wine, then asked, “Should I expect the templar that
was after you?”
The half-elf shook her head. “Not until the dead can walk.”
The man relaxed, his face betraying his relief. He handed the mug to Sadira, then sat the
carafe next to her. “I'll pull the
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