The Verdent Passage Read online

  Boaz tried to pull free. Without looking away from Yarig, Rikus slammed him back into the gate. "Don't you think asking would have ruined the surprise?"

  "That doesn't matter," Yarig answered stubbornly. "This affects all of us. I don't care if you are the champion. You can't make decisions like this on your own."

  Rikus rolled his eyes, then let go of Boaz's broken wrist. "You're right," the mul said. "I'll let him go."

  Anezka shook her head urgently.

  Neeva turned a key in the gate lock and a loud click echoed in the cell. "Make up your mind, Yarig," she said.

  "We'll push Boaz over to the gaj, lock ourselves back in, and toss the keys in front of its pen," Rikus said, once more slamming the half-elf into the gate—this time only because he enjoyed doing so. "Everyone will think he was drunk, wandering around in here, and got too close to the cage."

  Yarig released the halfling and slowly lifted the gate. Once he had raised it high enough for Neeva to crawl beneath, she went into the corridor and restrained Boaz from the outside while Rikus left the pen.

  In both directions, the long corridor was lined with steel gates similar to the one from beneath which the mul had just crawled. In a few places, he could see claws or tentacles or vaguely humanlike hands protruding from between the bars, but otherwise every pen appeared identical.

  As Rikus stepped into the corridor, Neeva shoved Boaz toward a cage a short distance away. A powerful, acrid odor rose from the pen.

  "Rikus, maybe we should feed Boaz to a raakle instead of the gaj," Neeva said.

  No, Rikus! the gaj whined. You promised!

  The trainer cringed, and his eyes glazed with horror. Rikus did not blame him for being frightened. Raakles were brilliantly colored birds the size of half-giants, but their mouths were short tubular beaks no larger around than a man's fingers. They digested their prey by gripping it with their powerful, three-clawed feet, then spitting sticky acid over it. This fluid reduced bone and flesh alike to a pulpy ooze that the bird sucked up through its small mouth.

  Though he would have enjoyed hearing Boaz scream in the terrible agony of being digested alive, Rikus shook his head. "I gave my word," he said. "Besides, being eaten by a raakle can't compare to the pain the gaj will cause Boaz's mind."

  "If you say so." Neeva shoved the trainer toward the gaj's pen.

  Rikus laid a hand on his fighting partner's shoulder and shook his head. "I'll take him," Rikus said. He substituted his hand for the one that Neeva had been using to hold Boaz's bleeding mouth closed. "I want the pleasure of feeding him to the gaj myself."

  The gaj thrust its mandibles as far into the corridor as they would go. Rikus stepped toward the pen.

  Boaz mumbled something at the mul. Though the trainer was doing his best to appear menacing and confident, fear and panic softened his sharp features.

  The gladiator moved the hand covering the half-elf's mouth just far enough to hear what he had to say. "You'll "ever get away with this," Boaz hissed. "Tithian will know what happened, and Neeva will be the one who pays."

  "You're the only one who's going to pay," Rikus interrupted. The mul smashed a fist into the half-elf's rib cage. Boaz cried out, then began to wheeze.

  Please, Rikus, the gaj asked. Give him to me now.

  Boaz tried to call for help, but with his broken ribs and teeth, only incoherent mumbles came from his mouth. Rikus smiled, then pushed the half-elf across the corridor. The gaj's barbed mandibles closed on the trainer's abdomen, and a pair of whiplike antennae lashed out of the pen, entwining themselves around its victim's brow.

  Despite his injuries, Boaz found the strength to scream.

  SEVEN

  A Bidding War

  The instant Agis stepped into the hastily erected slave-yard, his eyes fell on a white-haired man standing amidst the crowd of nobles who had gathered there. Though the old fellow was only a few inches taller than the people around him, he stood out from the jabbering throng by virtue of his silent demeanor. Over his broad shoulders he wore an ivory-colored cape, and in his hand he carried an obsidian-pommeled cane that left no doubt in Agis's mind that the man was the sorcerer who had returned his dagger to him in Shadow Square.

  "What's he doing at a slave auction?" Agis murmured.

  "Buying slaves, I suspect," Caro replied sarcastically. "Isn't that what one does at these iniquitous affairs?"

  "You asked to come, Caro. If you don't intend to be good company, perhaps I should send you home," Agis replied.

  Along with fifty other lords and the sorcerer, Agis and Caro stood beneath the Elven Bridge, an ancient structure spanning the dusty bed of the Forgotten River. According to legend, the magnificent bridge had once crossed a broad, slow-moving estuary of glistening water Now the edifice was no more than a useless relic, for all that remained below it was a short bend of dry gulch sealed at both ends by piles of rubble. The only signs of water in the riverbed were white crusts of calcium and lime left on the bridge piers two decades past—the last time it had rained in Tyr.

  Currently an enterprising tribe of elves was using the area below the bridge as a slaveyard. They had created a small square by erecting four walls of dirty hemp and had invited a select group of nobles to attend a surreptitious auction. Judging by the bulging purses hanging from the nobles' belts today, the elves' trade promised to be a brisk one.

  Agis turned his attention to the old man. "Come along, Caro," he said, starting across the square. "Let's have a word with our friend."

  In the days following the uprising in the square, there had been no indication that the templars knew about Agis's participation in the affair. Neither had Jaseela been questioned. Agis might have banished the memory of his involvement in the whole matter, save that he found that he did not want to. In killing the half-giant, he had crossed some intangible line. Now, for better or worse, he was a rebel.

  With his aged manservant close behind, the noble worked his way through the crowd. Several acquaintances invited him to stop and gossip, but he risked seeming rude by giving them brisk replies and moving along.

  By the time he reached the sorcerer's side, a pair of seven-foot elves had already stepped into the makeshift square. They politely cleared a space in which they could display the slaves.

  "We meet again," Agis said, smiling at the sorcerer.

  The old man gave him a blank stare. "Do I know you?"

  Though Agis was certain the sorcerer recognized him, he decided to play along. "You were kind enough to give me directions to the Red Rank a few days ago."

  The old man's face remained sour and blank, but he said, "I see you survived your little expedition."

  "Yes, thank you," the noble replied, offering his hand. "I'm Agis of Asticles."

  The sorcerer ignored the introduction and looked away. "Don't give me reason to regret what I did for you."

  "It surprises me to see you here," Agis noted casually, ignoring the affront.

  "Nobles aren't the only ones who need slaves," the old man commented.

  "I didn't think the Veiled Alliance condoned slavery."

  The sorcerer raised an eyebrow. "You have mistaken me for someone else," he said. Without waiting for a response, he muscled his way through the crowd and left Agis behind.

  For a moment, the noble considered pursuing the old man to brooch the subject of a coalition between himself and the Veiled Alliance. Unfortunately, he suspected that pursuing the subject in a public place would make the sorcerer even less inclined to listen. The noble decided that if the old man was attending a slave auction, there was a good reason. By watching carefully, he might learn something that would enable him to approach the Alliance, and under better circumstances, as well.

  A pale elf with black hair stepped into the square. Instead of the typical desert burnoose that most elves favored, he wore a fine cloak of brushed fleece. The elf lifted his hands to quiet the crowd. "Gentlemen and gentlewomen, welcome. I am your host, Radurak, and it gives me great pleasure to presen
t to you a collection of slaves brought all the way from Balic—"

  "Your tribe hasn't been away from Tyr in six months," called a noble.

  Radurak tipped his hat to the noble. "The Runners of Guthay have many warriors," he said, grinning slyly. "A few of us have been to Balic more recently than you think."

  Several nobles expressed open skepticism at the statement. Though what Radurak claimed may have been true, it would have been difficult to move a sizable number of slaves across such a vast distance with only a few warriors. It seemed more likely that the elves had stolen the slaves from legitimate traders. Had it not been for the old man's presence and his own desperate need of slaves, Agis would have left at that moment. He did not like doing business with thieves.

  "I'm sure all of the commodities you offer come from legal slave stock," called another noble.

  "Of course," Radurak replied. "Unfortunately, the seals of ownership were taken by raiders, not fifty miles outside Tyr. You have ray word that every one of the fine specimens I sell today is my tribe's property."

  This brought a round of laughter from the skeptical lords. Finally a voice called, "Let's just get on with it! I want to have my slaves tucked safely inside my town-house by nightfall."

  Agis looked toward the speaker and saw that it was Dyan. He elected not to greet the portly noble, as he no longer felt a kinship with the cowards who had deserted him and Jaseela in the square.

  Radurak bowed. "By your request."

  For the rest of the day, Radurak and his elves presented a motley assortment of paupers, sots, and cretins they had assembled for the auction. After the first hour, Agis had no doubt that the entire bunch had been gathered from, the alleys of the Elven Market. At one point, the sorcerer lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow and Agis glimpsed a fat purse hanging from the belt beneath his white tabard. He had, indeed, come to buy something, though Agis could not figure out what.

  As the afternoon wore on, the nobles began to grumble about the quality of the stock and complain bitterly that half the slaves would die before they reached the estates. Radurak took their protests in stride and continued to smile, as well he might. The slaves were drawing ten times their value. Some desperate nobles were even bidding on men so feeble they had to be carried into the yard.

  Finally, as dusk began to fall and the square was plunged into swarthy shadows, the elves brought no more slaves into the makeshift yard.

  "I'm afraid you have depleted my stock," Radurak said.

  A disappointed murmur ran around the courtyard. As bad as the elf's slaves were, they were all that had been available in Tyr since Tithian's confiscations had begun.

  The pale elf smiled warmly, then raised his hands, "As a way of thanking you for your patronage, I have a special treat."

  Radurak clapped his hands twice. Immediately a pair of elves escorted a lithe half-elf female into the yard. For the benefit of their human customers, the elves carried a pair of torches that cast an enchanting yellow light over the slave-girl. Agis could see that she was as beautiful as any noblewoman, with a willowy figure and elegant features. Her long amber hair spilled over her shoulders in silky waves, and her pale blue eyes were as clear as the finest gem. Had Agis been the sort of man to take concubines, she was the woman he would have wanted.

  Radurak had dressed Sadira in a gossamer gown that revealed just enough of her charms to make any man want to see more, but she deliberately moved with an awkwardness that she hoped would make her seem inept and stupid. She was far from happy about being sold in Radurak's heinous auction and intended to do everything she could to bring him a small price.

  It had been Radurak who had offered Sadira refuge from the king's men three nights past. As soon as the half-elf had passed through the doorway from which the elf had hailed her, he had emptied a vial of noxious liquid on the threshold, filling the air with mordant fumes. They had stepped away from the doorway just before the cilops reached it, but Sadira had heard the animals let out terrible screeches of pain. The square then erupted into frightened screams as the beasts rushed blindly about, attacking anything they touched.

  Radurak had taken advantage of the confusion to lead Sadira through a tangle of halls and rooms, emerging in an alley on the far side of the building. As the sorceress had stepped out the door, several of the elf's tribesmen had seized her, binding and gagging her. Shortly afterward, Radurak had discovered her spellbook and taken it away, threatening to destroy the volume if she gave him any trouble. He had also offered to return it if she did not try to escape before she was sold. Sadira had reluctantly agreed to his terms, for her spells were too valuable to lose—though she had her doubts about whether or not he would keep his word. If not, she would think of a way to make him pay.

  "I personally bought this slender beauty in the slave markets of Gulg," Radurak lied, "where it was said that she is the daughter of the chieftain of the great Sari tribe—"

  "Master you have me confused with someone else," Sadira interrupted, smiling sweetly and batting her eyes at the repulsive elf. "I've never been out of the Tyr Valley"

  Her interruption brought a round of laughter from the nobles gathered in the yard, but Radurak was not amused. He stepped to her side and, cuffing her with the back of his hand, hissed, "Remember your book, wench!"

  Before Sadira could respond, Ktandeo's voice asked, "How much?"

  "Fifty gold," Radurak replied. It was elven practice to run an auction by naming a price and selling to the first person to match it, or failing that to sell to whoever came closest.

  "I'll pay it," Ktandeo replied.

  Sadira breathed a sigh of relief. Ktandeo had no doubt seen her accept Radurak's help, so she was not surprised that the old man had tracked her down. Neither was she surprised that he was coming to her aid, for as he himself had said, it would be disastrous if she fell into the templars' hands. The sorceress was shocked to see him taking the elf's price so quickly, however, for he had always struck her as a shrewder fellow than that.

  Radurak smiled at the old man. "You are a gentleman who appreciates quality, sir."

  An astonished murmur rustled through the crowd, for the price was five times what had been paid for any slave that day. It had grown too dark for Agis to read the sorcerer's expression, but he had no doubt that the slave girl was the reason for the old man's presence.

  "I'll pay fifty-five gold," Agis called, breaking with established bidding protocol.

  A charge of excitement shot through the crowd and Caro hissed, "You have fallen to a new low, Master."

  "I don't want her for myself," Agis explained, motioning his dwarf to be silent.

  "Sixty gold," the old man replied, his voice rock steady.

  Radurak looked from one man to the other, then shrugged and smiled. "It seems I have underestimated the value of my merchandise. My tribe is open to any offer."

  Agis started to speak again, then abruptly changed his mind. Suddenly, bidding against the old man seemed a foolish thing to do. He found himself thinking that he already owned hundreds of slaves and this one was really not as special as she looked. The thought also crossed his mind that Radurak had waited until dusk in order to conceal some flaw that would become readily apparent tomorrow morning.

  "Will you bid again on the right?" Radurak asked. "She is a true beauty. I'm sure you won't be sorry."

  The elf's words brought Agis back to his senses, and he realized the thoughts that had been going through his mind were not his own; they had been planted by some outside influence. His training in the Way told him that the influence could not have been psionic in nature. He would have felt it entering his mind had it been so.

  With a start, Agis realized that the old man had cast an enchantment on him. He started to complain, but realized that at an auction being run in such a place by a tribe of elves, his protest would have seemed absurdly naive and comical. Instead, he said, "Sixty-five gold."

  Agis turned to Caro, then whispered, "Keep up the bidding. Wha
tever you do, don't let the half-elf get away."

  "But she's only—"

  "Just do it!" Agis ordered. "You'll see why later."

  The noble closed his eyes and visualized a solid wall of faro trees rising out of the ground to surround his intellect, their spine-covered boughs intertwining so thickly that it was impossible for something so small as a needle-worm to crawl through the hedge without being ripped to shreds. This living barrier kept growing and arched over the top of his mind like a bower, protecting him against attack from above as well as from the side. He imagined the roots of the trees reaching deep inside him, drawing upon his energy nexus for the power to make the defenses strong. The hedge was not impenetrable-nothing was to a master of the Way—but Agis knew that the sorcerer would find it difficult to slip any more spells past it.

  Once his own mind was defended, Agis set about attacking his opponent's. Normally he would not stoop to using the Way to win an auction, but if the old man was calling upon magic, Agis saw nothing dishonorable in using his own abilities.

  The senator opened his eyes and looked across the courtyard. Though it was too dark to see the sorcerer's face, in his mind Agis pictured the old man's shrewd brown eyes. Closing his mind to anything but those eyes, he summoned enough psionic energy to create a psychic messenger — in this instance, an owl. He gave the owl feathers that matched the color of the sorcerer's eyes and sent it flying silently toward his opponent. As the owl approached its target, its brown feathers disappeared against the irises of the old man's eyes, then slipped into what lay beyond.

  A fragment of his intellect moving with the owl, Agis as staggered when they entered the sorcerer's mind.

  From the old man's curt manner and constant frown the noble had assumed he would find a stormy, harsh place as violent as the Athasian desert itself, with fiery flashes of anger and cold bolts of disdain shooting in every direction. Instead, it seemed more like a blissful oasis on a still night, its pool filled with blue waters and its perimeter surrounded by a forest of stalwart trees strong enough to withstand any wind. Agis was so surprised that he hesitated before sending his owl down to claim control of the place.