The Amber Enchantress Read online

  After Sadira's sight returned to normal, she started across the brush-flecked field at a sprint with Milo close behind. They were about halfway across when a loud trill sounded from the shadows just ahead. Sadira halted, realizing that the halflings were even closer than she had thought.

  Milo continued past her, whispering, "Let's catch him!"

  A thick-tongued voice cried out from ahead. "No, Milo!"

  "Osa?" he gasped. A strident chirp sounded from ahead of the captain. He stopped abruptly and raised his sword, crying, "By Ral's light!"

  As Sadira moved forward to see what was wrong, the tip of a barbed spear burst through Milo's back. When the sorceress reached his side, she saw that a halfling had risen from the center of a spinifex bush and attacked. The warrior's eyes were gleaming yellow as he pushed his small spear further into Milo's body.

  Screaming in anger, the sorceress brought the obsidian pommel of her cane down on the halfling's tangled mess of hair. It struck with a sharp crack, and the halfling collapsed in a heap.

  Milo dropped his sword and stared at the spear in his stomach with disbelieving eyes. As the captain pitched onto his face, something rustled behind Sadira. She spun around and saw a halfling crawling toward her on his belly. The sorceress did not give him a chance to stand. She leaped to the warrior's side and smashed his head again and again with her cane.

  Sadira heard a set of heavy footsteps, then looked around to see Osa's bulky form rushing toward her. The mul was limping badly, and the sorceress could see the shaft of a barbed spear protruding from the woman's thigh.

  Osa stopped at Milo's side and felt his pulse. When she detected no heartbeat, the mul kissed him in a last farewell, then snatched up his sword and looked to the sorceress. "Go!" she said, nodding toward the dune from which her husband and Sadira had come.

  I'm sorry about—"

  Sadira did not have a chance to finish her apology, for Osa leaped to her feet and resumed her sprint across the moonlit field. The sorceress ran after the limping mul, but could not keep up even at her best pace.

  As they approached the shadows where Sadira and Milo had hidden, several trills sounded ahead. Sadira stopped immediately, realizing a group of halflings was lurking in the darkness. Osa continued on, oblivious to the sounds.

  The sorceress pointed the palm of one hand toward the ground, spreading her fingers apart. Shutting out all other thoughts, she focused her mind on her hand, summoning the energy for a spell. The air beneath her palm shimmered, then power began to rise from the ground into Sadira's body. As soon as she felt the surge weaken, the half-elf closed her fist and cut off the flow. If she had pulled more energy into her body, she would have killed the plants from which she drew it, defiling the soil and rendering it barren for ages to come. By stopping when she had, however, the sorceress had caused no permanent damage to the land. Within a day, the shrubs would recover their lost life-force and continue to grow as if they had never been tapped.

  By the time Sadira had gathered the power for her spell, a small group of halflings had moved to the edge of the field. Osa raised her sword and they raised their spears. Sadira grabbed a handful of pebbles from the ground and, uttering her incantation, threw them toward the warriors.

  The stones shot past Osa with a loud clap of thunder. Each missile struck a target square in the chest, knocking the halfling off his feet and sending him sprawling to the ground in a spray of blood.

  The sorceress had no chance to gloat over her victory, for another halfling cried out behind her. Sadira hazarded a glance over her shoulder and saw the silhouette of a warrior gesturing in her direction. Wasting no more time, the half-elf rushed to Osa's side and pulled the mul into the sands. Together, they ran into the shadows of the large dune and stopped there to see what the halflings would do next.

  "You throw rocks?" Osa asked, her eyes fixed on the halflings that the magical stones had killed.

  Sadira nodded, wondering whether it would be better to sneak or run back to the campsite. Either way, there was no doubt that they should stay in the shadowy troughs between the dunes. Like half-elves, muls could perceive ambient heat when there was not enough light to see otherwise.

  As Sadira was considering the problem, dozens of trills sounded from the other side of the field. She looked toward the sounds, but could sec nothing beyond the open expanse of moonlit ground. The half-elf stepped farther into the shadows and lifted her cane.

  "That sound like army, not hunting party," said Osa, her thick voice too loud.

  Although Sadira agreed with the mul's conclusion, she was too stunned to say so. It appeared an entire tribe of halflings had come down from the mountains. Realizing that the caravan's only hope of escape lay in her hands, Sadira lifted her cane. "Nok," she whispered, activating its magic.

  She felt the weapon begin to draw its energy from her body, and a purple glow twinkled to life within the obsidian pommel. At the same time, dozens of halfling warriors charged into the field. Sadira pointed the tip of the cane at them.

  Before the sorceress could utter the name of her spell, Osa grabbed her arm. "Leave," the mul ordered, dragging Sadira into the shadows. "We run."

  Sadira tried to pull free, but the woman's grip was too powerful. "Let me go!" the sorceress yelled. "I can kill half of them now!"

  If she heard Sadira's protests, Osa gave no indication. Instead, still limping because of the javelin in her thigh, the mul dragged the sorceress into the darkness between the dunes. The halflings raced after the women, calling to each other in the chirping language of the forest spiders. Sadira wrapped the hem of her cloak over the cane pommel, masking the purple light that glimmered from its depths.

  Even after Sadira's elven vision had begun to work again, Osa did nor release her. Instead, the mul kept her hand on the sorceress's arm, leading the half-elf first into one dark trough and then down another. As they rushed past the walls of pink-glowing sand that enclosed them, Sadira was strangely conscious that the music in the campsite continued to play, its melody strained and worrisome.

  Despite Osa's evasive maneuvers, the halflings had little trouble following, tracking the two women by the soft patter of their feet. Each time the mul led the way through an intersection, a few halflings went down the second trough, sealing off any possibility that their quarry could circle back toward the caravan. Soon, the dunes were filled with the trilling of halfling warriors, and Sadira knew that she, at least, would be exhausted long before they could evade their pursuers.

  After Osa had led them down what seemed the hundredth side trough, Sadira heard the twang of a bow. The blue streak of a tiny arrow flashed past her head, and the sorceress cringed in fear. Though the dart itself would cause little injury, the last halfling arrow she had seen had been tipped with a powerful poison.

  Another half-dozen bowstrings hummed, and more arrows flew toward Sadira and Osa. Fortunately, even half-ling archers were not very accurate when firing on a dead run, and the darts all hissed harmlessly into the sand. Still, Sadira was far from relieved. It would not be long, she knew, before one of the shafts found its mark.

  "We've got to do something," Sadira hissed.

  Knowing it was useless to call out to the earless mul, Sadira opted for direct action. As they approached the next intersection, the sorceress pumped her legs as fast as she could and slammed into the other woman's back. Osa sprawled headfirst into the sand dune, dragging the half-elf down and hissing in pain as she banged the javelin still protruding from her thigh.

  Sadira rolled onto her back and faced the halflings. Her maneuver had confused the warriors only momentarily, and those in front were already moving toward the sound of her labored breathing. The sorceress pointed her cane at them, allowing the hem of her robe to slip off its glowing pommel. The halflings swung their spears and tiny arrows in the direction of the purple light.

  The warriors loosed their weapons in the same instant Sadira cried the name of her spell, "Clear-river!"

  With a l
oud roar, a stream of force rushed from the sorceress's cane. The invisible river hurled the spears and poison arrows back toward the halflings, then slammed headlong into the warriors themselves. The little men opened their mouths to scream, but their voices could not be heard above the raging torrent of magical energy. They stood against its current for only a moment, then were ripped from their feet and sent rumbling into the darkness.

  A few moments later, after the river and its roar had finally died away, Sadira grew aware of Osa lying at her side. The mul woman was studying her with an expression that was equal parts awe and fear.

  "Let's go," Sadira said, motioning toward the music from the camp.

  Osa shook her head, her blank gaze fixed on the sorceress's cane.

  "I won't hurt you," Sadira said, speaking slowly so the deaf woman could read her lips. "I want to help the caravan."

  The expression returned to Osa's eyes. Seeming to collect her wits, she said, "No. I send sentries back before Milo die." The mul's eyes grew sad for just a moment, then she clenched her teeth and fought her emotions back. "Wait here for better time."

  Sadira frowned in confusion, but nodded.

  Osa smiled, then motioned at the steel dagger hanging on Sadira's hip. "Let me borrow."

  The half-elf unsheathed her dagger and gave it to the mul woman. Osa immediately sat down and began cutting the barbed javelin from her wounded leg. Sadira turned away to stand guard, in case any of the halflings still scurrying through the dunes happened to stumble upon them.

  A few minutes later, the distant melody of the ryl pipes grew louder and more inviting. The halflings fell silent, and the sorceress suddenly found herself shuffling toward camp. She tried to stop, but the song could not be denied. Her body swayed and rocked of its own accord, the music filling her head with colors and gripping rhythms that she could not chase away.

  Osa came up beside Sadira and slipped the sorceress's steel dagger back into its sheath. "Now we go," she said, speaking with her usual thick-tongued loudness.

  Through a rip in Osa's sarami, Sadira saw that the woman had removed the spear and bandaged the wound with a strip of cloth. The mul still moved with a slight limp, though it was much less pronounced than when the javelin had been embedded in her thigh.

  Osa took the sorceress by the hand and, with a considerable exertion of strength, prevented her from dancing straight toward the music. Instead, she guided Sadira back through the dark furrows between the dunes.

  As they came within sight of camp, Sadira saw that the halflings were also dancing toward the music. The short warriors were whirling through the air in a frantic swarm, hurtling spears or firing arrows toward the campsite. On the other side of the ancient walls stood the caravan drivers, swaying to the melody and shooting arrows into the savage horde that the ryl pipes had drawn out of the desert.

  "We go around," Osa said, pointing to where the inixes and Sadira's kank were still tethered. As the sorceress had told Milo earlier, the halflings had indeed approached from downwind. The area on the other side of camp was completely free of enemy warriors.

  Osa skirted the open sands and crossed the cobblestone road north of the tower, still dragging Sadira's squirming form by the hand. Although the sorceress appreciated the wisdom of drawing the little warriors into the open, she also saw that the results of the effort were far from certain. With their double-curved bows and the protection of the stone wall, the drivers had a distinct advantage over their charging foes. On the other hand, two dozen of their number already lay in the bottom of the sandy pit, and the rain of halfling shafts was taking a steady toll on those who remained standing. If many more of the caravan's archers fell, there would not be enough of them to keep the halflings from pouring over the wall.

  Osa stopped near the inixes, a couple of dozen yards from the tower. "Safe. No one mistake you for halfling," she said. "I go back for Milo."

  Sadira's feet shuffled forward. Despite the situation, she found herself actually enjoying the compulsions of the music. She guessed that the ryl pipes relied on some manifestation of the Way. Although magic could be used to influence a target's thoughts, it seldom exerted such control over the raw emotions of so many. It was unfortunate that the ryl players could not use their powers to achieve a more physical effect on the halflings.

  That was where she could help, the half-elf decided. As Sadira danced forward, she raised her cane into the air and spoke the word to activate it. Again, she felt it drawing its energy from deep within her body, and a purple light came to life within the pommel. When the sorceress reached the campsite, she would use Nok's own magic to chase off the warriors he had sent.

  Before Sadira had taken two more steps, a complete silence suddenly descended over the area. Her body abruptly stopped dancing. She stumbled over her own feet and fell sprawling to the ground.

  The sorceress started to rise, but stopped when a half-ling's words shattered the silence. "Lay down your weapons," he ordered. Though it had been almost two years since she had heard the voice, Sadira immediately recognized it as that of Nok himself. "You will not save yourselves by fighting."

  Realizing that there was only one way to rescue the caravan drivers, Sadira sprinted to her kank and undid its rope. She climbed onto its back and turned her mount away from camp, then lifted her cane above her head and cried, "Skyfire!" Three bolts of crimson flame shot from the tip of the rod, filling the sky with ruby light and casting a scarlet haze over the yellow moons.

  Confident that Nok would correctly identify the source of the magical display, Sadira whipped her cane across the kank's antennae and launched the beast into a furious gallop.

  FOUR

  The Ancient Bridge

  Had her throat not been so parched, Sadira would have screamed for joy. A short distance ahead, the red sands ended abruptly, dropping into a dark chasm stretching in both directions as far as she could see. On the other side of the gorge, the road climbed a scarp of brush-flecked ground, then faded out of sight against the olive hues of the morning horizon.

  Between the dunes and the scarp hung a magnificent bridge, nearly a hundred yards long. Built from huge blocks of stone in seven different colors, the structure spanned the chasm in a great arch that resembled nothing quite so much as a man-made rainbow. Its roadway was paved with yellow cobblestones, save for a single black stripe where the edifice's massive keystones had been laid. To Sadira, the ancient trestle was as much an omen of good fortune as any harbinger of rain.

  "Carry me to the other side, that's all I ask," the sorceress said, speaking to her kank in a croaking voice that even she barely understood.

  Sadira tapped the creature's antennae with her cane, urging it to greater speed, but the kank could not obey. Last night, the beast had begun their flight with a powerful six-legged gallop that had set the sorceress's hair to waving in the wind. As she had hoped, Nok had followed immediately, leaving the caravan to mourn the death of its captain. At first, Sadira had been confident of escaping, for halflings were no match for a kank's speed. Yet, as the night wore on, the chief and his warriors had kept a steady pace, and she had never left them behind for long. By dawn, the gait of her exhausted mount had diminished to a jittery scramble that even she could have matched for a short distance. The halflings, showing no signs of tiring, had been slowly catching up to her ever since.

  Sadira twisted around to look back. The effort sent waves of agony shooting through her hips, for the jarring ride had been almost as hard on the sorceress as it had on the kank. From the knees to the collarbone, her muscles burned with exhaustion. Her stomach had been aching for hours, and now it was seized by painful cramps that threatened to double her over at any moment. Even her head hurt, throbbing with a terrible ache caused by a dozen hours of mortal fear.

  Behind her, Sadira saw that the halflings were moving up for the kill, pumping their knees hard in an effort to catch her before she reached the bridge. They were close enough that she could see they had pushed themselves be
yond the point at which normal men would have collapsed. The warriors' faces were drained and gaunt, with their mouths hanging open and their sunken cheeks working like bellows. Their hair, usually bushy and wild, lay plastered against their skulls, dripping precious body water in the form of cloud-colored sweat.

  Far behind the warriors came a single speck, moving at what appeared a relaxed pace. Though the figure was too distant to see in detail, Sadira did not doubt it to be Nok. Even from this far away, the mere sight of him filled her with terror. The one who had created her cane and the Heartwood Spear was no person to offend.

  Still, the sorceress did not regret keeping the cane. She had decided long ago to do whatever was necessary to keep Tyr free. So, after Kalak's death, Sadira had kept the cane. With it, she could defend her beloved home from many terrible threats, and the sorceress had been willing to risk her life for that privilege. Even now, with Nok closing in, she had no intention of returning the cane—at least not while she lived.

  A halfling warrior hurled his bone javelin at Sadira. The spear fell short, but by less than a yard. The next one, she guessed, would clatter off the carapace covering her kank's abdomen. . . . There was little use picturing where the one after that might strike.

  "What keeps them going?" Sadira muttered.

  Even as she asked, she knew the answer to be Nok's magic. Otherwise, no halfling could have kept pace with a kank. Only elves could do such a thing.

  The sorceress faced forward again and whipped her cane across her mount's antennae. If anything, the kank went slower.

  The bridge still lay too far ahead. Sadira was just beginning to see the lichens growing on its massive stone blocks. By the time her kank actually set foot on it, she would be lying in the sand with a dozen barbed speartips in her body.