Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 3 - The Amber Enchantress (28 page)

If Rhayn felt any similar emotions, she did not show them. The elf strode directly over to Huyar and pointed at the chief's sickly form. “What did you do to him?” she demanded. “Were you afraid he'd change his mind and make you keep your promise to Sadira?”

Sadira bit her lip, amazed by her sister's nerve. Rhayn's audacity reminded the sorceress of Tithian
—
and that frightened her, more for the Sun Runners than for herself.

Whatever Sadira's misgivings, the attack served its purpose. Huyar was immediately on the defensive. “It wasn't me,” he snapped, pointing at Sadira. “This is the second time she's offered him wine, and it's the second time he's fallen sick.”

Rhayn furrowed her brow thoughtfully, then glanced at Sadira as if considering the point. For a moment, the sorceress feared her sister intended to betray her, but the elf finally looked back to Huyar and shook her head “Then how come I'm not sick?” she asked. “I drank as much wine as Faenaeyon.”

When Huyar could not provide an answer, Rhayn pointed at Faenaeyon's pallid face. “Whatever's wrong, I don't want to wait here until he recovers. We're too close to Nibenay.”

“Agreed,” said Huyar, his tone reasonable enough. “I thought we'd run south, toward the Altaruk trade routes.”

“I say we keep your promise to Sadira,” Rhayn said She pointed east.

“Are you mad?” Huyar shrieked. “You heard what Faenaeyon said about the tower.”

“We aren't going to the
Pristine
Tower
, just to the Cleft Rock well,” Rhayn answered. “From there, Sadira can find her own way.”

“No,” said Huyar. “There's still the matter of my brother's death.”

“And Faenaeyon will pass judgment on that when he recovers
—
no doubt long before we reach the well,” said Rhayn.

Huyar shook his head stubbornly. “I won't allow it.”

“It's not for you to decide,” Rhayn replied.

Grissi stepped over to the pair. “I'd say we're at an impasse.” She stepped between the two and started dragging her heel through the dirt, scraping a faint line along the rocky ground. When she finished, she stepped over it and stood next to Rhayn.

A swirling cloud of dust rose from the jumbled mass as the elves pushed and shoved back and forth across the line. Within a few moments, the line Grissi had drawn was completely erased, but there was no doubt about where it had been. The tribe stood divided into two nearly equal halves, with one part behind Rhayn and the other behind Huyar. Only Sadira, Magnus, and the young children had not joined one group or another. Between the two bands was a no-man's land less than a yard wide, and both Huyar and Rhayn were busy counting the number of elves on their side of this border.

As she studied the two groups, Sadira noticed that Huyar's supporters were primarily older warriors who remembered Faenaeyon's days as a great chief. Rhayn's group included the women who traditionally supported her, but also nearly every young man in the tribe. Sadira was surprised to see so many of them on her sister's side, for during the wrestling contests the day before, many had appeared to support Huyar's champions. Apparently, Rhayn's nocturnal efforts to bolster her support had been quite remarkable.

Huyar and Rhayn finished counting at almost the same moment. They looked at one another, both with smug expressions of satisfaction on their faces.

“It seems we will go south,” Huyar announced.

“No, we will go east,” Rhayn countered, pointing at Sadira and then to Magnus. “You have forgotten two of our tribe.”

Huyar's face went white. “They don't count!” he snapped. “Only members of the tribe old enough to run can choose.”

“They are more than old enough,” Rhayn said. "And they are both Sun Runners
—
or have you forgotten that yesterday Faenaeyon named Sadira one of us?

'But they still can't run,“ said one of the men standing on Rhayn's side. ”Our customs our clear on this."

Many warriors from both halves of the tribe voiced their agreement on this point. Rather than risk losing the support of anyone on her side of the line, Rhayn nodded Then she pointed at Faenaeyon. “He cannot run, either,” she said. “He does not count.”

It was Huyar's turn to yield. He did so graciously, saying, “That is fair. But now we each have the same number of warriors on our side. How are we to decide who will lead the tribe until Faenaeyon is better?”

“A race!” suggested a woman in Rhayn's group.

“No, let them wrestle,” countered a man from Huyar's.

Rhayn shook her head and raised her arms to silence the crowd. “It's no secret that Huyar and I detest each other,” she said. “I say we settle this once and for all. A fight to the death.”

By the astonished silence that fell over the tribe, it was clear that such contests were not common occurrences among the Sun Runners.

Finally, one of the women on Rhayn's side gasped, “Why would you do that?” Though Sadira could not see who had asked the question, she recognized the voice as belonging to Meredyd.

Rhayn glanced in Sadira's direction, then said, “I only suggest what is best for the Sun Runners.” She waved her hand at the two halves of the tribe. “As long as Huyar and I both remain, we will be divided as we are now. If one of us is gone, then so is the division.”

Sadira realized that Rhayn was purposely giving her no choice except to use magic to guarantee victory. If Huyar won the fight, Rhayn's corpse would not even be cold before Sadira was put to death for Gaefal's murder There was a heartless genius in her sister's plan that reminded Sadira more and more of Tithian.

After studying Rhayn for several moments, Huyar started to speak, but Sadira interrupted before he could accept the challenge. “Today, I run with the tribe” she called, sliding off the kank. “That gives me a voice in choosing our leader, does it not?”

“Yes,” called Grissi.

“Only if she survives,” countered Esylk. “And not just one day
—
I say that when she can no longer run, her voice no longer counts!”

“Agreed,” Sadira said, stepping to Rhayn's side of the line. “Let's go. I must reach Cleft Rock as soon as possible.”

Cleft Rock

Sadira thought she and Grissi would never stop running. Each breath carried with it a searing wave of pain, and with every jarring step a dull ache rolled through her head. Hours ago, she had lost the feeling in her blistered feet, and she barely noticed as her numb legs carried her over the rocky ground.

“Keep running,” said Grissi, effortlessly trotting at the sorceress's side. “We don't have far to go.”

Had she not been so fatigued, Sadira would have hit the elf. Grissi had said the same thing four evenings in a row, after the rest of the tribe had disappeared into the desert and left them to plod along by themselves.

“Don't,” Sadira croaked. “You've told me that too many times before.”

Even the sorceress did not recognize her own voice, for her throat was so swollen with thirst that she could hardly draw air down it.

“No, really,” Grissi said, pointing at the horizon “Can't you see them?”

Sadira lifted her eyes from the orange dust beneath her feet and glanced ahead. Her shadow lay next to Grissi's, swimming over the broken ground like an oasis eel. The purple hues of dusk were just creeping up from between the rocks, while scattered across the plain were a handful of sword-length blades of grass that the kanks had neglected to crop on the way past. On the horizon, a strange, spiderweb grid of violet lines covered a gentle, dome-shaped knoll, but Sadira could see no sign of the tribe.

“Just a few more minutes and you can rest,” said Grissi.

“If I don't collapse on that hill,” Sadira gasped.

This time, her words were barely recognizable. Grissi took the flattened waterskin off her shoulder, then unfastened the mouth and handed it to the half-elf. “Drink,” she said. “Your throat is closing up.”

Sadira shot her companion an angry scowl, then accepted the skin and closed her lips around the mouth. Taking care to keep her chin down so her eyes could watch the ground, she tipped the skin up. The sorceress continued to breathe through her nose as a trickle of hot, stale water ran down her throat. Without breaking her pace, she kept the skin raised high while she drained the last few drops of precious liquid.

Once the skin was empty, she thrust it back at Grissi. “You told me an hour ago we were out of water.” This time, her words were perfectly understandable.

“Never drink your last swallow of water until you're within sight of the next one,” said the elf, slinging the empty skin over her shoulder.

Sadira peered again at the dark lines on the horizon. This time, it seemed she could make out the billowing crowns of hundreds of trees. “Thank the winds,” she gasped. “An oasis.”

“Not just any oasis. It's Cleft Rock” Grissi said, pointing toward the top of the knoll. “See?”

Sadira squinted at the distant trees. “No,” she said. “What am I looking for?”

“A split rock,” Grissi said. “I'll never understand how city people go through life half blind.”

Sadira ignored this last comment, for the feeling was returning to her legs. Forgetting the throbbing ache in her back, she sped up to twice her previous pace. The exertion made her temples pound as though someone were driving a rockpick through them, but the sorceress did not slow down.

Soon, Sadira could see the elven camp. The warriors were scattered about the summit, gathered in dark clusters and preparing their evening meals. The children had already taken the kanks out to graze and were driving the beasts back up the hillside to tether them for the night.

“I must be getting faster,” Sadira observed. “Half the tribe's usually asleep by the time I catch up.”

Grissi shook her head. “You're no faster than before,” she said. “But today, we did not run so far.”

At last, the two women reached the bottom of the rise As they climbed the slope, they had to fight their way through a network of troughs filled with billowing chiffon trees and thickets of spongy yellow fungus. The channels had apparently been dug by some intelligent race, for they were arranged in a series of concentric rings and were the same depth and width. Occasionally, a narrow ditch ran from one channel down to another, giving the place its weblike appearance.

When the two women climbed out of the last trough, Grissi led the way to the crest of the hill. There, a circular monolith of black granite rose out of the dusty ground. The rock stood about as high as Sadira's chest, and was as big around as a large wagon. In the center was a jagged cleft, about two yards long and barely wide enough for a child to squeeze into. From its depths came a high-pitched hum, periodically broken by a rasping gurgle and the sound of trickling water.

Rhayn, Huyar, Magnus, and several other elves stood atop the monolith, gathered around the crevice. Their eyes were fixed on a hemp rope that had been attached to a spear's shaft and dropped into the fissure. Grissi climbed onto the rock, then helped Sadira up.

“Give me something to drink,” Sadira gasped, bracing her hands on her knees and trying to control her heaving ribs.

Huyar surprised the sorceress by offering his flattened waterskin. Sadira cast a wary glance at his face. Seeing no treachery in his eyes, she lifted the bladder and poured the contents into her parched mouth. A trickle of hot, fetid water ran down her throat, then the bag was empty.

Sadira thrust the skin back at Huyar. “I'm in no mood for jests,” she growled. She looked to her sister, then asked, “Would you give me some fresh water?”

“What Huyar provided is all we have here,” answered Rhayn. “In a minute, the children will send up more.”

Sadira sat down on the warm stone, too exhausted to stand while she waited. Huyar stepped over the cleft and came to her side.

“You surprise me,” he said. “I didn't think you'd last until we reached Cleft Rock.”

“Most of the time, neither did I,” Sadira answered, surprised by the elf's grudging congratulations. “If I had been running only for myself and not all of Tyr, I probably wouldn't have.”

“How noble,” the elf said, his voice dripping sarcasm. “Then all of Tyr must be as happy as you are that our father has not recovered from his illness.”

“I'm not happy about Faenaeyon's condition,” Sadira said, noticing that Rhayn was keeping an attentive ear turned toward their conversation.

“Come now,” said Huyar. “You must admit that it served you well. We have reached Cleft Rock.”

“What's your point, Huyar?” Sadira asked.

“Only this: that in the morning, you'll leave to find your tower,” the warrior said. “If you can help the chief recover, there's no longer a need for you to withhold your help.”

“I can think of one reason,” said Rhayn, joining the pair. “The instant Faenaeyon's awake, you'll demand vengeance for Gaefal's death.”

“Perhaps I was wrong about Sadira's involvement,” Huyar said, flashing a smile at the half-elf. “I should thank you for trying to save his life, not blame you for his murder.”

Sadira shook her head, disgusted by the elf's willingness to barter his brother's death for political advantage. “Let me see if I've got this right,” she replied. “If Faenaeyon recovers, you're first in line to be the next chief. But if Faenaeyon stays in a stupor, the advantage belongs to Rhayn because she's the temporary chief.”

“This has nothing to do
—
”

“Don't deny it! Let's be clear about what you're saying,” Sadira said. “If I'll help the chief recover, you'll let me go in peace and stop blaming me for Gaefal's death
—
isn't that what you're offering?”

“If you were able to help Faenaeyon, it would convince me of your goodwill toward the entire tribe. yes,” said Huyar, studying the sorceress with a wary expression.

“I'm sorry, but it fell to Rhayn to keep your last promise. I don't see how I could trust you to honor this one.”

Sadira smirked at the elf.

“Besides, I have her obsidian,” the sorceress's sister added, as much for Sadira's benefit as Huyar's. The same day Rhayn had been named chief, the Sun Runners had come across another caravan, and she had traded two kanks for several hunks of unshaped obsidian. Sadira did not know whether the shadows would accept the pieces as a gift, but it was the best she would be able to offer.