Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 1 - The Verdent Passage (16 page)

Despite his injuries, Boaz found the strength to scream.

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
pastÑthe 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 present to you a collection of slaves brought all the way from
BalicÑ”

“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 loseÑthough 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 tribeÑ”

“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. Whatever you do, don't let the
half-elf get away.”

“But she's onlyÑ”

“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 WayÑbut 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.