The heat in the carriage woke her. They were still moving. She couldn’t be sure how much time had passed, but imagined they had traveled through the night and half the next day if it was this hot. Fourteen, perhaps fifteen hours lost. They must have reached the edge of the desert.
She had blurry memories of being given food, and being assisted by the female elf to relieve herself outside. She’d remained under the constant influence of the bloodflower extraction, so much so that she’d been barely able to move her limbs and swallow the water that was offered to her. If she’d seen Malon during this time, she could not recall, but she knew he had to be near.
She cracked her eyes open, just barely, not wanting to let her captors know she was awake lest they dose her again. She lay on her side across one full cushion, her legs short enough to fit curled up as she was. Across from her sat the male and female elves, no Malon. Were there other elves in their entourage, or just these two?
A bead of sweat dripped down her brow and she reflexively wiped it away, then cringed. Both elves looked down at her.
“Don’t worry, priestess,” the female said. “You’re not to be dosed again. We’ve reached the desert now. If you escape us, you will not get far. We’ll need to abandon the carriage soon before the sand gets too deep, so you’ll need to be conscious enough to ride.”
They were going to ride out in the open in this heat? Were they mad?
The carriage slowed, then stopped. She fumbled to sit up, her limbs stiff and sore. When she finally managed it, she could do little more than lean back against the cushions and cross her legs against her full bladder.
The female elf seemed to read her thoughts. “Don’t worry, priestess. I will aid you as soon as we are told it is safe.”
She could hear people walking outside the carriage, and several voices. Mostly just talking about the heat, and readying their mounts. So it wasn’t just her, the two elves, and Malon. They had a full entourage. In her weakened state, there was no way she would be able to escape.
The carriage door opened, revealing Malon, now dressed in a flowing tan robe, and another older male elf dressed the same. At least, she assumed he was an elf. The older man had more of the tan fabric wrapped around his head and face, revealing only the soft lines around his sky blue eyes. In his hand, he held a neatly folded pile of the same fabric.
His gaze on Saida, Malon stepped aside for the older elf to hand the fabric to the female inside the carriage. All she could see beyond them was golden sand.
“Phaerille, help her get dressed,” Malon instructed. He looked to the male elf in the carriage. “Luc, you’ll get dressed out here.”
Soon Saida was alone in the carriage with the female elf, who now had a name, not that it really mattered. To Saida, all her captors were almost as bad as Malon.
Phaerille helped her into the robe, far too long for her small frame. Then she braided back Saida’s hair and wrapped the fabric around her head, struggling to achieve the same effect the older elf had.
“I apologize, priestess,” she said, kneeling on the carriage seat at her back, “this way of dress is foreign to me. I’m sure I’ll become more adept at it soon.”
Saida licked her cracked lips beneath the soft fabric. She needed water, but couldn’t think about it until she was allowed to relieve herself. “Why are you doing this? Why are you helping Malon?”
“I believe in him. You did not grow up as many of us do. We cannot blame you for not understanding.”
Saida’s face felt hot, and not just from the growing warmth in the carriage. “Did Malon tell you that?”
Her lack of reply was answer enough.
Once they were both dressed in the flowing robes, heads wrapped with only their eyes showing, they exited the carriage. Saida tried to walk down the two steps on her own, but her robe was too long and her joints too stiff. She stumbled, and would have planted her face in the sand had Malon not caught her.
She wanted to shrug off his grip, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the landscape, now in full view. The golden sand stretched on endlessly in all directions. She was shocked the carriage had made it this far, its wheels now sunken a hand’s width into the sand. There were ten more in their party, all dressed in robes with features obscured. She could not tell for sure whether they were male or female, unless she tried to judge by height alone, but most female elves were nearly as tall as the men. While two horses were being freed from the front of the carriage, she noticed a group of saddled antlioch, their heavy wool shaved down to almost nothing.
She found herself staring at them instead of the strange landscape, lest she become entirely overwhelmed.
“They fare better in the desert than horses,” Malon explained, his hands still resting lightly on her arms as he stood behind her. “We leave the wool just long enough to protect their skin from the sun.”
She pulled away from him, then looked for Phaerille, but could no longer tell her apart from the other elves. Fortunately, Phaerille stepped forward, identifying herself by stating, “The priestess and I need a moment of privacy.”
Malon stepped away from her and nodded. “Be quick about it.” He moved in front of Saida and peered down at her. “Please, do not run. I much prefer you conscious, even with your sharp tongue.”
She glared at him, but allowed herself to be led away by Phaerille, her attention once again turning toward her surroundings. Now that they’d stepped away from the carriage she could see different terrain in the far distance. Judging by the direction of their tracks, that was from whence they’d come, and it was too far for her to reach on foot in this heat.
She turned her gaze back ahead of her. Empty sands, sands so warm her feet sweated heavily within her boots. “There is no privacy to be had.”
“I will hold my robe open to shield you,” Phaerille explained. After a moment of hesitation, she added, “I hope you will do the same for me. We are the only women in our party.”
“Of course,” Saida replied, an alliance seeming her only hope in the world. If she could convince Phaerille to help her escape . . . then they’d both die in the desert together. Perhaps if they neared a settlement, she could hide until a messenger could be found to send word to Faerune. Her father could send guards to rescue her.
By the time they stopped walking, her body was drenched with sweat, and she could still see the men in the distance when she looked over her shoulder. Phaerille shielded her, then she took her turn, and soon they were headed back toward the waiting elves and antlioch.
She spoke no more, her throat too dry anyhow. There would be ample time to build upon this alliance. For now, she would cooperate, if only to remain conscious.
She even allowed Malon, his head now wrapped like the others, to help her atop her antlioch. Let him think she’d been cowed. She’d stick a dagger in his back the first chance she got.
She tried not to let her disappointment show as she realized her antlioch was the only one with a tether. The others only needed their riders’ feet to guide them, and the extra mounts would follow the herd willingly. Only hers had a tether, to keep her from galloping away.
Malon looped that tether around his saddle before mounting, then pulled her antlioch forward to ride beside him. She glanced back at the carriage as they left it behind, noting that the horses were not to be seen.