‘Hey!’ Berren stepped forward but the soldiers stood in his way until she was gone. Behind him, Talon let out a long and exasperated sigh.
‘Now I have to find Meridian, except since he and everyone else who matters are off hunting somewhere, I suppose it’ll have to be my retard half-brother.’
‘What?’
Talon came to stand beside him. ‘You’re not from these parts. I keep forgetting. But you can’t stand for that. Even if you wanted to, you can’t.’ He shook his head. ‘Not from a bondswoman.’
‘What do you mean? What’s a bondswoman?’
Now Talon looked at him in wonder. ‘How long were you in Kalda? The ones in white, they’re all bonded men or women. Do you not have slaves in Deephaven?’
‘No.’
‘Well the sun-king doesn’t hold with them either, but this far from Caladir no one much cares. In Kalda the likes of Meridian call them bondsmen and bondswomen, but slaves is what they are. People who have been bought. Who are owned and traded and sold as if they were property. The children and family of debtors mostly. Although of course the merchants of Kalda have acquired some very inventive definitions of debt when it comes to the Taiytakei. The city sells its unwanted to the slavers, the Taiytakei train them and return them. In Kalda the guilds lend money to rich men to buy their “freedom.” Then the loans are called in, the debt is passed on to the man who is now “free” and of course cannot be paid, and in the blink of an eye and the flash of a writ, a freed slaves become bondsmen. It’s the same thing but with a different name.’ Talon snorted. ‘Aimes. That will be interesting. Excuse me, but as head of the visiting party I must now find our hosts and inform them that their property has offended one of my household.’ He sighed, irritated. ‘Since you’re not a bondsman yourself, the proper response would be to allow you to punish her by whatever means you see fit. What on earth did you say?’
Berren shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’ He was still trying to remember what Gelisya had said about the potion.
‘Ah well.’ Talon snapped his fingers and muttered something. ‘The usual punishment is a flogging. If you wanted to you could ask to have her executed but I’d rather you didn’t. I don’t wish to offend King Meridian by killing a favoured bondswoman, if that’s what she is.’ He shook his head. ‘Stupid woman. She can’t possibly have thought she’d be allowed to get away with something like that. Someone put her up to this to test us.’ He turned and let out a heavy sigh. ‘You’ll have to wield the lash yourself. Ever flogged anyone before? I don’t suppose you have.’
‘No! And I don’t want to.’ Berren shook his head. ‘I’ve seen enough of that. I don’t even know who she was.’ He went back into the gloom of the shed and looked at the potion in the pot. It was thickening nicely. Talon clapped him on the shoulder but his voice stayed hard.
‘Whoever she is, it has to be done. No one will despise you if you choose to go easy on her, but she is Meridian’s property and she has struck a guest, a Fighting Hawk, and what you do now reflects on me. If you make yourself look weak or cruel or stupid, you make us all look that way. You will put her to the lash because that is the law, but no need to be harsh. Ten strokes will do and you may be soft with your hand, although not too soft. I’m sure after two years at sea you know how.’ Talon looked away, glancing down at the congealing mess in the pot on the floor. ‘Is that ready yet?’
Berren shrugged. ‘It has to cool. Not long.’
‘But soon, yes?’
‘Yes.’
Talon looked pleased. ‘We can leave tonight then.’ He glanced at Tarn. ‘Do you need any more help with him?’
‘No. At least I don’t think so.’
‘Then I’ll see you’re left undisturbed until you’re needed.’ He walked out into the sunshine leaving Berren alone in the shadows and the gloom. Berren sat next to Tarn while the potion cooled. Why? Why did he have to whip someone if he didn’t want to? He could hardly blame anyone for hating what he was doing. It was magic, dark magic. Warlock magic. Magic that wasn’t meant to be used.
The potion cooled into a paste as Gelisya had said it would. Without thinking much about what he was doing, Berren prised Tarn’s mouth open and forced in as much as would go. What was left he pressed into Tarn’s nose. I’m probably killing him, he thought, but he did it anyway. When he was done, he watched and waited. Ten seconds passed, then twenty. Tarn twitched. Thirty seconds. Suddenly Tarn arched. Convulsions shook his body. A thin black mist began to form around his face.
‘I can see it! He’s almost ready,’ said a voice behind him, quiet yet ripe with excitement. Gelisya again, and maybe that meant the soldiers and the slave woman too, but Berren didn’t dare look around. He watched as Tarn bucked and spasmed and then went still.
‘I wanted to see,’ said Gelisya. ‘I’ve never seen it work before.’
Berren hardly heard her. Tarn wasn’t moving now, and all he could think was that he’d killed his friend. He forced open Tarn’s mouth and frantically clawed at the paste, flinging it out again.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Gelisya. ‘I didn’t realise it was you. But I went inside, and you are there, and you’re here as well. How do you do that?’
‘I don’t have the first idea what you mean.’
She giggled. ‘Silly! How can you be in two places at once?’
Berren growled at her but she didn’t go away; instead she passed a jug of water.
‘I like my maid,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry she hit you. I’ll tell her not to. I’ll tell her I’m cross.’
‘I’m sorry too. Apparently I’m going to have to hurt her. And then I dare say we won’t ever meet again.’ He poured water between Tarn’s lips. Tarn jerked, then coughed and spluttered. Alive, thank the four gods!
‘You will.’ Gelisya’s voice sounded solemn. ‘And I am sorry. But I know how to make it better.’
‘Don’t bother.’
‘But you’ll like her. And she’ll like you. It’s important. We’re supposed to be friends.’
‘You’re just a child!’ He said it as much for himself as for her. ‘I don’t even know who she is. I’ve never seen her before. I don’t know anything about her and I don’t know anything about you.’ He had to stop, because as he spoke Tasahre flashed into his mind again. The slave, the shape of her, she reminded him of the sword-monk, which only made it all even worse. ‘She slapped me, that’s all. I hardly felt it, and for what I’m doing here, I might have slapped me too. She doesn’t deserve to be punished. So don’t.’
Gelisya didn’t say anything. She twirled in circles on the spot behind him as Berren sat Tarn up and gave him a shake and slapped him on the back. ‘He’d take you with us,’ she said. ‘I know he would if I asked him.’
‘What? Who?’
‘Saffran.’ She leaned forward and whispered in his ear. ‘I know you’re going to keep the teaching stone, aren’t you? I suppose I don’t mind. But you have to keep it safe. You have to promise. He’s my friend in there.’
Berren clenched his fists, Maybe if he wished hard enough, she’d read his mind and go away.
‘It fills the hole, you see. Like the Black Moon and the Dead Goddess fill the hole in the world. He showed it to me. You have to keep it closed otherwise something will come through. Not yet, but one day. Before you both come back for the very last time. You have to keep it closed.’ Even with her lips almost touching his ear, her whisper was so quiet that he could barely hear her. ‘He’s making us ready. To let it in when the Ice Witch brings the Black Moon down.’
Enough! Berren spun around, but before he could throw Gelisya out of the shed Tarn’s eyes flew open. He sat bolt upright, was violently sick, then started thrashing about and screaming. Berren tried to hold him still but Tarn was a big man and strong with it, and Berren was neither. He swatted at Berren, trying to push him aside, eyes staring away into the distance.
‘Petarl? Petarl!’ Whatever he was seeing it wasn’t Berren.
‘I’ll get some of father’s soldiers,’ said Gelisya in a sing-song voice. She danced out. Tarn finally cuffed Berren aside and staggered to his feet.
‘Tarn! It’s me! It’s Berren!’
Tarn stared at him. ‘Petarl? Have the Swords of the Sun struck camp yet? And where’s the bear? I haven’t seen him!’
Berren tried to sit him down but Tarn was having none of it. He scrabbled around for his sword, was sick for a second time and then went back to shouting and screaming. Other Hawks ran into the shed, eyes wide with surprise. It took three of them to wrestle Tarn down, but when he finally grew calm and the first glimmers of recognition flickered in his eyes, it was Berren he clung to. The others slowly backed away, drawing signs of protection in the air around them. The looks they gave Berren were a strange mix — fear and admiration, loathing and respect — but Berren ignored them all, holding’s Tarn’s face in his hands, talking about their days together under Sword-Master Silvestre; and as he did, Tarn seemed to come back, piece by piece from wherever he’d been. It was slow: one moment he was lucid, the next he had no idea who Berren was or where they were or why. He kept asking about Petarl and the bear and the Swords of the Sun, whoever they were.
By the time Talon came back, an hour later, Tarn was almost himself. He greeted Talon as though nothing had happened, and Talon told him about the slaving camp and everything that had followed. Somehow, from Talon’s mouth, the words seemed to strike home.
‘And what did a death-mage want with slavers?’ asked Tarn when Talon was done.
‘Nothing good, you can be sure of that. Berren here put a crossbow bolt into him, but we all know it takes a lot more to bring a warlock down. Old friends, those two.’
Old friends? Berren had been about to say something about Gelisya but now his tongue was numb.
‘I was trapped,’ said Tarn. ‘In another place from a long time ago.’ He shook his head and shivered. ‘Horrible. All I remember is chasing the man in grey into a dark room, and then I was lying helpless and powerless and waiting to die, back among the worst days I ever had.’ And he told them how years ago he’d been caught up in a vicious tale that wound around a sacked monastery, murderous monks, poisoned wells, starvation and desperation and desertion, and finally ended with Tarn, too weak from hunger to move and paralysed with fear, watching while the rest of his ruined company had had their throats slit in their sleep by zealot boys half his age.
‘That was before the Hawks,’ he said. ‘I was young then. Very young.’ His face was pale. ‘I’d almost forgotten.’
They went outside and Talon got straight into an argument with the castle steward, something about about horses and wagons, the steward politely insisting that Talon take some of the castle horses and Talon politely declining. Berren and Tarn watched. It seemed a strange argument, since the steward clearly wanted Talon not to take up his offer, while Talon was clearly eyeing the horses with envy. Berren could hardly blame him for that, for the two beasts that had been brought out of the stables looked like fine Deephaven cavalry mounts, not draught horses for pulling wagons. Even the saddles that the steward had had put on their backs were exactly like those the Emperor’s lancers used, right down to the flash of silver thread embroidered into the stirrup straps.
Berren frowned at that. They were a long way from Aria. What were Deephaven lancers doing out here? There had been men from Aria in Kalda too and they’d tried to kill Prince Talon. Were they the same? They had to be, didn’t they?
Eventually a pair of horses and a hired wagon drove up from the town. Talon and the steward were still arguing even as the mercenaries loaded up what little they’d carried with them from the ship. For a minute Berren began to hope that he might not have to whip Gelisya’s bondswoman after all, but then, even as Talon was walking back to the wagon, three of the castle soldiers came towards them, pushing a figure in white ahead.
Talon was right about one thing — Berren had been flogged more than once while he’d been a skag. It was a common enough punishment but always done with a certain ritual. The victim would be called out by name. The two sailors who tied him to the mast wore special hats. Sentence would be read aloud and most of the ship’s crew were called on deck to witness the punishment. None of that happened here. The soldiers tied the woman to a whipping post, tore the clothes from her back, gave Berren a lash and then lounged, obviously bored. Talon’s Hawks waited impatiently to leave. Everyone else around the palace, bondsmen and soldiers alike, went about their business as though nothing was happening.
Without thinking, Berren looked for scars, for any signs that she’d been through this before, but there were none. He took a pace closer and touched her skin, feeling how soft it was. Again a sailor’s ritual, judging how hard the stroke would need to be to draw blood. Anyone who’d been to sea would know from that touch that Berren meant to stay his hand as much as he could.
But those hands were shaking. He didn’t want this. It was unfair, unjust. He leaned forward. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, hoping no one else would hear. There was no reply. He stared at the back of her head looking for any kind of acknowledgement, any indication that she understood. ‘I have to do this,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to.’ Out of the corner of his eye he could see Talon’s foot beginning to twitch. Get on with it!
But no, he couldn’t. He lifted the whip to strike and his arm was quivering so much that he couldn’t keep it straight. He dropped the whip. ‘No. I’m not doing this,’ he said and stamped towards the wagon. Talon jumped down to block his path and Berren met his eyes. ‘No,’ he said again. ‘I’m not doing it. Let her go.’
Talon hissed. ‘Fool.’ He strode past, pushing Berren hard, almost knocking him down, and picked up the whip himself.
The first three strokes were vicious. Berren heard the woman gasp as the first one struck and her skin split. After the third, she was hanging from the whipping post by her wrists, whimpering uncontrollably. Talon turned to Berren. He held out the bloody whip. ‘Ten strokes,’ he said. ‘Seven left. You or me. If it’s me then I will make every one as hard as the first. Now do your duty, soldier.’
Berren stared, hating Talon at that moment because he knew the prince meant it. Savage. He shook his head. Talon clenched his teeth and lashed the woman again. Hard. She spasmed and screamed. Then he turned back to Berren and snarled and held out the whip again. ‘Do you want me to kill her? You are not a boy now, Berren of Deephaven. You are a man and a soldier of the Fighting Hawks. Like it or not. Now do what must be done!’
Berren had tears in his eyes now. His feet felt like lead, the earth like quicksand sucking him down and holding him fast, but he forced himself to move. He walked to Talon and took the whip. His face was numb and his voice shook when he spoke. ‘I’ll remember that you made me do this.’
Talon pointed to the woman’s back. ‘And I will remember that you made me do that. Now finish!’ He stalked back to the waiting wagon.
Berren closed his eyes. He tried to think what Tasahre would do, what she would say. She wouldn’t do this, that was for sure. She would refuse and find a way to stop Talon too. She would stand up for what was right, no matter what. And he couldn’t. Couldn’t find that strength she had.
He howled as he cracked the whip. The stroke made the woman cry out and he felt her agony as deeply as his own. He was killing a part of himself by doing this. Stepping away from the man Tasahre had seen in him and towards Saffran Kuy. The last five strokes were weak, as light as he dared, but he made them, and each one left a bloody mark on her back. When he was done, he was sobbing. He moved closer and whispered in the woman’s ear.
‘I will kill any warlock I see. Always. I will do everything I can to stop them.’ He didn’t know if the woman was even conscious any more.
‘Come on!’ That was Talon rushing him back to the wagon. As he left, Berren couldn’t take his eyes off the body, slumped and bloody against the whipping post. For all he knew she might even be dead. And when he closed his eyes, he kept seeing Tasahre with sadness on her face.
‘And we’re gone!’ said Talon loudly as they sat down. ‘Fighting Hawks on the march.’ The wagon began to move. No one seemed to be in any hurry to cut the woman down. Berren stared transfixed until they rounded a corner and the whipping post passed out of sight.