"Whoa! Hold on to ‘im, lads! He’s wakin’ up!”
Slowly, consciousness returned, and with it, pain.
What’s happening?
“This one’s special. Look at his armor!”
Voices…Soldaran…what…where am I?
“I’ve never seen such armor before. It’s…it’s painted.”
Ashinji opened his eyes.
I’m alive!
“Look! He’s awake!”
Ai, Goddess! Feels like an axe blade’s split my head open!
A wave of nausea swept over him, and he had just enough strength to roll over onto his side to retch. This action brought a new, agonizing discovery. The arrow that had pierced his left shoulder remained, embedded deep in the muscle.
Ashinji flopped onto his back again, desperately fighting the red fog of pain that threatened to overwhelm his mind and send him hurtling back into the dark. His body begged him to let go, to seek the release of oblivion, but his mind stubbornly refused .
I’m alive. I’ve got to keep fighting.
“I claim his armor. I’m the one what struck the blow that felled ‘im.”
“Hey, there! That’s not right! We all helped capture him. We split ‘is stuff, fair ‘n square!”
“You shouldn’t get anything, Lew, you idiot! It was you what almost killed him with that arrow, even after the cap’n said to take him alive!”
“Shut up, all of you! He may still die. Just look at him. He’s lost a lot of blood. Anyway, there’ll be no squabbling. Jan’s right; we all had a hand in his capture. His gear gets split between us, but seeing as I’m senior, I get first pick.”
Ashinji’s mind worked feverishly, despite the pain, to assess his situation. I’m on the ground, surrounded by at least eight men, he thought. He recognized the voice of the burly human standing at his feet, a lantern clutched in one beefy hand. This man had directed the attack, and the authority in his tone marked him as their leader.
The man stooped and lifted Ashinji’s sword off the ground. He hefted the blade in his free hand. “I’ll take this, I think. I’ve heard the elves make better swords than we do.” He swung the blade over his head in a wide arc. “Good balance,” he commented.
“He’s watching us, Cap’n. D’you think he understands what we’re saying’?”
“You bonehead! ‘Course he does…you heard him yell at us in Soldaran, remember?” He held the lantern up so its light dazzled Ashinji’s watering eyes. “Hey, tink! You understand us, don’t you?”
Ashinji debated the choice of whether he should feign incomprehension, in the hope of learning something which could aid in his escape, versus attempting to bargain with the humans-offer them the promise of ransom if they returned him to Kerala. He chose the latter course.
“My name is Ashinji Sakehera,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. “My father is Sen Sakehera, Lord of Kerala. He is very rich and will pay you far more in ransom than what my gear is worth.”
“See, he speaks Soldaran real good! How about that?” the captain exclaimed. “Well, Ash-een-gee…Sakee…heery, just how are we supposed to get word to your high and mighty father, eh? Shall we ride up to his gate and announce ourselves? I don’t think so. In fact, I have a better idea.”
“What we gonna do with him, Cap’n?”
The captain stroked his chin, regarding Ashinji with frank speculation.
“Well, just look at him, lads. Look at that face. Fine and pretty as he is, I reckon with a little paint and a nice gown, he’d make a right proper girl. What do you say to that, eh, Pretty Ash-een-gee?”
“There must not be enough human women around here for you to rape,” Ashinji retorted, the bitter brew of rage and pain making him reckless. The captain aimed a vicious kick at his gut. The blow connected with devastating force, and Ashinji folded up with a grunt.
“Now now, Pretty! See what you’ve made me go and do!” Coarse laughter rang in Ashinji’s ears.
“We gonna castrate him an’ sell him to a brothel?” More laughter.
“No, you idiot!” the captain spat. “We’re taking him straight to her Ladyship. She’d have my balls for her belt if she found out we captured a tink officer and didn’t bring him in for questioning.”
So that’s it, then. I’m to be taken to the enemy encampment and subjected to interrogation.
Ashinji sighed with relief and closed his eyes. He had no illusions about his situation, but at least the danger of summary execution had passed, for the present.
“Wha’ about that arrow?” someone asked.
Ashinji peered groggily at the slender shaft of wood protruding from his shoulder. The arrow had broken off at midpoint, leaving the iron tip buried in his flesh. If one of the humans tried to remove it, he might bleed to death.
“No! Leave the arrow alone!” he gasped, terrified that they intended to draw it out right then and there.
“Pretty Ash-een-gee’s right. We’ll leave the arrow for the surgeon to deal with. We wouldn’t want him bleeding out on us now, after all the trouble we went through to capture him alive.” The captain gazed up at the sky. “C’mon lads. Dawn’s not far off and the tink army is still just over the river, no doubt missing Ash-een-gee here. We’d better get moving. Lew, Conor, get him to his feet.”
Rough hands seized Ashinji by his arms and hauled him up. He bit back a scream as the humans’ brutal handling kindled the dull throb in his shoulder to fiery agony. He swung his head from side to side in an effort to shake off the swoon that threatened to take him.
“How’re we gonna get him back to camp, Cap’n? He don’t look like he can walk too good.”
“Hmm.” The captain paused, then declared, “He’ll have to ride. I’ll carry him with me, on the front of my saddle. We’ll need to strip off his armor first, though.”
So, this is the final humiliation-to be dragged into the enemy camp stripped, wounded, and completely helpless,” Ashinji thought . Sadaiyo, did you hate me so much that you hoped I would suffer before my death, or did you wish a clean, quick end for me? Either way, the result will be the same.
Because they had no familiarity with elven armor, the humans did a clumsy job of removing it from his body, and despite his efforts to remain stoic, Ashinji could not hide his suffering. His captors wrung several cries of pain from him, clearly taking delight in his agonies. When they had finished, Ashinji sagged in the arms of the captain, clad only in his blood-soaked under-tunic and breeches. As a final insult, the captain pulled his wedding bracelet from his wrist and yanked the service rings from his earlobe.
Dazed and semi-conscious, Ashinji could not resist as the captain hauled him up into place at the front of his saddle.
The man steadied him with one well-muscled arm. “Hold on, Pretty. I’ll have you kneeling before her Ladyship by and by.”
Ashinji squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for a quick release.
The captain reined his bay gelding to a jerky stop. He let go of his grip and Ashinji slid from the saddle to land hard upon the ground, where he lay until one of the humans hauled him to his feet. Two men stood on either side of him, supporting his weight with their bodies so he wouldn’t collapse.
“Conor!” the captain barked. “Go and tell the bosses we’re back and we’ve got a present for her Ladyship.” The man called Conor, wiry and slim as a racing hound, took off to carry out his orders. The captain came and stood before Ashinji. “Her Ladyship’ll be very keen on learning all of your secrets, Pretty. I suggest you cooperate. She’s not a girl who takes too kindly to nonsense.”
A crowd had formed around Ashinji and the returning raiders. Even in his current, pain-fogged state, Ashinji could sense the humans’ feral excitement at having an enemy, wounded and helpless, among them. He could almost believe the scent of his blood stoked their lust for his murder.
“Captain Sirrus!”
The crowd parted to make way for a woman. She strode forward to stand before the captain, who snapped a brisk salute.
“Your Ladyship,” he responded.
She wore the mantle of authority with the ease and confidence of one accustomed to command. Clad in the armor of a noble, she carried herself like a lifelong soldier. Her thick, dark hair hung in a loose braid down her back and a slim circlet of gold rested on her brow. Even in the crazy mix of light and shadow made by torches and lanterns, Ashinji had no trouble guessing her identity, for she closely resembled her brother Magnes.
“So, it’s true, then. You’ve captured one of their officers,” she said. “The information this man has could prove to be of extreme value, provided we can somehow communicate with him.” She paused, then added, “Well done, Captain.”
Captain Sirrus ducked his head in acknowledgment of the praise. “He can speak Soldaran, Ladyship,” he pointed out, then stepped aside so his commander could approach Ashinji.
She stood for several moments, saying nothing, regarding Ashinji with cool appraisal. He stared back, trying to conceal how awful he felt. To let her see any weakness in him now would be disastrous. Her gaze flicked down to the splintered arrow shaft protruding from his shoulder.
“That looks like it hurts,” she said.
“It does, but I can manage.”
The woman frowned, a quick twist of her full lower lip. “I doubt that very much,” she countered. “All men are much the same, whether they’re human or elf, I think. You needn’t try to impress me with your bravery.” She reached out and swiped a forefinger across Ashinji’s brow, then held it up in front of his face. “Cold sweat,” she said. “I know what an arrow wound feels like. Your face is as white as fresh curds.”
“Thessalina Preseren, my name is Ashinji Sakehera.”
The woman started in surprise. “How do you know who I am?”
“Your brother Magnes is my friend,” Ashinji replied.
Thessalina’s eyes narrowed. “You know my brother?” she asked sharply. “Then you must be…you’re the one he talked about…the elf nobleman who took in my tink cousin!”
“Jelena is my wife,” Ashinji stated. Magnes’ sister seemed taken aback by this piece of information, as if the fact that she and Ashinji had a familial connection disturbed her. “If Magnes is here, I’m certain he would wish to see me,” Ashinji added.
“My brother Magnes disappeared some months ago,” Thessalina revealed. “After our father died. No one knows where he went or if he’ll ever return. For the time being, I am acting as his regent.” Her face clouded over. Ashinji felt resentment flowing from her like a gray fog. His heart sank. Contacting Magnes had been his only real hope of escape.
“Captain Sirrus, you and your men will be rewarded,” Thessalina said. “Have the prisoner brought to my tent straightaway.” She spun on her heel and walked away.
“You heard what her Ladyship said!” Captain Sirrus barked. He motioned to the two men holding Ashinji’s arms and they hustled him forward, unmindful of his wound. By the time they reached Thessalina’s large tent at the center of the camp, fresh blood seeped out around the embedded arrowhead, and Ashinji was breathless from stifling his screams. His captors released him, and, too weak to stand, he collapsed to the rug-covered canvas floor.
“Gods!” he heard Thessalina exclaim. “Fetch the surgeon at once!”
“Yes, my lady!” Footsteps pounded out of the tent. Ashinji felt a hand cradle his head. He opened his eyes to find Thessalina bending over him.
“Can you hear me?” Her dark gaze pierced the fog shrouding his mind.
“Yes, I can hear you,” he whispered. “May I please have some water?” Thirst had become almost as harsh a pain as that of his wound.
“Bring me some water!” Thessalina ordered, and someone handed her a leather canteen. She uncorked the spout and, supporting Ashinji’s head in one hand, she held the bottle to his lips. The tepid water tasted of cowhide, but Ashinji drank until Thessalina pulled it away. “Not too much. You’ll make yourself sick,” she murmured.
“Help me up, please,” he croaked. Thessalina slipped an arm beneath his uninjured shoulder and assisted him into a sitting position. She then squatted beside him, staring intently into his face. Neither one spoke for many heartbeats.
Finally, Ashinji broke the silence. “What are you going to do with me?” he asked, returning her gaze.
“Your Soldaran is excellent. How and why did you learn to speak our tongue?” she responded, ignoring his question.
“Languages come easily to me. I had a tutor who taught me the basics, and my father has many books written in Soldaran. As for the why…Is it not wise to know one’s enemy as intimately as possible? What better way than to learn his language?”
Thessalina sighed and bit her lower lip. “I’ve never actually seen a full-blooded elf before, let alone talked to one,” she said.
Ashinji’s chuckle turned into a wince. “Your brother said something similar to me when we first met,” he replied.
“Your commander made a foolish mistake, settling his army in a field of dry grass. Did he not think we’d try to burn him out?”
“My commander is…” Ashinji stopped himself before the words not an experienced officer escaped his lips. No. I can’t let her know of any weaknesses , he thought. Instead, he said, “Your raiders were lucky…to get past our pickets. It will not happen again.”
Thessalina’s eyebrows shot up like the wings of a bird. “Lucky, you say. I say otherwise…We will cross the river at dawn. Our numbers are far superior to yours, and your soldiers will be worn out from fighting the fire.”
“Our force is made up of seasoned professionals. They will hold their own, I have no doubt. We defend our homeland, do not forget.” Ashinji paused, fighting a fresh wave of nausea and dizziness. He coughed, then whispered, “We will resist you…to our very last breaths.”
“I expect you will,” Thessalina replied.
“What…will you…do with me?” Ashinji asked again. He could barely keep his eyes open now.
Thessalina did not answer for several heartbeats. Finally, she said, “I don’t know, yet.”
“My lady, the surgeon is here.” A soldier stood at the tent’s entrance with another man, clad in a leather apron, beside him. Thessalina motioned for the surgeon to enter. He crossed over to where Ashinji sat and hunkered down to examine the broken arrow.
“Have him brought to the hospital tent, my lady,” the surgeon directed. “Should be a simple matter of drawing out the tip, as long as it’s not barbed… none of the archers uses barbed heads, do they? Anyhow, I’ll draw out the tip, flush the wound, and apply a poultice. I suppose his kind can get wound poisoning and fevers like we can, but tinks are tough…or so I’ve heard.” His voice oozed contempt. Thessalina nodded her head in dismissal and the man stood and departed.
Ashinji could feel the last of his strength trickling away with each fresh drop of blood that escaped his body.
Thessalina looked down at him with what might have been a measure of sympathy. “We’ll talk later, if you survive.” She snapped her fingers. “Take him,” she ordered. The same two guards who had brought him before their commander came forward and hoisted Ashinji to his feet. They saluted, then half-dragged, half-carried their captive from the tent. Ashinji struggled to support some of his own weight in order to relieve the excruciating pressure on his wounded shoulder, but the guards mistook his efforts for an escape attempt.
“Quit wigglin’! You’ll not get away from us, tink,” the man on his left growled. He tightened his grip, cruelly digging in his fingers.
Human faces, distorted with hatred, derision, savage glee, and every other kind of ugliness passed by in a blur as the guards hustled him through the camp. Ashinji felt like a wounded animal, paraded before the masses in a sick spectacle. He tried to conceal his fear, but he was just too beaten, too drained.
In a curtained-off area at the back of the large, empty hospital tent, the surgeon stood waiting, hands on hips, an impatient scowl twisting his thin lips. Two younger, larger men stood on either side of him, each clad in a heavy leather apron matching his own. A long wooden table filled the remaining space.
“Here,” the surgeon ordered, pointing. The guards pushed Ashinji down on the table, maintaining their grips upon his arms. “You two can go. My lads’ll handle him now.”
On his signal, the surgeon’s assistants surged forward. One secured Ashinji’s arms, the other grabbed his ankles.
“Put in the gag,” the surgeon ordered, then proceeded to slice off Ashinji’s bloody tunic with a small knife. One of the assistants stuffed a wad of filthy cloth into his mouth. The surgeon bent down to peer into Ashinji’s eyes. “Try not to move,” he murmured, acknowledging for the first time that he treated a man and not a beast. He straightened and disappeared briefly from Ashinji’s view, returning with a pair of pliers and a slender blade. “Hold him steady, lads,” he commanded. A tiny smile played about his mouth.
He seized the broken arrow shaft with the pliers and yanked.
Ashinji uttered a single, agonized scream, then the darkness claimed him, and he felt nothing more.
Ashinji awoke to find himself clad only in his breeches, lying on a blanket atop a loose pile of straw. A thick bandage swaddled his left shoulder. As he blinked slowly to clear his vision, his surroundings swam into focus.
Light’s pretty dim, it must be near sunset. That means I’ve been out at least a day…Ai Goddess, the attack! It’s over now, of course…Sadaiyo held them off, surely…Sadaiyo had to have…he had to!
Struggling against the pain that threatened to send him back into the embrace of the darkness, he levered himself up to a sitting position and looked around.
An awning of dirty canvas swayed overhead, supported by two poles driven into the ground at its front edge. The back and sides were secured to a three-sided enclosure made of the slender trunks of sapling trees. Loosely woven matting attached to the saplings served as a screen; whether to foil curious eyes or keep him ignorant of what lay beyond his prison, Ashinji could only guess.
A pair of guards sat on stools at the front of the enclosure, their backs to him, the slump of their shoulders speaking eloquently of their boredom and absolute belief in his helplessness. Ashinji, much to his surprise, found himself taking offense at the guards’ offhand attitude toward him, then the absurdity of such feelings struck him and he couldn’t help but laugh.
I am helpless, he thought. And wounded. And totally alone.
One of the guards heard Ashinji’s bleak expression of mirth. He twisted around on his stool and peered into the gloom of the makeshift cell. “Hey Trip, I think he’s awake,” he said to his companion.
“Hey, tink! You awake in there?” the other guard called out.
Ashinji considered feigning continued unconsciousness, but he was desperately thirsty and he hoped these two had orders, at the very least, to see to his basic needs.
“Please, may I have some water?” he asked, and silently cursed the weakness of his voice.
“Go get him some water.”
The one called Trip heaved himself to his feet, and grumbling under his breath, stumped off. The remaining guard continued to stare into the enclosure, searching the shadows. “We’d all heard you spoke Soldaran,” he said. “Her Ladyship’ll be happy you’re still alive. Soon as Trip’s back with the water, I’m off to fetch her.”
Ashinji didn’t bother with a reply. Instead, he lay back on the crude mattress and curled up on his uninjured side. I might still be alive now, but for how long? he thought. His entire left arm and shoulder throbbed with brutal intensity. A ferocious headache and queasy stomach only compounded his misery. He knew a poisoned wound could bring an ugly death, and he felt sick with dread.
Even with their far more sophisticated knowledge of anatomy and physiology, despite the advantages of medical sorcery, elven doctors could not stop the advance of putrefaction once it had progressed past a certain point. Ashinji had little confidence in the Soldaran camp surgeon’s ability to save him if his wound turned bad.
Trip returned carrying a waterskin. He had to stoop to enter the enclosure. With a sniff, he dropped the waterskin next to Ashinji’s head. Too weary and sick to move, Ashinji closed his eyes. He could feel the human’s presence like a dim light flickering over him.
“Why you staring at him like that? C’mon, get outta there!” Trip’s fellow guard growled.
“Just curious, is all,” Trip muttered. “’Aint never seen a tink up close before. Think the priests are right about ‘em?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. Now come out and sit down. I’m going to fetch her Ladyship.”
Ashinji both felt and heard Trip’s retreat to his stool outside the enclosure. He opened his eyes and reached for the waterskin. It took every bit of energy he had to lift himself upright, uncork the waterskin, and raise it to his lips. Despite his raging thirst, his stomach rebelled after only a few small sips and he had to stop drinking lest he vomit up what little water he had managed to consume. He lay down to wait.
For a time, his mind drifted in retreat from the emotional anguish of all that had befallen him. He wanted to let go completely, but the thought of never seeing Jelena again held him back.
“Ashinji Sakehera.”
The sound of his name brought him out of the fog. He rolled over and saw Thessalina crouched at his side, eyes narrowed, lips twisted in a frown.
“You look worse now than when my men first brought you in.” She made a low rumbling sound deep in her throat, a noise Ashinji interpreted as an expression of anger. “That surgeon is little more than a butcher, but he’s all we’ve got out here.”
“If the wound stays clean, I will live,” Ashinji replied. Each word took a tremendous effort to form. “Tell me…tell me about the attack,” he whispered.
“Your people fought bravely, just as you said they would. Your general proved more clever than I’d expected, considering his first blunder. He had the superior position and so was able to hold us off. I finally had to call a retreat.”
Ashinji nearly sobbed with relief. He struggled to sit up, but Thessalina pushed him back down with gentle hands.
“Don’t,” she said. “Just lie still and listen to me…My commanders wanted me to force you to talk, and at first, I agreed, but now…” She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Now, I find that I lack the stomach for it.”
Ashinji stared at her, confused. He had expected Thessalina to demand all his knowledge of Sadaiyo’s tactics and the size and deployment of the elven forces. He had also expected threats of torture. Thessalina’s confession took him by surprise. She seemed strangely conflicted, almost as if she felt sympathy for his plight.
Her dark eyes searched his. “Even if I had given the order to torture you, you wouldn’t have told me anything useful anyway, would you?”
“No,” Ashinji answered.
“I thought as much…By all the gods, I’m going to pay a heavy price for this decision,” she said.
“What are you going to do with me?” Ashinji asked, for the third time.
Thessalina remained silent for a long time. When at last she spoke, Ashinji heard what sounded like regret in her voice. “I can’t send you back to your people. My commanders won’t allow it. They’d have you killed first. I dare not go against them any more than I am already. They only choose to follow me out of respect for my father, not for any special loyalty they have for me. My position is still very tenuous, and this act of mercy,” she shook her head as if in disbelief of her own actions, “will infuriate them. I’m risking a lot…but I must do what I think is right. I won’t be responsible for your murder. If that means I’ll have to fight to keep my command, then so be it. I have a few allies…and the power of the duchy behind me.” She paused, then added, “I…I’m really very sorry you and my cousin will be separated.” She seemed genuinely surprised by her last words.
From everything Jelena had told him about Thessalina, he had expected no quarter from her
Maybe she’s not quite the stony-hearted bigot Jelena thinks she is.
“I can’t let you go, but I can’t keep you prisoner, either,” Thessalina continued. “We are about to push our offensive and I won’t have time to think about or deal with you so I’ve arranged to have you taken off my hands.” She stood and the top of her head just brushed the underside of the canvas awning. “A slaver named Marcus is in the area. He specializes in…exotic types. I’m selling you to him.”
Ashinji shivered as the meaning of her words sank into his tired mind. “You…you are making me a… slave ?”
Thessalina nodded. “Look at it this way. I’m giving you a chance…a chance to live. If you’re very, very lucky…well, only the gods know.” She spun on her heel and made as if to leave, then paused and turned back to gaze down at him. “The priests tell us that elven beauty is a trap to catch the unwary,” she said. “They say that your kind weave spells to ensnare us so you might steal our souls because you have none. They say elves are jealous of humans because we have souls…and we are superior for having them.”
“Do you believe what your priests teach you about my people?” Ashinji asked.
“I thought I did,” Thessalina replied, and then she left.
Ashinji rolled onto his side and let his mind slip back into blankness, too exhausted to think about the meaning behind Thessalina’s final words.
“This is the prime specimen you told me about? My lady Thessalina, with all due respect…he looks terrible!”
“That may be so, but he’s young and strong. He’ll heal.”
Ashinji woke with a start from a crazy dream in which a huge, black, four-legged beast with the upper torso of a man screamed at him to watch his back. He moaned aloud at the shock of pain that coursed from his shoulder down through his arm. He tried to flex his fingers but his hand had grown too swollen to close.
“Ah, he’s awake. You say he speaks Soldaran?”
“Fluently.”
“And how do you say his name again?”
“Ash-een-gee.”
“You must be Marcus,” Ashinji murmured through dry, cracked lips. “My new owner.”
He opened his eyes to see a tall, powerfully built man stooping over him. A thick head of curly black hair and a full beard framed the man’s broad face.
“That’s right, Ash…Ashinji. Lady Thessalina has told me a few things about you.” He shot Thessalina an exasperated look. “She didn’t tell me you looked like shit, though!”
“Do we have a deal or not Marcus? I can always sell him to Celene, you know.” Thessalina planted her hands on her hips, impatience evident in every line of her body.
“Temper, temper, my lady. Let’s not be too hasty, now. I said I was interested and I still am, but in light of his, ah, condition, I’m going to have to reduce my offer. Cost of nursing him back to health…the risk I take that he might die of that wound…well, you understand.”
“I understand that you’ll make a handsome profit on him when you re-sell him in Darguinia!” Thessalina’s dark eyes flashed.
“Yes, well. I won’t make anything if he dies. I’ll give you twenty imperials.”
Ashinji wondered how much twenty imperials would purchase-a good warhorse, perhaps, or a decent suit of armor? He found it a very curious experience to be haggled over.
Thessalina frowned. “An elderly house slave might be worth only twenty. He’s a trained fighter. I know for certain you’ll get at least fifty for him, maybe more. I want forty or I’m sending for Celene.”
Marcus chuckled appreciatively. “You’ve missed your calling, my lady. You were born to be a trader. Take thirty five and we’ll shake on it.” He held out a beefy hand. Thessalina extended hers and they shook.
Marcus hunkered down beside Ashinji and fixed him with a penetrating stare. His brown eyes, much to Ashinji’s surprise, held no contempt. “I’ve never had any ill feelings toward your kind,” the slaver began. “So, you’ll not get any special abuse from me. Matter of fact, I believe in treating my stock well, keeping them fit and healthy. I don’t make any money on sick slaves. You’re in no condition to try anything foolish, like an escape attempt, so I won’t bother to warn you against it.” Marcus stood up as far as the low ceiling would allow. He turned toward Thessalina. “I’ll come and collect him first thing tomorrow morning.” Thessalina nodded curtly and followed the slaver out of the enclosure, leaving Ashinji alone with his thoughts.
The dream that had haunted him-of fire and pursuit and a face he knew he should recognize but couldn’t-it had all come to pass in a few terrible, life-altering moments. The image of Sadaiyo turning his back and riding away to abandon him to death would be burned into his mind’s eye forever.
Later that evening, Trip brought him a bowl of soup and a cup of beer, but Ashinji felt too sick to eat. He knew his body needed nourishment in order to heal, but the smell of the food twisted his gut into knots. He begged Trip to take it away, and with a disinterested shrug, the guard complied.
Later still, the surgeon appeared like a blood-spattered apparition, waking Ashinji from a restless doze. He bent down and pressed his blade-thin nose against the bandages that swaddled Ashinji’s shoulder, then raised Ashinji’s arm and ran his fingers over the swollen flesh.
He clicked his tongue and shook his head.
“Too much swelling. Not a good sign,” he said. He laid a hand against Ashinji’s forehead. “Fever as well. But the wound has no odor. Puzzling. Perhaps it’s due to your inhuman constitution. I have no experience treating your kind, so I don’t know what to expect.” He clicked his tongue again. “Willow bark, golden seal, and feverfew, I think. Yes, hopefully, they’ll do the trick. I’ll send one of my assistants with a draught.” He turned to go, then paused and said “I suppose you’re in a lot of pain. I’ll send some poppy juice as well.”
Ashinji shook his head. “No. No poppy juice.” The drug would take away his pain, but it would also cloud his mind more than the pain already did. He couldn’t afford to have his thoughts impaired any further.
“Suit yourself, then,” the surgeon growled.
After he departed, Ashinji wondered if he had imagined the blood upon the man’s apron.
“Hey, tink…wake up.”
Ashinji felt the sharp prod of a booted toe in his ribs. He rolled over to see Trip standing over him, hands on hips, his body silhouetted against the bright sunlight pouring into the enclosure.
Blinking against the glare, Ashinji sat up and rubbed his face with his uninjured hand. He made a mental assessment of the state of his body, and realized with relief that the surgeon’s draught had been effective. The swelling in his arm had noticeably decreased and he found that he could now move the fingers of his left hand. A tiny spark of hope kindled in his breast. Perhaps he would escape death awhile longer.
“Gods, you smell strange, tink,” Trip commented. He wrinkled his nose in distaste.
“I need to…to…” Ashinji began, but the guard finished his sentence.
“Take a piss, sure. ‘Course you do. I’ll take you to the latrines.” He stepped back and waited.
It seemed as if every bone and muscle in his body hurt, and as Ashinji struggled to his feet, he wondered how he would find the strength to make it all the way to Darguinia. He swayed, weak as a newborn lamb, and would have fallen had not Trip lunged forward to catch him.
“Here, lean on me,” the guard muttered, and swung Ashinji’s right arm over his shoulder.
After two days in the relative dimness of his makeshift prison cell, the sunlight outside seemed painfully bright, momentarily dazzling Ashinji’s eyes. He allowed Trip to lead him to the latrine pits, where he had no choice but to relieve himself before a curious crowd of onlookers. Hot with shame and fury, he stumbled away on Trip’s arm, the catcalls and hoots of derision like the lash of a whip upon his bare back.
Marcus was waiting for him, along with Thessalina, when he returned.
“Hmm. I think he looks a little better,” the slaver commented.
“The surgeon will be here shortly to change his bandages and then you can take him,” Thessalina replied. She stepped closer to Ashinji and looked into his eyes. “My army attacked your forces again, last night under cover of darkness, but your general was ready for us. Once again, I had to call a retreat.” She searched Ashinji’s face for his reaction.
“My brother is a capable commander,” he replied.
Thessalina’s eyes widened with surprise. “Your brother commands the elven forces? Perhaps I was too hasty in selling you to Marcus here,” she said. “Your brother, no doubt, would have paid me a handsome ransom for your return… much more than I’m getting from this old fox!” Marcus snorted and rolled his eyes.
Ashinji shook his head. “I thought your commanders would have killed me first, rather than let me return to my people.”
Thessalina tossed her glossy mane. “Enough gold changes even the most resolute of minds. I would have had to share the ransom with them, of course.”
“My brother would not have bargained with you in any case,” Ashinji said.
“Why not?” Thessalina lifted one eyebrow.
Ashinji did not reply, but his expression must have given her some clue, for she frowned and said “I am truly sorry for you, Ashinji.”
“My lady, I’ve come to tend the elf.” The surgeon strode up, followed by an assistant carrying a leather sack. He exclaimed with satisfaction when he saw Ashinji conscious and standing. “The draught worked. Excellent.” He snapped his fingers. “Bring him in here so I can work,” he ordered, indicating the enclosure.
Ashinji sat down on the dingy straw and tried to remain still as the surgeon first removed the bandages then proceeded to clean the wound, but the man made no effort to be gentle. By the time he finished, Ashinji had nearly reached the end of his endurance. Sweat-soaked and shaking, he shot the surgeon a bitter, angry glare as the man wiped his hands on a rag and stood. “I’m finished. You can take him now,” he called out. To Ashinji, he snapped, “On your feet.”
Marcus entered the enclosure, a pair of manacles dangling from his hand.
“C’mon now, Ashinji. Time to go,” the slaver said cheerily. The manacles clinked as they swung against Marcus’ thigh.
For in instant, Ashinji considered running, then just as quickly gave up the idea. Even if he could find the strength to run, he would be cut down before he could take three steps.
“My father is Lord of Kerala, Commanding General of the Armies of Alasiri,” he whispered. “I am the son-in-law of the king. Do not do this to me, please!” He despised himself for begging, but he had nothing else left.
“I know you’ve got a pedigree, Ashinji, but none of that matters anymore,” Marcus said. “You’re a slave now, that’s all. The sooner you accept it, the easier things’ll be for you. I s’pose I could try to sell you back to your dad…that is, if you really are who you say you are…but why should I take the risk? There’s a war on, and your people just might kill me first and ask questions later. No…” He shook his head for emphasis. “I’ll make a very handsome profit selling you in Darguinia, with no risk to my life.” His voice hardened. “Now, get up and hold out your hands.”
Surrounded by his enemies, too weak to fight or flee, Ashinji had no choice but to surrender. Slowly, he climbed to his feet and extended his hands to his new master.
“Wait,” Thessalina spoke up. Marcus turned toward her, eyebrows raised. “He can’t go all the way to Darguinia half-naked,” she said. She looked at Trip. “Go find a tunic,” she ordered. “And a pair of sandals as well.” They waited in silence for the guard to return. Ashinji scanned the faces of the humans around him, trying to summon an emotional reaction, but he found he could not. He had gone numb.
Trip returned with a tunic and a pair of shabby sandals.
“I will need help,” Ashinji said. “I cannot raise my arm over my head.”
The guard hesitated.
“Well, go on! Help him!” Thessalina barked, stabbing the air with her forefinger. Trip jumped to comply, and assisted Ashinji in donning the clothing. The dingy brown tunic hung loosely from his body and the sandals were too large, but the mere fact that he no longer stood half-naked among the enemy acted as a balm to his shredded dignity. Marcus came forward and closed the manacles over his wrists, testing them with a tug to make sure they were secure. He then attached a leather leash to Ashinji’s right wrist.
“Lady Thessalina, it has been a pleasure conducting business with you,” Marcus said, grinning. “I hope the rest of your business goes just as well.”
Thessalina waved her hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Just go,” she said. “I gave one of your assistants a pass that will let all of you stay the night at Amsara Castle. Show it to my steward.”
As she turned to leave, Ashinji called out to her. “Lady Thessalina, if my friend Magnes should ever return home, will you please tell him what became of me?” Thessalina halted. Slowly, she turned to face Ashinji. As their eyes met, Ashinji reached out with his mind to taste the flavor of her psychic energy. He detected determination, ambivalence, anger, and something else…
Thessalina abruptly looked away. She opened her mouth to as if to speak but the words seemed to balk on the tip of her tongue, resisting all of her efforts. Defeated, she spun around and hurried away, as if fleeing something she dared not face.
Marcus huffed and scratched at his beard.
“I think she likes you,” he said.
Marcus drove up to the outer gates of Amsara Castle just as the sun disappeared below the horizon. Ashinji had spent much of the day sleeping on a pile of musty blankets in the wagon bed; the cessation of the wagon’s bumpy movements roused him from a restless doze. He raised his head.
The two soldiers standing guard at the gates came forward to challenge Marcus, who then explained he had permission to stay the night.
“Let’s see yer proof, then,” one of the guards demanded.
“From her Ladyship’s own hand,” Marcus stated, and with a flourish, produced his pass.
“Give it ‘ere.” The guard snatched it from Marcus’ fingers and held the small square of wood up to his eyes, squinting. After a moment’s inspection, he said, “Looks alright, I reckon. Drive on, then. You c’n park over by the east wall.”
“Much obliged,” Marcus replied and snapped the reins to get his sturdy dun mare moving. He drove into the outer yard and pulled the horse to a stop at the designated spot.
The people of Amsara Castle had settled in for the evening, but the arrival of strangers, especially at this time of day, piqued their curiosity. The children approached first. By the time Marcus and his two hired hands had climbed down, a sizable gathering of the castle’s youngest inhabitants had the wagon surrounded.
Ashinji lay very still, hidden from view, listening to the whispers and giggles that skittered around him. The piping sound of the children’s voices evoked memories of his two little sisters, Jena and her twin Mariso-so much alike, they could sometimes fool their own brother if they put their minds to it. The thought of never again hearing their bright laughter or seeing their sweet faces aglow with youthful mischief filled his heart with sadness.
Marcus unhitched the horse from the wagon while his men unloaded the gear they would need for the night. The older of the two, a short, stocky fellow with silver-laced black hair cropped above his ears, tried, with little success, to shoo the children away while his partner, a blond bear of a man even more powerfully built than Marcus, got to work erecting a small shelter against the castle wall.
A chilly wind skirled down from the stone heights of the castle towers and gusted through the yard. The last light of the dying sun had faded now, leaving the stars to shine forth in all their crystalline brilliance. The smell of autumn permeated the air. Ashinji, clad only in the thin, rough cotton of his borrowed tunic and breeches, shivered. It’s going to be a cold night, he thought.
Marcus climbed into the back of the wagon, a set of leg irons in his hands. He grabbed Ashinji’s ankle and fastened the shackle around it, then attached the other end to a stout ring embedded in the wood of the wagon bed.
“You’ll be safe enough here, I think,” he said, then climbed down and stumped off. Ashinji sighed and wrapped himself up in a blanket, then lay down and tried to sponge his mind clean of thoughts.
A few moments later, he felt rather than saw a small body creep into the wagon. A hand grasped the edge of the blanket and gave it a sharp tug.
Ashinji looked up to find a boy, thin-faced and crowned with a shock of sandy hair staring at him, eyes wide as saucers. The child made a little choking noise in his throat and backed away. Ashinji watched as he scrambled off the wagon and fell into the arms of his comrades, who all began chattering at once.
“Get away from there, you brats!” Marcus bellowed.
The children scattered like sparrows before a hawk, shrieking as they ran. Cries of “tink, tink!” echoed against the walls.
Marcus climbed back up in the wagon bed, growling like an angry lion.
“Damn brats,” he spat. He held out a small wooden cup. “The doctor told me to give you this three times a day for the next three days.” Ashinji propped himself on his elbow and took the cup from Marcus’ hand. He drained the bitter liquid in one gulp, fighting the urge to gag. He recognized the draught as the same concoction that Thessalina’s camp surgeon had given him the night before.
“Are you hungry?” Marcus asked.
“Yes,” Ashinji answered, surprised at just how hungry he did feel.
“I’ll bring you some grub, then.” Ashinji pulled the threadbare blanket back over his shoulders and lay down to wait for the promised food.
He knew he had fallen asleep only after the soft whisper of a female voice in his ear woke him. He rolled over and peered out through the slats of the wagon’s side to see a woman staring back at him.
Short and stout, the woman wore the plain garb of a servant. Several tendrils of iron-gray hair had escaped the kerchief covering her head and hung down to frame a face on which every line and groove told of a lifetime of toil and worry. She kept glancing around her as if she feared discovery.
“ Psst,” she hissed. “C’n ye understand me? Are ye awake?” She wrung her hands together. “Oh, please, talk t’me if ye can!”
Despite his fatigue, Ashinji sat up and leaned against the side of the wagon so the woman could see his face. “What is it you wish to speak to me about, Grandmother?” he inquired in a gentle voice, addressing her as he would an elderly elven woman.
“Oh, ye can understand me!” she gasped. “Please…might ye know of…of a girl, my little girl…well, she weren’t my child by blood, no. I never gave birth to her, but I did deliver her into this cruel world, I did.”
A glimmer of recognition lit the edges of Ashinji’s mind.
“She was…well, her sire was one of yer people. My girl had to run away. She ran north, t’ find her dad. P’raps you seen a half-breed girl up in yer country, lookin’ for her dad?”
Ashinji saw in his mind’s eye a memory of Jelena sitting on a couch, her legs tucked beneath her and a sweet bun in her hand. She spoke to him of her childhood, and the human woman who had raised and loved her.
“I do know of your girl, Claudia,” he answered.
“Ye know my name!” Claudia cried. Her hands flew to her face.
“Jelena has told me all about you.”
“Ye…y’ve seen my little girl? Oh, please tell me everything! I’ve missed her so much!” In the cool starlight, tears glittered on Claudia’s seamed cheeks.
“Jelena is well. She found a home and a family, and she thrives.”
Claudia reached through the slats of the wagon and groped for Ashinji’s hand. He took her work-roughened fingers in his and squeezed them reassuringly.
“How d’ye say yer name, kind sir?” Claudia asked.
“Ashinji,” he replied.
“Ash…een…gee,” Claudia drew out the syllables as if savoring the sound of the elven phonemes. “‘Tis a fine, grand name.”
“Jelena calls me ‘Ashi’, mostly.”
“How do ye know my little girl?” Claudia asked, still holding tight to Ashinji’s hand.
“We are husband and wife.”
Claudia drew in a sharp breath. “Ye be my baby’s man! Oh…What misfortune has brought ye here and separated ye from my Jelena?”
Ashinji could not bear to speak the whole truth-it hurt too much-so he related only the bare-bones facts of his ambush and capture, leaving out the stunning betrayal that had made it so much easier.
Claudia was weeping softly now. “My poor, poor baby…How will she ever bear it?”
Ashinji swallowed against the ache in his throat caused by his own grief. “When she is told that I am dead, she will be devastated,” he said. “But Jelena is strong. She has family now to shelter and support her. She also has our child to think about. She will survive.”
“Jelena is with child! My baby is goin’ to have her own baby,” Claudia whispered. “Oh, but what is to become of ye?”
“Marcus the slave trader is taking me south, to Darguinia. There, he will sell me and after that, I do not know.”
“‘Tis an evil thing, ‘tis!” Claudia raged. “After all my poor Jelena suffered, she finds a bit o’ happiness only to have it ripped away from her! If only there was somethin’ I could do…but I’m just an old woman.” She covered her face and Ashinji watched helplessly as her stooped shoulders shook with grief.
“Claudia… Jelena will survive. I know she will. Her love for our child will keep her strong. And if the One permits it, I will find a way to return to her… But there is one more thing I must tell you, Claudia.”
“What is it, dear Ash-ee?”
“Jelena found her father. He is the king of my people.”
Claudia gasped. “Praise all the gods,” she whispered. “My little baby is…a…a…”
“Hey, what’s going on over there!” Marcus called out.
“Quickly, Claudia! You must go now,” Ashinji said.
Once more, Claudia grabbed Ashinji’s hand and kissed it. “May the gods bless an’ keep ye, dear Ash-ee.”
She turned and scurried away across the yard, disappearing in the shadows just as Marcus returned to the wagon, a bowl and cup in his hands. “I thought I heard voices over here. Were you talking to someone?”
He set the bowl and cup down by Ashinji’s hand. The chain attached to his ankle rattled as he shifted position, reminding Ashinji of his new station. “Just an old woman from the castle, curious about what a tink looks like up close.” The pejorative left a foul taste in Ashinji’s mouth the moment it left his lips.
“Huh! Well, I suppose the riffraff ‘round here don’t get too much excitement. Anyway, there’s your dinner. I’m guessing your kind eat the same things as what we eat.” Marcus jumped off the wagon and Ashinji followed the sound of his boots as they retreated back toward where he and his men had set up their lean-to. He strained to make out the words of their desultory conversation, but they sat too far away. Eventually, he gave up and turned his attention to his food.
He raised the bowl to his nose and sniffed. The pleasant aroma of a meat stew provoked a growl from his stomach. Marcus had failed to provide him with a spoon, so awkwardly, he wedged the bowl between his knees and used his good hand to feed himself.
The cup contained sour, thin beer. He drained it in one gulp, and after sucking the gravy off his fingers, he wiped his hand on a corner of one of the blankets that made up his pallet. He then lay down on his back, wrapped himself up, and stared at the star-spattered sky overhead.
The blond bear-man came back later to collect the cup and bowl and to unchain Ashinji just long enough for him to relieve himself against the castle wall. After he had finished attending to the needs of his body, Marcus’ assistant re-secured him to the wagon for the night.
Shivering, Ashinji buried himself beneath the pile of musty blankets and tried to quiet his mind enough to fall asleep. Despite his best efforts, the memory of Sadaiyo’s betrayal kept rising up, unbidden, to torment him.
Never in his worst nightmares had Ashinji ever imagined that Sadaiyo’s jealousy would lead to such an act.
Somehow, I’ve got to survive and return to hold my treacherous brother accountable.
Sleep came to him at last, shortly before dawn.
Marcus rousted his men at sunrise, and had them pack their gear for a speedy departure. Ashinji looked for Claudia among the knot of castle dwellers gathered in the yard to see them off. He caught a glimpse of her kerchief-covered head at the back of the crowd. As the wagon trundled out through the castle gates, he saw Claudia break free of the group to stand apart, hands clasped together before her as if in prayer.
How you must have mourned when you awoke that day nearly a year ago to find your Jelena gone, he thought. I hope, now that you know Jelena is safe, you can find some peace of mind. Farewell, Claudia.
Claudia raised her hand and waved.
Fourteen days later, filthy and in chains, Ashinji entered the heart of the Soldaran Empire.
Darguinia had grown up around a natural, deep-water harbor. The flows of two mighty rivers emptied tons of silt into its murky waters, keeping the dredgers busy year round. The city functioned as the hub of a vast network of trade routes that supplied it with every conceivable commodity from all corners of the far-flung empire.
The main slave market, located in the city center near the Grand Arena, was the largest in the empire, according to Marcus. There, a buyer with enough imperials in his or her purse could purchase living chattel to suit any purpose, from field hand to housemaid, gladiator to pleasure slave. Separate, smaller markets set up within the main precincts dealt in specialty items, such as skilled artisans, children, and exotics. Marcus intended to offer Ashinji up for sale at the latter.
The arrow wound in his shoulder had healed well, leaving Ashinji with only a small, puckered scar and some residual pain. He attributed his relatively easy recovery to the fact that he had done nothing for the last two weeks other than eat, sleep and watch the scenery roll by. The further south they traveled, the warmer and drier the climate had become. The landscape had changed accordingly, shifting from lush grassland and broadleaf forests to low, scrubby vegetation, dry meadows, and stands of tough-looking, waxy-leafed trees.
The wilderness had gradually given way to farmland; Ashinji noted how the fields of late summer wheat and rye lay sere beneath the relentless sun. Marcus had clicked his tongue in dismay. “There wasn’t enough rain last spring, and the summer’s looking to linger past its welcome,” he’d said. “A poor harvest’ll mean hunger in the cities for sure, and that means big trouble for the empress.”
The slaver had been true to his word and had fed his captive well and prohibited his assistants from abusing Ashinji physically, although the two men had delighted in verbally baiting him at every opportunity. Ashinji had little trouble ignoring them, having mastered the art of shedding hurtful words years ago under the harsh tutelage of his brother.
As Marcus deftly maneuvered the wagon through the steady stream of traffic heading into the city, Ashinji observed everything around him with keen interest. He knew he could not escape-at least not any time soon-but he had faced his death and had survived, an outcome he had not expected. His survival ran counter to the prophecy of his dream, proving that the future remained fluid, and could be shaped by his own determination. If given the opportunity, he would attempt escape; therefore, he needed to commit to memory every detail he could of the way in and out of Darguinia.
The broad road upon which they traveled ran for a time through a sprawling shantytown. Everywhere he looked, Ashinji observed masses of humans shoving, walking, crawling, squatting, eating, selling, buying, sleeping, and dying.
Ashinji had always been aware on an intellectual level that the human race outnumbered the elven, but the reality of how much so now became shockingly, terrifyingly clear.
We elves are in serious trouble, he thought.
Ashinji could only stare at the crowds and wonder how Alasiri would ever prevail over such odds.
As the wagon rolled on, the shacks and shelters of the shantytown gave way to small houses and businesses made of wood and brick. The dirt road turned into an avenue paved with a smooth hard surface Ashinji could not identify. When he dared to ask Asa, Marcus’ salt and pepper-haired assistant about it, the man answered “It’s concrete, ya stupid tink!”
The sun had crept past its zenith when the road finally passed the massive public buildings of the city center. Despite the fear that gnawed at his gut, Ashinji still felt impressed at the grand scale of everything. No elven scholar had ever denied the engineering and architectural abilities of the human race, and among all human peoples, the Soldarans were universally acknowledged as the best builders.
The Grand Arena hove into view like a mighty ship, its massive walls of white stone rising to dizzying heights, dwarfing the other structures around it. Marcus drove out onto a road encircling the huge round building and turned the horse’s head to the right, following the curve of the wall eastward. He began to whistle a cheerful tune.
No doubt he’s anticipating the profit he’ll make on me, Ashinji thought.
After following the road for a short distance, Marcus drove the wagon through a set of tall stone gates. The words, “Grand Slave Market” written in High Soldaran script, decorated the plinth.
Ashinji watched in horrified fascination as they rolled past an auction in progress, one of several going on at once in various areas of the market. A young woman stood on a raised platform, naked except for the chains on her wrists and ankles, blank eyes staring through a curtain of tangled black hair. A crowd of men ringed the platform, all shouting and gesturing with their fingers. Another man, dressed in gold- trimmed robes, stood beside the girl, prodding her thighs with the butt of a leather whip. When the handler spun the girl around, bent her over and kicked her legs apart, Ashinji turned away in disgust.
The scene he had just witnessed, coupled with the noise and heat, left Ashinji shaking and nauseous. He leaned against the side of the wagon and struggled to breathe, a mere hairsbreadth from panic.
There’s no way I’ll let Marcus strip and parade me naked in front of a howling mob of humans. I’ll find a way to kill myself first!
The wagon stopped in front of a smaller, walled-off area. Marcus set the brake and jumped down from the driver’s seat. He scrambled onto the wagon bed and stood, hands on hips, looking down at Ashinji. “Your new life is about to begin, Ashinji,” he announced. “This is the exotics market. Mostly humans from faraway lands with different colored skins are sold here, but half-breeds and some non-humans end up here as well. You’ll be a special prize. Not too often a pureblooded elf ends up in your circumstances. The bidding should be spirited!” His eyebrows lifted in amusement.
Ashinji remained silent.
“First things first,” Marcus continued. “We’ve got to get you cleaned up.” He snapped his fingers and his assistants came to attention. “Take him to the wash yard. I’ll be along shortly,” he ordered.
Marcus’ assistants escorted Ashinji to an enclosed yard deep within the exotics market area. Stone troughs lined the walls on three sides. The cobble-paved yard sloped inward toward a large circular drain hole in the center. A crowd of people, some washing themselves, others being washed against their will with varying degrees of struggle, filled the space.
Asa grabbed a wooden bucket and filled it with water from one of the many small taps spouting from the walls over the troughs. “Don’t just stand there, Lacus you lazy dolt!” He glowered at Blond Bear. “Get his clothes off!”
Lacus stepped forward and Ashinji raised his hands. “I can undress and wash myself if you free my hands,” he said. Lacus looked at Asa, his broad face full of uncertainty.
Asa frowned, then said “Yeah, go ahead. Where can he run to, eh?”
Hands free, Ashinji peeled off his filthy clothes and dropped them into the trough. He looked at Asa. “Soap?” he asked, and the man went off to find some. While he waited, he unbraided his hair and raked his fingers through its greasy length, grimacing in disgust, acutely aware that others in the yard were beginning to take notice of him.
Asa returned and pressed an irregular yellow lump into Ashinji’s hand. Ashinji turned his back to the yard and began washing the two and a half weeks worth of accumulated grime from his hair and skin. When he had finished, his skin smarted from the harsh soap, but the sheer bliss of a clean body raised his spirits as much as they could be in this horrible place.
Lacus produced a clean tunic from the pack he carried slung over one broad shoulder. With a grateful sigh, Ashinji slipped the unbleached cotton over his still-wet body. He dunked his dusty sandals in the trough to rinse them and slipped them back on his feet, then fished the old tunic and breeches out of the murky water.
“Leave those,” Asa ordered, and Ashinji let the water-soaked garments slip out of his hand to land with a wet plop on the cobbles at his feet. “Hold out your hands,” Asa commanded and fastened the manacles back on Ashinji’s wrists.
As they left the wash yard, Ashinji glanced about and saw the many gazes turned on him.
Goddess, please! Help me get through this! he prayed. Help me survive and get home to Jelena and our baby!
He looked at the sky and caught sight of a pair of white birds winging their way across the roofs of the market. They swerved and alighted onto the wash yard wall. Their bead-like eyes seemed to follow Ashinji as he passed below their perch.
Seeing the birds, he didn’t feel quite so afraid anymore.
Perhaps these birds are a sign from the One, he thought. I am Ashinji Sakehera, son of Sen and Amara, Lord and Lady of Kerala. Jelena Onjara Sakehera is my wife, and I am son-in-law to Keizo Onjara, King of Alasiri.
I am no slave!
He would hold these truths in his heart, and survive.
Winter tightened its grip on Alasiri. The trees had shed their leaves and stretched bare branches to the gray skies like bony hands grasping toward heaven. The flocks of migratory birds that had passed overhead in countless numbers throughout the late fall had vanished, fled south to their breeding grounds in the human lands. The summer-sleek hides of horses and cattle had grown rough and shaggy, and the sharp wind off the high Kesen Numai Mountains sang of the coming snow.
As the season deepened, so too, did Jelena’s grief. For a time, she withdrew completely from all life at court, sequestering herself in a small set of rooms near the Sakehera family quarters. Unable to bear Sadaiyo’s presence, Jelena had refused to return to the home of her in-laws, and so the king had given her a private flat of her own to live in, along with Eikko.
Keizo came to see her every day, as did Amara and Sen. She would sit with them for a time, but then beg them to leave her, so she could retreat to the haven of her bedroom to lie alone with her sorrow. Sonoe came as well, sometimes with Keizo, sometimes on her own. For reasons Jelena did not quite understand, only Sonoe seemed able to give her any comfort.
Sonoe had been there, standing with the king, when Sadaiyo delivered the news that ended life as Jelena had known it. During the few moments it had taken for Sadaiyo to speak, Jelena’s world had imploded, leaving her a widow and her unborn daughter fatherless. She could recall little of that terrible day, but one of the few memories that stood out had been the unexpected tenderness of Sonoe’s attentions.
Her father’s arms had cradled her in those first few hours of agony, but later, when she had begged to return to her room, his Companion had accompanied her and had stayed with her through the long, dark night. Jelena had found herself clinging to the older woman as she would to a sister, accepting the comfort Sonoe offered without question or hesitation. All the suspicions she had harbored against Sonoe vanished like dew at sunrise, and now, after so many weeks of closeness, she shared a bond with the flame-haired sorceress both deep and strong.
Sonoe now came to Jelena’s rooms each morning and saw to it that she got out of bed, went to the bath house, got dressed, and ate. If not for her friend’s persistence during those first few days, Jelena doubted if she would have had the strength to move at all.
With each passing day, the pain, though still intense, grew a little easier to bear. Slowly, Jelena learned to live with her grief.
This particular morning, Sonoe was late, and Eikko, perhaps not having the heart to disturb her, had left Jelena alone to linger awhile longer in bed. Thin, wintry sunshine spilled like ice water across the coverlets, and Jelena sighed in annoyance at herself for forgetting to remind Eikko to draw the curtains last night. The light made it impossible to sleep, as did the movements of her daughter.
Jelena tossed the covers aside and slid awkwardly out of bed. She drew a fur-lined robe over her nightgown, and with a hand pressed to her aching back, she shuffled over to the little water closet to relieve herself. That done, she settled into the window seat, pulling her robe close about her to ward off the chill that seeped through the glass. Her unborn daughter dealt her another kick to her ribs.
“Easy, easy, little one,” she whispered in Soldaran. “Why must you be so hard on your poor mam?” Jelena almost never spoke in her native tongue anymore, and at times, she missed the sound of it.
Where is Sonoe?
Jelena felt a twinge of worry. She looked out the window, letting her gaze wander over the rooftops glazed with frost. A flutter of black against the blue tiles caught her eye. A large raven had dropped from the sky to land on a dragon-headed rain spout directly across from her window. The bird looked as though it watched something below its perch. Jelena craned her neck to try to get a look at what the bird saw.
In a little courtyard below Jelena’s bedchamber, Sonoe and Princess Taya stood face to face in what seemed to be a tense confrontation. Even from so great a distance, Jelena could sense the animosity that crackled between the two mages like a lightning strike. Sonoe spoke and Taya reacted as if she had been struck. Both women threw up their hands simultaneously and each took a step back and away from the other. Jelena cried out in alarm.
From the other side of the bedchamber door, she heard Eikko call out, “Princess! My lady, are you ill?”
“I’m fine,” Jelena answered, tearing her gaze away from the stand-off below. She pushed herself up from the window seat and moved to open the door, but before she reached it, Eikko had bustled in.
The hikui girl scanned Jelena with a practiced eye. “You cried out, my lady, and it frightened me!” She looked both relieved and accusatory all at once.
“I was startled, that’s all, Eikko. I just saw my aunt and Sonoe down in the courtyard and they seemed to be having a nasty argument,” Jelena explained. She moved past Eikko into her sitting room.
“I’m sure they’ll settle it, Highness, one way or another. You shouldn’t let it worry you,” Eikko said, as she followed her mistress out of the bedroom. Jelena sat on the couch before the fireplace, and Eikko quickly moved to throw a fresh chunk of wood onto the glowing embers of last night’s fire.
But it does worry me , Jelena thought, well aware of the bitter rivalry between her aunt and Sonoe, but still ignorant of its origins. Neither mage had offered an explanation, nor had either one asked her to make a choice between them.
One day, they might, and then what?
“Shall I bring you your tea, Highness?”
A soft rap upon the outer door interrupted Jelena’s reply. Eikko hurried over to admit a rather flustered Sonoe. The mage pulled off her green velvet cloak and dumped it into Eikko’s arms, then swept into the sitting room and dropped on the couch beside Jelena. She held herself stiffly upright, eyes closed, jaw locked tight. Her long, graceful fingers clinched into fists on her lap.
“Sonoe, I saw you with my aunt. What happened?” Jelena asked in a low voice. She stared at her friend’s profile and waited.
With an explosive sigh, Sonoe relaxed. She opened her eyes, turned toward Jelena and smiled. “It’s nothing that I haven’t had to deal with many times before, pet,” she answered. “The princess and I have…old grievances. Grievances which I have long since put aside, but she seems unable to move past. I try to live peacefully with her, for your father’s sake, but, well…” She shook her head and reached out to gather Jelena into her arms. “I am sorry if you were worried,” she whispered.
Jelena felt Sonoe’s warm, comforting energy envelop her like a soft blanket.
“I…I wasn’t worried, not really,” Jelena fibbed. Sonoe chuckled. The baby jumped and both Jelena and Sonoe gasped, then burst out laughing.
“That little one of yours… she grows stronger every day,” Sonoe said. “I can feel her Talent, Jelena. It blazes like the sun. She will be a great beauty and an even greater mage one day.”
Jelena looked down at her bulging belly and tried to imagine what her child would look like. “I pray every night, Sonoe,” she said, “to Hani, the Soldaran goddess of Beauty. I ask her to let Ashi’s face come again into the world when our daughter is born.”
“Eikko!” Sonoe called out.
“Yes, mistress?”
“The princess is ready to go to the bath house now.”
Eikko disappeared into Jelena’s bedroom and emerged a few moments later carrying a heavy cloak of fine, golden brown wool and fur-lined leather boots. She flung the cloak over the top of Jelena’s robe and bent to assist her mistress with the boots.
“Now you’re ready to go out into the cold,” the maid pronounced after she’d done up the last bootlace.
“I’ll wait here for you,” Sonoe stated. “Don’t dawdle. Your father is expecting us for breakfast.”
Jelena smiled. “I have an announcement to make that he’ll want to hear. I’ve decided on a name for my daughter.”
Sonoe beamed with delight. “I won’t ask you to tell me now, because I know you’ll want to tell your father first,” she said. Her emerald eyes shone with affection. Jelena wondered anew how she could have ever been afraid of her father’s Companion.
Jelena waited for Eikko to pull on her own cloak, and then the two young women descended to the courtyard and hurried toward the bath house, their breath swirling in gouts of steam about their heads. As they walked, Jelena glanced over her shoulder to see Sonoe standing in the sitting room window, looking upward, head cocked, as if listening to something.
That’s odd, Jelena thought as she followed Sonoe’s line of sight to the peak of the roof directly opposite the window. The enormous raven she had seen earlier still clung to the frost-slick tile. The bird opened its beak and uttered a harsh cry.
The sound sent an icy finger of dread trailing down her spine, and she shivered. Why the caw of a raven should affect her so, she couldn’t fathom. She looked back toward the window, but Sonoe had disappeared.
“Princess! Do come along, you’ll catch your death out here!” Eikko pleaded through chattering teeth.
“Coming,” Jelena replied. She glanced once more at the roof. The raven remained motionless, a black form silhouetted against the blue sky.
Many Soldarans believed that ravens harbored the souls of executed criminals, bent on mischief and mayhem. Claudia had always discouraged such thinking, believing it to be nonsense; nevertheless, ravens had always made Jelena uneasy.
Pulling her cloak tighter around herself, Jelena turned her back on the bird and followed Eikko’s retreating form. From behind, she heard the flap of wings and a heartbeat later, the raven swooped by, low and fast, then angled up over the roof tops and disappeared. A single, blue-black feather floated down to touch the ground at Jelena’s feet. She sidestepped to avoid treading on it, her gut twisting in irrational fear.
Ashinji would think her silly, and in her mind, she could hear the sound of his good-natured laughter, sweet and mellow. A sharp pang of sorrow opened the ever present wound in her heart as fresh tears wet her cheeks.
I’ve got to stop crying every time I think of you, Ashi. I know you’d want me to get past the pain and move on, for our child’s sake!
By the time she reached the bath house, she had stopped crying, but she felt like the hurt would never truly end.
"Keizo, Jelena has something important to tell you,” Sonoe said as she slipped into her accustomed place at the dining table, to the right of the king. Almost without conscious thought, she arranged her robes to artful effect and settled into the attitude of seductive attentiveness she always adopted when in the presence of her royal lover.
Jelena came to her father and accepted his paternal kiss, then took her place across from Sonoe. The two of them had Keizo all to themselves this morning, for which Sonoe felt greatly relieved. The thought of having to face Taya again, after their run-in earlier…
The old bitch is getting suspicious, she thought. I must tread carefully, very carefully, indeed. Things are at a crucial stage, now. I can’t afford any mistakes!
“What is it you want to tell me, Daughter?” Keizo asked. His voice, as usual, was calm and measured, but the sparkle in his eyes betrayed his eagerness to hear Jelena’s news. Before she could speak, however, the servants arrived with the meal.
Sonoe watched Jelena surreptitiously as the servants laid out the food. The magic of the Key within Keizo’s daughter bled through every pore of her skin, as beautiful and bright as the sun. Sonoe felt intoxicated by its energy. How could any serious mage not wish to possess such power?
The Nameless One thinks he controls me, and that I will meekly assist him in obtaining the Key! I’ll let him believe he has the upper hand, for now. But when I turn the tables on him…then we’ll see who controls whom!
“Shall I pour you some tea, my dear?”
“Uh… yes, please,” Sonoe answered, turning her attention back to Keizo and smiling as he filled her cup. He always seemed to derive pleasure from serving her with his own hand, and she derived enormous satisfaction from letting him do so.
“Now, Daughter… Tell me your news,” Keizo commanded after he had poured tea for them all.
“I’ve decided on a name for your granddaughter,” Jelena said, smiling. “Ashinji and I didn’t have much time to discuss names before he… left for Kerala. I’ve picked one that would please him as well as me.”
She lowered her head for a heartbeat, and when she looked up, her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “Ashinji’s grandmother, Lord Sen’s mother, was named Hatora. I’ve decided Hatora will be our daughter’s name.”
Keizo nodded in agreement. “Hatora is a fine name. I’m sure my old friend will be well pleased with your choice. It is fitting that you should honor the memory of your husband in this way.”
“Thank you, Father,” Jelena said.
“Jelena my pet, I thought we might go riding after breakfast…that is, if you feel up to it,” Sonoe suggested.
“That sounds like a fine idea. My daughter needs to get out and get some fresh air,” the king concurred. Jelena looked hesitant.
“You need to get out,” Sonoe insisted. “You’ve been in seclusion for long enough. We’ll ride down through town and go out beyond the gates for a little way, just to the Meizi Road.” She looked to Keizo for support.
“Yes, excellent. I’ll send for a pair of guards to accompany you.”
Sonoe cursed inwardly, but knew better than to argue. Keizo usually allowed his mistress to come and go as she pleased, unescorted.
He must feel Jelena needs extra supervision due to her fragile state. No matter; I’m more than a match for a couple of guards.
“Yes…yes, it would be nice to get out. I’m sure poor Willow is going crazy for lack of exercise,” Jelena conceded.
“It’s settled, then.” Sonoe lifted a sweet bun to her lips and took a bite.
“What are your plans for today, Father?” Jelena inquired.
“After breakfast, your uncle, your father-in-law, and I will meet. We must finish the last details of our strategies for the upcoming war. A full council is scheduled in two days, and the plans must be ready by then for presentation and review.” Keizo sighed and the benign cast of his face hardened into grimness. “I know it doesn’t seem so now, but spring will be upon us before we know it. We must be prepared for what is to come. Our very survival as a free nation depends on how accurately I and my advisors can predict the Soldarans’ tactics.”
“We have one big advantage over the humans… our magic,” Sonoe added.
“Yes, we do,” the king replied. He reached over to brush a finger along her cheek. “As a member of the Kirian Society, you will play an important role in the planning and execution of our magical defense. I hate to think of you in danger, my love, but there is a good chance you will find yourself on the front line when this conflict begins.”
Sonoe saw genuine love and concern for her in his storm-gray eyes. Her heart skipped a beat and she berated herself for her weakness. She had never intended to allow any soft emotions like affection to cloud her judgment when dealing with the king. But despite her intentions, she found, after so many years living with him, that she had grown extremely fond of Keizo.
Which makes what I ultimately intend to do to him and his daughter all the more difficult, she thought. But not impossible. Any sacrifice will be worthwhile if it means I gain the power of the Key.
She noticed that Jelena had pushed aside her plate. “Are you finished already, Jelena? You’ve hardly eaten a thing,” she chided gently.
The girl glanced at her half-eaten breakfast and shrugged. “I’m just not very hungry right now,” she said in a small voice.
“Well, a nice ride in the fresh air will do wonders for your appetite,” Sonoe replied. “Shall we go?”
After a round of farewell kisses, Sonoe and Jelena left the king to finish his own breakfast in solitude. Two guards waited for them at the stable entrance, as expected. In a very short time, they were mounted up and heading into the town, Jelena astride the gray mare she called Willow, and Sonoe on her favorite bay gelding Susei. One guard rode at the fore to clear the way, the other followed behind his two charges.
The streets bustled with morning traffic. A few of the townsfolk paused to watch as Sonoe and Jelena rode by, but most continued with their business, either uninterested or oblivious. Sonoe often went abroad in the town, so her presence incited little attention, and very few of Sendai’s okui population could identify Jelena by sight. To most observers, Keizo’s daughter looked like just another hikui woman-a bit more well-to-do than most, but otherwise unremarkable.
They had to keep a tight rein on their mounts as they moved through the busy town, but once the little group had passed through the outer gates, the horses eagerly picked up the pace. Sonoe and Jelena urged their mounts forward, and the guards both fell back to a discreet distance.
The two women rode for a time in companionable silence.
Eventually, Jelena spoke. “Sonoe, I know it’s probably none of my business, but why hasn’t my father married you? You’ve been with him for so long, it seems…well, somehow unfair.”
“It’s simple really, Jelena, love. Your father won’t marry me because I’m common-born,” Sonoe replied.
“Oh…I…I couldn’t tell. You’re so…so refined, so noble!”
Sonoe laughed, secretly pleased. “I’m really just a farm girl from Ayame. When I was still quite young, my parents sent me off to work as a servant on the estate of a local mage. My mother recognized that of all her children, I had the most Talent. I think she hoped my master would see my potential and decide to take me on as an apprentice. Lucky for me, he did.”
Of course, I helped things along by letting him spread my legs whenever he wanted!
“My first master taught me all he knew, but I soon realized it was only the tip of a vast mountain of knowledge. I needed to get to a place where I could receive more advanced training,” Sonoe continued. “Master Bansa recognized that I had surpassed his abilities, so he arranged for me to travel to Sendai where I could enter the mage school run by his order, the Kan Onji, also known as the Red Order.”
Sonoe basked for awhile in the glow of nostalgia. Bansa had been quite elderly when she had come to him, but that hadn’t stopped her from seducing him. He had taken her virginity with surprising vigor, and had proved to be a skilled and imaginative lover as well as a kind master.
“Master Bansa paid for my first few months at the school, but he was not a wealthy man, and so I had to start working for my lessons.”
“As a servant?” Jelena asked.
Sonoe burst out laughing.
“Did I say something funny?” Jelena sounded a little miffed.
“Jelena, my sweet girl. You are just so…so innocent in many ways,” Sonoe replied. “I earned my keep flat on my back! Or on top… or on my hands and knees… however it was required of me.”
“Oh,” Jelena answered in a small voice.
“Don’t look so shocked. There’s no shame in what I did. I chose my first profession freely, and it allowed me to pursue my true vocation. Now, I’m a well-respected member of the Kan Onji, a Kirian, and King’s Companion. I’ve done quite well for myself, and I did it without having the power of a noble family behind me.”
“I…I didn’t mean to give you any offense, Sonoe,” Jelena said. “I was just remembering my own situation back in Amsara. I wasn’t given any choice when my uncle arranged to sell me as a concubine to a much older man. I felt desperate, trapped. I couldn’t imagine spending my life as a slave, so I ran away.”
“And you found love and family. The Goddess has blessed you.”
“Yes, I guess She did. Even though Ashinji and I had so short a time together, I’m still grateful. He is…was the love of my life.”
“And soon, you’ll bear his child…Yet another blessing.”
“Does it sadden you that you have no children of your own, Sonoe?”
“Yes, sometimes. But your father has said he wants no children between us, so I take steps to see to it that I don’t conceive. Perhaps, now that he has you and your child, he will relent and allow me to have a baby of my own.”
They had ridden out beyond the last clusters of houses that made up the suburbs of Sendai and now traveled in open countryside. The road that ran to the town of Meizi, seat of Prince Raidan’s fiefdom, stretched ahead of them, lined on either side by ranks of ancient oak trees. A chilly wind played in their gnarled branches, rattling the old wood with a sound like dry bones.
The screech of a raven echoed from high above. Jelena’s head jerked upward like a startled deer. She peered at the pale sky, frowning.
It is time!
The cold voice of The Nameless One sounded in Sonoe’s head like the faraway whisper of death. She twisted in her saddle to note the position of the two unsuspecting guards bringing up the rear, their bodies relaxed and swaying along with their mounts’ strides. She crooked the index finger of her right hand, and her horse tripped and went down on one knee, sending her tumbling from the gelding’s back to the roadway. Jelena cried out in alarm and the guards shouted in dismay.
Sonoe groaned as she raised herself on her elbow.
“Sonoe, are you hurt?” Jelena asked breathlessly, kneeling down on the hard dirt of the road.
How did she get off her horse so fast? Sonoe wondered.
“Lady Sonoe!” the two guards cried as they flung themselves from their horses and ran to her.
“I’m not hurt… Just had the wind knocked out of me! Don’t fuss!” Sonoe grumbled in a show of irritation and hurt pride. She extended her hand to the nearest guard. “Help me up,” she commanded.
“Yes, my lady,” the man replied and seized her hand.
Sonoe pounced on the man’s unprotected mind and squeezed. He made a little choking noise in his throat and fell forward on top of her, unconscious.
“What th…” the other guard exclaimed, but before the rest of his words could leave his mouth, he, too, collapsed. Jelena screamed in fear.
Sonoe pushed the guards’ limp bodies aside and grabbed Jelena’s wrists.
“Jelena, hush!” she commanded, and before Jelena could pull away, Sonoe had the girl’s head between her hands. She looked deep into Jelena’s eyes and plunged through their hazel depths, past the girl’s superficial consciousness toward the center of her mind. She saw the Key, glowing like a lamp at the bottom of a well. She encountered no resistance, which surprised her .
What has Taya been teaching her? Why is she not fighting me?
Sonoe slammed against an invisible barrier with enough force to throw her out of Jelena’s mind and rock her back on her heels. Intense pain shot through her head and she groaned aloud through gritted teeth. Jelena slumped forward, moaning.
Damn you, Taya!
The barrier had been so skillfully laid that Sonoe had been unable to detect it. Only an adept of equal or greater skill than her own could have constructed such a beautifully made shield.
“S…Sonoe…wha…wha…”
Sonoe touched two fingers to Jelena’s temple and felt the girl subside into her arms, head lolling. She eased her to the ground.
The flutter of wings alerted the mage to his arrival.
The raven alighted on the roadbed a short distance away and hopped closer until it stood a couple of paces from Jelena’s head. It looked sideways at the girl’s slack face out of one jet-bead eye. This particular bird still appeared fresh and healthy, so Sonoe knew the Nameless One had just recently taken control of it. It uttered a small croak.
“The Crown Princess has been busy,” Sonoe said aloud, disgust roughening her voice. “She has put up a third level shield around the Key. I can’t crack it without killing the girl.”
Then kill her! She has to die anyway!
“I can’t kill her now!” Sonoe retorted. “How would I explain her death? Besides, we don’t have another vessel prepared, and without a proper vessel, the magic of the Key will be lost! Is that not what you told me?” Sonoe had to struggle against her mounting fury. In the part of her mind she kept hidden, she savored the knowledge of the weapon she would use against him when the time came.
A gust of sulky energy wafted through her mind like the fetid odor from a latrine pit.
I grow weary of my prison. It has been a thousand years since I last walked the earth as a flesh and blood man. I long to see, to smell and hear, to taste…everything!
“You must be patient, my lord,” Sonoe said. She held out her arm and the raven hopped onto it. “I’m already working on a way to bring the girl to you. I found an ancient book in the king’s library. It’s a lost chronicle of the Kirians. In it, I found references to a translocation portal somewhere within the precincts of Sendai Castle. If I can find it, I might be able to reactivate it. There is a portal within the ruins of the Black Tower. If both can be reactivated, I can bring the girl directly to you.”
The portal within the Tower remains energized, though the power has waned over the centuries. The last time it was used was over three hundred years ago, when two of your order came to check on me.
“Taya Onjara is Mistress of the Kirians now.”
Though that office should belong to me, Sonoe thought.
“She watches me very closely now, especially since I’ve gained the girl’s trust.” Sonoe frowned. “Amara also keeps a close eye on the girl, and both have had a hand in her training. They are preparing her for the Sundering, though neither has told Jelena the full truth of what will happen. They will send her, unwittingly, to her death and console themselves with the righteous knowledge that they have saved the world! Cowards!” Sonoe spat. “If they had any nerve at all, the two of them would seize the power of the Key for themselves!”
And you, of course, would not dare to entertain such a betrayal!
The black stone pendant hidden between her breasts exploded with a sudden burst of heat, searing Sonoe’s skin and wringing a startled cry of pain from her lips.
“No, Master, no!” she gasped, clutching the stone. “Please, you are burning me!” The stone grew cold again and Sonoe sighed in relief and irritation.
One of the guards stirred. The raven spread its wings and clacked its beak.
“You must go now, so that I can revive them all before too much time has passed and they notice something’s amiss,” Sonoe said.
Without warning, the raven lunged at her face and sliced her cheek open with its razor-sharp beak.
Sonoe screamed and flung the bird from her. Cursing, she pressed a hand to the bleeding wound. “Why did you do that?” she cried.
So that when you gaze upon the scar that mars the beauty of your face, you will be reminded of who owns you .
The raven launched itself into the air. It turned on a wingtip and sped off in the direction of Sendai, leaving Sonoe sobbing with rage.
When she had at last mastered herself, she reached over and tapped each of the guards on their temples. They groaned as they regained consciousness. Sonoe lay down on the ground and brushed Jelena’s forehead. As the girl’s eyes fluttered open, the mage slipped into her mind and sponged away all traces of her intrusion.
The two guards climbed to their feet, looking bewildered.
“My lady!” they cried in unison.
“Are you hurt?” the older of the two asked, bending over Sonoe, his face a mask of concern. He seemed to have no idea that he had been unconscious.
“I’m just bruised,” Sonoe snapped.
“My lady, your face is bleeding!” the other guard exclaimed.
Jelena sat up and looked around, clearly puzzled.
“How did I end up on the ground?” she asked to no one in particular. Her gaze alighted on Sonoe and she yelped in alarm. “Sonoe, are you all right? Your horse fell!”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Just a little cut on my cheek is all. I must have fallen on a rock. Help me up,” she commanded, holding her hands out to the guards. “It’s not like Susei to be clumsy.” She walked over to where the bay stood, tail swishing.
“He’s got a scraped knee,” the younger guard commented. “Must have stepped in a pothole or something.” He began scanning the roadbed as the other guard helped Jelena to her feet.
“You should let me wash that cut for you,” Jelena said, coming up behind Sonoe.
Sonoe turned to face Jelena and forced a smile. “Thank you, pet,” she said. She stood still while Jelena ministered to her, all the while seething with anger.
You’ll be the slave, and I shall be your mistress! You think you rule me now, but what you don’t know is that I possess the tool which will give me complete power over you! All I have to do is speak the word when the time is right!
She had stumbled across it quite by accident. While digging through a chest of old scrolls she had found in the dustiest, dimmest corner of the library storeroom, her hand had encountered a tiny book.
Its leather binding was crumbling with age and the ink upon the parchment pages had faded almost to illegibility, but she’d instantly recognized the hand of Master Iku Azarasha himself. How the book had survived so long, she couldn’t fathom. She had taken the book, realizing she’d discovered a treasure of immense value.
She had worked in secret for many days, and after much effort, she managed to raise the faded ink enough to read the contents of the book. What she read astounded her.
The little book turned out to be a personal account of the last battle between the sorcerer king Onjara and his daughter and successor, Queen Syukoe. It also described the Ritual of Sundering that broke the king’s power and sent him down to defeat and undeath. Master Iku had meticulously recorded everything about those events, including the names of everyone who had taken part.
Sonoe had unwittingly found the only weapon she would need to subjugate the ancient spirit.
His true name.
Mistress de Guera! Always a pleasure to see you!”
Marcus placed his clasped hands to his heart and bowed his head in greeting as a woman and three men approached.
“Marcus. I got your message, and I was intrigued. Where is this extraordinary merchandise you wish to show me?”
“He is right over there, Mistress, sitting against that post… Ashinji! On your feet, now!”
Upon hearing his name, Ashinji looked to where Marcus and the woman stood waiting, but couldn’t bring himself to move. The trauma of his situation had momentarily paralyzed him.
“You heard the boss!” snarled Lacus. He aimed a kick at Ashinji’s ribs, but a sharp word from Marcus halted his foot in mid-swing. Slowly, Ashinji climbed to his feet. He moved to stand before Marcus and the woman, pushing tendrils of wet hair out of his face with his shackled hands.
The woman gasped and her eyes widened. “Is this…is he…?”
Marcus bobbed his head. “Yes! He is, indeed, Mistress.”
“But…however did you get him?”
“I bought him in Amsara from the duke’s daughter. She’s leading a small campaign against the local elven warlord. This one was captured in battle by some of her soldiers.”
“He’s beautiful,” she breathed.
Ashinji studied the woman closely while she and Marcus discussed him as they would a stallion or bull. She still possessed much of her youthful vigor, even though the lines at the corners of her dark eyes betrayed her maturity. Her lustrous black hair framed her face in a complicated coiffure; her fine clothes and jewelry spoke of her wealth and position. The three men-two flanking her and one at her back-wore plain but well-made clothing. Ashinji guessed they were high-ranking servants in the lady’s household.
“He says he’s noble born, the son of one of their lords,” Marcus continued. “He speaks excellent Soldaran.”
The lady looked impressed. “Is this true? Do you speak our language?” she addressed Ashinji, then cocked her head to one side and provided the answer to her own question. “Yes, you do. I can see it in your eyes. What is your name?”
“Ashinji Sakehera…Mistress,” Ashinji replied softly.
“Ashinji,” the lady said, rolling his name on her tongue as if savoring a sweetmeat. “The sound of it is so…so like you,” she added. “Exotic and sensual.” Her dark eyes smoldered.
“He’s young, fit, and a trained warrior, Mistress. He will do well for you, however you choose to use him,” Marcus said. “Do you want to see him stripped?” The lady nodded in affirmation.
Ashinji’s gut churned. Wild thoughts of escape flashed through his head, but in his heart, he knew them to be futile. He remembered the human girl, bound and naked on the auction block. Asa the blond bear came forward, hands grasping, but Ashinji fended him off.
“I’ll do it myself,” he growled and awkwardly wriggled out of his tunic. He raised his chin in defiance as Mistress de Guera’s eyes took in his naked body from head to toe. Her gaze lingered for several heartbeats below his waist then swept up to pause at his left shoulder.
She raised a perfectly manicured finger and pointed. “Is that a new scar I see there on his shoulder?” she inquired.
“Uh, yes, Mistress, it is,” Marcus answered. “He was shot during his capture. I first saw him right after the camp surgeon had cut the arrow out of him. He was in bad shape, but I gladly took on the task of nursing him back to health.” Marcus smiled broadly. “As you can see, the wound healed beautifully, and he’s fully recovered.”
“So it seems.” Mistress de Guera’s tongue darted over her lips. “You may cover yourself…Ashinji.” Ashinji felt a wave of relief as he pulled the rough tunic back down over his body. He had experienced humiliation in the past at the hands of his brother, but Sadaiyo’s worst could not compare to what he had just endured. He struggled to hold his head up, though his cheeks burned with shame and fury.
“As I’ve said, Ashinji, here, is a trained fighter. He’d be an excellent draw as a gladiator,” Marcus pointed out.
“Yes, he would. The people are always hungry for the exotic, the novel. Aruk-cho is still one of my biggest money-makers. The crowds turn out in droves to see him whenever he appears. A pureblooded elf is something no one has yet seen in the Grand Arena.” Mistress de Guera stepped forward, and before Ashinji could dodge or pull away, she seized his head between her hands and stared straight into his eyes. He froze.
“Perhaps I have another use in mind for him,” she murmured. A little piece of Ashinji’s mind, detached from all the horror, noted that he and the lady stood at the same height. A fragment of memory flashed across his mind’s eye- one of the many moments when he had been this close to Jelena, preparing to savor the taste and feel of her warm, soft mouth. Unbidden tears welled in his eyes.
Mistress de Guera held him thus for what seemed like an eternity. The scent of roses swirled around them.
“There is such sadness in you, Ashinji,” she said.
“Do you wonder why, Mistress?” he replied in a ragged voice.
She shook her head. “No, of course not.” She trailed a finger across his lips and stepped back. “Name your price, Marcus.”
“I couldn’t part with him for less than two hundred imperials, Mistress,” Marcus replied, rubbing his palms together.
“I want him, Marcus, but I won’t be robbed. I’ll give you one hundred.”
Marcus threw up his hands. “Mistress de Guera, for you and only you would I sell him at a discount, but I have to recoup the extra expense it took to get him here. I had to pay for the medicine and the special food that restored his health out of my own pocket, you know. Give me one-fifty and I’ll make some profit, at least.”
The lady rolled her eyes. “Your sad story doesn’t interest me, Marcus. One twenty five.”
“One-forty, Mistress. Please, have some compassion! You must admit he’s worth every copper.”
“One-thirty, and not a sol more.”
“We have a deal, my lady,” Marcus purred. He grinned and held out his hand. Mistress de Guera huffed and shook her head, but she took Marcus’ hand and shook it. A tiny smile flickered over her lips as she glanced toward Ashinji.
So, it’s done , Ashinji thought. At least I’ve been spared the humiliation of a public auction. He watched as one of Mistress de Guera’s servants stepped forward and removed a leather pouch from his belt. He handed the pouch to his mistress, who opened it and carefully counted out the agreed upon price and dropped the coins into Marcus’ waiting palm.
“I’ll need proof of ownership,” the mistress said. Marcus rummaged around in his belt pouch and produced a folded piece of paper.
“I trust, since this was a private sale, we can, ah, avoid full disclosure to the market clerks?” He held out the paper. “I’d prefer to pay as little tax as possible.”
“Of course,” the lady agreed, unfolding the paper and perusing the contents. “Well, this all seems to be in order.” She refolded the paper and tucked it into the wide belt at her waist.
“It is always a pleasure doing business with you, Mistress de Guera,” Marcus said with a grin. He turned to face Ashinji. “I know you can’t appreciate this, but I did you a big favor by selling you to this lady. I could’ve sold you to one of the brothels or to a torture house. At least now, you’ll have a chance to win your freedom. Good luck to you, Ashinji. I mean that. Hold out your hands.”
Ashinji obeyed, because he could do nothing else. Marcus removed the shackles from his wrists, but another of the mistress’s servants stepped up and snapped a fresh pair on almost before Marcus had taken his off. He then attached a stout chain lead and deferentially placed the handle into the hand of his mistress.
Mistress de Guera gave the chain a gentle tug. “Come along, Ashinji,” she ordered and turned to walk toward the front gates of the main market. The three servants closed up around Ashinji, both to shield him from curious eyes and to block any possibility of escape.
A sedan chair awaited just outside the gates, a quartet of burly slaves crouched beside it, sweating in the midmorning sun. Mistress de Guera mounted, assisted by one of her servants, and the slaves hoisted the chair to their shoulders. Another servant secured the leash attached to Ashinji’s manacles to the back of the chair, then unfurled a large parasol and held it over his mistress’s head. The procession started off. Ashinji looked back once over his shoulder to see Marcus and his two assistants standing beside the gates, watching.
To his astonishment, Marcus waved. Ashinji turned away in confusion.
Waves of heat rose from the dusty road. Ashinji’s damp hair dried quickly and now hung down his back in a tangle. He longed for a comb and some almond oil.
Strange how such little things seem so important now , he thought.
Mistress de Guera remained silent and aloof in her chair. The slaves set a steady pace toward the stone bulk of the Grand Arena. The servants walked in silence as well, ignoring Ashinji. He felt like a ghost, floating along in their midst.
They approached the Arena from the rear, entering a vast complex of annexes that sprawled out from the main structure like the wings of a great bird. The bearers turned down a wide alley between rows of high brick walls broken at regular intervals by tall, wooden gates. They halted outside one set of gates which resembled all the others, except for a brass plaque attached to one post. Ashinji could not read the words engraved upon them-they were too small for him to see from where he stood-but he guessed that they identified this particular place.
Two of the servants scurried forward to push open the gates and the slaves bore Mistress de Guera through. Ashinji had no choice but to follow.
He found himself walking across a small, grass covered quadrangle toward a set of inner gates. One of the servants shouted and the gates swung open to reveal a much larger, sand-floored enclosure.
The yard lay empty under the glare of the sun. Wooden posts sunk into the ground at regular intervals stood around the perimeter. An awning of canvas ran the length of one side. Beneath the awning, Ashinji could see the deeper darkness of open doorways. At the far end of the yard, opposite the gates, stood a two-story building, surrounded by a brick wall of its own. A small arched gateway pierced the wall, blocked by what looked like an iron grille. The chair bearers made for the house and set their mistress down before the gate.
Mistress de Guera spoke for the first time since leaving the slave market.
“Send Aruk-cho to me in a quarter turn,” she ordered. She climbed out of the chair, straightening her skirts as she alighted.
“Yes, Mistress,” the youngest of the servants answered, then turned on his heel and sped away.
“Bring him,” Mistress de Guera said, indicating Ashinji with a flick of her wrist. The older of the remaining servants untied Ashinji’s leash from the chair and pulled him along in the mistress’s wake. They passed through the iron gate- which had been cleverly fashioned into the semblance of a climbing rosebush- then across a small, fragrant garden humming with bees and through an arched doorway into the cool interior of the house.
It took a moment for Ashinji’s eyes to adjust to the dimmer light inside the dwelling, but when he could finally discern his surroundings, he saw a large open room full of low, wooden furniture, ornate carpets underfoot, and gauzy hangings softening the walls. The far end of the room opened onto a courtyard.
Mistress de Guera settled gracefully onto a padded bench. “Leave us,” she commanded, and the two manservants promptly withdrew, though Ashinji had no doubt they would remain within earshot should their mistress require them. “You may sit, if you wish.” She indicated the carpeted floor. Ashinji considered what it would mean if he sat at this woman’s feet, decided it was pointless to worry about such things any longer, and sat.
“Tell me about yourself,” she said.
“I am the second child of Sen and Amara, Lord and Lady of Kerala. My father is the Commanding General of the King’s Army of Alasiri. I have a wife, who I love more than my own life, and a child on the way who I may never see.” His voice broke, and he had to pause, lest he cry out in anguish. Mistress de Guera sat in silence, waiting, as he mastered himself enough to continue.
“I have an older brother and three younger sisters. My wife’s father is Keizo Onjara, King of Alasiri…I am not sure what else you wish to know.”
“When Marcus said you claimed to be a nobleman, he didn’t say you were a prince.” Mistress de Guera leaned forward and Ashinji caught the scent of roses.
“I am not a prince,” he corrected her. “I am married to the king’s daughter.”
“How did you learn to speak Soldaran so well?”
“Languages come easily to me. I know Sharan and a little bit of Qoum, as well.”
Mistress de Guera sighed and leaned back. “I hear the pain in your voice, Ashinji. You miss your home, your family… your wife. You fear you will never see any of them again, and truthfully, you probably won’t. Still, there is a chance for you to survive and to make a place for yourself here. I’m going to give you a choice, the last one of any consequence you’ll get as a slave. You can go to my stable and earn your keep and possibly your freedom as a gladiator. You’ll be treated just like all the rest of my fighting slaves. Or… you can live in this house, with me, as my personal slave.”
Ashinji studied Mistress de Guera’s face but her visage remained smooth, almost expressionless. Tentatively, he reached out with his mind to brush the surface of her consciousness and encountered only calm anticipation.
“If you choose to live in my house, you’ll be allowed to come and go as you please,” the mistress continued. “I’ll dress you in clothes befitting your position, and you’ll dine at my table. You’ll share my bed as well.” She arose, cat-like, from the bench and stood over Ashinji. Gently, she began to caress the top of his head, running her fingers through his tangled hair.
“I can make your life here very easy, beautiful one,” she whispered.
“Jelena, my wife, is my soul-mate, Mistress,” Ashinji answered. “I could never bring myself to betray her, not even to save myself pain and hardship… I must choose to be a fighter.”
Mistress De Guera continued to stroke Ashinji’s hair for few more heartbeats. “Very well,” she sighed, then stepped back and regarded him with disappointment. “I can’t say I’m surprised, though I did hope… I can keep you in my house by force, but I won’t. I’d rather you come to me willingly. Corvin!” she called out. The senior manservant appeared. “Is Aruk-cho here yet?” she asked.
“He’s waiting outside the gate, Mistress,” Corvin answered.
“Give Ashinji here over to him.”
“Yes, Mistress.” Corvin stepped forward and grabbed the back of Ashinji’s tunic. He gave it a sharp tug. “On your feet, slave,” he ordered.
Fighting a surge of anger, Ashinji complied.
“Ashinji, look at me,” Mistress de Guera commanded and he raised his eyes to meet hers. “My offer remains open. Should you change your mind, just get word to me.” She waved her hand and Corvin gave his back a firm shove, propelling him toward the entrance to the house.
Ashinji exited, blinking, into the heat and heavy fragrance of the garden. A bee darted past his ear and he swung reflexively, hitting himself in the face with the chain that bound his wrists together. Cursing, he rubbed his jaw.
Corvin guffawed. “I hope you swing a sword better than you do a chain, tink!”
“I would not come within striking distance of me when next I hold a weapon, if I were you, human,” Ashinji responded in a low voice. Corvin sniffed, but held his tongue.
They approached the gate and Corvin stepped in front of Ashinji to push it open. “Aruk-cho!” he called out. “The Mistress has got fresh meat for you!”
Ashinji stepped through the gate onto the hot sand of the yard. Something large and dark stood beyond.
Ashinji gaped in astonishment.
An akuta!
Ashinji had first learned about the race of horse people from an old book in his father’s library, but until now, he believed they had died out many years ago. In the ancient past, the akuta had been staunch allies of the elves.
Built like a man from his torso upward, with powerfully muscled arms and broad shoulders, the akuta stood at least a head taller than Ashinji. Just below his waist, where the hips and legs of an elven man would have been, the four-legged body of a horse began. His hide glistened like black satin in the sun. A thick mane of black hair sprouted from his head and cascaded over his shoulders to brush his withers.
A heavy leather harness crisscrossed his upper body and attached to a thick, metal-studded belt encircling his man’s waist. Leather guards covered both forearms. An enormous, curved sword hung at his side.
The akuta’s fathomless black eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Ashinji.
“My heart grieves to see you here, friend,” he rumbled in a voice like distant thunder.
“I had no idea any of the akuta still lived,” Ashinji replied. “Are there many more of you?” He stared in awe at the creature, remembering his dream of several weeks ago.
“We are far fewer in number these days, but we hold our own, much like our old friends the elves do. I am Aruk-cho of the Wakani Clan.”
“I am Ashinji Sakehera.”
“I will see to Ashinji now, Corvin. You may go.” Corvin’s chin shot up and a look of offense twisted his plain features. Without a word, he turned on his heel and stamped back through the gate, disappearing into the garden.
Aruk-cho produced a set of keys from a pouch on his belt and unlocked the manacles on Ashinji’s wrists. Sighing with relief, Ashinji massaged where the metal had chafed his skin.
“Follow me,” the akuta directed as he headed off across the yard toward a long, low building, the manacles swinging from his hand.
“How did you end up here, Aruk-cho?” Ashinji inquired. He had to scramble to keep up with the akuta’s long, rolling stride.
“I was a slave like you, once. I made the mistake of going up against the chieftain of my tribe. I lost, and so found myself in bondage, sold to the Soldarans. That was many years ago.”
“Are you a gladiator?”
“I was, but I earned my freedom. Now, I run this yard for Mistress de Guera, and, occasionally, I fight for prize money. Everything will be explained to you soon.” He paused in front of an open doorway. “Here is where you will sleep.” The akuta had to duck in order to pass through the door. Ashinji followed and found himself in a long barracks. A scarred wooden table filled the center of the space, and an empty fireplace gaped like an open mouth in the wall opposite the door. Shelves lined the walls at the back, each just long and deep enough to hold one body. The sound of snoring filled the hot, still air.
Aruk-cho stamped one massive hoof upon the hard-packed clay floor.
“Up…Up with you!” he bellowed. “Rest time’s over!” He turned to Ashinji. “Everyone in this room is new, like you. Most were brought over from the market just yesterday.” The sleepers began to stir from their shelves, muttering and sniffling. “All of you, out in the yard, now,” Aruk-cho ordered, pointing through the open barracks door. “The mistress will be along shortly to address you.”
Ashinji followed Aruk-cho back out into the shimmering heat of the yard, then stood and watched as his fellow neophyte slaves emerged from the barracks. He counted ten others, all young and apparently fit. Six of them Ashinji recognized as native Soldarans by their skin color and facial features. He knew the rest were human, but of types he had never before seen.
Two of the men had skins the color of a bay horse, with broad, flat noses and hair that hung in long ropes to their waists. Another had skin the color of honey, with narrow, dark eyes and jet-black hair gathered in a topknot at the crown of his head. Ashinji found the last man the most curious of all, for as far as he could tell, this human had no body hair-he even lacked eyebrows-and his pale skin had been seared red by the relentless southern sun. By the way he squinted and hunched his shoulders, Ashinji could tell the direct sunlight pained him much more than it did the others.
Aruk-cho had gone into the barracks directly across the yard and had re-emerged leading a straggling procession of female slaves. He ordered them to form up into rows behind the men. All six of them were Soldarans.
“Hey, you!” a voice hissed to Ashinji’s right. He swiveled his head to see one of the Soldaran males, a boy just coming into manhood, sidle up to stand beside him. “Can you understand me?” the boy asked.
“I can. What is it you want?”
“You’re an elf,” the boy stated.
Ashinji sighed. “Yes,” he answered.
“My ma was half-elf! See? I got pointy ears.” The boy pushed his ruddy brown hair away from the side of his head to display bluntly tapered ears. He grinned. “My ma named me Seijon, after her pa. What’s your name?”
“Ashinji Sakehera. Seijon is a very old elven name. It belonged to one of our greatest kings, many thousands of years ago.” Ashinji could see the boy’s elven blood in the cast of his features, though he could pass for a full-blooded human if he hid his ears.
“I never thought I’d get to meet another one of my grandpa’s people,” Seijon said.
Another? Ashinji thought.
“I never knew my pa,” the boy continued. “He took off before I was born. It was always just my ma an’ me.” The boy’s voice contained no trace of bitterness.
“Be silent!” Aruk-cho ordered. “The mistress approaches.” Seijon stifled a giggle and made an exaggerated show of shutting up. Mistress de Guera strode toward them, trailed closely by Corvin. She halted beside Aruk-cho, who bowed his head in respect.
“The new slaves are all assembled, Mistress,” he rumbled.
Though Ashinji stood in the front row, Mistress de Guera ignored him. She cleared her throat and began to speak. “My name is Armina Marcela Luiza de Guera. As of this day forward, I control your lives completely. I decide when you eat, when you sleep, when you fight, when you rest. In short, I own each and every one of your bodies, and later this afternoon, you’ll all receive my mark of ownership upon your shoulders. I’m not so foolish or naïve as to believe I own your souls. That is the one thing you still can call your own.”
Mistress de Guera paused to sweep her penetrating gaze over her new property. “I was born on a farm in Thalacia,” she continued. “At the tender age of twelve, my father sold me to a Thalacian horse trader. Too many mouths to feed, and as I was only a girl, all my real value was located between my legs. So off I went. The trader kept me awhile, and after he knocked two kids out of me, he sold me to a Soldaran agent looking for young, healthy females for the arena. I was big and strong for my age, a good candidate for gladiator training.
“Eventually, I ended up here, in Darguinia, a slave like all of you, put up for sale at the central market. I had the good fortune to be purchased by Antonius Sisco himself…yes, I see some of you know of him.”
Several of the Soldarans nodded.
“Sisco was a legend! The greatest trainer of all time,” Seijon whispered to Ashinji.
“Sisco trained me personally,” Mistress de Guera continued. “He made of me a finely crafted fighting machine. I was magnificent. None had seen my like before, nor have since.” She spoke matter-of-factly, without a hint of arrogance, almost as if she praised another person.
“I reigned as Female Champion for three years. During that time, I never lost a match, and by virtue of my skill, I earned my freedom. The day I retired from the arena, I became Sisco’s wife and partner. We were married for twenty five years and I gave Sisco five sons and three daughters. This yard you find yourselves in is the business we built together.”
She paused, and bowed her head for a moment, then raised it. “I lost my dear husband two years ago. The yard is mine now and mine alone, though one day, all that Sisco and I have built will be our legacy for our children.”
“I tell you all this because I wish to inspire you,” Mistress de Guera said. “If you are talented and very, very lucky, you can survive your time here and earn enough money to buy your freedom. It is possible. I did it. I began with nothing, and now, I’m one of this city’s most respected citizens.”
“And so I will make this pledge to you all. Put everything you have into this, fight bravely, obey me and my trainers without question…do all of this for me, and when you die, you will be treated with honor. But, if you live …after two years, I will free you, and gift you with a handsome sum for start-up money. You’ll be able to go home if that’s what you wish, or stay and make a go of it here.”
She slowly scanned the ranks of expressionless faces before her. “Aruk-cho will explain the rules of the yard now.” She nodded toward the akuta.
“Everyone gets up at daybreak, except on off days, when you can sleep in if you wish,” Aruk-cho began. “Practice starts after breakfast and will run until midmorning, when you get a half-turn break, then resumes until midday. You eat, then you get free time for three turns. You can rest, if you wish, or occupy yourself with personal tasks. Practice matches begin at three turns past midday and go until sunset, then you’re finished for the day.
“All slaves are on five days, off two. If you live long enough to earn your freedom and you choose to stay on as a prizefighter, you fight as many days as you wish. The Grand Arena runs six days a week. We are but one yard among twenty, but we are also one of the top five; therefore, our contract gives us a lot of days in which we must fill the seats.
“Four days out of six, our yard runs points matches. These are non-lethal, and the fighters earn points for style and skill. They are usually timed, or sometimes go to first blood. Those slaves who are less skilled will fight these matches exclusively, until I decide when he or she is ready to advance. You advance by improving your skills. The better you get, the more points you earn. Points get you rewards. At first, it will be extra privileges, and later on, it will be money.
“The other two days, we run lethal matches. These matches are always between yards, and they end only when all fighters on the opposing side are either dead or so badly wounded, they can no longer fight. Only those slaves who are the most skilled will be put into these matches. If you mortally wound an opponent, or if you, yourself are mortally wounded, the kill is required to be swift and clean. Unnecessary cruelty will be punished by loss of points and esteem. The people come to the arena to see feats of skill and bravery, not butchery.
“You will only be required to fight one lethal match per month until I can see that you stand a decent chance of survival, then you’ll fight one every ten days.”
He paused to make sure he had each slave’s full attention, then continued. “There are special matches put on for Festivals. Whether or not you fight in these depends on your skill and seniority. These matches always carry very large purses and you can earn a lot of money and points, but they are almost always filled up with prizefighters. Only a few slots are generally available for slaves. Always, these matches are lethal.
“Finally, there is the Great Festival of Cheos, Lord Of Heaven. This is the biggest festival on the calendar and it lasts an entire week. The Grand Champions are decided during this series of matches. All fighters, both slave and free, who have accumulated enough points are eligible to participate. The matches run as eliminations, with the winners advancing to the next rounds. The finals are held on the last day. The winners, one man and one woman, will each be named Grand Champion. If he or she is a slave, freedom is the reward, along with a handsome purse.”
Aruk-cho paused again and pushed at the sand with a forefoot. He looked to Mistress de Guera, who just nodded. He continued. “So, that is how things are. Not as bad as you imagined, I’m sure. As slaves go, you are the lucky ones. You will get far better treatment here in the de Guera yard as gladiators than almost anywhere else, including the brothels. It is in the mistress’s best interests to keep her stable well fed and fit. Only healthy, skilled fighters make her money. Not all yard owners are as wise as our mistress. Do your best for me and for her and you can count on both of us to do our best for all of you. Dismissed!”
Ashinji turned to follow the others back to the barracks.
“Wait, Ashinji!” he heard Aruk-cho call out behind him.
“I’ll go and grab you a bunk next to mine,” Seijon offered. The boy’s whole body quivered with excitement, reminding Ashinji of Jena and Mariso. He sighed and nodded in assent. Seijon’s face broke into an ecstatic grin and he dashed off toward the barracks.
“The boy has attached himself to you, I see,” Aruk-cho commented.
“So it would seem,” Ashinji replied dryly. “Do the Soldarans often sacrifice their children to their blood sports?”
“Seijon will not be participating in any lethal matches. The mistress purchased him as a house slave some months ago, but he kept pestering her to let him learn to fight. Just yesterday, she gave in and sent him to me.”
“What is it you want of me, Aruk-cho?”
“There is someone here that you should meet. Come with me.”
Intrigued, Ashinji followed the akuta to the far end of the yard where another barracks stood.
“This is where the veteran females bunk,” Aruk-cho explained. He paused before the curtained entrance. “Gran!” he called out. “Gran…There is someone here to see you!” The curtain twitched aside and an old woman poked her head out, squinting in the sunlight.
“What do you want, you big ugly beast!” the woman scolded. “Can’t you see I’m trying to take my nap…Oh!”
Ashinji’s eyes widened in shock.
The old woman was an elf.
Silence and the musty smell of places long shut away from the sun surrounded Prince Raidan. As he strode along, the lantern in the prince’s hand cast crazy shadows on the frost-rimed stone walls; his breath rose in thin puffs of steam from his lips and nostrils.
The prince had chosen the location for his secret conferences with care. This part of Sendai Castle had been closed up and abandoned years ago during his father’s childhood. As a boy, Raidan had stumbled upon a hidden doorway into the block of rooms by accident, during an expedition of discovery. He had revealed his secret to no one, not even his brothers.
Raidan reached the end of the corridor and paused at what appeared to be a blank wall. Raising the lantern to eye level, he located and twisted aside a round metal disk covering a spy hole. He placed one eye to the hole and looked into an adjacent corridor. A group of people stood in a nervous clutch opposite Raidan’s position.
Good. They’re all here , he thought.
He fitted his fingers into a set of depressions in the stone and triggered the releasing mechanism, then pulled the hidden door open. He stepped through and motioned for the others to enter. Silently, they obeyed, and followed the prince as he led them to their meeting room.
Raidan had already prepared the room beforehand. Several lanterns dangled from wall hooks, their flames flickering in the drafts from the ventilation shafts set high in the walls; braziers burned in each corner, providing some small respite from the biting cold.
After everyone had taken their seats, Raidan sat for several moments, silently studying the faces of his supporters. He thought about the underlying motives that had driven each of them to endanger all they had to stand behind him and against their king.
Morio of Ayame and Coronji of Tohru, brothers-in-law and unrepentant racists, would both rather see Alasiri plunged into civil war than accept a hikui as their queen. Saizura of Kinat, the oldest of Alasiri’s great lords, worried more about propriety than purity. She objected to Keizo’s daughter because the girl had been born outside of a legal marriage.
Seitan of Ograi owes his position to me, thought Raidan. He had convinced the king to name Seitan as Lord over an older sister who had proved herself unfit to run the fiefdom after the death of their mother. Seitan will support me unquestioningly.
Odata of Tono worried most about the reaction of the hikui populace to the naming of a hikui Heir. She feared the impetus it would give to the hikui movement for social equality.
Ebo of Suiren had agreed to back Raidan for one reason only. Recently widowed and without an Heir, her price for her support had been simple-a child sired by an Onjara. Raidan had accepted, and his middle son, Kaisik, would perform the service upon his next birthday, when he would officially come of age. The boy was handsome, cheerful, and above all, obedient-a stark contrast to his brooding older brother, Raidu. Ebo would, no doubt, find him more than acceptable.
“Let me begin by thanking you all once more for your support,” Raidan said. “I pray each day that there will be no need to call upon it. I, more than anyone else in this room, wish to avoid open confrontation with my brother, especially during this time of extreme danger to our nation. Civil conflict right now would only aid our enemies and hasten the demise of the elves as a free people.”
“Yet, you clearly are willing to take the risk, if necessary. Why else bring us all here?” Morio responded with a voice roughened by years of pipe smoking.
“None of us wants war among ourselves, but neither do we wish to see one of impure blood ascend the throne of Alasiri. There must be a better solution,” Ebo added.
“She’s a bastard, plain and simple! How could Keizo have elevated her to such a high station?” Saizura fretted. “He should have just dealt with the girl quietly, provided her with a settlement and sent her packing back to Kerala.” The elderly Lady of Kinat sliced the air scornfully with her bird’s claw of a hand.
“My brother, so far, has given no indication that he intends to name my niece Heir over me. However, she and Keizo have become very close, and before she lost her husband, she was demonstrating a keen interest in statecraft. Even I have to admit she showed great promise. Now, she is too wrapped up in her grief to do much more than get through each day. And, of course, there is her child to consider.”
“Perhaps…an accident could be arranged,” Coronji suggested. “It would certainly take care of things. I volunteer to do the job.” His lips curled in a tiny smile, and Raidan thought of a snake anticipating the feast of a mouse.
The prince’s eyes flashed. “Whatever else she is, she is an Onjara and not some common by-blow that can be disposed of in a back alley!” His anger, he knew, arose from the fact that Coronji had dared speak openly of the very thing the prince himself had already considered.
“I apologize if I have given any offense, Highness,” Coronji said, but his tone indicated he believed Raidan’s outrage to be little more than pretense.
“Tell us your plan, Highness. Just what do you intend to do if the king should decide to elevate his bastard over you?” Odata queried.
“My plan is simple,” Raidan replied. “If Keizo decides to name Jelena his Heir, he will tell me first. He owes me that courtesy. I will then inform him, without naming any of you, that I have the support of over half the council, standing in opposition to his decision. I will also point out that the elven people won’t accept a hikui as queen, no matter that she is the daughter of their beloved Silverlock.
“My brother has ruled Alasiri wisely and well. He always takes into consideration the will of the people when making any decision that affects them, and this decision would have a profound effect. I believe he will understand this, and reconsider.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Odata pressed. “You said yourself that Silverlock and the girl have forged a very deep bond. Is there a possibility that he may not listen to reason?”
“Yes, there is,” Raidan answered slowly, “and if he won’t, then I’ll threaten him. Faced with the defection of half his lords and their levies, he’ll have to see the folly of his course. The loss of so many troops will be devastating to the army. The Soldarans already outnumber us. Sen Sakehera is an excellent commander, but even he couldn’t mount a defense with so few bodies. Keizo will realize he is risking the defeat and conquest of all of Alasiri. He won’t allow that.”
“You seem so sure, Highness.” Seitan, who until now had remained silent, finally spoke up. “You know the mind of the king far better than any of us, but are you certain? ”
Raidan scanned the tense faces around him. He could feel the emotions of each blowing back at him like the dry wind off a wildfire: fear, anger, resignation.
Am I sure of my brother? he thought.
No, not entirely, but I am sure of myself.
If Keizo will not listen, there’s only one thing I can do to save Alasiri. It’s extreme, but desperate times call for extreme measures. I’ll kill Jelena with my own hand, if necessary, then step aside, and the Kirians’ plans be damned. Raidu will become Keizo’s Heir.
“Yes, I’m sure,” he said.
Raidan made his way back to his apartments through the late night stillness of the castle. The prince had always thought of Sendai Castle as something more than an inanimate structure; it felt like a living organism, with stone flesh and wooden bones. All of the myriad souls who made their homes within its walls were like the impossibly tiny disks he observed floating in his own blood when he examined it with his lenses. He didn’t know the exact function of the mysterious disks, but he knew they must somehow keep his body alive, just as all the maids, cooks, gardeners, grooms, and countless other workers kept the castle ‘alive’.
He paused outside the entrance to listen and thought he could hear the great fortress slowly, slowly, exhaling.
“What, still awake, Wife?” Raidan said as he entered the day room and saw Taya sitting on the couch, a thick book in her hands. She laid the frayed volume down on her lap and silently watched as he crossed the room to settle at her side. “You look troubled,” he murmured, then brushed her lips with his. She sighed. “What is it?” he asked.
“You’ve come from a meeting with your supporters.”
“Yes,” he replied.
She frowned, angry now. “Husband, you are playing a dangerous game! If Keizo discovers you’ve been plotting against him…”
Raidan held up his hand to silence her. “I am not plotting against my brother. I’m putting into place a plan that just might avert a civil war.”
“Your plan calls for killing Keizo’s daughter. That, Husband, you cannot do. It would mean utter disaster!” Taya’s green eyes blazed with warning.
Raidan felt his temper give way. “Damn it, Taya!” he growled. “What would you have me do? Stand by passively while my brother disinherits me and our son? No, let me speak!” he demanded as Taya opened her mouth to respond. “You know I trust you completely, but the time has come when blind trust is not enough. I must have a sound reason for staying my hand. Jelena harbors important magic, and the Kirians need her for a vital ritual, one that will safeguard our world as we know it…This much you’ve told me, but I know there’s more to it!” He met Taya’s hard-eyed stare with one of his own. “If you want my cooperation, Wife, then tell me the entire truth now.”
Taya rested a hand on the book in her lap. She stared down at its faded brown leather cover for several moments before she spoke. “I will tell you everything now, because you have a right to know, but from this day forward, you are sworn to our cause.”
Raidan took a deep breath to both calm and prepare himself. He waited expectantly for Taya to begin.
“This book,” she tapped the cover for emphasis, “used to belong to a former head of our Society, someone who was once very powerful but is now departed. It is one of the oldest volumes of the chronicles of the Kirian Society that we have. It helped me put together the pieces of the puzzle, so I now know who, or I should say what, Jelena is.”
Raidan frowned. “I don’t understand. Jelena is my niece…”
“Yes, this is true…Your niece, Keizo’s daughter. But she is also something more,” Taya continued. “The girl we know as Jelena Onjara is a flesh and blood vessel-a container, if you will-for something very old and extremely powerful. This I’ve told you already.”
Raidan nodded. “The Key.”
“Yes,” Taya replied. “Jelena’s life force is intermingled with the energy of the Key, which is why she must die in order for us to remove it.” She paused for a moment, eyes pensive, before continuing. “Iku Azarasha, Master of the Kirian Society over a millennium ago, was a mage of extraordinary Talent. He was the greatest Kirian of his age…perhaps of any age. It was he who first constructed the energy pattern that allowed the Kirians to master teleportation.” Taya shook her head in frustration and regret. “Sadly, the knowledge of how to construct new portals has been lost to our generation, though we still know how to use the existing ones. There are two right here in Sendai Castle.”
“Wait.” Raidan interrupted. “You said Master Iku and the Kirians hid this Key inside Jelena, but how…how could a group of mages who lived a thousand years ago put a spell into a girl who is a mere eighteen years of age?”
“Patience, Husband. I’ll explain that part later,” Taya replied.
She lifted the frayed cover of the book and thumbed through the yellowed pages with great care, pausing at a spot about midway through. “This section chronicles the only time Alasiri was ever torn by civil war,” she explained.
“I’m familiar with the story,” Raidan commented. “We all are. My ancestor, one of the first Onjara kings, battled his daughter for the throne. He lost and his daughter had his name expunged from all official records.”
“Yes,” Taya confirmed, “but there is much more to the story than is widely known. For instance, why was the name of your ancestor wiped away, as if to delete his very existence?”
Raidan shrugged. “Vengeance?” he said.
“That’s the official reason, yes.” Taya paused, her eyes darting across the pages. “Princess Syukoe went to war against her father because of his plan to unleash a magical cataclysm upon the material world. The king was a powerful sorcerer in his own right, with a Talent that may have surpassed even Master Iku’s. The Kirians discovered what the king meant to do, and they set about trying to stop him. Master Iku was once the king’s most trusted councilor, but he threw his support behind the princess once he learned the full extent of the king’s plan.
“The king constructed a spell so powerful, it qualified as a Great Working. Such magic is hazardous in the extreme to anyone who attempts it. Many steps and safeguards are necessary to avert disaster, and even so, there is a significant failure rate. Part of the Working involved the very ring your family has used as a symbol of its royalty.”
“The White Griffin.” Raidan looked down at the copy adorning the third finger of his left hand. As a scion of the House of Onjara, he was entitled to wear an exact replica of the actual White Griffin, until the day came when he took the throne and replaced his copy with the real thing.
Taya nodded in affirmation. “The other part consisted of a smaller component spell, separate from the larger Working, but integral to its function. The Kirians separated this small piece of magic, this Key that unlocked the main energy of the Working, from its original vessel, the White Griffin Ring.”
“And then they somehow placed it in Jelena.” Raidan nodded in understanding. “Just what was this Great Working supposed to do?” he asked.
“The exact nature of the king’s Working is not recorded here,” Taya sighed in frustration, “but whatever it was, Master Iku and the other Kirians deemed it so evil, they were willing to risk insanity and death to stop it from being carried out. According to this account, the Kirians joined for a Great Working of their own, and even after reading of it, even with the evidence of its success living and breathing before my very eyes, I still have trouble believing such a thing could ever have been accomplished!
“After the Kirians separated the Key to the king’s Working from the Griffin Ring, they somehow… reached forward a thousand years in time to this age, and hid the Key within the body of a living Onjara descendent: Keizo’s daughter, Jelena.”
Raidan stared hard at his wife’s face, searching for any evidence that she had the slightest doubt about her conclusions. He saw none.
“There is more to the story,” Taya said. “After Princess Syukoe defeated her father, she removed his name from all official records, not for revenge, but to prevent any adept with sufficient power and skill from using it to raise and control his spirit.”
“I don’t understand,” Raidan stated. “Are you saying the king was not slain?”
“The unnatural prolongation of life can be achieved by certain dark means,” Taya explained. “These are subjects never discussed with the uninitiated, and I shouldn’t discuss them with you, really. Through such magic, a practitioner can literally become immortal, though it’s an existence quite unlike life as we know it. The chronicle confirms the Kirians were unable to destroy the Nameless One completely. Only his body could be killed, but his spirit remained very much alive. The Kirians had to confine their enemy through magical means. They had to destroy all knowledge of his true name in order to prevent anyone with sufficient ability from releasing and controlling him.” Taya paused, then said slowly, “The true name of a thing is the ultimate key to its power.”
Taya laid the book aside and rose to her feet. She crossed the room to stand by the hearth and held her hands to the flames. Her auburn hair gleamed in the firelight and the heavy silk robe she wore couldn’t quite hide the lush outlines of her body beneath. Raidan felt his own body stir in response.
After a moment, she continued. “Jelena harbors the Key to the Nameless One’s Great Working, a spell deemed so terrible, so utterly evil, that the greatest magical minds of the time were willing to risk everything to stop it. The Kirians were entrusted with the task of insuring that no one could ever make use of it again…” Taya’s voice trailed off.
“If the Nameless One, as you call this…this entity, is safely locked away, how can it be a threat? Jelena is well protected by a cadre of powerful mages,” Raidan said.
Taya shivered and for the first time in many years, Raidan saw fear in his wife’s eyes. His heart skipped a beat.
“The wards that keep the Nameless One confined are beginning to disintegrate-why, we don’t know,” Taya said. “The spirit is awake and gaining in strength. Soon, he will be strong enough to break free, and that we must not allow, not under any circumstances.”
“And he no doubt wants his Key back,” Raidan said.
“The Nameless One is searching for the Key as we speak, and when he locates it, as he most assuredly will, he’ll realize that its energy is inextricably bound to Jelena’s life force,” Taya replied. “He will need to seize her body and somehow bring her to him so that he can remove the Key from her. I’ve done my best to protect the Key by sealing it away behind magical wards, but any adept with enough skill could, given time, break them down. The Nameless One will try, and eventually succeed. Once he possesses the Key, he can use it for its original purpose.”
“Goddess’ tits,” Raidan swore softly.
The two of them said nothing for a time.
Finally, Raidan broke the silence. “What are the Kirians planning to do?” he asked.
“We are training the girl in the use of her Talent, but this is just a pretense. Our true mission is to prepare her for the Sundering. The Kirians must remove the Key from Jelena before the Nameless One finds her and secure it in a different vessel-preferably the White Griffin itself-which was, after all, its original vessel. Afterward, we must somehow find the necessary strength to re-imprison the spirit.”
“You don’t sound entirely certain you can do this,” Raidan said, frowning with worry.
“Our Society is not what it once was, Husband,” Taya sighed. “We are greatly reduced in both numbers and strength. Our chances of success would be much improved were we not missing one of our most Talented members, but unfortunately, she has been gone for some time and her whereabouts are unknown. Those of us who are left will have to somehow find a way.”
“Is there no way to perform this…this Sundering without killing Jelena?” Raidan asked. Curiously, he found the prospect upset him.
“Not that I know of,” Taya replied. “The only way to release the energy of the Key is to release Jelena’s life energy from her body.”
“Have you told any of this to Jelena? Does she realize she will have to die?”
“Jelena knows only part of the truth. We haven’t yet told her that her death will be necessary, but I’ve seen her courage. She won’t fail us when the time comes. What I fear is that we won’t be up to the task…that we will fail her and her death will be for naught.” Taya returned to the couch and sat beside Raidan. She laid her hand atop his. “Do you see now, Husband, why you needn’t stain your hands with the blood of your brother’s child? Jelena’s blood will be on our hands,” Raidan knew she meant the Kirians, “and if we are successful-pray Goddess that we are-then we will bear the brunt of Keizo’s wrath.”
“All of this must be very hard for Amara Sakehera… Sonoe as well,” Raidan commented.
Taya’s eyes narrowed. “Sonoe has become very close to Jelena of late… too close.” Taya tapped her cheek with a forefinger. “I’ve never trusted her, as you well know, despite our long association. I believe that if she could find a way, she would extract the Key and use its power for her own purposes.”
“I find that difficult to believe!” Raidan exclaimed, mildly shocked at his wife’s allegations. “Sonoe has been devoted to my brother for many years. Such a betrayal seems totally out of character. Really, Wife, you need to let go of this old grudge.”
“Believe what you will,” Taya replied.
Raidan slipped his arms around his wife’s waist. He could feel the power of her Talent humming within her like a hive of bees trapped beneath her robe. He kissed the back of her neck and spoke soothingly into her ear. “Time for bed, my love. We can put aside all of this until tomorrow.”
Taya swiveled in his embrace and kissed him. “You are right,” she agreed.
Arm in arm, they rose and retired to their bedchamber.
Later that night, as Taya lay sleeping beside him, Raidan stared at the bedroom ceiling, thinking.
It seemed that no matter which way his mind turned, the same conclusion confronted him, dressed in all of its grim repercussions. He tried to imagine Keizo’s horror and grief upon learning the how and why of his daughter’s death.
But what greater horror will befall all of us if Taya and her colleagues fail? If there were any way to spare you that pain, I would, Brother, but there’s just too much at stake!
The elven people were beset on all sides, from both known and unknown enemies. Though not especially pious, Raidan nevertheless found himself wondering what terrible crime the elves had committed to cause their One Goddess to forsake them.
He continued to stare into the darkness until daybreak.
"Gran, this is Ashinji. He has just arrived,” Aruk-cho said. “I will leave you two alone. You will, no doubt, have much to discuss.” The akuta turned and lumbered off. The old woman disappeared from the window and a heartbeat later, she emerged from the doorway of the barracks.
“Ai, Goddess…I am so sorry to see you here, my son,” she said in Siri-dar. She held out her hand to Ashinji, who clasped it in his. “Who are your kin, young Ashinji?” Gently, she removed her hand from Ashinji’s grasp and patted his shoulder.
“My parents are Sen and Amara Sakehera, Lord and Lady of Kerala,” he replied.
The old woman gasped. “Amara Sakehera is your mother?”
“You know my mother?”
The old woman bobbed her head. “Amara and I were colleagues, many years ago.” She waved her hand, indicating that Ashinji should follow her. “Come. We’ll go sit, and you can tell me your tale. We still have some time before the afternoon training session begins.”
She led him to where two rough stools leaned against the barracks wall. Ashinji waited for her to sit before he settled beside her.
“Once upon a time, I was known as Chiana Hiraino,” the old woman said.
“Are you kin to Tesuka Hiraino, the famous historian?” Ashinji asked.
“Tesuka was my father. You’ve studied his writings in school, no doubt. Well, Chiana Hiraino no longer exists. The woman you see before you now is known simply as ‘Gran’. The Soldarans tend to call every woman past her childbearing years by this name. It’s a term of affection for them.”
Gran was, indeed, well into her elder years. A fan of creases set off her clear blue eyes, and silver frosted her pale blonde hair. Bony hands, roughened by hard work, rested in her lap; still, her lean body gave the impression of strength rather than frailty.
Ashinji wondered how the daughter of such a renowned man as Tesuka Hiraino had come to be in this place.
“Are you a slave, Lady Chiana?” he asked.
Gran chuckled. “Yes, my son, I’m a slave, and please, don’t call me by my old name. I’m “Gran” now, and just that. Now, tell me how you ended up here.”
Ashinji gave her an abbreviated account of the battle that had ended in his capture, omitting the part Sadaiyo’s betrayal had played.
“I’d heard rumors the Soldarans had already launched an attack on our homeland,” Gran said, “and now I know the rumors are true.”
“The empress sent an army into Kerala, with the express purpose of splitting the Alasiri forces in order to weaken us. Now, King Keizo will have to keep part of his army in my father’s demesne, tied up defending the border.”
“I remember the day Sen Sakehera married your mother,” Gran said. Her eyes grew wistful as she recounted the memory. “By the One, but he was handsome! I can see a lot of him in you. Your mother gave up a great deal to be his wife.”
“You said you and my mother were colleagues once.”
“Yes, indeed. We went to school together. We are both graduates of the Kan Onji, also known as the Red Order.”
“You’re a sorceress? But then…”
“I was a practitioner once, but I gave that all up long ago,” Gran interrupted. “So did Amara, but for very different reasons.” Her voice had taken on a note of sadness, and Ashinji sensed something painful hidden behind her simple statement. Gran reached out and laid a hand on his forearm. “Your Talent is quite strong, young Ashinji, but it is still largely dormant. No…wait.” She paused and her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, then opened again. “Your Talent is not dormant. It has been blocked, and by someone quite skilled.”
“Blocked? Are you certain?”
“Quite certain,” Gran replied.” Do you have any idea who might have done this to you, and why?”
“Yes, sadly, I do. My mother.”
Gran frowned. “But why would Amara block her own child’s Talent, particularly one as strong as yours is?”
“I’m second-born. The House of Sakehera always pledges its second-born child to the king’s service. I’ve been a soldier my entire adult life.”
“Ah,” Gran nodded. “And I remember that in your mother’s family, only the girls receive any formal magical training.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Ashinji said. “So, you see, I never had any chance of developing my Talent much beyond the basics, even had I wished to. I think my mother must have blocked me in order to make it easier for me to accept my fate.”
“I sense this has caused you pain, my son,” she said. “Have you any sisters, then?”
“I have three sisters, but none of them have been sent to mage school…at least not yet.”
“Such a pity you were not sent to the Red Order,” Gran replied, shaking her head. “You could have been a formidable mage. Still, there is much you can learn, even now. I can’t remove the block without hurting you, but I can teach you how to use the Talent you do have to help you survive this place. Even blocked, you are still stronger than you realize.”
“I have a wife and a baby on the way, Gran. I need to survive for them.” Ashinji paused, then added, “Somehow, I have to find a way to escape.”
“Ai, son,” Gran sighed. “In all the years I’ve lived in this yard, I’ve not once seen any slave escape, save through death.”
“I don’t understand why you’re still here, Gran. Surely, a sorceress of the Red Order is too powerful to be held against her will.”
“Mistress de Guera has offered me my freedom any time I choose to take it, but I have declined,” Gran replied.
“But…but why?” Ashinji asked, astonished.
“That is a long story, young man, and one day, perhaps I will tell it to you.” Gran’s tone and the set of her jaw warned Ashinji not to push any further. “Now, tell me about your wife. Who are her kin?”
“My wife’s name is Jelena…” Ashinji began, but Gran interrupted him.
“Jelena…that’s not an elven name,” she said.
“No, it isn’t. She’s Soldaran-born.”
“You married a human ?”
“Jelena is hikui. Her mother was the sister of the human lord whose lands border Kerala to the south.” Ashinji told Gran of Jelena’s childhood as a drudge in her uncle’s house, her reasons for fleeing north into Alasiri, and of how they had found each other.
“Your wife sounds like a remarkable young woman. Did she ever find her elven kin?” Gran asked.
“Yes, and when she did, it was almost more than either of us could adjust to. She had always been told her father came from a noble family, but just how noble proved to be a great shock. Jelena is the daughter of our king.”
“Silverlock’s daughter! Keizo Onjara sired a child on a human woman?” Gran had drawn herself up on her stool and her face wore an expression of consternation.
“Yes. The king met Jelena’s mother before he came to the throne.”
“Tell me, does your wife have any Talent?” Gran peered intently into Ashinji’s face.
“Yes, she does, but she’s unable to use it much. My mother, as well as Jelena’s aunt and her father’s Companion are both giving her some training…”
“Her aunt…Do you mean Taya Onjara?”
“Princess Taya Onjara, wife of Crown Prince Raidan, yes.” Aware, now, that Gran’s interest in Jelena had become much more specific, Ashinji asked, “Why all of these questions about my wife?” He felt uneasy .
She’s behaving as if she needs to find out something about Jelena that’s of vital importance to her…but how could that be? Until this moment, she had no idea my wife even existed.
As if sensing his growing discomfort, Gran settled back onto her stool and patted Ashinji’s knee. “Don’t mind my nosiness. It’s just been so long since I’ve spoken to another elf. I’ve been trying to teach that imp Seijon some Siri-dar, but all he cares about are the curse words and the vulgar names for private body parts.” She smiled, but her eyes remained troubled.
They sat in silence for a time.
Gran finally spoke. “You’ll find that life here isn’t so bad, as long as you follow the rules. Mistress de Guera takes good care of all of us. I, myself, have special privileges. The mistress allows me to come and go as I please. I’ll bring you special treats from the market now and then!”
“How can life as a slave be anything but bad?” Ashinji did nothing to hide the bitterness and anger in his voice. “My wife must surely believe I’m dead by now. She faces the birth of our child without me by her side. My brother…” He stopped himself before spitting out the angry words that burned his tongue, and glanced at Gran. Her eyes narrowed, but she remained silent. “What hurts the most is the realization that my child and I might never know each other.”
Gran leaned forward and placed both hands on Ashinji’s shoulders. “Hold on to that anger, young Ashinji! It will keep you alive… that, and the hope of returning home to your family some day.”
“Two years is a long time.”
“I know, but I’ll help you, and so will Aruk-cho. Though his first loyalty is to the mistress, he is a good man, and you can trust him to be fair. The other trainers, well, they are all human. Thank the One that Aruk-cho is in charge.”
“Mistress de Guera offered to take me as her concubine,” Ashinji revealed. He laughed ruefully. “I turned her down. Perhaps that wasn’t such a smart move.”
“The mistress has an eye for beautiful young men, and it’s a fact that humans find us especially attractive, even while they revile us for being without souls.”
“Jelena has told me much about the religion of the Soldarans. It’s at the heart of their hatred for us, this idea that we have no souls. It makes us inferior beings in their eyes.”
“Not inferior, no. They view us as tainted with evil, and therefore capable of tainting any Soldaran who comes in contact with us. It’s all very contradictory, you see. The average Soldaran will dutifully spout all of the racist nonsense he or she has been taught in church when asked about elvenkind, and yet, if they thought they could get away with it, many would gladly couple with us.”
“Hmm,” Ashinji nodded, then a thought struck him. He leaned forward, excited. “Gran, you said you were a sorceress once, a very powerful one, yes?”
“Yes,” Gran replied cautiously.
“Then that means you are skilled at mindspeech. I’ve heard that trained mages can communicate with each other by mindspeech over great distances. Gran, can you contact my mother and let her know I’m alive?”
Ashinji felt the tiny spark of hope that had flared to life within him die when Gran sorrowfully shook her head.
“Mindspeech works best over short distances. The farther apart two people are, the harder it becomes. It’s true that trained mages can communicate with one another, even when separated by great distances, but in order to accomplish this, an amplifier of some kind must be used. Otherwise, it’s impossible.” Her pale eyes brimmed with regret. “I haven’t the necessary tools or materials to construct an amplifier. I’m sorry, Ashinji.”
Ashinji lowered his head to hide the bitter disappointment on his face. “I had hoped…” His voice trailed off and he covered his smarting eyes with his hands.
“I know…I know,” Gran murmured.
“ Gran !” A female voice, full of pain, cried out from the interior of the barracks.
Gran slowly rose to her feet. “That’ll be Vasta. Sounds like the poppy juice is wearing off. She took a nasty sword cut to her forearm in the Arena yesterday. Very deep. The healer spent a long time stitching it up.” She sighed and brushed back a stray lock of silver blond hair. “I serve as the yard medic for the women, among my other duties. Simple things, mostly, like tending wounds and dispensing medicines the healers have left. But I’d best go in now. We’ll talk more later.”
Ashinji stood and as he turned to go, Gran called out to him. “Look after Seijon. He’s a good boy, really, who just needs a decent role model. The humans fill his head with nothing but nonsense about our people. Your presence will help counter a lot of it.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Ashinji promised.
Later that day as the westering sun bathed the yard with ruddy light, Ashinji, along with the other newcomers, received a wooden practice sword and paired up with a veteran so the trainers could assess the skills of each new slave.
Ashinji’s sparring partner threw down a casual insult by way of introduction then sprang to the attack. Ashinji countered each blow with ease, and in a matter of moments, he knew all he needed to about his opponent’s style. He hung back on the defensive, letting the larger, heavier human tire himself. Then, when he had wearied of the game, he disarmed the man with a deft maneuver. The human cursed as his sword went spinning out of his hand.
Ashinji had to restrain himself from whacking the man across the top of his shaven head. Instead, he dropped his guard and stepped back, inhaling a little more deeply to catch his breath.
“Aruk-cho said you were a professional soldier,” the trainer who’d been observing the sparring remarked. A tall, lanky, hard-bitten man with a weathered face and big hands, he sauntered forward, a lopsided grin distorting his already uneven features. He hawked and spat on the sand at Ashinji’s feet. “You’re good, tink. The best I’ve seen in a long time. It pains me to admit it, but ‘tis so. From now on, you’re swordmaster to the newbies.”
“C’mon, Joktan, you can’t be serious!” Ashinji’s erstwhile sparring partner protested. “You know I’m supposed to get that job!”
“Shut yer hole, Leal!” Joktan growled. “I am and it’s done, so deal with it!” The two men glared at each other for several tense heartbeats.
“You promised me,” Leal muttered, backing down. He shot a venomous look at Ashinji, who met his furious eyes without flinching.
“I do not want the job. Give it to him,” Ashinji said, keeping his gaze firmly affixed on Leal’s face.
“You think I’d let you off the hook so easily, tink? Forget about it! The job’s yours. Neither of you has got any say in this.”
Ashinji swiveled his head slowly to face Joktan. He stared at the trainer for a moment, then said, “My name is Ashinji.” He pronounced each word with deliberate force, saving special emphasis for his own name. “Not… tink !” Anger propelled the slur from his mouth like a projectile.
“Yeah, sure, whatever…” Joktan sniffed. “As long as you teach the rest of these sorry shitballs how to handle a sword, I’ll call you ‘sweetheart’ if you like.” Raucous laughter erupted among the other slaves. Only Leal remained grim-faced and silent.
I’ve made a dangerous enemy, Ashinji thought, a nd I’ve only just arrived!
Joktan clapped his hands and the laughter ceased. “That’s all for today,” he announced. “Veterans, Aruk-cho has posted tomorrow’s matches on the board. Two points melees and one lethal. Check before you go to bed, idiots! Newbies, report to the infirmary before dinner, so you can all get your fine new marks. The mark of de Guera means a lot in this town! You should all be proud to bear it.” He paused, as if trying to remember something important, then exclaimed, “Shit! Almost forgot! It’s the last Torsday of the month tomorrow. You all know what that means!”
“Yeah, it means we all get laid!” a male voice called out.
“You wish you were gettin’ some!” a female voice responded.
More laughter.
Ashinji sighed and looked over his shoulder, searching for Seijon. He spotted the boy at the back of the crowd, jumping up and down in an effort to see over the taller bodies blocking his view. Seijon must have seen him at the same moment, for his face broke into a huge grin and he waved.
Joktan dismissed the slaves, who began dispersing, women to their side of the yard, men to the opposite. Ashinji remained standing in place while the others drifted past.
Leal swung in close and bumped Ashinji hard enough to stagger him. “Watch your back, tink,” he growled. The human’s voice dripped with menace.
“Leal’s insane,” Seijon said quietly as the big man stalked off toward the barracks reserved for the veterans.
Ashinji shrugged. “He does not scare me.”
“Well, he should. I saw him beat a girl to death ‘cause she wouldn’t do what he wanted. One of the girls who comes for pleasure. The mistress was furious! She had to pay off the girl’s owner for the loss. Leal spent a week in the hole for that one and lost all his points for the month.”
Ashinji didn’t know what “the hole” was, but he guessed it to be some form of punishment. He looked down at Seijon’s face and saw a flicker of raw emotion pass across it like a cloud across the noonday sun.
“Was your mother a prostitute, Seijon?” he asked, his voice gentle.
The boy nodded. “She died when I was a little kid. Some man hurt her bad…so bad she spit blood before she…well, it was a long time ago.” He refused to meet Ashinji’s eyes.
“Not so long ago, I think.” Ashinji laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed, thinking about Gran’s request. “When do we get fed around here?” he asked.
Seijon looked up and smiled. “Soon! The food’s real good here, and we get all we want. When I first came, I couldn’t believe it, so I used to hide stuff, like when I lived on the streets. I don’t do that anymore.”
The food proved similar to typical elven cuisine, though a bit heavier and oddly spiced. The main course consisted of a thick stew, rich with fatty meat. Boiled root vegetables and grain, baskets of coarse brown bread, greasy yellow cheese, and jugs of decent quality, dark beer rounded out the meal.
While they ate, Seijon kept up a steady stream of questions, which Ashinji did his best to answer. Appalled at the amount of falsehoods the hikui boy had been fed concerning elves, he determined, if nothing else, to serve as a living rebuttal to all the lies.
The other men in the newcomer’s barracks proved more curious toward Ashinji than hostile. He could see their interest writ large on their faces as he spoke of Alasiri and his former life. In the company of the new slaves, at least, Ashinji felt the first stirrings of a strange kind of camaraderie.
After the evening meal had been eaten and the remains cleared away, Ashinji took a stool outside to sit and savor the cool evening breeze. Seijon followed and hunkered on the ground with his back against the wall.
The sounds of muffled laughter and a snatch of song drifted on the dusty air. Somewhere in the compound, a man sneezed. From across the yard, in the direction of the women’s barracks, a female voice cried out, whether from pain or pleasure, Ashinji couldn’t tell.
“Ashinji,” Seijon murmured, “D’you think you’ll ever get to go back home to Alasiri?
“I was not so sure a short while ago, but now…Yes, I believe I will see my home and family again,” Ashinji replied, and he surprised himself with the surety of his resolve.
“Will you take me with you?” In the waning light of dusk, the hikui boy’s eyes looked like huge, dark stones in his lean, humanish face.
“When the time comes, Seijon, we will speak of it. It is too soon now.”
The sound of approaching hoofbeats heralded the arrival of Aruk-cho. The akuta greeted Ashinji in Siri-dar. “Good evening, my friend. I have come to find out how you are doing.” He halted just beyond the awning and stood with one back foot flexed, horse-like. His long black tail swished gently to and fro.
“I’m as well as can be expected, I think,” Ashinji said. He glanced down at the fresh mark on his right shoulder-a stylized lily flower seared into the skin by a red-hot branding iron. “Gran’s salve has eased the pain of this burn quite nicely…By the way, I must compliment you on your command of Siri-dar.”
“Can I have a ride Aruk-cho?” Seijon jumped to his feet, bouncing like an eager toddler.
“Not now, young one,” Aruk-cho replied. “I have work to do. Perhaps tomorrow evening.” The ghost of a smile played about the akuta’s fierce countenance. “Gran instructs me in your tongue when time permits,” he said to Ashinji. “She has attempted to school that one as well,” he indicated Seijon with a lift of his chin, “but he is very impatient, as all young ones are.”
“Joktan has made me swordmaster for the new slaves. I am to train every one who needs basic instruction,” Ashinji said.
“So Joktan told me. He is a man who sees very little to praise in this world, but he praised your technique when he spoke to me. This is a good thing, Ashinji. Your usefulness will keep you out of harm’s way much longer. Slaves with skills that are needed in the yard face far fewer lethal matches.”
“I made an enemy through no fault of my own,” Ashinji said with a rueful shake of his head. “The human called Leal seemed to expect that he would get the job. He has threatened me already,” He tugged at his bare earlobe, missing anew the feel of the rings he used to wear there during his old, lost life.
“Yeah, Aruk-cho! You’ve got to do something about that crazy shithead!” Seijon cried. “Give ‘im nothing but lethal matches ‘til someone finally guts ‘im!” Ashinji no longer wondered at the boy’s obvious hatred for Leal, given that a man like Leal had murdered his mother.
“I do not fear Leal, Seijon,” Ashinji said reassuringly. “He is a good swordsman, but I am better.”
“He won’t come at you with a sword. It’ll be a knife in the back, in a dark corner,” the boy muttered.
“The young one is right. Leal is treacherous, and much more clever than he looks. Watch yourself at all times. Now, I must go. The mistress has tasks for me to complete before I can seek my bed.”
Ashinji bid the akuta goodnight, and watched as he melted into the darkness.
“Get Leal before he gets you, Ashinji,” Seijon whispered.
“It is time for bed, Seijon,” Ashinji replied.
That night, Ashinji dreamed of a faceless man, standing over him with a knife, poised for the downward stroke that would end his life. Ashinji opened his mouth to scream, but his tongue froze, unable to form any sound. Just as the glittering blade began its descent, a huge black shadow blotted out the light and the faceless man vanished.
Ashinji woke with a start. The vertigo that always gripped him after a prophetic dream left him queasy. He lay back on his bunk and stared at the ceiling, drawing in deep breaths to slow his galloping heart.
Perhaps Seijon is right; I should get Leal before he gets me…No! I will kill only in self-defense.
He covered his face with his hands.
Jelena, my love, I miss you so much!
He slept no more that night.
The march of days passed inexorably onward and, as Gran predicted, Ashinji soon settled into the rhythm of life in the de Guera yard. The weather gradually cooled as fall melted into a winter so mild, Ashinji barely noticed the difference.
Ashinji’s job as swordmaster to the unskilled new arrivals kept him out of the lethal matches, as Aruk-cho had promised, but after about a month at the yard, he found himself on the regular roster for the many points matches run each week.
On the day of his debut in the Grand Arena, he caused a sensation. The Darguinian public had never seen anything like him before, and they responded with immediate and near frenzied excitement. He beat his opponents in all three matches, and left the blood-stained sands with only a shallow cut across his sword arm and the thunderous applause of the crowd ringing in his ears.
From that day forward, Ashinji battled in the Arena five days a week. On some days, he fought in the pouring rain, and on others, beneath the weak glare of the winter sun. At first, he used a variety of weapons, including the short, heavy stabbing sword favored by the Soldaran fighters, but quickly settled on a lighter, longer blade forged in the desert country of the Ahzani. The Ahzani weapon came closest to the feel of an elf-made sword.
His opponents proved a mixed lot; he faced an even assortment of good to excellent fighters, some of whom might have killed him, given the right combination of luck and timing. He constantly gave thanks to the One that his position in the yard spared him from the lethal matches, though he had no illusions that his situation could not, nor would not, eventually change.
All of the fighters, both slave and free, wore armor of some sort. Mistress de Guera issued each of her slaves a stout coat of leather sewn over with small squares of steel, steel-plated leather arm and leg guards, and a metal helmet with an open face. None of it matched the quality of his elven-made armor, but Ashinji knew it was better than nothing.
He never left the Arena without a cut or two, but luck and skill kept him from more serious injury. Every day, he mourned the loss of his old life and longed for the comfort of Jelena’s arms.
He often dreamed of her. Sometimes, she smiled and seemed happy; other times, her face glistened with tears. Only once did he wake with the queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that always accompanied a prophetic dream. In his vision, he saw Jelena, hugely pregnant and in the midst of labor. She lay with her head cradled in the lap of a beautiful, red-haired woman. Something dark and menacing fluttered around the woman’s head like shreds of mist. Jelena wailed as a birth pain wracked her body. Ashinji could only watch in disembodied horror as the flame-haired woman thrust her index finger straight down Jelena’s throat.
All the next day, Ashinji moved about in a fog of fear. He felt certain the face he’d seen in his dream- though indistinct-belonged to King Keizo’s Companion. Sonoe had a well-known reputation as a powerful mage, and Ashinji knew of her involvement with Jelena’s magical training. If Sonoe bore Jelena any ill will, she had never revealed her true feelings. Ashinji had no cause to distrust her-until now.
That evening, he sought out Gran and told her of his dream.
“‘Tis a pity such a Talent as yours was never developed, Ashi. You would be a force to be reckoned with!”
As was her custom every evening after supper, Gran sat outside the women’s barracks on a three-legged stool, back against the wall, smoking a pipe. She fanned the air before her face in an effort to disperse the pungent smoke given off by the burning herb. “I’ve been meaning to give up this filthy habit,” she grumbled.
Ashinji, perched on another stool beside her, stifled a cough as the fumes stung his throat. “I need to know for sure the woman I saw is a danger to my wife, Gran.”
“Visions are tricky things, young man. Many times they show only what might happen, not what will happen. Their language is often symbolic, as you well know. This red-haired woman might not be an actual person, but rather an avatar of someone or some thing.”
“No, no.” Ashinji shook his head. “She is an actual person…the official consort of King Keizo, and a trained mage.”
“We will try an old technique for delving into the deepest parts of the mind.” Gran took a drag on her pipe and allowed the smoke to trickle from her nostrils in long streamers before continuing. “I will be as gentle as I can, but it will hurt, and you’ll have a nasty headache afterward.” Her pale eyes met his.
Ashinji nodded.
Gran dumped the still-burning herb from her pipe onto the ground and tucked it into a skirt pocket. “I might see things you wish to keep private, Ashi. Does that worry you?”
“No, Gran. I trust you,” Ashinji replied. He leaned forward and Gran placed her cool hands on either side of his head. He closed his eyes.
Ashinji’s mind had been probed before, but only by his mother. Those superficial scans had been more of a discomfort than truly painful, but this was an entirely different experience. He felt his body squirming even as he fought to remain still while Gran pushed ever deeper. Her mind felt cool, logical, superbly ordered, and very, very powerful. Ashinji had never felt such immense Talent before. He heard himself groan as Gran pulled forth the memory of the red-haired woman and held it up for examination.
The face resolved itself into a clear picture of Sonoe. Even though he had expected it, Ashinji’s gut still twisted with dismay. Why would Sonoe wish to hurt Jelena? It made no sense to him.
The feel of Gran’s mind changed as the memory of Ashinji’s vision became clearer. Her thoughts crackled with alarm, which only fueled his own anxiety. The pain of the probe intensified and it required all of his strength just to remain still.
“Gran…please, enough!” he gasped through gritted teeth.
Abruptly, the pain ceased. He opened bleary eyes to find Gran still drawn close, her hands gripping his head.
She peered into his eyes. “Are you all right?” she inquired.
“I have a bad headache, as promised, but otherwise… yes.”
As Gran massaged his temples, a look of profound sadness flitted across her face.
“What’s wrong?” Ashinji asked.
Gran shook her head and sniffed loudly. “Just an old woman’s memories, coming back to haunt her. You remind me of someone very dear to me, someone I lost a long time ago.” She sat back with a sigh. “It’s not important. What is important is that I know this Sonoe, or more precisely, I know of her. She was a student of the Kan Onji when I served there as provost. Even as a student, she stood out for her brilliance and ambition. I always knew she’d go far, but…”
“King’s Companion is not what you would have expected for her?” Ashinji smiled wryly.
Gran sniffed again and raised an eyebrow. “She came to us with almost no money and so was obliged to work for her keep and training. She did very little manual labor, as I recall.”
“The darkness I saw hovering around Sonoe…what does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” Gran admitted. “It could mean that she, herself, is evil, or she is being influenced by an evil, outside force.”
“I know she’s a very powerful sorceress, Gran. Do you have any idea what she’s doing-or might do-to my wife?” Ashinji paused. “Goddess’ tits! Jelena’s blue fire… That must be what she wants!”
“What is this ‘blue fire’?” Gran asked.
“It’s some kind of an energy form within Jelena, but it’s not part of her Talent. Do you think Sonoe knows what it is?”
Gran countered with a request. “Tell me everything you know about this energy form your wife harbors.”
“Well…” Ashinji hesitated then continued, “I don’t know much at all, really… only that it’s always been there, according to Jelena. She has no idea what it is or how to control it. She assumed it was a normal part of her elven heritage and hoped to learn more about it after she came to live among us. The few times when she and I have shared a mindlink, I’ve seen it in her. It always looks like a blue ball of light.”
“Do you know of the Kirian Society, Ashi?” Gran asked.
“Yes. They’re an ancient order of mages. My mother is a member…or she used to be.”
“Before I had to leave Alasiri, I was the Mistress of the Society,” Gran revealed.
Ashinji silently digested this information while Gran continued. “Once, we Kirians wielded power enough to shape political and social events to our will. We were the moral guardians of the realm. The kings and queens of Alasiri listened to and heeded our counsel. Now, sadly, we are but a pale shadow of the Kirians of old.” She stared out into the darkness as if her eyes could pierce the veil of time and see into the past.
“This is all very interesting, but what does it have to do with Jelena and Sonoe?” Ashinji’s anxiety made his voice sharp.
Jelena is in danger and I can’t protect her as long as I remain a captive! he thought.
“Patience, young man,” Gran admonished. “I’m telling you all of this so you will better understand what must be done. Now, listen. What I’m about to tell you is known only to the Kirians, and has been safeguarded by our order since ancient times. I’m only telling you because you are directly involved.
“When we first met, you told me of your wife, a hikui daughter of the house of Onjara. It set off alarm bells in my mind. I didn’t want to believe it at first, but it fit the prediction too well to be dismissed.”
“What prediction?”
“You know the story of the ancient king whose daughter defeated him and erased his name from all official records?”
“Every elven child learns about Queen Syukoe in school,” Ashinji answered.
“Well, what is not taught is the real reason why she did what she did…and what was done to the king whose name is no longer known. This is the truth of it…”
Ashinji sat hunched on his stool, head in his hands, trying to make sense of what Gran had just told him.
That men and women could command the kind of power necessary to…to punch through the barrier of Time itself… His mind reeled in disbelief.
After a long silence, he straightened and turned narrowed eyes upon Gran. “This Key you speak of-this magic those ancient mages put into my wife-it’s intertwined with her life force, you say.”
“Yes, it is,” Gran replied.
“And the Kirian Society, or what’s left of it, must remove and safeguard it from this…this thing you call the Nameless One, who is, in fact, the undead sorcerer king Onjara.” Gran nodded. Ashinji continued. “If this Key is so closely bound to Jelena’s life force, won’t removing it…” His voice faltered as realization crept up and pounced. “Removing it means killing her, doesn’t it?” he whispered.
“Ashi, there are greater things at stake here than your wife’s life.” Gran’s voice was harsh. Ashinji opened his mouth to reply, but the old mage cut off his furious retort before he could launch it.
“Just listen to me, young man! If the Nameless One regains possession of the Key, it will mean the end of everything! His essence is a thousand-year distillation of pure malice, and he wants nothing less than the complete destruction of the material world as we know it. He must tear down reality first, in order to refashion it into his own twisted version. To do that, he needs the Key. He must be denied, whatever the cost.”
“Please tell me there’s a way to do this without killing my wife in the process!” Ashinji begged.
“I will not lie to you,” Gran replied. “There is a risk that Jelena will be lost, but the loss to the material world and every creature in it is incalculable if the Nameless One should gain possession of the Key, or if it should fall into the hands of a living mage powerful and ruthless enough to use it.”
“Gran… please! Tell me there’s a way!”
“Ai, Ashi… Son,” Gran murmured. Her expression melted into tenderness and tears glittered in her eyes. “Your wife’s death is not a certainty, only a possibility…I wish I could give you more reassurance, but I can’t.”
Ashinji stood up, overturning his stool, and began to pace. Gran watched silently.
“How is any of this going to happen?” he asked. “We’re both slaves, Gran. We’re hundreds of leagues from home, trapped in the middle of the capital of the Soldaran Empire, surrounded by countless numbers of humans… none of whom would lift a finger to help us escape!”
“That’s not entirely true,” Gran said. “There is someone who might be willing to help us. Two someones, in fact.”
“Who, then?”
“One is a healing brother of the Eskleipan order. He used to come twice a week, but I haven’t seen him for quite a while. He went out of his way to make my acquaintance the first time he came. He claimed to have a hikui relative. Calls himself Tilo. I shall inquire after him when next the Eskleipans come.”
“Who’s the other human who might aid us?”
“Not human, Ashinji.”
“Aruk-cho!”
Gran nodded. “His first loyalty is to Mistress de Guera, but he just might be willing to help in an indirect way. Stop pacing and look at me, young man.”
Ashinji halted.
“Ashi, there is something else I need to tell you, something about me. Please sit down.” Ashinji did as Gran bid.
“You once asked me why I’ve chosen to remain here as a slave. I’m going to tell you the reason now. I remain to serve penance.”
“Penance? For what crime?” Ashinji’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“Crimes, Ashi. Arrogance, greed, selfishness…a lust for power so great, it cost those dearest to me their very lives.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I was a very powerful mage once, Ashi. I enjoyed respect, prestige, all that came with my station, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted more.” In the dim light of the single lantern hanging on a hook by the barracks door, Gran’s face looked grim and haunted. “I, in my overweening pride, thought that I could re-create the energy pattern needed to construct a Portal, a means by which the Kirians of old could travel great distances without having to trek overland. Only one Kirian has ever been able to create the proper energy pattern, and he has been dead a thousand years. The strength of Talent needed is enormous. Such a feat qualifies as a Great Working.
“I was warned not to attempt it, but this only spurred me on. I needed to prove my greatness! What a fool I was…” Gran stopped speaking. Her hand fluttered up to her face and touched her cheek as if the sensation of a long-ago kiss still lingered there.
“My attempt failed, with spectacular and horrifying consequences. The home I shared with my husband and children was reduced to rubble. Everyone in the house died…my family, our servants…everyone. Except me. I survived, barely. When I emerged from the ruins, I was quite insane. Much later, I learned that a local farmer found me, injured and wandering the fields near where my home once stood. The Red Order, as was its duty to one of its own, even one such as me, took me in and healed my body. They also, after many months, succeeded in healing my mind.
“When I came to my senses, my shame and guilt so overwhelmed me, I tried to kill myself, but my colleagues stopped me. The agony of living with what I’d done…Ai, Goddess! Nothing to me seemed punishment enough. My husband and my children were all dead by my hand, my professional reputation lay in ruins… I had nothing left. That was when I decided to spend the rest of my life doing penance for my crimes.”
Gran fell silent, and Ashinji could see what a tremendous struggle she fought with her memories. He waited patiently until she found the strength to continue.
“I set out with only the clothes on my back and a little food, and I walked-yes walked-across Alasiri and down into the human lands. At the first settlement I came to, I stole a horse, openly, so that I would be pursued. I hoped when I was caught, I would be killed outright.
“The men who finally captured me did not kill me, though. They were soldiers from the local garrison. They took me back to their fort. Since I was too old to be a concubine, they set me to work cooking and cleaning for them. I wasn’t very good at it, as you can imagine, so they beat me a lot those first weeks… but I welcomed all of the abuse they heaped upon me.
“After several months at the fort, a stranger arrived-a dealer of slaves. The captain of the garrison, only too happy to get rid of me since I was no good as a cook, sold me to the dealer, who brought me here, to Darguinia. Mistress de Guera bought me from the slave market on the first day I arrived. I’m still not entirely sure why. Pity, perhaps. I’ve been here ever since.”
Gran ceased her narrative and fell silent.
Ashinji extended a hand and laid it atop her folded ones. Such an air of sadness hung about her that Ashinji momentarily forgot his own grief.
“You told me I reminded you of someone you’d lost. Who?” he asked.
“I had five sons. My youngest was about your age when he died. You remind me of him. His name was Taka…” Her voice broke, and a single tear slid from her left eye and trickled down her cheek.
Ashinji could think of nothing to say. Mere words could not serve in the face of such overwhelming tragedy. He continued to hold her hands, waiting until she could speak again.
“Ashinji, the Kirians must regain control of the Key. Any other possibility is unthinkable,” Gran continued at last. Her face settled into an expression of fierce determination. “I now have a reason to return to Alasiri… and you must come with me.”
“We’ll need all the help we can muster,” Ashinji said. “This human, Tilo. You have no idea when he’s coming back?”
“No. In the meantime, I’ll speak to Aruk-cho. Better that I approach him first. He will need a bit of persuading, but I’ll bring him around.”
“I did sort of promise to take Seijon with me if I ever tried to break out of the yard.” Ashinji rubbed his jaw in annoyance. “I’m beginning to regret it. He’s barely old enough to hold a weapon, much less fight with one. I’m afraid I’ll just get him killed. He doesn’t deserve such a fate, Gran.”
“That boy is a lot tougher and more resourceful than you think. He had to be, to survive on the streets. Don’t waste time worrying about him. He can handle himself well when he needs to. Besides, I couldn’t bear to leave him behind, either.”
Now that they had made the decision to escape, Ashinji felt an odd kind of peace descend upon him, even though he recognized the long odds for success.
So much of this depends on sheer luck, he thought. If Aruk-cho will help us, if this human called Tilo returns and is also willing to help…maybe, just maybe, I’ll hold Jelena and our child in my arms again.
He refused to think of what might be required of them once they were finally reunited.