Shadows Return Part 8

CHAPTER 9

Hobbled

ALEC WAS DEEP under dark water, unable to breathe. He could see a light glimmering far overhead, and he tried desperately to swim up to it, but his body was heavy and his arms didn't work right. An undersea swell tugged at him and filled his ears with its soft roar. The more he struggled, the more he sank. Giving up, he used the last of the air in his bursting lungs to cry out for Seregil- under dark water, unable to breathe. He could see a light glimmering far overhead, and he tried desperately to swim up to it, but his body was heavy and his arms didn't work right. An undersea swell tugged at him and filled his ears with its soft roar. The more he struggled, the more he sank. Giving up, he used the last of the air in his bursting lungs to cry out for Seregil- The unpleasant sc.r.a.pe of metal against his teeth brought Alec out of one nightmare and into a new one. The sound of the sea was still in his ears, and the world was still moving, but daylight smarted his eyes. He was in a cramped, plank-walled room. A tiny window showed only a square of blue sky and a few white seagulls. Even without that, he could tell by the rolling motion of the room that he was aboard a s.h.i.+p under full sail.

How in the name of Bilairy had he gotten on a s.h.i.+p?

Badly disoriented, he looked down to find that his wrists were locked in wide metal bands, and a long bar was fastened between them to keep his hands apart. One end of a heavy chain was fastened to the middle of the spanner, and the other to a heavy metal staple in the wall. His fingers found metal straps between his eyes and around his head.

Someone had put him in branks, like the one Thero had worn when they were captives together on that Plenimaran s.h.i.+p. The same sort of wide, silvery bands of metal encased his wrists. Someone had mistaken him for a wizard and taken serious precautions.

Otherwise, he'd been made comfortable. He lay on a narrow bunk, warmly swathed in blankets. His clothing was gone, he noted uneasily, but otherwise, he seemed unharmed.

For now. Mardus and his necromancers had taken good care of Alec, too, as long it had suited them. How in h.e.l.l had he come to be in the same d.a.m.n situation twice? Mardus and his necromancers had taken good care of Alec, too, as long it had suited them. How in h.e.l.l had he come to be in the same d.a.m.n situation twice?

He closed his eyes. He remembered the ambush, and something black and horrible rus.h.i.+ng at him, surrounding him with numbing cold and a breathtaking stench. And Seregil yelling...

Panic rose again, stronger this time, as it sank in that he was alone.

He slid off the bunk and staggered unsteadily toward the window, but the chain wasn't long enough. He could get off the bed to stand, but no further. He climbed back onto the bunk and stood up on it to give him a different view out the window.

There wasn't much to see-just some taut ropes and a section of rail, and beyond that, open sea. He couldn't find the sun to judge the hour.

A chill, salt-laden draft caressed his skin, bringing gooseflesh out on his arms. He sat down and awkwardly dragged a blanket up over his knees with one hand.

The bunk was built into the wall-just bare boards under a thin mattress stuffed with wool. There was nothing loose lying about except two small wooden buckets on a shelf at the end of the bed. The empty one stank of p.i.s.s, and was clearly meant for a chamber pot. The other held water. He leaned over and sniffed it suspiciously, but it seemed clean. Thirst overrode caution and he sucked up what he could, trying to wash the metallic taste from his mouth. Resuming his vigil, he tried to ignore the fear blossoming in his belly.

Where is Seregil? The thought throbbed in his mind like a heartbeat. The thought throbbed in his mind like a heartbeat.

He could hear sailors talking somewhere nearby but couldn't make out their words over the sound of the wind and waves.

Finally, two men pa.s.sed close by the window and Alec caught a glimpse of dark skin, long black curly beards, and a flash of distinctive striped clothing.

Zengati.

He slid down the wall and rested his useless hands on his knees, heart pounding as he realized how bad the situation really was.

He was still brooding on that when he heard the sc.r.a.pe of a bar being lifted outside his door. Defenseless, he stayed where he was, his only protection the blanket pulled tightly around him.

The door opened just wide enough for a young boy to slip through, then shut behind him, and Alec heard the bar slam down again. His visitor, barefoot, and dressed in a long, belted s.h.i.+rt, was carrying a large wooden bowl. He eyed Alec for a moment, then quickly set the bowl down on the floor just within reach and scuttled back and banged on the door.

"Wait! Tell me where my friend is," Alec begged, or tried to. The words came out hopelessly mangled around the mouth plate.

The boy called out loudly in his own language to whoever was waiting outside. Alec didn't speak Zengati, but it was clear that he was scared of Alec, and none too pleased with his duty. As soon as the door opened, the boy dashed out.

Alec leaned over the edge of the bunk to inspect the bowl, which held some sort of bland, grey broth. He left it alone, drank more water, then settled cross-legged, back to the wall, watching the door and window. He pulled at the branks, but only managed to hurt his mouth. The wristbands were no better, smooth and seamless, sealed with magic.

Plenimaran magic, on a Zengati slaver's s.h.i.+p. He couldn't think of a worse combination. He couldn't think of a worse combination.

Time crawled by and the light began to fade. Judging by the way the shadows moved across the floor, he guessed they were sailing north. North from Gedre lay Skala or Plenimar. Alec had no illusions about where they were headed.

Darkness fell and no one came, not even the boy. Huddled in his blankets, Alec kept watch on the door, sick with worry for Seregil.

He must have dozed off, for he was completely unprepared when the door suddenly banged open and the cabin filled with people. Dark, bearded faces loomed over him and hard, hurtful hands held him down. Someone held a lantern aloft. Someone else grabbed the bar between his hands and wrenched it out sideways, so that his right hand was over the edge of the bed. An order was barked and some of the men fell back, giving place to a heavyset man wielding a small branding iron. Hands tightened on Alec's chest and legs and shoulders as the b.a.s.t.a.r.d grabbed Alec's wrist and pressed the iron to the inside of his forearm.

Alec screamed and swore and struggled as the smell of burnt flesh filled his nostrils, but to no avail. Flipping him over, they branded him on the back of the left calf, too.

It was over quickly, and they left him alone again, but that was little consolation. The pain of the burns was agony, and with his hands shackled like this, it was impossible to find a way to lie that didn't cause more pain.

He cringed as he heard the bar being lifted again. A tall, veiled figure slipped in carrying a basket and a small lantern. At first Alec thought it was a woman, but the legs and bare feet that showed below the short robe were a man's. His hair was hidden under something like a crude sen'gai, and a sc.r.a.p of plain muslin hid his face below a pair of sad grey eyes.

Aurenfaie eyes, Alec thought, even before the man unpinned the veil and let Alec see his face, and the thick iron collar around his neck. Alec thought, even before the man unpinned the veil and let Alec see his face, and the thick iron collar around his neck.

He was 'faie, without any doubt, perhaps a bit younger than Seregil. He remained by the door as he held up his right arm, showing Alec the faded brand on his forearm. It was a symbol or letter of some sort, but nothing Alec could make sense of.

"Each slaver s.h.i.+p captain has his own mark," the stranger said in Aurenfaie, and the sound of that familiar language quieted Alec's fears a little.

"You're a 'lave?" Alec slurred around the branks.

The man gave him a dispirited shrug. "What else would a 'faie be, in such company? I've come to dress your burns. Will you let me?"

Alec nodded, trying unsuccessfully to cover himself.

The man set his basket down on the edge of the bed and pulled the blanket over Alec's lap and legs. "I know you're frightened, and in pain, but there's no need for fear. They like their 'faie slaves unblemished at the Riga markets, and that's where we're headed."

He took Alec's arm in gentle hands and applied a salve with a light, careful touch. Alec guessed he'd done this often. The salve smelled good, and soothed the burns considerably. Alec studied his helper closely as the man took strips of clean linen from the basket and bandaged Alec's arm. His tunic had short sleeves, and as he leaned over his task, Alec could see the telltale scars left by a lash peeking out across the back of one shoulder. "'ey 'ip you."

"I was stubborn, and proud," the 'faie replied without looking up. "They beat that out of me, eventually. It doesn't have to be so difficult for you, little brother. In the end, you'll find it's best to submit."

"'ubmit? 'oo what?"

"That all depends on who buys you. If you're lucky, being a half-blood, someone might only want you as a laborer, or an ornamental house slave. Turn on your side so I can dress your leg."

Alec rolled over to face the wall. "An' if I no' 'ucky?"

"Well, some would say your mixed blood has a pretty effect, and with that fair hair? You might end up in some rich merchant's bed."

"'ever!"

"Or perhaps with a woman. The wealthier courtesans often keep boys as pets."

Alec shook his head furiously, heedless of the way the branks plate cut at the corner of his mouth, then let out a grunt of alarm as the man seized him by the shoulder and pulled him around to face him.

"I'm trying to do you a favor, little brother." Turning away, the slave grasped the hem of his robe and pulled the back up to his neck, showing Alec the netting of faded scars that ridged his skin from neck to knees. Then he turned and held up his p.e.n.i.s in one hand, showing him the puckered scar where his b.a.l.l.s should have been. "They're likely to take those anyway, unless they want to breed you. I'm lucky that master left as much as he did."

Yanking his tunic back down, he fixed Alec with a sorrowful look. "I was proud like you, little brother. But in the end I did all they wanted. You can spare yourself the suffering. Some masters can be quite kind if you're meek and tractable."

Alec squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face to the wall. Meek and tractable? He'd die first!

"Suit yourself, then."

"Wait!" Alec called after him. It was so hard to talk with this thing in his mouth! Choosing his words carefully, he asked, "'as there a 'an with 'e?"

"A man with you? A friend captured with you, you mean?"

Alec nodded. "Auren."

"I don't know. You're the only 'faie I've seen. Try to rest. It's two more days to Riga, and the sailors won't trouble you. The captain would have their skins for it."

He went out, taking the lantern and leaving Alec in the dark, and in despair. If Seregil was dead, then he had even less reason to be meek or or tractable for anyone. He'd be more than happy to die. tractable for anyone. He'd be more than happy to die.

CHAPTER 10 10.

Rough Pa.s.sage

SEREGIL WAS FAR too sick to gauge the pa.s.sage of time, or to fight back when they came to brand him. He was barely conscious when dark figures held him down and burned his arm and leg, and only vaguely aware when someone came to tend the wounds. His physical misery was unrelenting. too sick to gauge the pa.s.sage of time, or to fight back when they came to brand him. He was barely conscious when dark figures held him down and burned his arm and leg, and only vaguely aware when someone came to tend the wounds. His physical misery was unrelenting.

Every so often the hatch overhead would open, and he roused a bit when they came down to sluice him off with icy seawater, was.h.i.+ng away the vomit and s.h.i.+t. Then someone would hold his head up, using the branks for a handle, and force fresh water or broth between his teeth until he choked and swallowed. He usually just brought it up again, but somehow enough stayed in him to keep life in his wasting body. Sometimes in the night, they would come to stare at him, faces hidden behind the blinding glare of a lantern. Or maybe that was just a fever dream? He was too sick to tell the difference, or care.

The rough planking rubbed the skin from his body, and the branks were a continuous torment. His brands felt hot, and he knew they were infected. The only other constant during those miserable days was the hope that Alec was alive somewhere.

As he grew weaker, he slept more, but his dreams offered no escape. Long-dead enemies came to gloat over him. Delirious, Seregil woke once convinced that Mardus and his necromancer, Vargul Ashnazai, were standing over him, laughing at his condition. In other dreams, he was at the c.o.c.kerel, with the headless corpses of Thryis and her family, or back at that sea temple again, looking down at Nysander's sorrowful, upturned face.

That was the only dream that made him weep, and for the first time in many years, he prayed in earnest.

Aura, Lightbearer, if Alec is alive, then help me. If not, then let me die.

He had little faith in answered prayers, but all the same, he lived, even as he sank ever deeper into darkness.

CHAPTER 11 11.

No Good Place for a 'Faie

ALEC HOPED IN vain to see the veiled Aurenfaie again. He hadn't even asked his name. But no one except the boy came, bringing him food and water and taking away the slop pail. Alec tried to befriend him, but the boy kept his eyes averted and never lingered. vain to see the veiled Aurenfaie again. He hadn't even asked his name. But no one except the boy came, bringing him food and water and taking away the slop pail. Alec tried to befriend him, but the boy kept his eyes averted and never lingered.

On the morning of the fourth day the breeze through the little window changed, carrying the scent of land. Standing up on the bed again, he caught a glimpse of white stone cliffs, bright in the distance. There was no sign of green-no forest or fields-and as he took more sightings through the day, his impression remained the same. Seregil had told him that Plenimar was barren in places, especially here in the south; that was why the Plenimarans tried so often to take the land of others. At least that was the Skalan view.

And they kept slaves. Alec looked down at the scabbed brand on his arm, trying to imagine what lay ahead.

They made port late in the afternoon, and Alec began to feel sick. He told himself that it was just the rolling of the s.h.i.+p at anchor, but his heart knew better.

He'd eaten to keep his strength up. He'd watch for his chance and break for freedom at the first opportunity. He had no idea how he was going to get out of his shackles, but he could worry about that if he actually managed to get away.

That proved a vain hope. Three st.u.r.dy Zengati sailors came for him. They bound his legs together with rope and carried him out of the cabin on their shoulders like a rolled carpet.

The s.h.i.+p was a large one, long and lean, and there were dozens of sailors and armed men milling around. No one spared him a glance as he was carried past. Beyond the rail, he could see a waterfront teeming with people.

There was some sort of holdup at the head of the gangway, and he looked around wildly, realizing how futile his hope of escape had been.

At first glance, Riga was no different than any seaport city. The shadows were growing long, and there were lanterns lit along the streets. Tall warehouses lined the sh.o.r.e, and between them he got a glimpse of a large city that spread as far as he could see. Beyond that, in the distance, were white, rolling hills dotted with bits of dark green. It reminded him of Gedre.

On deck, a hatch had been thrown back and filthy, naked people were being led up. The smell was so bad that he retched around the mouth plate of the branks.

The miserable slaves were staggering in chains and, as Alec watched, two sailors came up carrying a limp body by the arms and legs. The man was filthier than all the others-emaciated and b.l.o.o.d.y, too-but Alec still recognized him.

"'eregil!" he shouted, thras.h.i.+ng in his captors' grip and cursing the branks that gagged him. "'eregil! 'eregil!"

He was terrified at first that Seregil was dead. The man was deathly pale under the filth, and his eyes were sunk deeply in dark, bruised-looking sockets. But as soon as the sailors stretched him on the deck, Alec saw him make a feeble effort to curl into a ball. The heavy metal bars fastened between his hands and feet were too much for him. As Alec watched, he went limp, only the whites of his eyes showing under half-open lids. Alec had never seen his talimenios so weak.

But he's alive and he's here!

Before he could tell anything more of Seregil's condition, Alec's handlers hoisted him higher and carried him down the gangway. Helpless he might be, but he was no longer without hope.

The last thing he saw before the deck rose out of view was the nameless Aurenfaie slave kneeling beside Seregil.

Help him, please! Alec silently begged, as he was carried ash.o.r.e. Alec silently begged, as he was carried ash.o.r.e.

Alec?

Seregil was only dimly aware that the motion around him had changed. Then he was in sunlight, too painfully bright even through his eyelids. A fresh, cold wind cut through the stink he'd thought endless. Had he been asleep? Had he dreamed Alec's voice, calling to him?

It hurt too much to stay here, though, and he let himself sink back into the welcoming blackness.