Chapter One
Tryn swung her
pickaxe and cut another dart bullet from the air inches from her leg. A fourth hit avoided. She leapt the slight rift and
clung to the side of the cold cavern wall with her left hand for only a moment before scaling to the low ceiling. None of
the guards could follow her antics, none ambitious or nimble enough to even attempt the climb. She, though, she was their
best digger and knew every crease and sharp edge to hold onto or jump from along the ceilings and walls.
Gargan’s
fifth shot kicked a puff of dust from the stone she hopped onto.
“When
are you going to learn!” Gargan shouted. His growl alone let her know his frustration had peaked beyond where she usually
pushed it. “Devil child, the worst in this hole!”
Tryn choked
down a laugh. She shouldn’t have found the situation funny, but her blood pumped so hot it warmed her spirit and was
gratifying beyond anything she’d felt for months. She wiped the smile from her lips with the back of her filthy hand
and rolled to peek over the stone. Below, familiar trodden paths of black dust stretched and vanished in all directions. The
all-too-clean guards hovered there, watching with perplexed expressions twisting their pale faces. They nearly glowed in the
dark. Four of them. Only Gargan carried a dart shooter in clear view.
Gargan had one
shot left. One. It was a good number, yet she had no idea what she planned to do next. Running from Gargan hadn’t been
her best choice for the day, but as usual, she hadn’t fully thought the action through. All she knew was that she didn’t
want to surface for the market. She was no animal to be sent to field or slaughter or a slave for someone’s household.
She was a slave, she couldn’t deny, but she’d been in the mines so long, she taught herself to like it.
She stared at
the black ceiling, watching the flickering flame-light lick the cuttingly sharp edges, edges she had created, prying every
usable mineral from what the Madai viewed as junk rock. Junk just like her and her kind.
Murmuring hastened
below, then one voice rose above the others, ordering them to hush. “Slave girl, may I have a word with you?”
the man asked. The newest guard. He had yet to lose his manners.
“I’m
listening,” she called down, using Common Tongue just as he had.
“Might
I inquire what the problem is? I thought you would be thrilled with the prospect of fresh air and sunlight, not run from it
like this.”
“How long
have you been down here? Take a guess,” she said. “And what do they call you?”
“Corporal
Dagard,” he answered. “I’ve been here for…”
She listened
to him count and chuckled. “Seven hours, Corporal Dagard. It’s been seven hours since the last shift change, that’s
all. And how do your eyes feel seeing sunlight after those seven hours?”
“Well,
I… Ask for some shade. Why this? Do you have any idea the punishment you are inviting by doing these tricks?”
“A beating
inches from death? Yes, I know. But I’ve only experienced it twice this month, guess I think I need to step it up to
not fall behind my record.”
“See!”
Gargan shouted. “Unreasonably stupid, this one. Should leave it here, no one would want to buy it anyway. I tried to
tell you.”
“I was
told to surface all females of worthwhile age, lieutenant, and this one is of good age and health. I have no intentions of
leaving her behind.”
“I have
no intention of coming down,” Tryn said.
More murmurs.
She laughed again, hearing enough of each word to understand it.
“Your
folly is in believing us slaves ignorant, you pathetic imbeciles,” she said, though not too loudly. If they heard, that
was well, but if not, it was their loss.
“Your
battling days are over young Tryn, you need to let them be in faded memory.”
Tryn rolled
onto her shoulder and found old Sarmi goggling her with his one remaining eye from a lower ledge.
“Why must
you cause all this ruckus down here? I’m an old man, done with these rebellious things. It no longer amuses me.”
“Nothing
amuses you,” she said. “And this concerns you none. Be gone.”
He furrowed
his craggy brow, creating gray cracks in the coating of filth across his forehead, but he climbed down from view without argument.
“So, slave
girl, how exactly do you see this situation resolving?” Corporal Dagard again. Noisy he was.
“You going
away,” she said.
“It is
the festival of harvest above,” he said. “A grand thing for the city. And it’s been appointed to me to see
you brought above for sale. You may very well find yourself purchased by someone of wealth. I cannot understand this action
you’ve taken.”
“I’m
not for sale,” she said to the wall. “I’ve never been bought or sold, and I have no desire to start now.”
She tolerated
enough auctions over the years, the scrutiny, the snide and ignorant remarks, all buyers looking at her as if she couldn’t
understand their fancy words or accents. She endured the last harvest sale a year ago, managing to scare off prospective buyers.
The older she got, the more she looked like a woman, not a young boy, and men always believed they could tame a woman, take
from her and make her carry children as more slaves. She knew what a precious commodity she was. Good health, perfect child
bearing age.
Picks clinked
and cracked against the stone below. She peeked down and saw a ladder sliding toward her. She rolled, leaping from her haven.
Gargan fired. Mid-air lent her no protection, and the dart pierced her shoulder. She gripped the wall, hearing Dagard scold
Gargan. Her vision blurred. She stretched her fingers over her shoulder, felt the dart against her fingernail, too low to
grasp before the full dose filled her.
“Get ready
to catch her, you ignorant pigs. How dare you risk damaging this one so close to sale!”
Damage? Tryn
leapt from the wall, flipping backward and landing on her feet in front of Gargan. She saw two of him, but only one held detail.
She swung her closed fist at him, then delighted in the hard hit to her jaw. Perfect. She felt skin break and sweet blood
rose to her lip before she fell to the path and sharp stones waiting to pierce her back. Then her muscles refused to obey.
She screamed internally, hating the hopeless feeling. Her mind alone remained her own, alert and free of fog. Rope tightened
around her wrists and legs. She was theirs to do with as they wanted. Only Dagard’s presence would keep them from abusing
her. She was too precious to soil this close to sale. But it didn’t stop them from touching her in places she promised
they would pay for when she returned. Rocks had a way of splitting in just the wrong way to collapse on unsuspecting guards,
especially under her expert hands.
~*~
Cedrik swallowed
the sour taste stirred by the forced smile he offered the main gate keeper. He handed over his official badge as his invitation
and stepped onto the relatively clear pathways of the slave market. The chaos and ruckus from the city streets he gladly left
behind, but what waited ahead tortured him even more. Smoke and boiling berries perfumed the air; all an attempt to cover
the sour stench of filthy slaves prepped and polished just enough to look presentable.
Women lined
the walls, some in tattered fancy dresses, some shouting offers he didn’t desire to hear or need. All were far too thin.
Their eyes shined like black gems as did most all of the Inaut race. It was a race thought of mixed heritages so intertwined
the color of their skin had changed from white, red, or black to a kind of pale stone gray. Some said it had to do with how
they ate and survived in the forests and mountains of Earth too. Many of his people considered them animals.
He knew different.
He shoved away
groping hands and pushed by lines of buyers with eyes full of greed and unrespectable intentions. Some would no doubt give
the women a decent home, but it sickened him no less to know they felt the offspring they had with these women were worthy
of only servitude, no more valuable than the women surrounding him. Their own children.
He weaved his
way through the most popular prospects to the last street, called “Last Level.” It was last because the tired
and scarred souls it held were those least expected to please a man for any purpose. The keeper in charge of these slaves
bowed his head.
“Good
day, Sir Cedrik,” he said.
Cedrik gestured
in return and clenched his fists to keep from hammering the man. In all probability, the poor sap had no say in the treatment
of slaves. Cedrik chose to give him the benefit of the doubt and believe the man was as troubled by the cages and chains as
he was.
He wandered
down one path, then the other, not hearing one promise or one beg. These women were aged, deformed, and bereft of spirit.
Their eyes watched out at him as empty as split seed pods. He walked here each time he came to see if just one could be saved.
As before, he left knowing none there could survive on their own. He would have to try the male level of the sale.
He exited without
acknowledging the gate keeper’s apologies for the low quality of the less expensive merchandise. The paths crowded quickly.
Cedrik weaved through lines growing long before several exceptionally shaped and enticing slaves. The men nearly seemed to
pant before them, shouting competitive amounts, each louder and larger than the preceding offer. He scrubbed his hand over his face to erase the scene around him. None of these girls could be saved because
someone would outbid him for certain. He had to be careful with the amounts he spent.
“Robbery
that is!” a man shouted. “It’s worth far more than this.”
“Look
at it, limp as a dead fish.”
“It’s
an act, I tell ya, an act! It doesn’t listen to anything.”
“All the
more reason to offer so little. I don’t much care its age or quality if it’s that disobedient.”
Cedrik stopped
and fought against the push and shoves of those behind him. He listened for a moment, then headed toward the back path of
the front level.
“A month’s
worth of calibin can be supplied,” a gruff looking guard shouted at a man beside him. “By then it’s up to
you to have it trained. At any rate, this amount you’ve offered is inexcusable and rejected!”
The two men
argued from the farthest corner where the gate to the mines held open for the guards to pass through easily. Cedrik weaved
his way right then left, feigning interest in several sales going on until the crowd thinned enough for him to see a cage
next to the enraged man.
Cages were saved
for the last level slaves, the slaves with arms too frail to wrap in heavy chains. The woman in this cage didn’t have
that problem and Cedrik was quick to note she was also chained to two heavy rocks behind the pen. The guard acting as her
keeper snarled curses at her, but she stared blankly ahead, blinking rarely, sitting limply against the bars despite the pokes
and prods of the guard and prospective buyers. He wondered at first why she hadn’t been placed in the last level, her
eyes so silver and unmoving, he thought her at least partly blind. One side of her chin and jaw showed bruised and swollen.
He scanned the statistics on the sale tag attached to the bars. She was twenty-two years old and just over five feet tall.
“I guarantee
you, this is all an act. She wishes not to be sold,” the keeper shouted, sounding far too desperate now.
“One wishes
not to be sold from the mines?” A man scoffed. “Who do you expect to believe that?”
A flick of light
and Cedrik realized her irises were not clouded with film of eye disease but as bright as polished blue-silver, a hue he’d
never seen in Inaut eyes before. Cedrik watched her small face, so beautifully petite he thought his hands would surely cover
her cheek from temple to delicate chin. He’d never seen an Inaut quite so—exquisite. He shook his head, scolding
himself for such a thought. When he looked to her again, her steel eyes pierced him. She had moved without notice. Her stare
still seemed somehow distant, yet slicing, her limbs hung limp, but she pressed her lips firmly together. He moved closer.
Her glare deepened then vanished with only the slightest waver. He stooped down next to her between two tall men.
“Sir,
please, Sir Cedrik, be careful. This one tends to lash when you least expect it. Don’t be fooled by her appearance.”
Men laughed.
Cedrik didn’t doubt the words. She was small but each muscle in her bare forearms and biceps was etched firm with strength.
The rest of her would be just as powerful.
“Why?”
he said.
She continued
to stare ahead at nothing.
“You hear
me,” he said.
The muscle from
her long neck to the strong shoulder tensed ever so slightly beneath the thin strap of her shirt.
Cedrik stood.
“Three hundred tregs,” he said. Gasps surrounded him.
“We’re
asking for five,” the guard said.
Cedrik turned,
eyeing the six men encircling him. “I don’t see anyone tempted to offer even as much as I have.” He waited
for the murmurs and nods of agreement.
The guard squirmed
one foot into the dust.
“Would
it be better for you to return with her unsold?” Cedrik asked. “You do get some commission, do you not, even from
three hundred?”
“And they
appoint me this impossible bitch!” The guard kicked her through the bars. She fell to the side, but didn’t show
a bit of discomfort.
Cedrik bit back
his shout. “Might I suggest not beating my merchandise or I’ll have to lower my bid.” He held out his sack
with all three hundred of his tregs. Tension twisted up his spine. If the guard did take the sack, he was out the month’s
remaining pay but if the man didn’t accept the bid…. Cedrik couldn’t describe the odd sense of fear creeping
from his gut. He had never wanted a purchase to go through quite so badly before.
The man swiped
it roughly from his fist, snarling hateful words at the cage the entire time. The other men chuckled at Cedrik’s stupidity
or bravery, slapped his shoulder in mock congratulations for at least having a pretty thing to look at, and drifted back down
to the main path.
Cedrik turned
to follow the guard and discuss the transfer of ownership when her hand snapped out and nearly crushed his ankle. She had
twisted in the chains, dragging one stone against the back bars to flip to her stomach so quickly and silently no one noticed.
Her stunning eyes roiled with anger potent despite her low vantage point.
“Demand
a refund,” she said. “Or for sure you’ll regret it.” Her Common Tongue sounded perfect in his ears,
not twisted at all with Inaut accent, just a lusciously smooth sound. But she was Inaut, he didn’t doubt that. The strength
of her fingers even through his hard riding boot shook him and proved it. Inauts were fierce with strength.
“Do you
know how to ride?” he asked.
She furrowed
her brow and narrowed her eyes. “Are you deaf?”
“I’m
no more deaf than you are worthless.”
“Ask him
where I’m from,” she said. “His answer will match mine, the mines, see here under my nails, the proof. I’ve
worked them for years. I’ll kill you the first chance I get. I promise you that.”
Cedrik shook
his boot loose of her grip, a little disturbed by how much effort it took, and stooped down eye level with her again. He kept
farther back than before, noting well the length of the chains. She lashed at him, straining her powerful arms. Her fingertips
clawed the air inches from his throat before she gave up.
“Trust
me,” he said, careful to keep his voice low and only for her.
She narrowed
her spirit-filled eyes. Cedrik glanced over his shoulder to be sure the guard stood otherwise occupied. Another guard had
pulled him into a discussion.
“I realize
you’ve probably never been given a reason to trust anyone in your life but I ask you to do so now. To just beyond the
city limits. Will you agree to that much?”
She pulled her
knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them but her sharp gaze never faltered from him. So many questions about
her rushed his thoughts, though none included anything about her time in servitude. He doubted she’d been born to it.
Not this one.
“If not,
just give me the word and I’ll request refund. But I must know now. I must know if my money will be wasted by you trying
to run within the city.”
Uncertainty
roiled in the stormy sea of her eyes, so visible, so potent. So like someone else he knew.
“I’ll
take your silence as agreement,” he said, hearing the crunch of the guard’s boot in the sand behind him. “Unless
you have something new to add.”
“I see
you’ve made it speak,” the guard said.
Cedrik stood
to face the man. “Yes, indeed.”
“So you
see I was not telling a lie when I spoke of its act.”
Cedrik nodded.
“I thought from the look of you, I could trust you, but from the look of her, how could I be certain.”
The man grinned,
falling for the compliment fully. Cedrik couldn’t fault the guard for his weakness. He was told he had a way of making
people believe anything.
“What’s
your name?” Cedrik asked as he took the electronic tablet and pen. Still so primitive there in the slave shops.
“Lieutenant
Gargan, Sir,” he said with a sharp salute of hand to chest.
Cedrik handed
him the signed tablet. “Nice to meet you, Lieutenant.”
Gargan unlocked
a box he carried on his belt and pulled a thin silver key and a flat shock tag from it.
“Sir,
here is the key to the cuffs she will be released to you with. This tag is for your own safety. Just press the center if she
runs or otherwise gets out of hand and the cuffs will send a shock up both arms to cripple her for a full minute. I suggest
you have restraints ready at all times to slap on her if need be.”
“I don’t
believe I’ll have any trouble, Lieutenant, I’ve dealt with my share of difficult animals.”
She hissed from
inside the cage, no doubt believing he meant what he called her. Once they were well on their way from spying eyes and ears,
he would have to clear up a few things. Cedrik walked leisurely down the slope when he remembered his first concern.
“Oh, Lieutenant,
I was hoping you could tell me, is it capable of riding?”
Gargan wrinkled
his broad nose. “Excuse me?”
“Riding?
I have no transport with me, was just out enjoying the weather before the storms and gathering some supplies. I have only
horses. Should I be worried of her ability to stay on one?”
He caught a
glimpse of her evil grin but remained focused on the keeper. The lieutenant swallowed deeply, almost a gulp.
“I don’t
see why it couldn’t. But I highly suggest you give it a nag or a cripple.”
Cedrik nodded
in agreement a little less leery of how he would get the woman from the city limits quickly. Chances were she’d seen
a horse before. With her build, she would be able to stay mounted even if she’d never ridden before. The only thing
tickling his concerns was if he was ready to lose the steed he had for carrying supplies or if he dare trust the spirited
stallion not to harm her.
Chapter Two
Tryn shivered.
She was used to the cool dampness from the mines, but in the night she also had to contend with wind. Her eyes hurt and watered
less than before. Moonlight showed much more mercy than harsh sun. The fresh air washed through her, bringing to her attention
just how congested she was of mine dust. She coughed and spit grit again, breathing deeper than she ever remembered breathing
but her chest hurt from the strange motion.
It all should
have been good despite the ache in her wrists from being chained to the wall to wait for her warden. She bristled at the word
and the thought of the young man. He had looked young at any rate, clean shaven and well dressed. They called him Sir Cedrik
meaning he wasn’t of military but of royalty. High and rich royalty, no doubt, to toss around 300 tregs so confidently.
Her only solace
came with the knowledge she could easily take his kind. He wouldn’t last the night for having the gull to buy her and
end her streak of never being bought or sold. The only reason the garrison had her at all was because they attacked her clan
and captured all survivors from low along the forest pass.
Why her father
had moved his rebel force so far from the mountain terrain and protection, she would never know, and never again would she
follow anyone to a place she deemed unfit, no matter who they were. She’d known her father’s mind wasn’t
well those last few days. Then he fell almost willingly in the battle where her family had been taken. All because of the
drugged darts too. First thing she planned to do when she reached home was layer up on leather to be sure they would never
stick her with those darts again. Then she would hunt the Madai for what they’d done.
The stupidest
thing the garrison ever did was sell her. She planned to inform them of their stupidity soon enough. For now she decided she
had to play it all straight. She had to behave or they would drug her again and that wouldn’t go well.
A few of the
other girls whimpered as they snuggled deeper under their skirts, clothes given to them to make them more feminine. She alone
remained dressed in her work clothes, probably because the last man who put a dress on her died when a boulder toppled onto
him two days later.
Some women sat
close enough to huddle and share warmth. Tryn scowled at all of them. She despised their weak little murmurs, sickened by
how happy some of them were to be bought. As if they had accomplished some great deed. She wondered how many would be beaten
to death or die in childbirth within the next year.
From across
the huge courtyard, the gates creaked open and pierced the silence. Some girls stirred, others didn’t move. Tryn arched
her back, snapping two vertebrae between her shoulder blades back into place after being hunched around her legs and shivering
for so long. Then she listened with all the skill of her ears and mind to pick syllables from the air. She recognized his
calm even tone instantly when he spoke a congenial greeting followed by his request for her. Torches flamed at the gates and
two guards climbed the incline. Several women begged for blankets. Stupid. The guards didn’t even glance at them, fully
focused on retrieving a thing.
A new, young
face pointed the dart gun at her, though his hands shook so violently on the butt of the tool she doubted he would hit her.
Gargan jangled the keys into their slots and swung open the groaning door of her cage. He paused, his beady eyes glittering.
“One wrong
move and you’ll be sleeping your way out of here,” he said.
“Don’t
worry,” Tryn said. “I won’t hurt you. Yet.”
Shadows covered
Gargan’s eyes under his furrowed brow. He stooped to reach her wrists when she refused to lift them. He slapped a single
heavy chain between her arms and released the two holding her to the wall. She jumped boldly to her feet without aid of her
hands. Gargan scrambled backward out of the cage, arms flailing, and a dart puffed in the dust at her feet. Tryn eyed the
dart, then the younger man who trembled worse than a tree in a windstorm, and clucked her tongue at him.
“You best
learn to control yourself, boy,” she said. “A man who can’t isn’t too desirable to the ladies.”
He clumsily
worked the bolt, clanking another dart into the chamber, and pointed it at her again. She covered a chuckle with a cough and
spit at Gargan’s feet.
“You’re
lucky you’re bought,” he grumbled.
“Or else
you’d swing at me,” Tryn said, deliberately raising her voice and widening her eyes to feign horror. “Oh,
oh, the terror is rippling through my veins!” She swept her closed fists over her forehead in an exaggerated act of
swooning.
Gargan yanked
her hands down, tripping her forward. She easily caught her balance. One couldn’t scale walls and stone beams without
excellent balance. She tolerated his attempt at punishing her until she reached the gate, then she ripped her hands free of
his and hissed at him through clenched teeth.
“I only
promised not to hurt you up there,” she said.
“Now,
now,” Cedrik said, “is that any way for you to behave?”
Tryn whirled
on her new keeper but found herself wrapped in the smoothest of cloths surprisingly warm before she could lash at him. She
gripped the heat instead of him, a solar blanket, not cheap and certainly not for use on slaves. Oddly, it was covered with
a matted and old layer of wool, concealing its opulent underside.
“Won’t
do good to have you ill your first days on my compound. Now, let’s be gone, shall we?”
She pulled against
his firm grip, nowhere near finished with Gargan. She needed to promise him death for what he’d done to her since her
arrival there eight years before, but Cedrik had her shoulders firmly between his strong hands and shoved her ahead of him.
“We need
not draw more attention to ourselves, I beg you. I’d rather not have to carry you out in a drug stupor,” he whispered
into her ear. His breath felt hot and much too pleasant against her cheek.
“I’ll
ask nicely for you to remove your hands,” she returned the quiet tone not out of calmness but out of total irritation.
She loathed the feel of anyone so near, especially a Madai.
“Can I
trust you will follow willingly without word with the guards?”
Tryn mashed
her teeth together, biting the terrible dusty taste in her mouth. She would never obey another person, certainly not one who
claimed to own her. Still, this man created too many questions.
“I don’t
make promises to your kind,” she said, “but sure, I’ll follow.”
He stopped pushing
her and a moment later the weight of his hands slid away. She adjusted the blanket on her shoulders, not willing to give it
up without a fight. Not for anyone for any reason.
“Side
by side,” he said. “Stay close or I’ll man handle you again.”
“Man handle.”
Tryn spat. “You sorry—”
“Hush
now, unless you wish them to drag you back.”
She watched
the line of guards ahead. They ogled her as she approached, no doubt recognizing her on sight. They wore concealing full helmets
of thin metal but she thought she knew a few of the glaring sets of eyes.
“She’s
your problem now,” one snipped as they passed.
“Good
night to you all,” Cedrik said with a quick bow of his head.
He continued
straight down the main avenue toward blue lights of the glowing city buildings. The space port shined the brightest and stood
near enough for her to see three large cylindrical shuttles ready for launch to the giant station in the sky. From there they
would pass to the other planets said to support life. Tryn never cared to learn about them. If not for them, the city surrounding
her and the people enslaving her would never exist. Besides, she had enough trouble on her own planet.
“So.”
She worked hard to make her tone as snide as possible. “A wealthy man on horses?”
“Not much
use for transports where I live,” he said. “Horses are more efficient and mine are of good quality.”
“No nag
or cripple?”
Cedrik smiled.
“I guessed right about you. Good acting skills, sharp mind.”
“More
than I can say for you. Just how long do you think you’re going to live tonight?”
“Wouldn’t
it do you well not to threaten your new master so close to guards,” he said without so much as a blinked lash. “And
I’m not worried.” He swept his heavy gaze over her, blue eyes flecked with green and so much more than it seemed.
“Despite
all the warnings and my own threat, you still say this?”
“Yes.”
Tryn furrowed
her brow then suddenly understood. “Ahh, the shock restraints.”
“I wouldn’t
stoop so low,” he said. “I’ve already disabled the chip to those cuffs.”
Tryn scowled,
not comprehending him at all. She glanced at the backs of the guards they passed, then stepped aside, increasing the space
between herself and Cedrik.
“I would
wait till you’re beyond the city limits at least,” he said. “I haven’t more tregs to buy you back
and I assure you, with your reputation, we’re being watched closely and quite a few dart guns or rifles are aimed at
you from these surrounding buildings. Don’t let the primitive slave holdings fool you. Their communication is excellent
within this stronghold.”
Tryn directed
her gaze to the ground before her, beaten so hard under footsteps over the years, nothing grew. Her chest swelled uncomfortably
tight with uncertainty and even a touch of worry. This man wasn’t what she thought. He noticed her slight move from
his peripheral vision, trained to see more than ahead, and he knew the city’s defenses, or at least some about them.
He had read her when all the other prospective buyers hadn’t seen beyond the fake dumb stare. She had studied each of
them without moving an inch. This man had looked straight into her, as he did now when she eyed him.
“Who the
spirits are you?” she said.
He smiled. “For
another time, my dear.”
He wasn’t
Inaut, not even close. His flesh shined as sun-golden as any noble’s she’d ever seen from her perches on mountain
sides. Many had prowled the valleys beneath her childhood home and many deemed the area unworthy for settlement. Lazy kind.
She wondered if this noble was also lazy. He certainly looked prettied up enough to avoid any kind of work, though his shimmering
hair was longer than she’d ever seen on a noble, nearly covering his right eye when he lowered his head. His mannerism,
height, and broad expanse of shoulders beneath a well-tailored black silken shirt hinted to something else. Something she
couldn’t yet grasp.
She spied three
horses tethered to a post before a silver bridge. A young boy rushed out from between the equestrians and scurried to Cedrik.
“Father
found you one we could spare. She’s an old mare but should serve you well enough.”
Cedrik patted
the boy’s head. “Be sure to thank your father for me. Now go before you get yourself in trouble over curfew.”
The boy nodded
once and was off, his thin legs carrying him like a shot into dark shadows. Shadows so inviting. Tryn felt heat rush through
her, bringing new moisture and need to her mouth. Freedom.
“We’re
twenty minutes from the outer lines,” Cedrik said, as if he sensed her thoughts. “The shadows don’t travel
that far. You would be seen at some point.”
She spun at
him, full of anger and annoyance, but refused to waste more energy on him. Not now, not yet. She covered a cough and chewed
the grittiness it produced.
She stifled
her surprise when he hefted several large sacks from the back of a proud young stallion and transferred them all to the old
mare. Then he handed her the reins to the stallion. The tall horse tossed its head, its tack jingling with his powerful movements.
He was beautiful and glistening dark, nearly black in the dim light. Having the stallion handed to her so willingly was too
wrong. Something was not right with this Madai.
“I thought
you could ride,” Cedrik said when she didn’t take the reins. “Or would you rather have the mare? If you’re
frightened, I’ll understand. He is tall and stubborn.”
She yanked the
straps from his hand, slipped her foot into the stirrup and swung onto the saddle, never looking away from Cedrik. The horse
shifted under her weight, a very comfortable and long forgotten feeling. It spun, agitated and pulled to break free of her
hold on the reins.
Cedrik turned
but she noticed his grin anyway. She wasn’t stupid; she knew he tried to trick her into motion with his words and bristled
at the fact he thought he had succeeded. He clipped a heavy lead rope to the stallion’s bridle and tied it to his saddle
opposite to the mare’s lead. He led her down the bridge designated for animals. She watched the buildings and roads
surrounding them. Transports buzzed along in streaks on the bridge just a walkway away. Cedrik continued to take her through
alleyways. She sat tensed, fighting the itch to bolt. The knot holding her horse to his wasn’t infallible from what
she saw of it. The beast beneath her was well suited for speed and continuously swished his tail and bobbed his head as if
impatient to the slow pace. But Cedrik had piqued her interest enough to keep her with him at least until the city limits.
The white metal
barrier encasing the city towered straight up, appearing to touch the gem stars in the ring of blue haze drifting near the
moon, a constant since the arrival of the Madai. A ledge turned awkwardly outward at the top of the wall, making it impossible
to climb and ensuring nothing got in or out without clearance. Sir Cedrik clearly had authorization. He hardly paused long
enough to show his hand and forms, no doubt including her sale papers. She twisted in the saddle to watch the deceivingly
clean doors of the wall clank shut behind her. So ugly and cold.
Ahead she found
only deliciously deep and concealing darkness.
“The limit’s
behind us,” she said. She quivered from the prospect of open space, so clear, calm, and free. The only unnatural sounds
were the soft plodding of horse hooves and the creak of their leather tack. Dew-damp and fertile soil perfumed the air so
deliciously. It was too good, too wrong.
“You’re
still within view,” he said.
“And how
long do you think I’m going to fall for that?”
“The tree
line.”
Ahead the moonlit
ribbon of pale stone branched off south to the shore-side grasslands or vanished into a line of very old and wide trees marking
the beginning of the Eastnorth
Forest. She tapped her heels against her mount’s belly, coaxing him into
a trot. Cedrik didn’t scold her, but followed suit to keep his horse side by side with her. When several yards of hulking
old trees and tangles of brush drank up the moonlight and blocked any chance of a view, Tryn spun her horse on him. He dismounted
just as quickly even before his horse had halted and unclipped the lead rope from her stallion. Something silver shimmered
in his hand. She yanked the reins back, directing her animal away from him. Cedrik stopped.
“A key,”
he said and held the small thing between one thumb and finger. “That’s all it is, just the key to those cuffs.”
Confusion shook
loose a deep cough that rattled through her chest. Cedrik stepped toward her again but she directed her horse back just as
quickly. Cedrik held his hands up to her, palm out.
“Fine,
fine, but here, at least take it and use it. Those things are so thick you can’t possibly move your wrists very well
and you can’t walk around shackled for the rest of your life.”
Tryn worked
to keep the mount she rode facing him. She hardly noticed the cuffs or chains anymore, having worn some form of them for the
last eight years. He sighed and hooked the key on the tip of a thin branch. Then he backed away from it toward the old mare.
Tryn searched side to side and quickly glanced behind her. It had to be a trap.
“Gargan
put you up to this? He tell you if you kill me out here no one would know the better?”
“I have
no intention of harming you or letting anyone else do so,” Cedrik said.
Tryn shivered
from the pleasant tone of his deep voice. He sounded far too sincere, almost caring, but it was totally insane to believe
it. And she didn’t consider herself insane for real. She just liked pretending.
“Look,
I think you strong enough to survive on your own if you so wish. You are more than welcome to travel with me, of course. But
right here, as of this moment, I do not own you. As soon as I reach a secure position, your papers will be ash. I suggest
changing your name, or give yourself a call name, something, since you’re so well known here. And I suggest you keep
yourself hidden. Most will see you as Inaut despite your eyes and I promise you they will have you pursued until capture again.
You need to make your way quietly over the grasslands and Enil Desert
to the Kharsag Mountains. I have a map.”
He turned his back, opening a pack on his saddle.
“I know
the way,” she said.
The flap clicked
down. Cedrik faced her again, his hands empty, his features little more than a silhouette in the night forest. His eyes no
longer arrested her, only his voice.
“I thought
you not born to this,” he said.
“And I
want my question answered. Just who the spirit are you?”
“Cedrik
DeVassi of Shire West,” he said without hesitation. “Though I’ve not been south west for seven years.”
“Shire
West?” She knew the name. “Just east of the Kharsag Mountains?”
“Yes.”
“They
called you ‘Sir.’ One of the nobles who dared the wilderness? So I suppose you succeeded in conquering it.”
“No.”
The curtness
of his answer hammered her to silence. She met the sparkle of his eyes for a short second in the sparse starlight penetrating
between dancing tree leaves. Cedrik patted his horse with a smooth and steady touch.
“The wildlife
and climate took it back. My family lives just inside New Key now.”
Tryn wanted
to laugh but couldn’t draw the will. New Key was considered a midland city, not west. It was the only certified city
beyond the eastern boundaries from what she had heard in the guards’ talk at the mines. It seemed logical nobles would
be pushed there by the weather and wildlife.
“Why in
creation’s name are you doing this?” she said. “Because my experience and each aching bone in my body tells
me there’s a trap, an ambush, something waiting just ahead if I take anything you offer.”
Cedrik lifted
a sack from the old mare and hooked it on the tree next to the dangling key. He then mounted his horse again, comfortable
and confident, so bold and straight in the saddle. “I’m going on my way. I’ve packed a few days’ ration
in that bag in case you have trouble finding your fill of food. I’ve also packed some clothes you may find helpful.
Be sure to drape that blanket out during the sunny days to recharge it. It should be all you need at night until the rains
hit, but if you move quickly enough you should reach the desert before the season change.”
Tryn watched
in total awe as he slowly moved by her, not once looking back. The mare followed, still tethered to his saddle. The sounds
of the forest, from the tree crickets chirping to the click of some distant critter knocking loose bark, closed in. She heard
nothing out of the ordinary, no cracking of sticks or leaves beneath human feet, no huffing from human lungs. Just the forest
and the ruffling of her horse’s breaths and searching snout. Cedrik left her the stallion. Shock and fear wafted through
her for long minutes. She waited, for what she didn’t know.
After several
more moments of nothing, she edged the stallion forward, not willing to dismount, and pulled the key free.
No net fell
to recapture her. No sounds increased. She slipped the small but complicated key into the notch of her left bracelet, releasing
it and then the right. Her wrists felt alien, open to the air and free of the weight, but she remained alert to the world
around her, not her petty little pleasures. She draped the chain over the saddle horn, glanced about the woods, then retrieved
the sack from the limb. It was heavy with rations and several articles of clothing including a pair of knee-high leather boots,
well made.
She stared after
the man, no where near understanding. But she didn’t need to understand either. She knew where she was as well as where
she wanted to go. She spurred the horse forward. Many miles, Madai towns, and wilds stood between her and home.
Chapter Three
Monarch Reland
Crakshandal, leader of the Earth exhibition and gathering, clasped his fingers together at his back, determined to keep his
chin steady and spine straight, despite his dire need to bow to his knees and duck from the gaze of the god or goddess. His
heart thumped with intense pressure from the atmosphere surrounding the being, surely a sign he was in the midst of one of
the oldest and most powerful.
“What
brings you so far to see me?” Reland asked, bowing his head in respect. The immense room around him, a room he commanded
and controlled, seemed nothing but a hollow cell with the unexpected arrival. He had no time to prepare his quarters or himself
for the meeting with one of the divine.
The cloaked
figure stepped slowly down the unfolded stairs from space-shadow and into his abode. The gods alone could dock at his private
sector of the space station and, in doing so, keep their presence completely secret from the general population as they preferred.
“A dire
danger has come to our attention.” The woman’s voice slithered out from the cloak, smooth as silk and heavy as
smoke. “A threat to your mission.”
“I assure
you, I have everything under control here. The mines are growing faster than ever before and we are starting explorations
into western lands, easily moving now with the threat from the Inaut fading.”
He knew not
which goddess stood before him from the far away planet. Not a planet really, for Niribar was a giant space station with capabilities
beyond his comprehension. It appeared more like a planet than something unnatural. Larger than the Earth, it needed the natural
fuels from the planets of the solar systems to continue on with its atmosphere. Or at least that was what he was told and
why he led the missions on Earth to collect all its resources.
“You doubt
what we know,” the goddess said, her tone raising an octave.
Reland nearly
choked on his swelling tongue.
“No, no
of course not.” He bowed to one knee, deciding to show humility instead of strength. “I simply do not understand
your abilities, Goddess, please, forgive me.”
She slipped
her large hood down to reveal golden hair and a face full of great beauty. Thin with large eyes, small line of a nose and
fine lips, he did not recognize this goddess. She stood tall and graceful, pale hair as smooth as falling water.
“You may
call me Iladi,” she said. “And I know of the problems rising on the surface you patrol. I have been sent to guide
you against this growing threat so you may reach your goals more easily.”
Reland nodded
very slightly. “I am ever so grateful of your assistance.”
“Tell
me, what do you know of the rebellion?”
Reland stood,
driven upright by shock. He knew of no rebellion. None of his many hunters, guards, or patrols had reported any kind of suspicious
behavior for quite some time.
Iladi smiled
a sly smirk that quivered his bowels as much as it pleased his sight.
“There
must be someone who has tested the boundaries in the not so distant past,” she said.
Reland mouthed
a few words, fear nearly strangling him. How could he continue to lead with strength if something so potent had escaped his
sharp watch? “Please, my lady, give me but a name and I will see the problem solved, this I promise.”
“You first
must share with me those most easily corrupted and turned from your loyalties. The threat I sense is a power growing to further
taint those who have strayed from their loyalty to you, it does not have a name. However, I am certain you and I together
can find and eliminate the infection before it grows strong enough to challenge you.”
Reland’s
thoughts cleared quickly. He strode across the expanse to his work station, a desk and many screens all connected to masses
of information on every Madai city and home. He sat resolutely in his seat, tapping the controls to bring the screens to life.
The odd green hue cast by the electronics painted the room a surreal color.
“There
are a few who have tested the laws over the past several years.” He hurried to pull the database he used to mark all
wrongdoings to the large screen in one wall so Iladi could also view it. Most who had betrayed him were already executed or
imprisoned as his records showed.
Sweat beaded
over his forehead as he worked, willing the program to move faster, to show him something. Hunger gnawed at his inners as
the hours crept on. Nothing unusual showed in the words and data before him. His tongue grew to dry, useless leather in his
mouth under Iladi’s scrutiny. And then, in the very smallest areas of record, he saw it.
The name, the
man who had troubled him before but who he had ignored because of his young age and high station. He quivered with rage. A
sharp pierce of pain grazed his mind then vanished. He shivered from Iladi’s inhuman mental touch.
“You must
investigate him immediately,” she said, not needing to hear his thoughts spoken.
“But I…
I have scouts and a bounty hunter watching him, one of my best and most loyal in fact.”
Danik was ruthless
and lethal in bringing him the heads of those she found as betrayers. She had been for years, born in the space station and
raised as one of his followers from the very beginning. He shared everything with her.
“Might
I suggest,” Iladi said, her expression firm and emotionless. “you do more than what is currently in place to delve
into his life. We must know everything about him for me to find this infecting power.”
Reland nodded
and tried to swallow without ingesting his tongue. Anger twisted with his fear in a most awkward way. He peered up at Iladi,
determined to show her his conviction as he spoke.
“I assure
you, when I’m finished, I’ll know what he eats for each meal and have his head on my desk at the smallest sign
of betrayal. I know just who to order to watch after him first.” One press of a button connected his Comm to the DeVassi
Royal House. He struggled to suppress his anger while he waited for Lady Juliara to answer.
Iladi curved
the corners of her mouth up ever so slightly as she watched him, the green hue flickering eerily in her eyes.
~*~
Cedrik pushed
Bishop faster through the forest, glancing back only twice. He was fairly certain Tryn had taken the offered supplies and
key. Except she hadn’t followed him or raced past. He hurried because he didn’t want her to think he hovered to
capture her or some such thing. He couldn’t imagine the amount of distrust she harbored. He couldn’t blame her
either, but he really wished she wouldn’t have made it so hard for him to help her. Remembering her hoarse cough snagged
worry in his thoughts again. It had concerned him even before he left her but he hadn’t dared offer more help. He simply
prayed Red would cooperate with her and carry her safely to the mountains before she fell too ill. The young stallion was
well suited for it. Bishop was a few years older and more mellow but he knew the path Cedrik now had to take. The path to
New Key wasn’t one Cedrik cared for but it was a must.
He rode easily
through the night to morning, leading the slower mare as gently as he could over the forest-flanked road. Transports had cleared
the bare dirt path wide enough for eight horses to pass yet left all beyond the edges untouched. Tall ferns robust with green
color draped gracefully at the base of enormous trunks and mixed with mushrooms of reds, golds, and whites. Broadleaved evergreen
bushes abloom with dancing lilac flowers dotted the view. There was something magical about the pallet of colors alive so
far beneath the whispering flutter of leaves. A sense of memories locked deep in the rings of every tree.
The forest smelled
fresh with life, green and young, despite the ancient wood. He wondered if any Madai ever stepped to the forest floor under
the power of their own two feet. Other than himself. He walked the forest many times, finding a strange sort of peace in its
infinitely deep shadows. It sang to him somehow. He longed for its solace but didn’t slow to enjoy it this trip. He
had a promise to keep and his detour into New Key would add an extra three days to his travels home. He simply couldn’t
return without money for taxes. He rode straight for four days, stopping only long enough for some sleep in the darkest hours.
He didn’t bother setting up camp. The bread and dried meats he had packed kept him nourished.
Morning of the
fifth day, he mounted Bishop from his grass-softened bed and headed from the grove of sheltering rag trees toward the road
again. The sky blessed the seemingly never ending grasslands with shimmering golden hues of sunshine. The soft wind held a
faint scent of dampness from impending rains and swayed the tall seed heads gracefully in a heart-soothing dance. The weather
would hold for a few more days, judging by the shy kiss of warmth in the air and the brightness of the sun. He lowered the
hood of his travel cape to fully soak in that sun and patted Bishop’s neck, glad to have his beast along. He did own
a transport but couldn’t remember the last time he operated it. He much preferred the company of his horses.
The noises of
the city reached him a few hours later. He chewed his sandwich, trying to swallow it and the foreboding dread that always
smothered him when he neared his family’s home. He did what he needed—visited once a month to report his work
and collect his tregs. This time was different.
He circled the
outside wall to the west entrance where he could gain access with a swift swipe of his palm to a small screen. The fewer streets
he had to travel, the happier he’d be and his father’s estate sat just one block from the west wall. He gazed
out into barren and bleached Enil Desert.
Few ever dared to cross it these days. Too many had been lost to its deadly dangers. He wondered if Tryn knew it well enough
to travel through it safely like many Inauts did. In fact, it was said the Inauts were the cause of the terrors. Some said
they once held the power of magick at their wills and commanded wildlife and nature. That was why it was so important to squelch
their race, their culture. Or so he was told.
It was also
why he worked so hard to help them.
He didn’t
remember the beginning of the recolonization at all, born many years after it commenced. He didn’t learn the full horrors
by humanity against humanity until after he married.
Clanks and groans
called his attention back to the doors. Westerly winds constantly beat sands into the hinges of the west gates. No amount
of upkeep kept them silent. He passed easily through, bowing his head to the gate keeper, ignoring the gawk the man gave him.
He’d gotten used to the stares and whispers. Most had learned to accept him as eccentric. Others labeled him as a touch
insane. He really didn’t care what anyone thought as long as they left him alone and allowed him to do his work.
He draped Bishop’s
reins over the post at the back of his father’s towering estate and pumped fresh water into a barrel for him and the
mare. Cedrik didn’t look at the building, just stayed focused on the cold stone walk to the grand front entrance sheltered
by an elongated roof. Inside, the foyer towered three stories high with windows servants cleaned at least once a day. No one
worked now. He wiped his dusty travel boots on the front rug and strode down the marble passage to the one room he knew well
in this building.
The office stood
only two stories high, books and records on disks covered all but one wall. Its
purpose was tinted windows that also gathered solar energy to heat the room in the cold season and light it at night.
Gavin looked
up from his desk, his silver framed glasses low on his nose. Gavin was the only sibling Cedrik saw on a regular basis. Somehow
Cedrik thought Gavin aged years more each month he saw him.
Gavin sat back
in his seat, removed his spectacles, and stood.
“Well,
this is a surprise,” he said.
“Business,”
Cedrik said.
“Isn’t
it always?”
Cedrik ignored
the insolence in his brother’s tone. He tossed the hard copy records of his last three jobs onto the desk.
“Only
three,” Gavin said. “Why bother?”
“I was
passing through.”
Gavin searched
him with his small blue eyes. He was the oldest of the siblings, and also the smallest and slightly sickly. It was why he
was appointed to be the family record keeper. As the record master, he never had to travel. Gavin looked as if he wanted to
say something, but simply leaned back into his plush seat and placed his glasses on his nose again. He flipped through Cedrik’s
handwritten pages.
“Moilnir
increased population by two hundred,” Gavin said. “That’s quite a burst.”
“Yes,”
Cedrik said. “A small baby boom.” He held steady under the lie, not willing to reveal the boom hadn’t all
been from babies. Several Inaut families had found shelter in the village.
“Not quite
city status yet.”
“Only
twenty-five shy. You know they could use the funding and we could push it through anyway.”
“Are they
prepared to construct the necessary walls and ports to declare it a city?”
“If they’re
given the funding.” Cedrik pulled a chair over and lowered to sit on its arm. Gavin frowned but refrained from his usual
complaints. Cedrik hated how low the chairs put him to his brother. He either stood or rested against one of the wide arms.
“And their
attitudes?”
Cedrik clenched
his teeth together. Of all the towns he was assigned to supervise every other month, Moilnir was the one he wanted to see
upgraded to city status. They needed the protection of a wall from the animals migrating from and to the Tundra and from any
investigating Madai as much as they needed the supplies they would get through a port. They were also the village most vigilant
in caring for their land and open to ideas of change.
“They’ve
agreed to most of the laws.”
“Most?”
Gavin raised his blue button eyes, enlarged behind the lenses. “What’s that to mean? It’s all or nothing
and I need the signed contract. This isn’t the original contract.”
“So I
modified it a bit.”
Gavin held the
handwritten contract, scowling deeply as he scanned one page and then the next. He shook his head. “They must install
the identification scans to enter,” he said. “No leniency on that one.”
“C’mon,”
Cedrik stood. “What trouble is going to find them there? Nothing human lives in the Tundra, the ocean is all that waits
to their east and the Eastnorth forest their west. South is nothing but other towns. No one of threat is going to pass through
there.”
“Then
why the problem with installing them?”
“He simply
wants to keep it more open and friendly for those who live there. He already watches his roads in and out. He agreed to placing
guards, just not the scans. I don’t see the harm in it.”
“No,”
Gavin sighed, “you wouldn’t.”
Cedrik crossed
his arms over his chest and stood tall above the desk again. “Don’t start.”
Gavin waved
one open palm at him as if a white flag of truce. “I’ll run this by Father, but I think you know the answer. Especially
with whispers of unrest going on. More free Inauts are being seen lately. And we can’t find where they are sprouting
from.”
“Or you
could just run it through yourself.” Cedrik said, wanting to avoid any subject of Inauts but also knowing he couldn’t
push too hard without inviting suspicion.
“I’m
not like you,” Gavin said.
“Obviously.”
Gavin was the
follower of all rules, never questioning anything, a fact that roughed Cedrik’s feelings for Gavin nearly as much as
his so-called recklessness annoyed his brother. “Look, do whatever. Just be quick about it.”
“You have
somewhere to be?” Gavin raised his judgmental gaze again.
“Anywhere
away from here,” Cedrik said.
“Mother’s
annual dinner is tomorrow, you could attend since you’re already in town. Looks as if you could use a stay in decent
quarters.”
Cedrik shook
his head. Even if Gavin withheld paying him, he wouldn’t remain for the dinner. He hadn’t attended for seven years
and he wasn’t about to start now.
“She still
has Drake and Brent to parade to the ladies, she doesn’t need me.”
“Ah, but
you are the oldest yet unmarried,” Gavin said.
Cedrik felt
his jaw twitch from the strain. He glared at his brother. “You going to pay me or not?”
“A little
unorthodox, paying you mid-month. What’s the hurry?”
“None
of your business.”
“You waste
last month’s tregs already? You really should watch your money more closely, little brother.”
“You really
should stop sticking that snub nose of yours in my business and just do what you’re told.”
Gavin grimaced
behind his glasses, yanked open the drawer, and tossed out three slips of credit. It wouldn’t be much, but it would
cover taxes for the month. Cedrik swiped them from the desk and turned without any kind of goodbye.
He exited the
stifling room, saw the flowing gown, then turned on his heel, wishing he could escape back inside. She spotted him too quickly.
“Cedrik!”
Juliara shouted, her voice light with joy. She rushed to him and grasped his hands in hers. He tolerated the greeting of her
kiss to his cheek but refused total eye contact.
“It is
so very good to see you. You always come and go so quickly, it’s been a year since I’ve caught up with you.”
“Not quite
a full year,” he said.
She shook her
head at him. “Look at you. Someone is taking good care of you.”
“Yeah,
me,” he said. “I haven’t been home in weeks so you can’t give Sienna the credit.”
Juliara’s
smile faltered a bit. “Oh, yes, how is Sienna these days?”
He wondered
why she asked of her past slave. A flick of tension licked out at him, the same lick he always felt if he stood near the family
too long.
“She’s
very well,” Cedrik said. “Takes care of the house, keeps busy.”
“She was
always good at caring for you.” Juliara slid her palm over his cheek. “Please, come. Sit with me for a bit in
the parlor.”
He shook his
head, but she squeezed his hand too tightly.
“We must
talk, Cedrik. You’ve avoided things for too long. It’s time.”
He glared over
her head to the door. “Not in my opinion.”
“Don’t
make me get nasty,” she said. “Please, I miss you around here. I have for a long time. Besides, looks as if you
could use a rest in a cool room.”
“Ten minutes,”
he said knowing well he wouldn’t get anywhere with arguing. Her mind was set on cornering him.
She didn’t
release his hand until she closed the parlor door to the foyer. Cedrik recognized the family painting above the fireplace
from their home in Shire West, but the room itself was much larger, nearly ugly despite the warm shades of wood and green
toned rug and furnishings. Two tall windows slashed one dark wall to show a small artificially manicured and strangely colorless
garden fenced by iron from the street below.
“Please.”
She motioned toward one of the chairs as she poured from a crystal flask into two wine glasses.
“I’m
fine,” he said.
“You promised
me ten minutes. I’m not spending those minutes with you towering over me.”
He grinned at
her playful feistiness, sighed, and lowered to the edge of one of the chairs, understanding what it was like to have someone
looking down, though for him, it was never the height anymore. He took advantage of his height to enforce his authority more
often than not.
“Thank
you,” she said and handed him a goblet. He accepted the drink and rolled the amber liquid inside the glass watching
it as if he could find secrets to history and future in its movements.
She sat back
in her chair, her silk skirt flowing elegantly around her legs. Not exactly thin, she was still slender after six children
and forty-eight years. Her blond hair swept beautifully around her face, always graced with a perpetual smile reflected in
her hazel eyes.
“So,”
she said. “What has my son been up to for the past year, or years for that mater?”
Cedrik shrugged.
“Work.”
Juliara shifted
herself deeper into the chair. “Good work from what I’ve heard. You’ve straightened the growing violence
in East Bend.”
“For now,”
he said. “There are still a few there I need to keep a close eye on.” East Bend was his
least favorite place. Fully Madai, it was also the most violent and egocentric.
“You know,
you could move closer, either here or to one of those towns, then you wouldn’t need to wear yourself down so far.”
“I’m
fine where I’m at.”
“And how
many nights do you sleep in your bed?” She slipped to the edge of her chair, concern darkening the sparkle in her eye
and dampening the smile just a bit. “I worry about you, Cedrik, truly I do.”
“I know.
But I’m fine.”
She fingered
the sleeve of his black shirt. “This tells me differently. It’s been six years.”
Cedrik bristled
at the flash of remembered blood pulled forth by her words. “And I have a right to four more. Or have you forgotten
I’m mourning more than one.” He gulped the wine then, its sharp sweetness not nearly potent enough to wash away
the sour taste of memories.
“No, I
have not forgotten anything.” Juliara lowered her lashes.
“Then
let it be.”
“Sometimes,
sometimes, that isn’t the best thing to do,” she said. “And I truly feel as if this is one of those times
it shouldn’t be left.”
Cedrik set his
empty goblet on the lace coved table and stood before a window, its height giving the illusion of stepping outside. His mother
took his hand again and rested her head against his shoulder.
“Come
home and let us help you.”
“There
is no help for me here,” he said. “I don’t belong here anymore.”
Juliara tightened
her grip on his strong arm. “Nonsense. You always have a place here.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
“And if
my daughter were still alive would you say the same?”
She lifted her
head but didn’t release his arm. He held her fingers against his palm, cursing himself for saying such a thing but so
desperately wanting an answer he doubted she would ever give.
“My arms
are always open to you, no matter the situation,” she said. “I stood by you then.”
He shook his
head. “No, you stood behind father. You didn’t protest, but you didn’t support either.”
Lines formed
across her brow, lines of anguish and hidden pains. “So, you blame me? Is this why you stay gone?”
“No,”
he said. “I blame the way things are. I blame Father’s inability to see anything beyond the laws first made. Sometimes
change is really needed, and you know, I’ve seen it in other places, not just our family. It’s going to happen
whether we like it or not. You all can’t keep killing the babies just because…” Rancid emotions closed his
voice.
She squeezed
his hand so hard it hurt.
“You forget
I lost children too?”
“I remember
every damn night. I remember every time I go into a town and take census and notice a few expected children missing. Others
might be blind to it, but I’m not. It’s happening more in my generation than it did in yours, and it will happen
even more in the next.”
“Probably,
yes.”
“And you
will all just keep killing them?”
Juliara widened
her eyes, then squinted as if caught in some mental tug-of-war. “What choice do we have? You know what they are capable
of doing. It’s only by luck we were able to win our safety from those who were here. If we start raising them amongst
ourselves as equals, we are doomed.”
Cedrik pulled
from her embrace and looked into her shining eyes too aware merriment wasn’t the reason for the gloss now. “They
really have you convinced of that, don’t they?”
Juliara lowered
back to her chair. “I have to be convinced of it,” she said and wiped her thumb across her eye. “I must.”
“And I
must handle it my own way,” he said. “It won’t be in believing that.”
“We’ve
never disagreed on much.” She struggled with a smile again. “Remember that? You and I.”
He sighed, remembering
it well. Of all in his family including his two sisters, only he shared in her love for the arts and nature and kindness with
all things living.
“I know,”
he said. “I really need to go now.”
“Why such
a rush? You could stay, I could tend your clothes for you, have your hair trimmed.” She brushed his bangs from in front
of his eye. “You could visit with Janni, she asks about you all the time.”
“My hair’s
fine, as are my clothes. Sienna is waiting for the supplies I have, and I’m sure you remember just how cranky she gets
if they don’t get there on time. ” As for his youngest sister, he would write her when he could.
Juliara smiled
then. “Please tell Sienna I said hello and wish her well. And thank her for me, thank her for watching after you even
now.”
He kissed her
cheek, loving the fresh scent of rose he remembered from childhood and strode to the door.
“Don’t
stay away so long this time,” she said, holding her hand to her cheek where he kissed her. “Even if it’s
just short visits. I cherish them.”
“We’ll
see,” he said. “Maybe.” But as he stepped out the front door, he doubted it was possible. His chest ached
with grief as if it all happened again. The betrayals, the revelation of lies, suicide, near murder. He yanked the hood of
his cloak up when he mounted Bishop and turned toward the west gate, wanting to hide from the sun and all those around him.
Shame mixed wickedly with sadness. He had no right to feel the way he did. He hadn’t lost as much as everyone thought.
Chapter Four
Tryn climbed
down from her perch in the tree, stifling her cough. Her throat felt so raw it sent a slightly bitter-sweet taste to her tongue.
She dropped to the soft forest floor and landed before the grand stallion. He raised his head, dragging his loose reins, and
regarded her with one large shining eye.
“Still
here,” she said.
He huffed and
returned to nibble the sparse greens at the base of the tree. Sunlight sliced through high leaves, sparkling over his dark
mane and shining coat as if striping him with blood. He shimmered as brilliant red when in direct sunlight but looked nearly
velvet black in shadow. His mane and tail always appeared as dark as night. He was a magnificent animal, tall, strong, perfect
in every way. It was why she couldn’t keep him, though each time she tried to turn him loose, he followed anyway.
“You’re
not going to go, are you?” She wondered if he was like the women she left behind in Madai
City. Born to servitude, they knew nothing different nor would they welcome anything
different. “Silly beast, don’t you know any better?”
He lifted his
big head and shook it so violently his mane buckled side to side, then he turned his back to her, straightening his hind legs
to raise his rump. Tryn chuckled at the show.
“Call
me crazy, but you seem a bit annoyed at me.”
He twisted his
neck to look at her over his right shoulder.
“So I
have it wrong? You don’t wish to go simply because you like being ridden all day?”
He snuffled
the ground, moving slowly forward, crunching twigs.
“And here
I am, talking to a horse and thinking maybe it understands me.” She plopped to the ground, slapping her hands to her
forehead. Maybe she was going crazy. She heard trauma early in life could cause a mind to warp. She certainly felt off center
now free of the mines, free of the guards. Everything assaulted her senses to a degree beyond any pain she could remember.
The sweet scents of the forest blooms and tender greens cradled her, not bad; in fact they were too excellent, too luxurious.
Nausea, born from her overwhelmed sense of smell, raked her stomach to the point she could hardly tolerate anything more than
the bland bread she found in the pack Sir Cedrik gave her.
Fear lingered
on about him also. She constantly watched over her shoulders, waiting for the hunt to come upon her, despite knowing days
had passed since he left. She longed for the safety of mountains, but the golden flatlands ahead taunted her with the unsheltered
danger they presented. She had a long cloak to hide her flesh under. She could ride a steed so obviously precious no one would
think her a slave. But she couldn’t stop feeling vulnerable like one.
Hot breath puffed
her hair from her cheek. She swatted softly at the muzzle but the stallion continued to nip at her. She patted his firm forehead.
“If you
don’t mind,” she said. “I would appreciate the company.” She pressed her cheek to his big head, hoping
she could tolerate at least a full day’s ride to hurry as far through the open lands as possible. She rose slowly, again
gazing into the wide open grasslands then rounded the tree to gather her supplies.
She donned the
travel cloak Cedrik left for her, tied it securely at her shoulders so it wouldn’t choke her, and lifted the heavy saddle.
Beady hateful eyes of a tree wolf greeted her.
She froze too
late. She’d made eye contact, a challenge. So stupid.
Its size denoted
it easily as a male, most likely the leader of its pack. He hissed a horrible growl and curled back lips showing needle-sharp
fangs under his starved dark eyes. She held her gaze steady, her inhale hung in her throat. If she looked away, he would take
that as admittance to defeat, yet she knew she had no weapon more lethal than the saddle to battle with.
“Where
did you come from?” She huffed, trying to sound threatening.
The wolf skulked
forward, his gray form rippling a shade of green as he moved, his snout nearly waist high. Tryn’s heart pounded her
sore lungs. The rush of blood roared in her ears. Her palms dampened against the saddle. Stress born more from frustration
than fear racked her already tormented body.
“You know,
I didn’t wait all this time for freedom to let you screw it up for me,” she said.
Its growl deepened,
ending in a piercingly sharp bark. She glanced behind him, sure the rest of his pack was near. The slight release was all
he needed. He leapt to his hind legs, spit flying from his jowls.
Tryn raised
the saddle in front of her face and planted her feet firmly apart to handle the blow. She blocked his huge paws with the underside
of the saddle, barely managing to shield herself from the mashing jaws but couldn’t hold his massive weight. She tumbled,
scrambling to keep the saddle between her throat and his fangs. She kicked his hind legs, trying to knock him off balance.
He snapped her wrist in his slimed maw, tearing deep into her forearm and ripping a scream from her throat.