KNITE:
It took two and a half days for us to get to the shores of my sister’s Island. We disembarked a little ways off the coastal city of Haloryarey. Despite its derivative nature—the city’s name translated to ‘little Halor’ in the ancient language—and general poverty, as one of only two landing points and the place of choice for priming slaves, the city, behind the isle's capital itself, was the largest settlement in Lorail’s domain. We marched up a winding road amid packed carts, some carrying grain and livestock, many full of slaves, and all led by women. Merkon, whose weakness demanded he ride my mare, earned glowers and murmurs for daring to partake in a privilege banned to men of The Island of Betters. Only the presence of Helena and Sanas leading the horse prevented those glowers from swelling into action. I was glad the journey had tamed the mare’s temperament for a time. Seasickness had leached away her fractious energy.
Roche and I trailed behind the horse, hoods up, heads down, and trying our best to appear meek and submissive.
Past the last bend of the beaten road, with no outer walls or gates to hide its form, the city lay sprawled before us. The soil here was dead and stiff and lacked any greenery but for persistent and stubborn clumps of dry weeds whose thirst had turned them amber. Low sandstone buildings, their imperfection indicative of having been mundanely constructed, spread along wide streets of packed earth, none more than two floors. Despite its copious population, few of the inhabitants walked the streets. And no wonder. The subjugation of slaves was best done out of earshot, which in this case meant deep underground.
Helena found a horse trader operating her business on an isolated field on the edge of the city. The trader, a squat woman whose thick, compressed stature seemed ill-suited to her profession, came out of the stables to meet us.
I watched absentmindedly, my mind focused on a hooded figure skulking in the shadows of the nearest buildings. A curiosity, to be sure. They’d been trailing us ever since we’d disembarked from Captain Jule’s vessel. Why? I’d find out.
“What can I get you?” the horse trader asked.
“Four horses,” Sanas said.
The horse trader wiped her hands on the equally dirty rag hanging from her belt. “Preferences?”
“Geldings of stout constitutions,” Sanas said.
The woman glanced over Sanas’ shoulder, frowning when her eyes found Merkon atop my mare. “I can get you a cart for your men if need be.”
Sanas shook her head. “No need.”
“Are you sure it is wise to let your slaves ride horses?”
Sanas tensed. She’d abhorred slavery even before she spent a lifetime as a slave to the Research Institute. “And if I was?”
The woman offered nothing but a halfhearted shrug as protest. “New to Halor, I take it. No business of mine what you let your slaves do, but I’d be remiss not to remind you where you are.”
The hooded figure began to move away from us. I leaned in to whisper in Sanas’ ear. “We have a shadow. Take whatever horses are available and ride west. I shall find you when I’ve unveiled the identity and purposes of our mystery pursuer. Now, nod as if you're permitting some request of mine. It wouldn’t do for the trader to think me an out-of-control slave.”
“Be careful,” she whispered back.
I turned into an empty street and took to the thatched roofs. Traffic was thin, and a man running through the streets would not wait long to be detained. My target walked a convoluted route of narrow alleys and complex intersections, venturing ever deeper into the city. I tried to touch their soul and see beyond the emotions my soulsight revealed to me, but the dark hood hid more than just their face. Unsurprising. On an island full of Augers, no one dared leave their soul out for plunder.
After a lengthy chase, the figure broke into a large square, the area unusually quiet. I knew better. No soul escaped my sight. I dropped from a single-story building of crude brick and strolled into the open space where the cowled figure stood waiting.
“Fast in body but slow in mind,” she said, lowering her hood. Captain Jule. “Like a wild stallion unaware he is being led by the reins. Gods, I hate horses.”
I began to strip away my weapons. Fleeing was out of the question. I’d been caught—on purpose—and, in truth, had but two viable options left to me now that I’d gotten this far into the trap they’d laid: fight and be captured or submit and be captured. There was a third course of action, but it was as undesirable as it was conceivable. I chose to obey. On occasion, my promises seemed too heavy a burden. But the thought was transient, so fleeting as to be half-complete; I need only ever glimpse the consequences to reharden my resolve.
I dropped my twin swords. My other blades followed, clattering atop one another. Once the last of my weapons lay before me, I fell to my knees. Jule did not comment, but her smirk remained, a conceited show of victory. Only the thought of making her death slow and painful kept my thirst for her at bay.
“Maybe not that slow,” she said.
“How?” I asked. “All the other captains were clear in their duplicity—I could smell their greed as if their intent was fresh manure piled at my feet on a humid summer day. You, on the other hand, seemed fond of coin but otherwise more… scrupulous. Yet I was wrong. I am rarely wrong.” I did not mention her soul being different from the one I’d met in Snowliar. Darker and far more stained.
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“Superior skill can take—”
“Spare me your games,” I said. She flinched at that, and I released a slow breath to calm my urges. “You’ve won. Answers will cost you nothing.”
She grinned proudly, happy to brush past her spike of fear. “My namat is a rather useful sort. Particularly for—”
Guards interrupted any exposition she might’ve offered. They streamed out of the surrounding buildings, dozens of them, their hooded cloaks wrapped around their dark-blue uniforms, their weapons drawn, their matrixed charged. I was surrounded. Forty wasn’t so many, but…
Their leader separated from the crowd and ambled forward, her fur-trimmed armor drawing in the late afternoon sunlight. She gazed at me behind the narrow slit of her helmet. “Broken before capture? My mistress will not be happy.”
“Not my problem,” Jule said. “I get paid for delivery, and now that he’s in your custody…”
The slave trader strode away, barging past a pair of guards to leave the encirclement. I stared after her with fantasies of how I’d dance her on the edge of death, of letting her befriend pain as it took her on a slow journey into madness.
“Arse on heels,” the armored woman commanded. I did as she asked.
“No need to raise your voice,” I said.
Her gauntleted fist struck me on the jaw. The matrix-carved metal bent on impact, and she pulled her hand back with a hiss. I, of course, hadn't moved.
“You’ll pay for that,” she hissed.
“There’s really no need. I am, for now, committed to obedience.”
Her hand reached into the folds of her uniform and pulled out a slave collar. The intricate matrixes on its surface gleamed menacingly. I grimaced at the sight.
Metal bands snapped shut around my neck, shutting off my sensus. Next, my captor called for rope. One of her people handed her a bundle of corded twine. She looped it around my wrists, pulled it stiff, tied a series of knots, then grinned at me. There’s a certain look sadists get when they're about to indulge. I knew the look intimately. So, too, was I familiar with the particular brand of pleasure their souls emitted in anticipation of fulfilling their vice, an oozing, salivating aura of foulness. My captor expressed both in spades.
She drove her fist into my stomach and struck the air from my lungs, her physical strength impressive for a Halorian.
“You will pay for that,” I groaned.
“Silence.” She turned back to her subordinates. “Bring me my horse!”
***
The horse came to an abrupt stop. Momentum dragged me across and over hard-packed earth and sharp gravel. Clothes ruined, ribs bruised and broken, my left wrist dislocated, and a nasty collection of cuts and scrapes decorating my front, I decided the helmeted woman would die.
Someone heaved me to my feet. Two someones. One on either side. Head hanging, feet dragging, I was hauled past a set of gates. We stopped. My carriers let go. I hit the ground, the rough, coarse fragments of stone and rock digging into my hands and face. I looked up. We’d arrived at a beautiful mansion at the edge of the cliff. It was four stories of marble—the only building with more than two floors. Surrounding the path I lay on were beds of flowers and evenly cut grass, and beyond, a line of trees circled the inner perimeter of the outer walls—the only plant life I’d seen since stepping into the city. A sensual woman dressed in a silken dress of deep blue stood between two magnificently carved pillars that marked the edge of the vast portico. An older man stood by her side, his back ever so slightly bent forward in that constant bow slaves were instructed to maintain.
The woman in blue stepped toward me as I perused my surroundings. “They tell me you’re a slave I might be willing to own. Care to tell me why?”
I hopped to my feet. There was a cut on the inside of my cheek, filling my mouth with blood. I spat it at her feet. She giggled a little—an odd thing for a woman as old as her. It was one of the many foibles she adopted in pursuit of emulation. I was glad Roche was not there to see her wicked grin. Much of his pain was wrapped up in a smile all too similar.
“I suspect my favorite acolyte was rather upset about having to let you go,” the godling said. “She loves a challenge almost as much as I do.”
I sighed. I should’ve known. My niece had always favored the more volatile sort, hence Sishal.
“What are you worth?” Lira asked. “I might enjoy conquering you, but I prefer it when my leisurely pursuits gift me with more than just pleasure.”
I stayed silent.
Lira turned back to her slave. “Danar. Was Jule expecting me to be impressed by his resistance alone?”
The man stepped forward and bowed deeper. “Captain Jule’s messenger said he was sent by Stone, Master. Personally.”
“Ahh, I see. So the crone herself has deemed him worthy.” Lira turned back to me. “Crowol?”
“She was there, Mistress,” the slave answered, “in case the matter had escalated. She has, however, already returned to her quarters.”
The guard, who’d already come off her horse and knelt on one knee, spoke up. “Might I speak, Mistress?”
Lira nodded her assent. “Speak.”
“Although we captured him without incident, he did exhibit a control and capacity for raw sensus that dwarfs my own.”
Lira scoffed. “My little Ralaha, that does not mean as much as you seem to think.”
The guard bowed deeper. “As you say, Mistress. I meant to say I think his abilities could, if barely, contend with Captain Crowol’s.”
Lira quirked a brow at that. “Really? My Crowol? If that were true, I reckon he’d certainly have attempted an escape. Oh well, I suppose we’ll see. Danar, take him to the training pens. I will see about uncovering the truth of it when he has had time to ripen.”
Danar hoisted me onto his shoulder with little effort. He lugged me around the mansion on a smooth mosaic depicting harems of men, then into a small building at the back of the rear garden. An underground staircase spiraled down into darkness. With every step, his shoulder dug into my ribs. One such step pushed a broken rib hard enough to puncture a lung. If he’d heard my wheezing, he paid it no mind. Every ring of stairs met us with a Tunnel. The first three were full of muffled moans and the stench of sweat. Whatever sounds came from the fourth were subdued by the screams of the fifth and sixth. There, the air was thick with the scent of fresh blood. The seventh, despite the cries of the floors above, was eerily silent. Here lay my destination.
Danar strode a little way into the Tunnel, opened a thick metal door, snatched off my slave collar, and threw me into a small room barely big enough for me to lie in. My back hit the far wall a moment before the door slammed shut.
I slid to the floor. Nothingness enveloped me. There was no smell, no sound, no light. When I spoke, some force plucked the words from the air before they reached my ears. A skeleton cage, then. A good one. Not perfect, mind you, for whoever had built it was far from comparable to my brother, but it was good. I remained where I lay, closed my eyes, and consigned myself to wait.
Everyone always thought I had a grand plan. I didn’t. I never did. What I had—and have—was the ability to adapt and adjust as needed. Whenever I succeeded, others saw the fruition of a complex strategy. I think they undersell my talent and overestimate my mysticism. Complex schemes, such as they accuse me of, require everyone and everything to adhere to the limits of expectations. In a world full of chaos, a strategy would necessitate the power of a god. There are no gods, and none of those I’ve met who proclaim divinity possess the gift of omniscience. So without certainty, without true gods or deities, and when all else seems against me, my talent reigns supreme.
My niece would not wait long to suffer this gift of mine.