Transformation (49 page)
Authors: Carol Berg
By the end of second watch, thick, soupy grayness came in the jail door with my guards. The magistrate would arrive within the hour. I would have perhaps half a minute from the time they unhooked my hands until they had me pinned to the table, where he would exact the mandatory punishment for slaves who ran. Half a minute was time enough to surprise them. But when the heavy-jowled magistrate, annoyed at being roused so early, pronounced my sentence, a ham-handed guardsman with bruises on his face laid such a blow to my gut that I never knew when it was they unhooked my hands and bound me to the table.
“You’ll not run again, slave,” said the burly guardsman, smiling and scraping the ax blade against the soles of my feet. “Nor use these to insult your betters. Which one shall it be?”
“Get on with it,” said the magistrate. “I’ve not had my breakfast.”
My feeble struggles to get loose got me nothing but another fist. I could not summon the wit to break the ropes, to make an illusion, to create a distraction, to do anything but lie there like a pig at the slaughterhouse. I was only vaguely aware of the ax being raised ... and vaguely aware of it being lowered ... but without the terrible consequences some remote center of my mind kept trying to warn me of. People were yelling, but I couldn’t move my head to see, or work up the passion to care.
“Where is the vermin? No one punishes my slaves but me.”
Somewhere in my throbbing head I held tight to the arrogant voice.
“Druya’s horns, if you’ve ruined my property, I’ll have your balls for it. I’ll take his foot ... both feet ... and his tongue for the lies he told that got him this far. But I’ll do it at my own pleasure.”
What was so reassuring about the cursing fury of the newcomer who burst through the jail doorway like sunlight through a storm cloud?
“Get him up on his feet while he still has them. I want him leashed to my horse within five minutes, or I’ll have you all strung out behind him.”
“What was your name again, my lord?” asked the magistrate. “I need it for my report.”
“Vanye of the House of Mezzrah. And you can write it that I take it most ill when mindless bureaucrats presume to interfere in my affairs.”
“Our most sincere apologies, my lord. Most sincere.”
Vanye. That wasn’t right. As I was yanked off the table, shoved out the door, and a rope stretched from my bound wrists to the saddle of a very large horse ... somewhere in the painful glare of the morning sun, I caught a glimpse of red hair. Wouldn’t do to smile where anyone could see. I wasn’t sure I could do it anyway. Drool kept rolling out of my mouth.
“Out of my way.” Several of the guards stumbled aside, jostled into me by the tall man mounting the horse.
“Where is it you’re taking him, Lord ... Vanye, is it?” The magistrate and the unshaven hunter had come up just beside me, and though the blood was pounding very much too loud in my ears, I was able to hear something new in his voice.
“Go, go, go,” I mumbled under my breath.
“None of your business. Just get your minions out of my way.”
I let out a groan when the magistrate grabbed what he could of my shorn hair and twisted my neck, scraping with a fingernail at the mud and blood crusted on my cheek. “What mark is this on his face, my lord? Your mark? We’ve had reports of an escaped slave ...”
No, no. This was not going to do at all. We could not afford delays. The magistrate let go of my head, and I worked hard to clear it. A rumbling ahead of me told me that the man on the horse was getting very upset.
“What’s going on here, Livan?” A woman’s voice broke through my muddled panic. “Why is this man tied to a horse?”
“My lady! You should not be in a wicked place such as this. This is nothing but a runaway slave.”
A horse walked up beside us bearing a woman in dark green, riding astride as some bold Derzhi women did. I looked up, and somewhere in the blurry field of my vision swam the face of the Lady Lydia. Her glance was like the bracing freshness of a winter morning after being too long huddled by a smoky fire. For a moment I could think again.
“We were going to punish him according to the law, but Lord Vanye has come to claim him as his property and says he will exact his own punishment. But now I see this mark on the slave, and we’ve had reports—”
“Vanye?!” The lady was astounded.
“You remember me, Lady,” said Aleksander—of course it was he—bowing from his horse. “We met in Zhagad, I believe.”
Lydia stared at Aleksander, and the sun hung suspended in its course until she spoke. “Of course, I remember you, Lord Vanye. I should have known I would find someone like you involved in these despicable activities. I heard that a slave was taken last night, and I thought perhaps to buy him before he was harmed.”
“But you own no slaves, Lady.”
“Exactly,” she said.
“Well, this one will be of more use to me than to you, then, so I will bid you good day and be on my way.”
Lydia nudged her mount past me, until it stood shoulder to shoulder with Aleksander’s Musa. With a sudden move that left everyone in the courtyard silent, she raised her hand and slapped Aleksander. “Indeed, my lord. We all have duties of importance to undertake this morning. I must be about mine. Do not bring your vile practices into Avenkhar again.”
“My lady. I look ... forward to our next meeting. Perhaps under happier circumstances.”
Lydia pulled her horse around and came back to the magistrate. “I want them out of here immediately,” she said. “My father despises Lord Vanye and will not tolerate him in our city.”
“Of course, my lady. As you say.”
Aleksander touched Musa’s side and rode through the gates and down the road. I stumbled after him, wishing he would either go a little slower or speed up so I could just give it up and be dragged along. Passing travelers laughed or spit or threw things at me—sometimes very nasty things. A few turned away in shame or disgust. Unfortunately, there were no trees for half a league along the flat road, and no turnings or hills that would take us out of sight of the city walls. When Musa at last came to a halt beside a spring in a grove of willows, I walked into his backside and promptly crumpled into a heap.
“Seyonne, come get up.” I was wishing very much that I could crawl away from the horse’s hooves and its hind end, so it was a considerable relief when I felt the chains and ropes detached from my wrist bands and a strong arm lift me to my feet. “Come on. There’s water over here.”
He helped me lie down, and I came near draining the little pool. It was sad when I promptly lost half of it again. At least I managed to crawl away so I didn’t foul the spring.
“You drank it too fast. You need to take smaller sips.” He pulled off the shredded bloody remnant of my slave tunic, dipped water from the spring with his hand, and wet it down. A proper Ezzarian way to treat the spring. Then he dabbed at the blood and filth on my face. “They did as good a job on you as I did.”
“Twelve,” I murmured drowsily. “Twelve of them.”
“Well, that’s good. I wouldn’t want to be outdone in the matter of random beatings by any mere six or eight.” He yanked at my lolling chin. “No. You will not be allowed to go to sleep just yet. We want to make sure your head’s still serviceable after all this.” He brought my clothes and a cup from his saddle pack, and proceeded to give me sips of water while checking my injuries and getting some clothes on me.
“You were a fool to go,” he said, dabbing at my bruised belly so ferociously I almost lost the rest of the water I’d drunk. “I was a fool to let you. When you didn’t come back, I knew ... I knew ... exactly what had happened and what they were going to do to you. Gods, what a wretched world.”
He stopped for a moment and turned away, his breathing tight and painful. I could not see how his curse was manifesting itself. After a few minutes, he turned back again, his cold, shaking fingers tugging awkwardly at my breeches, trying to get them on over my feet. “Wouldn’t want to scandalize your fine Ezzarian lady or her gentleman friend.” The thought of young ladies kept his mind away from me for a minute, for which my bruises were grateful. “Am I right that you got the message to Lydia? Was that what she was saying to me?”
I nodded. “Did.”
“She was magnificent, was she not?”
I nodded again.
“Never thought of her playing intrigue. I think it suits her. Her face was so ... Damn, what spirit! You must have made a great impression on her for her to do all this.” I grinned at him, which he took to mean I was in pain, so he became uncomfortably solicitous again.
“Thank you, my lord. I’ll be all right.” I managed to get the words out without slurring them, so maybe he would leave me be. “And what of you?”
“The beast still keeps its share of me,” he said, leaning back against a tree and sipping from a wine flask. “I try—with occasional success—but it will have me in the end. My likai never taught me how to fight such a thing.”
“We’ll take care—”
“No. No more of that. Catrin told me how unlikely it is that you can do anything for me, and that if you allow yourself to get distracted and try some magic working, you might not be ready to face this demon.”
“She had no right to say that to you.”
“She had every right. And I had every right to hear it.”
“My lord—”
“Listen to me, Seyonne, and don’t interrupt.” He leaned forward and wore such passion in his demeanor as would force any man to heed him. “I want your word ... your word as an Ezzarian Warden ... that you will not allow me to destroy the Empire. For everything wretched in it, there is good, too. You’ve not been allowed to see it, I know, but there are thousands who live in peace because of what we’ve built. Thousands more who would starve in one bad season did we not make it safe to trade and travel. It encompasses honor and traditions that are good and worthy and could be a great deal more. If Dmitri lived, he could tell you, as he tried to tell me for fifteen years. I cannot, will not, destroy it. If I am taken by these demons or if the day comes when I cannot control the beast, I want you to kill me. And when you’ve fought your battles and run the demons from my realm, I want you to tell my father the story of it.”
“My lord—”
“Swear it, Seyonne. Swear that I will die by a warrior’s hand and not trapped inside a beast ... or become one.” Even as he said it, I watched him fight off the savage shengar yet again. I could not imagine the strength it took to do such a thing.
“As you wish, my lord.”
Perhaps it was a holy spring where we drank. Perhaps it was some blow to my head that jarred the words into place. Perhaps it was that Aleksander and I had each lifted the other from the abyss of pain and despair, and I could see clearly what I had known for a long time. For once I spoke what was in my mind. “If we could but combine your strength and my power, there is no demon could stand against us.” I slowly slumped down into the long grass as my hurts were eased, and the long night weighed on my eyelids and made my tongue thick. “Unfortunately, the only way for you to be there is for Kastavan’s demon to take up residence in you instead of him.”
A wave of blissful sleep carried me far away from the quiet morning. But at some time as I drifted in dreamless oblivion, Aleksander laid his cloak over me and spoke softly in my ear. “I would be honored to fight at your side, Seyonne.” A day later when I woke, four broken steel bands lay beside me in the grass.
Chapter 32
“How could you let him go?” I yelled at Catrin and Hoffyd when I came out of the healing stupor. “Do you understand what he’s planning to do? The stupid, arrogant fool is going to give himself to the Khelid.” I was beside myself with fury and helplessness and grief.
“He was right. You were in no condition to ride,” said Catrin, with no hint of the defensiveness I believed she should be displaying. She had put me to sleep for a day, deciding I needed the time for my injuries to heal. “And if we had let you ride after him, you would be in no condition to fight. Your life is more important than his. I won’t argue about it.”
“Aleksander is worth more than all of us put together,” I said. “He will change the world. Am I the only one who can see it?”
Aleksander had met Catrin and Hoffyd at the crossroads where they had waited while he’d gone after me. He returned alone, but told them that I was living, though injured, and where to find me at the spring. Then he’d asked Hoffyd to take the slave rings off of me.
“He said it was long past time,” Hoffyd told me, once my initial rage was spent and I stood leaning my head on my horse, trying to settle my mind. “He said it was his damnable pride got in the way of it. But he wanted you to know you were free to do what was best, and he didn’t want anything to come between you and the oath you swore to him.” Hoffyd wrinkled his brow and knitted his hands together uncomfortably. “And one more thing he wanted me to tell you. He said that Vanye—I think that was the name—used to take his slaves out to a place in the desert, where he and his friends would hunt them for sport.” Hoffyd laid a hand on my shoulder. “He wasn’t threatening you was he? He wouldn’t do that?”
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